Once, I was a poet, and, like all poets, I spent too long in the Kingdom of Dreams.

The real world has no obligation to be convincing, so it throws up some very weird moments sometimes.

Life is a disease, sexually transmitted and fatal.

I have heard the languages of apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence.

Small children believe themselves to be gods, or some of them do, and they can only be satisfied when the rest of the world goes along with their way of seeing things.

She decides to make a list of the things that make her happy. She writes 'plum-blossom' at the top of a piece of paper. Then she stares at the paper, unable to think of anything else. Eventually it begins to get dark.

Start telling the stories that only you can tell.