It’s hard to say why with some people you could talk all day and all night, while with others it’s a struggle to find enough to say during a single course at diner.

How sick I am of thinking about money all the time. It’s like and hideous disease destroying energy…contentment…joy…(…)It’s depressing how money is always at the beginning and end of things.

An unhappy ending makes it literature rather than romantic fiction.

Cordelia glared at me. ‘I expect if someone strapped you to table an swung an axe over your naked quivering flesh like The Pit and the Pendulum, you’d be correcting his grammar’.

My mother had not acted for ten years. Not since a reviewer wrote that her portrayal of Lady Macbeth put him in mind of an exasperated society hostess burdened with unmannerly guests who had lost...