I would say at the moment the only person who could have played me this past year would have to be Angelina Jolie.

But I saw the pain and sadness in everything, and swirled it round my mouth like a fine wine.

No one ever loved you like him. And no one ever took it away so completely. But it's here. Look around.

Time heals all wounds. And if it doesn't, you name them something other than wounds and agree to let them stay.

I envied women with signature hair-dos, signature perfumes, signature sign-offs. Novelists who tell Vogue Magazine: “I can’t live without my Smythson notebook, Pomegranate Noir cologne by Jo Malone and Frette sheets”. In the grip of madness, materialism begins to look like an admirable belief system.

I'm not crazy or dangerous, just a bit eccentric and lonely.

Every fear, every night terror, every hour I cried for Liev, every fight with Sebastian is registered as a neat white scar.