When people aren't expecting to be seen, they look their truest.

There has always been, for me, this other world, this second world to fall back on--a more reliable world in so far as it does not hide that its premise is illusion.

My upbringing was absolutely not the archetypal writer's upbringing. Even, arguably, the opposite.

My mother was a great bringer-up of children. My memories are of a sense of security and comfort.

Literature is the voice of the human heart.

And I didn't know I loved her till I'd dreamt of her. I didn't know it was the real thing until an illusion had signalled it.

How quick and rushing life can sometimes seem, when at the same time it's so slow and sweet and everlasting.