The measure of a work of art is how much art it has in it, not how much ‘relevance’. Relevant to whom? Relevant to what? Nothing is more ephemeral than a hot topic.

Was he, after all, really a bad man doing a brilliant impersonation of an idiot? It was hard to tell. The connections between stupidity and malice were so tangled and so dense.

In England, art was much less likely to be mentioned in polite society than sexual perversions or methods of torture.

That was the wonderful thing about historical novels, one met so many famous people. It was like reading a very old copy of Hello! magazine.

Personally I think that competition should be encouraged in war and sport and business, but that it makes no sense in the arts. If an artist is good, nobody else can do what he or...

No pain is too small if it hurts, but any pain is too big if it’s cherished.

There seemed to be no one in a position of power, from the Vatican to Wall Street, from Parliament to Scotland Yard to Fleet Street, who could think of anything better to do than abuse...

Everything was usual. That was depression: being stuck, clinging to an out-of-date version of oneself.

People never remember happiness with the care that they lavish on preserving every detail of their suffering.

An editor sleeping with his writer was not as bad as a psychoanalyst sleeping with his patient, or even a professor sleeping with an undergraduate, let alone a president with an intern.

His conscience, like a sunburnt scorpion, was stinging itself to death.

They had drifted apart, as people do when they promise to stay in touch; the ones who are going to stay in touch don’t need to promise.

If anything should take place behind closed doors, it was cruelty and betrayal.

If an artist is good, nobody else can do what he or she does and therefore all comparisons are incoherent. Only the mediocre, pushing forward a commonplace view of life in a commonplace language, can...

An image flashed across her mind of two rams flinging their heads against each other on a rocky mountainside. What did the girl rams do? Faint with pleasure? Clap their cloven hooves? Lean against some...