I Move My Lips When

The Spy Who Came In From The Cold Was The Work Of A Wayward Imagination Brought To The End Of Its Tether By Political Disgust And Personal Confusion. Fifty Years On, I Don't Associate The Book With Anything That Ever Happened To Me, Save For One Wordless Encounter At London Airport When A Worn-out, Middle-aged Military Kind Of Man In A Stained Raincoat Slammed A Handful Of Mixed Foreign Change On To The Bar And In Gritty Irish Accents Ordered Himself As Much Scotch As It Would Buy. In That Moment, Alec Leamas Was Born. Or So My Memory, Not Always A Reliable Informant, Tells Me.

Sometimes We Have To Do A Thing In Order To Find Out The Reason For It. Sometimes Our Actions Are Questions, Not Answers.

The Things That Are Done In The Name Of The Shareholder Are, To Me, As Terrifying As The Things That Are Done - Dare I Say It - In The Name Of God.

I Made A Series Of Wrong Decisions About Moderately Recent Books, And I've Sold The Rights To Studios For Ridiculous Amounts Of Money And The Films Have Never Been Made. That's The Saddest Thing Of All, Because They're Locked Up And No-one Else Can Make Them.

I Move My Lips When I Read -- I'm Painfully Slow -- So I Like Really Good English.