“I carry an invisible box of jerseys with me that say "Team Ian" on the front. My goal is to convince everyone I meet to become my fan and prove it by putting on my "Team Ian" jersey. If they do, then for at least ten minutes I feel like I've won their approval and love. If I have a run of people who don't put it on, I can fall into a rut I have visited so often I should have it decorated and furnished. For me, life is like one long job interview in which I'm trying to impress everyone I meet enough to hire me. The routine is exhausting, mostly for everyone else.I confessed this nutty practice to my spiritual director. He smiled, put his arm around my shoulder, and said, "I never trust a man without a limp.”

“Miss Annie, is it wrong for me to believe it was Jesus who asked my forgiveness?" I asked her.She frowned and shook her head, "Lord, what do they teach you at that school?" she said. Then she faced me head-on. "Did God humble himself by becoming a man?" she asked, every word spoken more loudly than the one before."Yes, ma'am," I said. I'd never used the word ma'am before, but it seemed an excellent time to start."Did he humble himself by dying on the cross to show us how much he loved us? she asked, waving her spatula at me. My eyes widened and I nodded, yes.Miss Annie's body relaxed, and she put her hand on her hip. "So why wouldn't Jesus humble himself and tell a boy he was sorry for letting him down if he knew it would heal his heart?" she asked."But if Jesus is perfect--"Miss Annie ambled the five or six feet that separated us and took my hand. "Son," she said, rubbing my knuckles with her thumb, "love always stoops.”

“I'm beginning to see that there's a difference between art that trusts beauty's simple power to point people to God and Christian art that's consciously propagandistic. My Uncle Kenny, with whom I spent most of my time in Italy, said something profound--that you can make art about the Light, or you can make art that shows what the Light reveals about the world.”

“I put my hands on my hips. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”“Come on, Vi,” he says, keeping his voice low. “You just need to add your boots and you’re like the forest version of Lara Croft.”“Excuse me? Lara who?”“I mean, it’s really sexy and everything.” He pulls me closer and slips his arms around my waist. “But it’s not exactly the way I’d want you to meet my mom.”

“But I am greedy for life. I do too much of everything all the time. Suddenly one day my heart will fail. The Iron Crab will get me as it got my father. But I am not afraid of The Crab. At least I shall have died from an honourable disease. Perhaps they will put on my tombstone. 'This Man Died from Living Too Much'.”

“Ian FlemingThe CBC Interview, 1953He doesn’t use Anglo-Saxon four-letter words, “I don’t like seeing them on the page.”When asked why his novels are so popular in light of the dirtiness of the trade (of espionage), Fleming said, “The books have pace and plenty of action. And espionage is not regarded by the majority of the public as a dirty trade. They regard it as a rather sort of ah, ah very romantic affair… Spying has always been regarded as (a) very romantic one-man job, so-to-speak. A one man against a whole police force or an army.”Regarding heroes of his time, Fleming said, “I think that although they may have feet of clay, ah, we probably all have, and all human beings have, there’s no point in dwelling entirely on the feet. There are many other parts of the animal to be examined. And I think people like to read about heroes.”BBC Interview on Desert Island DiscsQuestion: Had the character of James Bond been growing in your mind for a long time?Ian Fleming’s response: “No, I can’t say I had, really. He sort of, ah, developed when I was just on the edge of getting married, after having been a bachelor for so long, and I really wanted to take my mind off the agony. And so I decided to sit down and write a book.”Question: How much long do you think you can keep Bond going?Ian Fleming’s response: “Well, I don’t know. It depends on how much I, how much more I can go on following his adventures.”Question: You don’t feel he’s keeping you from more serious writing?Ian Fleming’s response: “No. I’m not in the Shakespeare stakes. I’ve got no ambitions.”

“I was drunk with belonging.”