Writing, for me, is a little like wood carving. You find the lump of tree (the big central theme that gets you started), and you start cutting the shape that you think you want it to be. But you find, if you do it right, that the wood has a grain of its own (characters develop and present new insights, concentrated thinking about the story opens new avenues). If you're sensible, you work with the grain and, if you come across a knot hole, you incorporate that into the design. This is not the same as 'making it up as you go along'; it's a very careful process of control.

Studies have shown that an ant can carry one hundred times its own weight, but there is no known limit to the lifting power of the average tiny eighty-year-old Spanish peasant grandmother.

And never resist a perfect moment.

When they're standing right in front of you, kings are a kind of speech impediment.

The brain works fast when it thinks it’s about to be cut in half.

One day a tortoise will learn how to fly.

Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards because a refusal often offends, I read somewhere.