The past was the past; there was no escaping your beginnings.

It was not a life, if lived without love.

But it never ceases to amaze me how difficult the things that are supposed to be instinctive really are.

After the two drinks, she felt warm inside, and slightly indistinct at the edges.

The past was the past; there was no escaping your beginnings.

I've begun to think that we sit far more than we're supposed to...Why else would we have feet?

... He went under the stars, and the tender light of the moon, when it hung like an eyelash and the tree trunks shone like bones. He walked through wind and weather, and beneath sun-bleached skies. It seemed to Harold that he had been waiting all his life to walk. He no longer knew how far he had come, but only that he was going forward. The pale Cotswold stone became the red brick of Warwickshire, and the land flattened into middle England. Harold reached his hand to his mouth to brush away a fly, and felt a beard growing in thick tufts. Queenie would live. He knew it.