Her zaman başka bir savaş çıkar, Robert. Kökleri hiçbir zaman tamamen kazınmaz. Savaşları ne alevlendirir? Güç arzusu, insan doğasının belkemiği. Şiddet tehdidi, şiddet korkusu ya da şiddetin kendisi bu dehşet verici arzunun aracıdır. Güç arzusunu...

Holly steps back. Being warned about a ghost and seeing him are not the same. ‘What did they do to you?’Some of the Anchorites laugh. Hugo looks back at his long-ago lover. ‘They’-he looks about...

Loyalty looks simple… but it ain’t.

Spent the fortnight gone in the music room reworking my year’s fragments into a ‘sextet for overlapping soloists’: piano, clarinet, ‘cello, flute, oboe, and violin, each in its own language of key, scale, and color....

Sometimes John had recorded new compositions, or lines from his new poems. Sometimes he’d just record a busy night in The Green Man. Sometimes sheep, seals, skylarks, the wind turbine. If Liam were home there...

Any society’s upper-crust is riddled with immorality, how else d’you think they keep their power? Reputation is king of the public sphere, not private. It is dethroned by public acts.

Empires die, like all of us dancers in the strobe-lit dark. See how the light needs shadows.

The novelist is more like a pregnant woman who delivers her own child unaided. A messy procedure, with lots of groaning.

The truth is “#9dream” is a descendant of “Norwegian Wood”. Both are ghost stories. “She” in “Norwegian Wood” curses you with loneliness. The “Two spirits dancing so strange” in “#9dream” bless you with harmony. But...

Travel far enough, you meet yourself.

I wonder who had the first computer dream, where, and when? I wonder if computers ever dream of humans.

Nonfiction that smells like fiction is neither.

Sometimes I think that creativity is a matter of seeing, or stumbling over, unobvious similarities between things—like composing a fresh metaphor, but on a more complex scale. One night in Hiroshima it occurred to me...

What man ain’t the honestest cove in his own eyes?” Grote’s round face is a bronze moon in the dark. “‘Tain’t good intentions what paves the road to hell: it’s self-justifyin’s.

A single night is stuffed with minutes, but they leak out, one by one.

One’s ribs shouldn’t be prison bars.