Love, Always Love. Perhaps That’s

Read Widely And With Discrimination. Bad Writing Is Contagious.

Charm Is Always Genuine; It May Be Superficial But It Isn't False.

The Weekend Break Had Begun With The Usual Resentment And Had Continued With Half-repressed Ill Humour. It Was, Of Course, His Fault. He Had Been More Ready To Hurt His Wife's Feelings And Deprive His Daughter Than Inconvenience A Pub Bar Full Of Strangers. He Wished There Could Be One Memory Of His Dead Child Which Wasn't Tainted With Guilt And Regret.

I Still Occasionally Need To Struggle But I Now Fear It Less. The Weapons I Fight It With Are Also My Consolations: Books, Music, Food, Wine, Nature.

All Fiction Is Largely Autobiographical And Much Autobiography Is, Of Course, Fiction.