It takes so little… to lose it; grief and disappointment can takes one’s faith away so easily that you might wake one morning and have none left.

He thinks he can see all her grief in her face, all her love and empty days.

Love is blind, they say–but isn’t it more that love makes us see too much? Isn’t it more that love floods our brain with sights and sounds, so that everything looks bigger, brighter, more lovely...

Strange, what the heart can bear. It can carry grief beyond measure. It can bear a weight that is too great to speak of. But a heart can’t bear the world. It has its limits…

Kisses open doors, I’ve noticed. That one gesture can unlock secrets, ease open feelings. It can’t be prevented–these kisses just are. It’s how they work. They break into basements you never knew you had.

I cannot talk of the power of want, of how much desire can do. I don’t think it can be measured. I think want is forgotten too quickly or dismissed as being worth far less...

Love is as varied and unpredictable as the rain is: it comes in constant summer drizzles, or sudden, unforseen storms that make rivers burst their banks and Cornish fishing boats rock and spill and lose...

What was dark will always be dark, I know that. Death is still death. Hatred will never be far, in this life.But also, there is light. It is everywhere. It floods this world–the world brims...

I’ve heard fate talked of. It’s not a word I use. I think we make our own choices. I think how we live our lives is our own doing, and we cannot fully hope on...

We have our stories, and we speak of them, and weave them into other people’s stories – that’s how it goes, does it not?

I have learnt that nothing stays the same. Today might seem the same as yesterday but no day ever is; we may want no changes to ever come, but changes do, in time. They cannot...

Marjan. I have told him tales of good women and bad women, strong women and weak women, shy women and bold women, clever women and stupid women, honest women and women who betray. I’m hoping...

I know this: there is no sense to grief. There is no pattern or shape or texture, and there are no books or stories which can lessen the pain at losing a person you have...

Your heart’s voice is your true voice. It is easy to ignore it, for sometimes it says what we’d rather it did not – and it is so hard to risk the things we have....

There are as many sorrows as there are people who feel them and there are no rules…It is solitary… Grief is such a lonely thing. There is no-one in it with you – others may...

…I told her that letting go is not a choice, in many ways. You try to move on, perhaps. But it comes of its own accord, in the end; it happens when it is ready...