In the antiseptic world we try to purge ourselves of difficult things. Don't dwell on it, switch off the light and go home. But this is home. I have to be a home to myself. I am the place I come back to and I can't keep hiding difficult things in trunks. Soon the house will be full of trunks and I perched on top of them with the phone saying, "Yes, I'm fine, of course, I'm fine, everything's fine." The trunks shudder.

She must find a boat and sail in it. No guarantee of shore. Only a conviction that what she wanted could exist, if she dared to find it.

Life has never been All or Nothing- it's All and Nothing. Forget the binaries.

Anything outside marriage seems like freedom and excitement.

Even the most solid of things, and the most real, the best-loved and the well-known, are only hand shadows on the wall. Empty space and points of light.

Love's lengthways splits the heart in two - the heart where you are, the heart where you want to be.

Are we all living like this? Two lives, the ideal outer life and the inner imaginative life where we keep our secrets?