What was your life anyway but the tiny black spot of what you've done against the infinite white of possibility?

Every man has a day in his life when nobody can defeat him.

Every sane person has to find every day some manner of accommodating the impossible, some way of covering up for the failures of the rational world. This might actually be a reasonable definition of sanity.

Elizabeth Searle writes with intelligence, passion and wit. She's one of the best young writers around.

Writing is such a solitary thing, so its nice, when Im discouraged, to see people still have such faith in fiction.

What was your life anyway but the tiny black spot of what you've done against the infinite white of possibility?

Characters are often revealed by the ways they misapprehend others.