He doubted her. You must never doubt the one you love. But they might not be telling the truth. Never mind that. You tell them the truth. What do you mean? You can't be another person's honesty, child, but you can be your own. So what should I say? When? When I love someone? You should say it.

The body shuts down when it has too much to bear; goes its own way quietly inside, waiting for a better time, leaving you numb and half alive.

We heal up through being loved, and through loving others. We don't heal by forming a secret society of one - by assessing about the only other 'one' we might admit, and being doomed to disappointment.

Writers have to have a knack for listening. I need to be able to hear what is being said to me by the voices I create.

Unhappiness is selfish, grief is selfish. For whom are the tears?

The work that lasts over time is the work which still speaks to us when all contemporary interest in that work is extinct.

When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.