Young Girls Are Sad. They Like To

The More Research You Do, The More At Ease You Are In The World You're Writing About. It Doesn't Encumber You, It Makes You Free.

Outside Our Small Safe Place Flies Mystery.

Autobiographies Tell More Lies Than All But The Most Self-indulgent Fiction.

She Devoured Stories With Rapacious Greed, Ranks Of Black Marks On White, Sorting Themselves Into Mountains And Trees, Stars, Moons And Suns, Dragons, Dwarfs, And Forests Containing Wolves, Foxes And The Dark.

In My Mind's Eye Shakespeare Is A Huge, Hot Sea-beast, With Fire In His Veins And Ice On His Claws And Inscrutable Eyes, Who Looks Like An Inchoate Hump Under The Encrustations Of Live Barnacle-commentaries, Limpets And Trailing Weeds.