It was impossible to believe that someone did not want to be saved from their incoherence.

She was not a poet. She was a poem.

Life is only worth living because we hope it will get better and we'll all get home safely. But you tried and you did not get home safely. You did not get home at all.

When happiness is happening it feels as if nothing else happened before it, it is a sensation that happens only in the present tense.

It was impossible to believe that someone did not want to be saved from their incoherence.

I realised that the question I had asked myself while writing this book [Swimming Home] was (as surgeons say) very close to the bone: 'What do we do with knowledge that we cannot bear to live with? What do we do with the things we do not want to know?'

To become a WRITER I had to learn to INTERRUPT, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then LOUDER, and then to just speak in my own voice which is NOT LOUD AT ALL.