To have any kind of a future you've got to give up hope of ever changing your past.

The isolation spins its mysterious cocoon, focusing the mind on one place, one time, one rhythm - the turning of the light. The island knows no other human voices, no other footprints. On the Offshore Lights you can live any story you want to tell yourself, and no one will say you're wrong: not the seagulls, not the prisms, not the wind.

Sometimes it's good to leave the past in the past.

When it comes to their kids, parents are all just instinct and hope. And fear. Rules and laws fly straight out the window.

Every end is the beginning of something else.

You don’t think ahead in years or months: you think about this hour, and maybe the next. Anything else is speculation.

Such a mysterious business, motherhood. How brave a woman must be to embark on it.