Was It Possible That I Was, In

This Is The Pain-pleasure Of Having Newly Adult Children; They're Innocent And Ruthless In Forgetting Their Sweet Old Dependence.

It Is Shaming Sometimes How The Body Will Not, Or Cannot, Lie About Emotions. Who, For Decorum’s Sake, Has Ever Slowed His Heart, Or Muted A Blush?

I Couldn't Think About Novels At All. It Seemed The Only Writing That Was Appropriate To That Horrendous Event Was Journalism, Reportage. And, In Fact, I Think The Profession Rose Quite Honorably To The Task. Novelists Require A Slower Turnover, I Mean, In Time.

When We Go On About The Big Things, The Political Situation, Global Warming, World Poverty, It All Looks Really Terrible, With Nothing Getting Better, Nothing To Look Forward To. But When I Think Small, Closer In - You Know, A Girl I've Just Met, Or This Song We're Going To Do With Chas, Or Snowboarding Next Month, Then It Looks Great. So This Is Going To Be My Motto - Think Small.

At The Risk Of Sounding Like Virginia Woolf, I Could Live On £700 A Year.