Salmon. Salmon, Salmon, Salmon, Salmon. I Eat

As New Dawns Go, This One Is Depressingly Like The Old Dawn.

You're Gorgeous, You Old Hag, And If I Could Give You Just One Gift Ever For The Rest Of Your Life It Would Be This. Confidence. It Would Be The Gift Of Confidence. Either That Or A Scented Candle

These Days Grief Seems Like Walking On A Frozen River; Most Of The Time He Feels Safe Enough, But There Is Always That Danger That He Will Plunge Through.

I Had Always Been Led To Believe That Ageing Was A Slow And Gradual Process, The Creep Of A Glacier. Now I Realise That It Happens In A Rush, Like Snow Falling Off A Roof.

To Have Had Fame, Even Very Minor Fame, And To Have Lost It, Got Older And Maybe Put On A Little Weight Is A Kind Of Living Death.