There is no place I know that compares to pure imagination.

I don't care if a reader hates one of my stories, just as long as he finishes the book.

You mean you live down here?' Matilda asked. 'I do', Miss Honey replied, but she said no more. Matilda had never once stopped to think about where Miss Honey might be living. She had always regarded her purely as a teacher, a person who turned up out of nowhere and taught at school and then went away again.

Perhaps it's chasing me. But I don't think it will ever catch me because I am moving fast.

A writer of fiction lives in fear. Each new day demands new ideas and he can never be sure whether he is going to come up with them or not.

Sex is like nose picking. It's fine as long as you practice it yourself, but it's disgusting watching someone else doing it.

Give us strength, oh Lord, to let our children starve.