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

You have this comet trail of your own lived life, sparks from which arrive in the head all the time, whether you want them or not - life has been lived but it is still all going on, in the mind for better and for worse.

Getting to know someone else involves curiosity about where they have come from, who they are.

History unravels; circumstances, following their natural inclination, prefer to remain ravelled.

If we had not met, that day, I think I would have imagined you somehow.

Unless I am a part of everything I am nothing.

I can walk about London and see a society that seems an absolutely revolutionary change from the 1950s, that seems completely and utterly different, and then I can pick up on something where you suddenly see that it's not.