To be paid, to be employed to be an enthusiast and be excited about existence is fantastic.

They gave 12 monkeys a typewriter for a week, and after a week, they only used it as a bathroom.

My wife could turn to me and she may say, 'Why do you love me?' And I can with all honesty look her in the eye and say, 'Because our pheromones matched our olfactory receptors.'

I have a very vibrant imposter syndrome that goes on throughout most of my life, but nothing more than when someone has to put a hat on me or some kind of sash and go, 'We're giving you this certificate.'

Once you start looking at the world rationally, it becomes much more exciting.

We as human beings like to be cocksure and certain.

I am not man or beast; I am bibliosexual, and a seedy bibliosexual who haunts the streets, laden with carrier bags held by blistered fingers, stooping under the weight of the rucksack that has brought on sciatica and a Dickensian demeanour.