Yet, Like The Sea And The Gallows,

There Is A Word In Old English Which Belongs Wholly To That Civilization - "dustsceawung," Meaning Contemplation Of Dust. It Is A True Image Of The Anglo-saxon Mind, Or At Least An Echo Of That Consciousness Which Considered Transcience And Loss To Be Part Of The Human Estate; It Was A World In Which Life Was Uncertain And The Principal Diety Was Fate Or Destiny Or "wyrd."

In London, I've Always Lived Within 10 Miles Of Where I Was Born. You See, There Is Something Called A Spirit Of Place, And My Place Happens To Be London, At Least Once A Fortnight.

When I Was A Child I Wanted To Be Pope. My Greatest Disappointment Is Missing Out On That. I Also Wanted To Be A Tap Dancer But I Never Fulfilled That Ambition Either.

One Can Forgive Shakespeare Anything, Except One's Own Bad Lines.

None Of My Books Has Been Ever In My Head; After They're Finished, They Go. It's Like Being A Sort Of Medium; You Just Grab It When It's There Then Just Release It When It's Time To Go. There's A Lot Of Instinct, Not Planning.