Here's A Little Tip For You. If

One Of My Da's Tragedies Was Always The Fact That He Was Bright Enough To Understand Just How Comprehensively He Had Shat All Over His Life.

You Don't Have To Like Your Family, You Don't Even Have To Spend Time With Them, To Know Them Right Down To The Bone.

Here's A Little Tip For You. If You Don't Like Being Called A Murderer, Don't Kill People.

But This Is What I Know About People Getting Ready To Walk Of The Edge Of Their Own Lives: They Want Someone To Know How They Got There. Maybe They Want To Know That When They Dissolve Into Earth And Water, That Last Fragment Will Be Saved, Held In Some Corner Of Someone's Mind; Or Maybe All They Want Is A Chance To Dump It Pulsing And Bloody Into Someone Else's Hands, So It Won't Weigh Them Down On The Journey. They Want To Leave Their Stories Behind. No One In All The World Knows That Better Than I Do.

There Was A Time When I Believed I Was The Redeemed One, The Boy Borne Safely Home On The Ebb Of Whatever Freak Tide Carried Peter And Jamie Away. Not Any More. In Ways Too Dark And Crucial To Be Called Metaphorical, I Never Left That Wood.