I'm A Hopeless 19th-century Romantic.

I Live In Dublin, God Knows Why. There Are Greatly More Congenial Places I Could Have Settled In - Italy, France, Manhattan - But I Like The Climate Here, And Irish Light Seems To Be Essential For Me And For My Writing.

I'm Full Of Self-doubt. I Doubt Everything I Do. Everything I Do Is A Failure.

I Dont Know If There Is A Personal Identity. We All Imagine That We Are Absolute Individuals. But When We Begin To Look For Where This Individuality Resides, Its Very Difficult To Find.

All I Wanted Was To Be Left Alone. They Abhor A Vacuum, Other People. You Find A Quiet Corner Where You Can Hunker Down In Peace, And The Next Minute There They Are, Crowding Around You In Their Party Hats, Tooting Their Paper Whistles In Your Face And Insisting You Get Up And Join In The Knees-up.

We Think We're Living In The Present, But We're Really Living In The Past.