Honesty, For Me, Is Usually

And No Book, And Possibly No Painting, When It Is Finished, Is Ever Exactly Like The First Dream Of It.

One Situation – Maybe One Alone – Could Drive Me To Murder: Family Life, Togetherness.

When I Am Thickening My Plots, I Like To Think 'what If ... What If ... ' Thus My Imagination Can Move From The Likely, Which Everyone Can Think Of, To The Unlikely-but-possible, My Preferred Plot.

That Wasn't A Bad Price For A First Book. My Agent Upped It As Much As Possible. I Was 27 And Had Nothing Behind Me. I Was Working Like A Fool To Earn A Living And Pay For My Apartment

He Liked The Fact That Venice Had No Cars. It Made The City Human. The Streets Were Like Veins, He Thought, And The People Were The Blood, Circulating Everywhere.