The Lovely Thing About Being Forty Is

That's The Purpose Of Old Age... To Give Us A Breathing Space Before We Die, In Which To See Why We Did What We Did.

...she Looked Like The Sort Of Woman Most Men Would Want To Get To Know Because They Weren't Sure What Went On Inside.

The Bird With The Thorn In Its Breast, It Follows An Immutable Law; It Is Driven By It Knows Not What To Impale Itself, And Die Singing. At The Very Instant The Thorn Enters There Is No Awareness In It Of The Dying To Come; It Simply Sings And Sings Until There Is Not The Life Left To Utter Another Note. But We, When We Put The Thorns In Our Breasts, We Know. We Understand. And Still We Do It. Still We Do It.

I Want To Know What They Look Like, Their Height, And Colouring, Physique And Speech Pattens.

It's A Dead Give Away Of An Inexperienced Writer If Every Character Speaks With The Same Voice