The Silence Is Perfect, And Yet A

The Recounting Of A Life Is A Cheat...even Our Own Stories Are Obscenely Distorted.

The Larger Loneliness Of Our Lives Evolves From Our Unwillingness To Spend Ourselves, Stir Ourselves. We Are Always Damping Down Our Inner Weather, Permitting Ourselves The Comforts Of Postponement, Of Rehearsals

I Couldn't Have Been A Novelist Without Being A Mother. It Gives You A Unique Witness Point Of The Growth Of A Personality. It Was A Kind Of Biological Component For Me That Had To Come First. My Children Gave This Other Window On The World.

Happiness Is The Lucky Pane Of Glass You Carry In Your Head. It Takes All Your Cunning Just To Hang On To It, And Once It's Smashed You Have To Move Into A Different Sort Of Life.

Go For Long Walks, Indulge In Hot Baths, Question Your Assumptions, Be Kind To Yourself, Live For The Moment, Loosen Up, Scream, Curse The World, Count Your Blessings, Just Let Go, Just Be.