I've seen a lot of people buy my books and then fall asleep on the plane soon afterwards.

Money doesn't make you happy, but it gives a zone of comfort around you.

My memory of my home was that it was very happy, and that there was more fun and life there than there was anywhere else.

I have no idea whether what I write will be of the remotest interest to anyone else. Some mornings when I read what I wrote the previous day I think it's fairly entertaining; other times I think it's pure rubbish. The main thing is not to take any notice, not to be elated or upset, just keep going.

I have great family and good friends; the stories I told became popular, and people all over the world bought them.

If I see Marian Keyes' books or Patricia Scanlan's books given more prominence than mine in the bookstore, I'll move mine to the front. I've told them I do this, and they've confessed to doing the same thing to me.

If you woke up each morning, and immediately dwelt on your ills, what sort of a day could you look forward to?