Time had a way of moulding people into shapes they themselves no longer recognised.

I want to be independent. To meet interesting people. ... I just mean new people with clever things to say. Things I've never heard before. I want to be free. Open to whatever adventure comes along and sweeps me off my feet.

Reluctance to begin is quick to befriend procrastination. . . .

For it is said, you know, that a letter will always seek a reader; that sooner or later, like it or not, words have a way of finding the light, of making their secrets known.

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

So much in life came down to timing.

Had any poet adequately described the wretched ugliness of a loved one turned inside out with grief?