..and Only Sticks And Stones Can Break

I Read Very, Very Little Fiction As A Kid. All The Books I Can Remember Are Junior Science Books.

On The Fifth Day, Which Was A Sunday, It Rained Very Hard. I Like It When It Rains Hard. It Sounds Like White Noise Everywhere, Which Is Like Silence But Not Empty.

You Love Someone, You've Got To Let Something Go.

Jane Austen Writes About These Humdrum Lives With Such Empathy That They Seem Endlessly Fascinating

At Twenty Life Was Like Wrestling An Octopus. Every Moment Mattered. At Thirty It Was A Walk In The Country. Most Of The Time Your Mind Was Somewhere Else. By The Time You Got To Seventy, It Was Probably Like Watching Snooker On The Telly.