Desperate love is always the toughest way to do it.

You make some big grandoise decision about what you need to do, or who you need to be, and then circumstances arise that immediately reveal to you how little you understood about yourself.

That's what we're all sort of trying to do in our lives - to make the simplest things work out the best.

This was my voice, but perfectly wise, calm and compassionate. This was what my voice would sound like if I’d only ever experienced love and certainty in my life. How can I describe the warmth of affection in that voice, as it gave me the answer that would forever seal my faith in the divine?

The idea that a prisoner would confess to a complete stranger that he had committed a crime - I just didn't buy that.

I feel like there are women who are genuinely born to be mothers, and women who are born to be aunties, and women who really probably not should be allowed near children. The tragedy that happens is when any one of those women ends up in the wrong category.

This is a good sign, having a broken heart. It means we have tried for something.