Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.

“Life is hell, but at least there are prizes. Or so one thought.”

“...When our thoughts revolve we are so often deceived into supposing that their…”

“The idea was to have a basin inverted on his head and his hair cut to the shape…”

“People dread silence because it is transparent; like clear water, which reveals…”