Can you rework your past, the grit that rubs in you, until it is shiny and smooth as a pearl?

I am a woman on her way to eat cake.

Can you rework your past, the grit that rubs in you, until it is shiny and smooth as a pearl?

Betrayal clearly has its own reward: the small deep human satisfaction of having one up on someone else. It is the psychology of the mistress, and this regime used it as fuel.

At the end of our lives it is our loves we remember most, because they are what shaped us. We have grown to be who we are around them, as around a stake.

Memory, like so much else, is unreliable. Not only for what it hides and what it alters, but also for what it reveals.

I like trains. I like their rhythm, and I like the freedom of being suspended between two places, all anxieties of purpose taken care of: for this moment I know where I am going.