We all dream a lot - some are lucky, some are not. But if you think it, want it, dream it, then it's real. You are what you feel.

September is my favourite month, particularly in Cornwall. I felt, even as a child, that if you get a wonderful day in September, you think: This could be one of the last, the summer is nearly over. If you get a wonderful day in May, you think: So what, theres more coming.

Who needs a dream? Who needs ambition? Who'd be the fool in my position? Once I had dreams, now they're obsessions. Hopes became needs, lovers possessions. Then they move in, oh so discretely. Slowly at first, smiling too sweetly. I opened doors, they walked right through them. Called me their friend, I hardly knew them... Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. Times have been good, fast, entertaining. But what's the point if I'm concealing not only love, all other feeling.

See my eyes - are they safe? Are they even sane?

I have a fear of doing stuff thats not very good and being remembered for that.

Chess is the only game greater than its players.

Nothing is so good it lasts eternally. Perfect situations must go wrong. But this has never yet prevented me wanting far too much for far too long.