We Do Not Always Like The People

We Have Lost The Art Of Public Tenderness, These Small Gestures Of Wiping And Washing; We Have Forgotten How Abjectly The Body Welcomes A Formal Touch.

Remember, If You Sit At Your Desk For 15 Or 20 Years, Every Day, Not Counting Weekends, It Changes You. It Just Does. It May Not Improve Your Temper, But It Fixes Something Else. It Makes You More Free.

When I'm Working, I'm Not So Much Disciplined As Obsessive. I Have This Feeling That I Need To Clear Everything Away And Get This Down.

If You Try To Control It Too Much, The Book Is Dead. You Have To Let It Fall Apart Quite Early On And Let It Start Doing Its Own Thing. And That Takes Nerve, Not To Panic That The Book You Were Going To Write Is Not The Book You Will Have At The End Of The Day.

And What Amazes Me As I Hit The Motorway Is Not The Fact That Everyone Loses Someone, But That Everyone Loves Someone. It Seems Like Such A Massive Waste Of Energy -- And We All Do It, All The People Beetling Along Between The White Lines, Merging, Converging, Overtaking. We Each Love Someone, Even Though They Will Die. And We Keep Loving Them, Even When They Are Not There To Love Any More. And There Is No Logic Or Use To Any Of This, That I Can See.