Most of all, I like the quiet, rounded tugs. They remind me of women. As I watch them work I see them as kindly, no-fuss boats which patiently tend much larger, grander and more important-looking ships. They make sure these ships get to the right place as the right time, shepherding them with a pull or a push as needed. Their power is not immediately obvious but it is there - inside. I watch them a lot and never tire of seeing their unsung but absolutely essential work. The silent strong women of the sea.

I don't think of compassion as sympathy but rather as empathy. An understanding of how people are feeling, which often translates into action.

Beautifully Bleak. I likened the hills encircling Canberra to the sea. They, like the sea, could be a sunny beguiling blue, or deep and inky. They could be distant and mysterious, or beautifully bleak as the wind tore across the plains from their snowy peaks. The hills were ever changing like the sea.

Women who have had more opportunity to develop their own strengths and talents, or who are quite satisfied and content in a traditional role, unfortunately don't always understand that many women aren't satisfied or content.

Women's networks are a necessary part of life. A mixture of empathy and brainstorming can move mountains.

Wisdom is partly innate and partly developed and practised. It's about a lot more than just knowledge: experience, involvement, communication, interaction with people. Wisdom is a way of being.

Living Things. The garden can be as unlimited a resource as you want it to be. It's an escape from everything if you just want a break. It is something to do with living things, not a static piece that you put there and look at but something that changes every day. You're committed to it. If you don't look after it, it dies on you. And if you do look after it, it will give you rewards - pleasure, and a feeling of achievement. There's a sense of responsibility developed in a garden.