Humankind can tolerate only so much rejection.

Do we change every time we have a new encounter? Are we endlessly mutable? I think these are fascinating questions: it's a rich vein to tap, and I don't think I have exhausted it fully yet.

My novels are often about people who are in love or attracted to each other.

Is that a good definition of marking the ageing watershed? That moment when you realize - quite rationally, quite unemotionally - that the world in the not-so-distant future will not contain you: that the trees you planted will continue growing but you will not be there to see them.

Dignity was the first quality to be abandoned when the heart took over the running of human affairs.

We talked filth for a pleasant half hour.

I let people off the hook too easily.