An uncle of mine emigrated to Canada and couldn't take his guitar with him. When I found it in the attic, I'd found a friend for life.

I was brought up as a Catholic and went to church every week and took the sacraments. It never really touched the core of my being.

I went off to fight some battle that I'd invented inside me.

I think I'm a focus for international attention.

I never saw no miracle of science that did not go from a blessing to a curse.

If you make your living writing, and you can't write anything, it's over. It's very frightening.

The logical process will often be the safe one. I tend, when I'm given that choice, to go the way that's not safe.