Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories - and telling other people a somewhat different version of our stories.

He never wanted to be away from her. She had the spark of life.

What she wants to do if she can get the time to do it, is not so much to live in the past as to open it up and get one good look at it".

Pots can show malice, the patterns of linoleum can leer up at you, treachery is the other side of dailiness.

And now such a warm commotion, such busy love.

Sometimes I get the start of a story from a memory, an anecdote, but that gets lost and is usually unrecognizable in the final story.

Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories - and telling other people a somewhat different version of our stories.