We Cannot Choose Where To Start And

There Was No Quick Grief For Andrew Because He Had Been So Slowly Lost. First From My Heart, Then From My Mind, And Only Finally From My Life.

At This Point In Time The War [ Wwii] Is Close Enough To Still Feel Hotly Personal To A Writer, Yet Far Enough Away So That Jingoism And Heroics Are No Longer Required.

Nobody Has The Time To Sit Down And Explain The First World From First Principles.

I Am A Woman Built Upon The Wreckage Of Myself.

We Cannot Choose Where To Start And Stop. Our Stories Are The Tellers Of Us.