Isolationism is over.

I am an artist, I trade in uncertainty and superstition and cant. I invent dark visions of impossible situations that can never be resolved.

Beware of privilege. It stinks of rotten fish heads, many of which were lapping the shore beneath the jetties.

I am an artist and have no right buggering about with verbs and split infinitives, which is what being a writer says to me.

Americans live with the certain knowledge that the source of their greatness has not yet been released.

Man's idea of God, and a God's collusion, is an essential part of the equation to wage war.

I have even written a book about Wine called The Grapes of Ralph.