I'm Often Asked How I Write Books,

It Seemed To Him A Very Edinburgh Thing. Welcoming, But Not Very.

Witches Never Existed, Except In People’s Minds. All There Was In The Olden Days Was Women And Some Men Who Believed In Herbal Cures And In Folklore And In The Wish To Fly. Witches? We’re All Witches In One Way Or Another. Witches Was The Invention Of Mankind, Son. We’re All Witches Beneath The Skin.

It Was The Laughter Of Birthdays, Of Money Found In An Old Pocket.

From This Height The Sleeping City Seems Like A Child's Construction, A Model Which Has Refused To Be Constrained By Imagination. The Volcanic Plug Might Be Black Plasticine, The Castle Balanced Solidly Atop It A Skewed Rendition Of Crenellated Building Bricks. The Orange Street Lamps Are Crumpled Toffee-wrappers Glued To Lollipop Sticks.

His Eyes Beheld Beauty Not In Reality But In The Printed Word. Standing In The Waiting-room, He Realized That In His Life He Had Accepted Secondary Experience -- The Experience Of Reading Someone Else's Thoughts -- Over Real Life.