... a country encapsulates our childhood and those lanes, byres, fields, flowers, insects, suns, moons and stars are forever reoccurring.

shadows of love, inebriations of love, foretastes of love, trickles of love, but never yet the one true love.

Promiscuity is the death of love.

Sometimes one word can recall a whole span of life.

We hide the truer part of ourselves when we love.

I am not kind, I cut people off as with shears and I drop them like nettles.

jealousy is the direct result of self-betrayal.