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Father was an atheist; he had even joined the Skeleton Army - a club of men who went about in masks or black faces, with ribald placards and a brass band, to make war upon the Salvation Army.
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I'm lost, but I'm hopeful.
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I never met a hopeful Christian who didn't read their Bible.
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I write a lot more when I'm happy, because you're hopeful, you're motivated.
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To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another--that is surely the basic instinct. Baser even than hate, the thing with teeth, which can be stilled with a tone of voice or stunned by beauty. If the whole world of the living has to turn on the single point of remaining alive, that pointed endurance is the poetry of hope. The thing with feathers.
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One bright and thankful look at the cross is worth a thousand morbid, self-condemning reflections.
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Science fiction is a field of writing where, month after month, every printed word implies to hundreds of thousands of people: 'There is change. Look, today's fantastic story is tomorrow's fact.
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I don't look at myself as suffering.
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Louis de Bernires is in the direct line that runs through Dickens and Evelyn Waugh. . .he has only to look into his world, one senses, for it to rush into reality, colours and touch and taste.
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Look at the blogosphere - the biggest lavatory wall in the universe, a palimpsest of graffiti and execration.
