Iain Sinclair Quotes

What I write, I write. I'll always do it in some form.

Light is all memory.

The only times I'm not relaxed are when I haven't got a project on the go.

Getting comprehensively lost in a car with a full tank of petrol at someone else's expense, you can't beat it.

An involuntary return to the point of departure is, without doubt, the most disturbing of all journeys.

The faster we walk, the more ground we lose.

One thing I had learnt, the last person you should ask for a solution is the author. If he knew where he was going, he'd stop dead in his tracks.

It's just a freak of fate that I'm paid to write, not paying to print my own books - but I'd be doing it anyway: it's my life.

To try to fix the future is a manifest absurdity.

If people are telling you a story about themselves, they gradually map their own local territories and know themselves by them.

Why not add another yarn? That's all we are in the end, any of us, a couple of dozen unreliable stories.

You can't impose a legacy.

You'd better make it your business to understand the market. The ability to charm or play the game is useful.

If the landscape changes, then I don't know who I am either. The landscape is a refracted autobiography. As it disappears you lose your sense of self.

Atkins knows two kinds of birds: seagulls and the ones that aren't seagulls.

Mossy had trouble breathing. He was not convinced the rewards repaid the effort. He took breath in, but after that let it fend for itself.

...drunk enough on earth's liquors to relish the prospect of the knife.

You can't leave the thing that you are, the house that has become your biography.

The world changes, but I want that change to be necessary or respectful of what has happened before. Everything changes, and that's quite right.

The kind of world I'm endlessly going on about is pretty well doomed, but nevertheless I think there are recesses of it worth celebrating.

The suicide hour of cold coffee and alien voices on the radio.

I am crumbling in sync with old Hackney.

Men of the cloth live in this monologue, it is their due: nobody talks back to a pulpit.