I write about families. That is who we are.

You decide for yourself when it will hurt.

One of my many horrors is to become the man with the frayed jacket and unfastened flies standing at the Co-op counter with egg on his shirt and more too because the mirror in the hall has given up the ghost. A shipwrecked man without an anchor in the world except in his own liquid thoughts where time has lost its sequence.

If I just concentrate I can walk into memory's store and find the right shelf with the right film and disappear into it.

I worked in a bookstore in Oslo, importing the English-language books.

...when it came to dying, I was scared. Not of being dead, that I could not comprehend, to be nothing was impossible to grasp and therefore really nothing to be scared of, but the dying itself I could comprehend, the very instant when you know that now comes what you have always feared, and you suddenly realise that every chance of being the person you really wanted to be, is gone for ever, and the one you were, is the one those around you will remember.

I rely heavily on rhythm when I write. You should tap your foot when you read it, all the way through.