One gets so used to one's own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.

Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs? I do hope so.

Everybody has a story. It's like families. You might not know who they are, might have lost them, but they exist all the same. You might drift apart or you might turn your back on them, but you can't say you haven't got them. Same goes for stories.

She was a do-gooder, which means that all the ill she did, she did without realizing it.

Emmeline didn't call me anything. She didn't need, for I was always there. You only need names for the absent.

One gets so used to one's own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.

Boys do not leave their boyhood behind when they leave off their school uniform.