Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.

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

It was such a pleasure to sink one's hands into the warm earth, to feel at one's fingertips the possibilities of the new season.

The happiest folk are those that are busy, for their minds are starved of time to seek out woe.

All true readers have a book, a moment when real life is never going to be able to compete with fiction again.

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.

Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.