I have no phobias. Phobias are irrational. My fears are rational and CAREFULLY CULTIVATED, like roses.

When I worked in theater, I was always writing things on Post-it Notes and sticking them on screens or desks. Twitter has given me a way of continuing to post those notes, only a lot of other people see them, too.

This wasn't a position she wanted to be in. And yet . . . yet she knew that she was going to do it anyway.

Even though she had been warned, she tripped over the bike. She probably tripped because she'd been warned and was telling herself not to trip over the bike. She did that sometimes. It was often easier not to know what obstacles were in the way.

It was almost funny. Life seemed downright accidental in its brevity, and death a punch line to a lousy joke.

Rory: "People are being serious." Jazza: "There's a serial killer out there. Of course people are being serious." Rory: "Yeah, but what are the chances?" Jazza: "I bet all of the victims thought that." Rory: "But still, what are the chances?" Jazza: "Well, I imagine they are several million to one." Jerome: "Not that high. You're only dealing with a small part of London. And while there might be a million or more people in that area, the Ripper is probably focusing on women, because all of the original victims were women. So halve that--" Jazza: "You really need another hobby.

Once again, her parents' problems had run through her life like a piece of heavy equipment, smashing everything in their way.