I tend to admire dead people more than the living. All too often, human reality diminishes the glowing reputation.

The only times we are consciously aware of the authorship of a photograph, I would argue, are when we contemplate the photographs we ourselves have taken (or those of friends and family) or when we go deliberately to the photographers monograph or exhibition. The signed image - the appropriated, the owned image - is by far the rarest in this pullulating world of pictures.

We never love anyone. Not really. We only love our idea of another person. It is some conception of our own that we love. We love ourselves, in fact.

We talked filth for a pleasant half hour.

In the broad spectrum of the arts, two worlds rarely overlap - the literary world and the world of rock music.

I have teken refuge in the doctrine that advises one not to seek tranquility in certainty but in permanently suspended judgement.

There is a disconnect between the film Bond and the literary Bond which is their contemporaneity. I don't suffer from that.