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The act of keeping the secret a secret has almost become bigger than the secret itself.

To be a writer, to be a good writer, you need courage. You need to be prepared to expose yourself.

It is extraordinary how much strength anger gives one.

He cried, and she cried too but their tears were travelling in parallel lines. It was too late. They should have cried together years ago.

All she is sure about is that she needs to be alone.

If anyone was capable of understanding how someone else felt, it was Nancy. There weren't as many layers between her and the world as there were with the rest of us. She had that rare ability of being able to stand in someone else's shoes and get inside their skin.

There weren't as many layers between her and the world as there were with the rest of us.

An image from one of the photographs comes back to him. He tries to push it away and focus on the present, but he sees the past.

my toenails have grown long. They are curling at the ends, confused about which direction they should be going in. Hard, like bone. I bite my fingernails to keep them short, spitting them out and leaving them where they stick, brittle and sharp around my desk. I am not a bloody circus performer, though: I can’t do the same with my toenails. Besides, I suspect my teeth wouldn’t be up to the job.

To be a writer, to be a good writer, you need courage. You need to be prepared to expose yourself. You must be brave,