Riding My Motorcycle Around L.a. Is Like

It Was The Sheer Variety Of The Pain That Stopped Me From Crying Out. It Came From So Many Places, Spoke So Many Languages, Wore So Many Dazzling Varieties Of Ethnic Costume, That For A Full Fifteen Seconds I Could Only Hang My Jaw In Amazement.

It's A Basic Truth Of The Human Condition That Everybody Lies. The Only Variable Is About What.

To Be A Head Boy, You Have To Be Very Clever, You Have To Be A Scholar, And I Was Never A Scholar In Any Shape Or Form.

Success On A Cosmic Level Completely Eludes Me. I'm Deeply Suspicious Of Things Being Too Good. It's Part Of My Superstition, I Think, To Generate Pain In Order To Give The Illusion Of Gain. I'm Not Saying I Reject Success, But Honestly, I Don't Quite Know How To Deal With It. It's An Old Feeling: As Soon As You Have The Thing You've Been Going After All Your Life, That Reasonable Degree Of Security, You Start Kicking Against It, Doubting It.

People Assume That I'm Very Highly Trained, That I Studied And Did Years And Years Of Shakespeare. I Have No Training Whatsoever And I've Only Done One Shakespeare Play At University. If People Want To Believe That, I'm Happy To Go Along With It.