The speed of the human mind is remarkable. So is its inability to face the obvious.

You can tell nothing from a man's appearance, nothing except the depths of your own prejudice.

The speed of the human mind is remarkable. So is its inability to face the obvious.

I was a boarding school product from the age of eight, and I hated it. Though I do have a theory that boarding school is good training for writers because its so desperately lacking in privacy: you make space for yourself by having an interior life.

When you look around now we have the war on terror. Yes, okay, the World Trade Center was sort of like a single act of war, but nothing else has been. We've turned it into war. We're talking about a bunch of semi-lunatic, fanatic criminals. That's the way they should be treated.

Sometimes I think that novelists suffer from P.C.S.: Perpetual Childhood Syndrome.

Grief and guilt. A powerful combination. Guilt like a liquid, a thin liquor, seeping everywhere, informing everything, saturating the whole-corrosive, like seawater, scented with the rich stench of ordure and corruption, and carrying with it hard, abrasive shards of grief.