“The writer walks out of his workroom in a daze. He wants a drink. He needs it.”

Having power is not nearly as important as what you choose to do with it.

You chose books, I chose looks . Now see the difference?

When you’re old enough to write a book for children, by then you’ll have become a grown up and have lost all your jokeyness. Unless you’re an undeveloped adult and still have an enormous amount of childishness in you.

Candy is dandy but liqueur is quicker.

Give us strength, oh Lord, to let our children starve.

Do you know what breakfast cereal is made of? It’s made of all those little curly wooden shavings you find in pencil sharpeners!

Two rights don’t equal a left.

The reason I collect good ideas is because plots themselves are very difficult indeed to come by.

Fairy tales have always got to have something a bit scary for children – as long as you make them laugh as well.

We all have our moments of brilliance and glory.

Two hours of writing fiction leaves this writer completely drained. For those two hours he has been in a different place with totally different people.

Don’t gobblefunk around with words.

The prime function of the children’s book writer is to write a book that is so absorbing, exciting, funny, fast and beautiful that the child will fall in love with it.

Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it’s unbelievable.

Writing is mainly perspiration, not inspiration.

Unless you have been to boarding-school when you are very young, it is absolutely impossible to appreciate the delights of living at home.

Some truths taste better with bourbon.

Major third complications can be overcome by lots of alcohol.

I’m sure drugs and alcohol perhaps would inspire new thoughts, but it’s certainly not something that I use as a tool or a mechanism to create.

It’s been said that alcoholics are egomaniacs with low self -esteem. It’s the prefect description. Being larger than life and yet your pride is crushed with self- loathing.

You got to realise that when I was 20 years old, I had a house, a Mercedes, a Corvette and a million dollars in the bank before I could buy alcohol legally.

I used to get drunk every night until I puked. Finally I admitted, “I am a bulemic”.

I once received a cape that was made from the little purple bags that Crown Royal Whisky comes in.

After moral poisoning, one requires physical remedies and a bottle of champagne.