I'm never, I hope, stupid enough to believe that Twitter or blogging or any of this stuff is a substitute for actually doing the work or writing a book.

After a while it sort of began to rain, which is to say that it was the kind of rain that never comes to a decision about whether it's actually raining or not. Driving in it, you would never have been certain whether or not to turn on your wipers.

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

Too soon, the sun will rise.

I thought I was your destination. Looks like I was just another stop on the line.

Be boring, knowing everything. You have to give all that stuff up if you're going to muck about here.

Idris: Are all people like this? The Doctor: Like what? Idris: So much bigger on the inside.