How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.

And gradually his memory slipped a little, as memories do, even those with so much love attached to them; as if there is an unconscious healing process within the mind which mends up in spite of our desperate determination never to forget.

Once I've got the first draft down on paper then I do five or six more drafts, the last two of which will be polishing drafts. The ones in between will flesh out the characters and maybe I'll check my research.

We're working-class people, which means we don't get rich or have maids. Be content with what you are and what you have.

How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things.

Old age is an ordeal, of flesh and mind. Of winding down, of slowing down, of dying cells. It's accepting the loss of physical attractiveness and replacing it with the power and wisdom that can only come with old age.

There are no ambitions noble enough to justify breaking someone's heart.