Only Bad Writers Think That Their Work

There Are Men Who Would Do Anything, Asleep, And I'm Not Sure What Stops Them When They Wake. I Do Not Know How They Draw The Line.

I'm Quite Interested In The Absolute Roots Of Narrative, Why We Tell Stories At All: Where The Monsters Come From.

If You Grow Up In Ireland And Read Books Then You Really Are Obliged To Attempt Your Own Some Time. It Is Not Exactly A Choice. I Still Don't Know If I Am A Writer. Believe Me, There Are Days When I Have My Doubts.

Here We Go Again. Always A Few Drinks, But Sometimes Even Sober, We Play The Unhappiness Game; Endlessly Round And Round. Ding Dong. Tighter And Tighter. On And On. Push Me Pull You. Come Here And I'll Tell You How Much I Hate You. Hang On A Minute While I Leave You. All The While We Know We Are Missing The Point, Whatever The Point Used To Be.

You Write A Book And You Finish The Book. That's Your Job Done, Right? You Win The Booker And You Have A Whole New Job. You Have To Be The Thing, Right? So Instead Of Writing The Story, You Somehow Are The Story. And That I Found That Sort Of Terrible.