Publishing a book is like stuffing a note into a bottle and hurling it into the sea.

Once in a while, Jimmy would make up a word but he never once got caught out. ... He should have been pleased by his success with these verbal fabrications, but instead he was depressed by it. The memos telling him he'd done a good job meant nothing to him; all they proved was that no one was capable of appreciating how clever he had been. He came to understand why serial killers sent helpful clues to the police.

Perhaps they were looking for passion; perhaps they delved into this book as into a mysterious parcel - a gift box at the bottom of which, hidden in layers of rustling tissue paper, lay something they'd always longed for but couldn't ever grasp.

Ten days after the war ended, my sister Laura drove a car off a bridge.

How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.

Gardening is not a rational act.

Gravity works in your life, the notion of free will works in your life, however problematic it may at times be.