Doubt, it seems to me, is the central condition of a human being in the twentieth century.

Dissensions between Muslim nations run at least as deep, if not deeper, than those nations' resentment of the West.

...in words and pickles, I have immortalized my memories, although distortions are inevitable in both methods. We must live, I'm afraid, with the shadows of imperfections.

What's the use of stories that aren't even true?

How to forgive the world for its beauty, which merely disguises its ugliness; for its gentleness, which merely cloaks its cruelty; for its illusion of continuity, seamlessly, as the night follows the day, so to speak- whereas in reality life is a series of brutal raptures, falling upon your defenseless hands, like the blows of a woodman's axe?

My children are English, and both of their mothers were English.

When I am writing novels I don't read a lot of novels so I try to catch up in-between.