The Breath That Sharpens Life Is Life

What Will Survive Of Us Is Love.

To Write You Must Be Warm, Fed, Loved And Sober.

There Is Bad In All Good Authors: What A Pity The Converse Isn't True!

Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come Round.

Home Is So Sad. It Stays As It Was Left, / Shaped To The Comfort Of The Last To Go / As If To Win Them Back