As a child there's a horror in discovering the limitations of the ones you love. The time you find that your mother cannot keep you safe, that your tutor makes a mistake, that the wrong path must be taken because the grown-ups lack the strength to take the right one...each of those moments is the theft of your childhood, each of them a blow that kills some part of the child you were, leaving another part of the man exposed, a new creature, tougher but tempered with bitterness and disappointment.

I've always felt that the placement of a man's testicles is an eloquent argument against intelligent design.

She'll never love you better than she loves her own children.

Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull.

There is no sound more annoying than the chatter of a child, and none more sad than the silence they leave when they are gone.

When you take a woman away from her man, what you get is a woman who can be taken away from her man.

It never pays to walk blindly. Especially not in your own castle where familiarity hides so much - even when we have the eyes to see.