I grew up in a family that believed love was at work in the world. I guess that's a religious idea, though of course it needn't be.

Whether you're in the water staring up at a looming set or standing in front of 15000 people at a demo, you have to manufacture some courage and a sense of optimism in order to get through the moment, the day, the rest of your life.

The desert is a spiritual place, we vaguely understand, and the sea the mere playground of our hedonism.

It's dark already and I'm out here again, talking, telling the story to the quiet night.

The end of the world begins in the sea we love.

The beachcomber goes looking for trouble, everything he finds is a sign of trouble. The writer is the same; without trouble he has nothing to work with, so he picks over the tide line, over the bits and pieces of people's lives with grim fascination.

I never start with what lots of people think of as a subject or a theme. They're school words, not art words. So, writing essays busts my arse because the art is in addressing the subject. I find it really difficult and monstrously time-consuming. In an essay I need to employ my imagination but it's indentured in a way it's not when I'm free to make everything up.