I felt my whole life was a facsimile of a life.

I feel like I sort of missed the eighties. At the time, we didn’t know we were having fun, which is probably the way it always is.

Whether I’m critically well received, whether or not I sell books – of course it becomes progressively harder to get them published – nevertheless, it’s what I do, every day.

Long after the bomb falls and you and your good deeds are gone, cockroaches will still be here, prowling the streets like armored cars.

I think the sixties must have been quite a lot of fun.

On bad days, I think I’d like to be a plastic surgeon who goes to Third World countries and operates on children in villages with airlifts, and then I think, ‘Yeah, right, I’m going to...

Every book I write, the media just keeps punching me in the face.

With publicity comes humiliation.