It's no surprise to me that intellectuals commit suicide, go mad or die from drink. We feel things more than other people. We know the world is rotten and that chins are ruined by spots.

Every time I start a new piece of work, I spend a long while under the duvet thinking I can't do it.

It's no surprise to me that intellectuals commit suicide, go mad or die from drink. We feel things more than other people. We know the world is rotten and that chins are ruined by spots.

I'm spectacularly disorganised. I wrote my latest book in seven different notebooks scattered throughout my house.

Most social problems could be helped or prevented if people had more money and practical advice.

I've always loved books. I'm passionate about them. I think books are sexy. They are smooth and solid and contain delightful surprises. They smell good. They fit into a handbag and can be carried around and opened at will. They don't change. They are what they are and nothing else. One day I want to own a lot of books and have them nbear to me in my house, so that I can stroll to my bookshelves and choose what I fancy. I want a harem. I shall keep my favourites by my bed.

Barry Kent's father looks like a big ape and has got more hair on the back of his hands than my father has got on his entire head.