We are lucky, even the worst of us, for daylight comes.

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

Part broken - part whole, you begin again. ( from 'Why books seem shockproof against change.' THE TIMES: BOOKS)

When pieces of work speak to us in a way that feels as if they were made just for us, those become our private worlds that we return to.

But not all dark places need light, I have to remember that.

It's great to win a few prizes early on. It helps a writer to get noticed and to get some sales. It can also be a pain in the arse because it gets in the way of the quiet, contemplative time every writer needs, but which is particularly important when you are a new writer finding your own voice, and pursuing the things that interest you.

We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don't.