The Person We Know At First, She

What Corrigan Wanted Was A Fully Believable God, One You Could Find In The Grime Of The Everyday... He Consoled Himself With The Fact That, In The Real World, When He Looked Closely Into The Darkness He Might Find The Presence Of A Light, Damaged And Bruised, But A Little Light All The Same. He Wanted, Quite Simply, For The World To Be A Better Place, And He Was In The Habit Of Hoping For It.

I Think A Good Novel Can Be A Doorstop To Despair. I Also Think The Real Bravery Comes With Those Who Prepared To Go Through That Door And Look At The World In All Its Grime And Torment, And Still Find Something Of Value, No Matter How Small.

It Is Not Fashionable Anymore, I Suppose, To Have A Regard For One's Mother In The Way My Brother And I Had Then, In The Mid-1950s, When The Noise Outside The Window Was Mostly Wind And Sea Chime.

Part Of Me Really Wants To Believe That Hope Is Entirely Available To All Of Us. We Don't Have To Embrace It. It Would Be Sentimental And Silly To Say That We All Need It, But It Is Absolutely Available To All Of Us.

No Shame In Saying That I Felt A Loneliness Drifting Through Me. Funny How It Was, Everyone Perched In Their Own Little World With The Deep Need To Talk, Each Person With Their Own Tale, Beginning In Some Strange Middle Point, Then Trying So Hard To Tell It All, To Have It All Make Sense, Logical And Final.