All my life, I have been a celebrant of Halloween. For me, it is the most important day of the year, the turning point in the old pagan calendar.
This is a truth that should be repeated like a mantra: to have any chance of a ful - filling life, we require not only clean air and a steady climate, but also an abundance of meadows and woodlands, rivers and oceans, teeming with life and the mass existence of other living creatures.
A mad person isn't someone who sees what isn't there; he's someone who sees what is there but that others can't see. I really believe that.
A man was defined, in my father's circles, by what he could bear, the pain he could shrug off, the warmth or comfort he could deny himself.
Andoya is in a different world, set at the northern edge of Europe in what seems to be a time and weather of its own.
Anyone who has ever stopped to watch a hawk in flight will know that this is one of the natural world's most elegant phenomena.
As a child, I was consumed with a near-obsessive curiosity about what the world felt like for other creatures.
As attractive as it is, the idea that nature can exist beyond our dangerous 'instinct for happiness' is never the whole story.
Every time I write a book, I think how I could be doing it better to please people - a nicer book with nicer characters - but I just can't.
For 10 years, I gave away my possessions every year and moved on to a new place.
Growing up, I lived in a house without art: no picture books on the shelves, no visits to museums, no posters on the bedroom wall.
I always wanted to be a painter. I loved painting. I went on three different art courses but had no talent whatsoever.
I don't like the term 'mental illness.' I'd rather just say 'mad.' Just like I always say 'loony bin,' not 'mental hospital.'
I moved south when I was 11 years old, moved to England. I've lived in all kinds of places, all parts of England.
I realised I'd spent a lot of time in my poetry trying to find a way of talking about that whereof we cannot speak.
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