Please Remove Your Watch,' He Said. 'in

All The Same, My Depression And Self-hatred, My Desire To Mutilate Myself With Broken Bottles, My Numbness And Crying Fits, My Inability To Get Out Of Bed For Days And Days, The Feeling Of The World Moving In To Crush Me, Went On And On. But I Knew I Wouldn't Go Mad, Even If That Release, That Letting-go, Was A Freedom I Desired. I Was Waiting For Myself To Heal.

For Mum, Life Was Fundamentally Hell. You Went Blind, You Got Raped, People Forgot Your Birthday, Nixon Got Elected, Your Husband Fled With A Blonde From Beckenham, And Then You Got Old, You Couldn't Walk And You Died.

The Vocation Of Each Writer Is To Describe The World As He Or She Sees It; Anything More Than That Is Advertising.

Love Cannot Be Measured By Its Duration.

Why Do People Who Are Good At Families Have To Be Smug And Assume It Is The Only Way To Live. … Why Can’t They Be Blamed For Being Bad At Promiscuity?