What could be more perfect than marrying the person you love.

It's a terrible thing, isn't it, the way we throw people away?

And then he was kissing her, and she was struck by his nearness, his solidity, his smell. It was of the garden and the earth and the sun. When Cassandra opened her eyes, she realized she was crying. She wasn't sad, though, these were the tears of being found, of having come home after a long time away.

I simply love writing good stories, that's my passion.

If you don't stop apologizing, you're going to convince me you've done something wrong.

Wars make history seem deceptively simple. They provide clear turning points, easy distinctions.: before and after, winner and loser, right and wrong. True history, the past, is not like that. It isn't flat or linear. It has no outline. It is slippery, like liquid; infinite and unknowable, like space. And it is changeable: just when you think you see a pattern, perspective shifts, an alternate version is proffered, a long-forgotten memory resurfaces.

In retrospect, it seems like everything in my life led to me becoming a writer. I just didn't realise it at the time.