Could we change our attitude, we should not only see life differently, but life itself would come to be different.

Bless you, my darling, and remember you are always in the heart - oh tucked so close there is no chance of escape - of your sister.

Letters are the real curse of my existence. I hate to write them: I have to. If I don't, there they are - the great guilty gates barring my way.

Regret is an appalling waste of time.

Wind moving through grass so that the grass quivers. This moves me with an emotion I don't even understand.

I'm a writer first and a woman after.

Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.