Life could be cruel enough these days without the truth making it worse.

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

... people who'd led dull and blameless lives did not give thanks for second chances.

I love the structural part of the writing process.

She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.

You'll beat this. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will. You're a survivor." "I don't want to survive it." "I know that, too," Nell had said. "And it's fair enough. But sometimes we don't have a choice.

The stretch of years leaves none unmarked: the blissful sense of youthful invincibility peels away and responsibility brings its weight to bear.