Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down, before they knew their endings.

...which fairy-tale princess ever chose her maid over her prince?

Gerry?' Laurel had to strain to hear thought the noise on the other end of the line. 'Gerry? Where are you?' 'London. A phone booth on Fleet Street.' 'The city still has working phone booths?' 'It would appear so. Unless this is the Tardis, in which case I'm in serious trouble.

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.

It's a funny thing, character, the way it brands people as they age, rising from within to leave its scar.

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

She did as she felt, and she felt a great deal.