Write to amuse? What an appalling suggestion! I write to make people anxious and miserable and to worsen their indigestion.

I think it's a question which particularly arises over women writers: whether it's better to have a happy life or a good supply of tragic plots.

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half. And that orange it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park This is peace and contentment. It's new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all my jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I'm glad I exist.

The reason modern poetry is difficult is so that the poet's wife cannot understand it.

On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes, the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes. I wipe them away with a black woolly glove And try not to notice I've fallen in love On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think: This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink. But the juke-box inside me is playing a song That says something different. And when was it wrong? On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care. the head does its best but the heart is the boss- I admit it before I am halfway across

I have a theory that if you've got the kind of parents who want to send you to boarding school, you're probably better off at boarding school.

Bloody men are like bloody buses - you wait for about a year and as soon as one approaches your stop two or three others appear.