I Started Writing Books For Children Because

One Person Looks Around And Sees A Universe Created By A God Who Watches Over Its Long Unfurling, Marking The Fall Of Sparrows And Listening To The Prayers Of His Finest Creation. Another Person Believes That Life, In All Its Baroque Complexity, Is A Chemical Aberration That Will Briefly Decorate The Surface Of A Ball Of Rock Spinning Somewhere Among A Billion Galaxies. And The Two Of Them Could Talk For Hours And Find No Great Difference Between One Another, For Neither Set Of Beliefs Make Us Kinder Or Wiser.

But I Don't Feel Sad About It. Because Mother Is Dead. And Because Mr. Shears Isn't Around Anymore. So I Would Be Feeling Sad About Something That Isn't Real And Doesn't Exist. And That Would Be Stupid.

He Really Did Not Care Whether He Survived Or Not, So Long As It Rendered Him Unconscious And Absolved Him Of Responsibility.

I've Come To Realize That Most Good Ideas Are Precisely The Ones You Can't Describe.

You Make A Film You Feel Is As Real As Possible And Hope People React As Though It Were Real.