Don’t You Wonder Sometimes, What Might Have

There's A Practical Problem About Time And Energy, And A More Subtle Problem Of What It Does To A Writer's Head, To Continually Analyze Why They Write, Where It All Comes From, Where It's Going To.

I Realised, Of Course, That Other People Used These Roads; But That Night, It Seemed To Me These Dark Byways Of The Country Existed Just For The Likes Of Us, While The Big Glittering Motorways With Their Huge Signs And Super Cafes Were For Everyone Else.

There's Still A Part Of Me That Thinks I Have To Write A Really Good Novel. I'm Not Trying To Say I'm Not Happy With The Novels I've Written In The Past. But It Always Feels To Me Like There's Another One That I Have To Write That Will Really Say What I Want To Say, And Really Paint This World That I Can See Hazily In My Head.

What Interests Me Is The Surprising Enormous Extent To Which Most People Accept The Fate That's Been Given To Them, And Find Some Dignity.

When A Man Induces His Wife To Turn Suspicious Thoughts Against Her Own Father, Then That Is Surely Cause Enough For Resentment.