The last thing you know about yourself is your effect.
There's a sense in all my novels that nothing is certain.
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 keep a journal to entrap that collection of selves that forms us, the individual human being.
Sometimes limbo is a tolerable place to be stuck.
I don't think they'll ever make a retro Bond.