Sometimes The Silences, The Gaps, Tell Us

I Can Remember Picking Up Weighty Tomes On The History Of Science And The History Of Philosophy And Reading Those When I Was Small.

If I Did Only One Thing At A Time I'd Think I Was Wasting My Time. If, For Example, I Only Wrote Novels I Would Feel Like A Charlatan And A Fraud.

The World Is A Sea In Which We All Must Surely Drown.

There Is A Word In Old English Which Belongs Wholly To That Civilization - "dustsceawung," Meaning Contemplation Of Dust. It Is A True Image Of The Anglo-saxon Mind, Or At Least An Echo Of That Consciousness Which Considered Transcience And Loss To Be Part Of The Human Estate; It Was A World In Which Life Was Uncertain And The Principal Diety Was Fate Or Destiny Or "wyrd."

My Great Fear Has Always Been Complete And Utter Failure. Hence, You See, All The Dispossessed People In My Fiction, And Why I Try To Earn As Much Money As I Can. It's A Defense. I Don't Enjoy It Or Do Anything With It.