It's impossible to move, to live, to operate at any level without leaving traces, bits, seemingly meaningless fragments of personal information.

This perpetual toggling between nothing being new, under the sun, and everything having very recently changed, absolutely, is perhaps the central driving tension of my work.

What strikes me about Toronto is that Toronto's great misfortune was to have too much money in the late 70s and early 80s, and consequently, it built in the style of those periods, which is hideous.

It had also been my belief since I started writing fiction that science fiction is never really about the future. When science fiction is old, you can only read it as being pretty much about the moment in which it was written. But it seemed to me that the toolkit that science fiction had given me when I started working had become the toolkit of a kind of literary naturalism that could be applied to an inherently incredible present.

Lost, so small amid that dark, hands grown cold, body image fading down corridors of television sky.

The street has its own use for things.

Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.