Lies and half-truths fall like snow, covering the things that I remember, the things I saw. A landscape, unrecognizable after a snowfall; that is that she has made of my life.

So many things to see, people to do.

You hurt. It's okay. I hurt too. Hold my hand.

There are little pockets of old time in London, where things and places stay the same, like bubble in amber.

Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.

It's not a bad thing for a writer not to feel at home. Writers - we're much more comfortable at parties standing in the corner watching everybody else having a good time than we are mingling.

Tools, of course, can be the subtlest of traps.