I don't see novels ending with any real sense of closure.

I promised to tell you how one falls in love.

So many nurses had turned into emotionally disturbed handmaidens of the war, in their yellow-and-crimson uniforms with bone buttons.

In the book the relationship with Katharine and Almasy is sort of only in the patient's mind.

When I write my novels I don't really have a huge plan beforehand; I don't have the whole plot and architecture, so the story is sort of discovered as I write it.

That's one of the great sadnesses of any life - knowing what you know now and then remembering what you did not know then.

Love is so small it can tear itself through the eye of a needle