I was a 'Planet of the Apes'-obsessed kid.

A thousand recollected lives were passing through her, a thousand stories - of love and work, of parents and children, of duty and joy and grief. Beds slept in and meals eaten, and the bliss and pain of the body, and a view of summer leaves from a window on a morning it had rained; the nights of loneliness and the nights of love, the soul in it's body keeping always longing to be known.

The sadness you feel is not your own. It's his sadness you feel in your heart, Amy, for missing you.

Here she was, a women who could bolt-load a crossbow in under a second, put half a dozen long arrows in the air in fewer than five, blade a target dead through the sweet spot at six meters, on the run, on an off day; and yet knitting a pair of baby booties seemed completely beyond her power.

What strange places our lives can carry us to, what dark passages.

Behind every writer stands a very large bookshelf.

I was a 'Planet of the Apes'-obsessed kid.