I think I will die of unfairness; I think it will be writen on my death certificate.

There are so few people given to us to love. I want to tell my daughters this, that each time you fall in love it is important, even at nineteen. Especially at nineteen.

And what amazes me as I hit the motorway is not the fact that everyone loses someone, but that everyone loves someone [...] We each love someone, even though they will die. And we keep loving them, even when they are not there to love any more. And there is no logic or use to any of this

They are a bundle of nerves, frayed at the ends.

The world will never know what has happened to you, and what you carry around as a result of it.

[...] the dress might have been made of water, it might have been a puddle of colour around her feet, so naked does she look now.

Everyone had a beautiful grandmother - something to do with sepia and the orange blossom in their hair. Also the steady look in those old fashioned eyes. We do not know how to be brave, any more, as a bride was in those days.

I have all my regrets between pouring the wine and reaching for the glass.