English fiction was something I loved growing up, and it changed my life - it changed the trajectory of my life.

Rarely does one see a squirrel tremble.

I do my best work under pressure, so I’ll nick an artery, and my husband isn’t allowed to stanch the bleeding till I’ve banged out a chapter.

Make sure the lubricant is unscented. Don't join fashionable 'schools of thought.' Read everything.

You are never stronger...than when you land on the other side of despair.

This because it is never really very cold in England. It is drizzly, and the wind will blow; hail happens, and there is a breed of Tuesday in January in which time creeps and no light comes and the air is full of water and nobody really loves anybody, but still a decent jumper and a waxen jacket lined with wool is sufficient for every weather England's got to give.

The idea that motherhood is inherently somehow a threat to creativity is just absurd.