And what amazes me as I hit the motorway is not the fact that everyone loses someone, but that everyone loves someone. It seems like such a massive waste of energy -- and we all do it, all the people beetling along between the white lines, merging, converging, overtaking. We each love someone, even though they will die. And we keep loving them, even when they are not there to love any more. And there is no logic or use to any of this, that I can see.
Anne EnrightI write anywhere - when I have an idea itโs hard not to write. I used to be kind of precious about where I wrote. Everything had to be quiet and I couldnโt be disturbed, it really filled my day.
Anne EnrightIโm really lucky with the people around me. They know me, so they donโt confuse the issues really. They know what a book is and they know who I am and they know the difference between the two.
Anne EnrightAnd, in fact, this is the tale that I would love to write: history is such a romantic place, with its jarveys and urchins and side-buttoned boots. If it would just stay still, I think, and settle down. If it would just stop sliding around in my head.
Anne Enright