I wanted to cause trouble, but I know now it stays with you.

I realised something important: whatever is on the outside can be taken away at any time. Only what is inside you is safe.

It's not the one thing nor the other that leads to madness, but the space in between.

We're here, there, not here, not there, swirling like specks of dust, claiming for ourselves the rights of the universe. Being important, being nothing, being caught in lives of our own making that we never wanted. Breaking out, trying again, wondering why the past comes with us, wondering how to talk about the past at all.

St Paul said it is better to marry than to burn, but my mother taught me it is better to burn than to marry. She wanted to be a nun. She hoped I would be a priest and saved to give me an education while my friends plaited rope and trailed after the plough. I can't be a priest because although my heart is as loud as hers I can pretend no answering riot. I have shouted to God and the Virgin, but they have not shouted back and I'm not interested in the still small voice. Surely a god can meet passion with passion? She says he can. Then he should.

By betrayal, I mean promising to be on your side, then being on somebody else's.

Everything is imprinted for ever with what it once was.