All The Secrets Of The World Are

I’m Not A Cuckoo, Either. I’m A Fool Is What.

But It's Far Too Late For Us; Ring, Hair, Letters, Photographs - All Traces Of Our Love Will Be Scattered Then, Like An Anagram.

There Is Only Laughing Across The Land As The Car Moves You Along, On Your Way Someplace With Love In The Car.

Writing Is A Dying Form. One Reads Of This Every Day.

Like Most Writers, I Look Back On All Of My Finished Works With Utter Regret, And The Trouble With Writing A Series Of Novels Is That You Have To Go Back And Read Them, And Make Sure That You Haven't Forgotten Anything You've Created, And Then When You Do That, You're Faced With Your Own Mistakes On Every Trick, From The Wrong Word In Places To Entirely The Wrong Incident.