Terrible in life when you wanted to give everything and there wasn’t anyone willing to receive you.

Some people believed that if your mother wasn’t all that bothered about you she must know more than anyone what you were really like, deep down, because she sort of invented you so, so there had to be something really wrong with you then.

it was funny to be brought up to think the world was mine because of what the people before me had lost.

The good mood she put on like a uniform every morning.

‘Sometimes in life,’ she said, ‘a really quite good book is what you need more than an excellent one.’

Jean thought of grief like a pet almost. A couple of times a day you had to take it out for a walk and let your thoughts wander and see if anything happened. Or sit quietly in the kitchen with some food to nibble and think about the person. Hold them close to you in your mind. In your heart. Stroke their hair. Blow on their soup for them. It’s what

I sometimes wondered if there were quite long stretches of life in which you couldn’t afford to be yourself.

I wanted it to be true so much it was true. Sometimes in life you have to let your heart and bones off the hook of yourself.

Our teachers being good feminists told us that the quickest way to a meaningless life was making our appearance our main concern, but there was basic stuff you had to do.