Writing became an obsessive compulsive habit but I had almost no money so I thought about being an urban firefighter and having lots of free time in which to write or becoming an English teacher and thinking about books and writers on a daily basis. That swayed me.

I am doomed to an eternity of compulsive work. No set goal achieved satisfies. Success only breeds a new goal. The golden apple devoured has seeds. It is endless.

It is only when we no longer compulsively need someone that we can have a real relationship with them.

My parents were keen for me to have the education they themselves never had. They weren't able to guide me towards particular books but they encouraged me to read which I did randomly and compulsively.

I think that the romantic impulse is in all of us and that sometimes we live it for a short time but it's not part of a sensible way of living. It's a heroic path and it generally ends dangerously. I treasure it in the sense that I believe it's a path of great courage. It can also be the path of the foolhardy and the compulsive.

You want to be a bit compulsive in your art or craft or whatever you do.