He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

We did everything adults would do. What went wrong?

I believe man suffers from an appalling ignorance of his own nature. I produce my own view in the belief that it may be something like the truth.

Maybe there is a beast… maybe it's only us.

An orotundity, which I define as Nobelitis a pomposity in which one is treated as representative of more than oneself by someone conscious of representing more than himself.

I do like people to read the books twice, because I write my novels about ideas which concern me deeply and I think are important, and therefore I want people to take them seriously. And to read it twice of course is taking it seriously.

Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against this as a method, but it is not what English writers do.