Perhaps I shall not write my account of the Paleolithic at all, but make a film of it. A silent film at that, in which I shall show you first the great slumbering rocks of the Cambrian period, and move from those to the mountains of Wales...from Ordovician to Devonian, on the lush glowing Cotswolds, on to the white cliffs of Dover... An impressionistic, dreaming film, in which the folded rocks arise and flower and grow and become Salisbury Cathedral and York Minster.

Wars are fought by children. Conceived by their mad demonic elders, and fought by boys.

There's a preoccupation with memory and the operation of memory and a rather rapacious interest in history.

You learn a lot, writing fiction.

I didn't write anything until I was well over 30.

Language tethers us to the world; without it we spin like atoms.

Unless I am a part of everything I am nothing.