I'm drinking away the exam results that don't take me anywhere.

I’m alone with the ghost of the swamp, somewhere near the weeping willows.

She taught me what's important, and what isn't. And I've never forgotten. And that's what mothers do, I say.

He looks a hell of a lot like me, only a fair bit older.

Men walk through tragedy, quietly, calm and precise on the outside, tearing themselves to shreds inside.

I work hard in the orchard, not for the money anymore, but for something I can't explain. Something worth more than money.

After the war I was going to make up for lost time. But the time I spent away, it's still lost. No matter what I do, it stays lost.