Grief is not an event, my dear, but a passage, a pilgrimage along a path that allows us to reflect upon the past from points of remembrance held in the soul. At times the way is filled with stones underfoot and we feel pained by our memories, yet on other days the shadows reflect our longing and those happinesses shared.

I believe it is to our detriment that age gives us a certain mistrust of those younger than ourselves, and we fail to see the strength within them to assume the burden of truth.

What’s interesting to me, is a moving someone through time; in a way, history is part of my landscape. And it fascinates me that history can be so easily reflected in what happens today.

She understood loss, understood how it could leach into every fiber of one’s being; how it could dull the shine on a sunny day, and how it could replace happiness with doubt, giving rise to a lingering fear that good fortune might be snatched back at any time.

Tragedy is so personal, but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened before, to someone, somewhere – it’s what helps us to understand and bring solace to others, knowing something of what they feel.

Those of us who have reached our more mature years know the value of a nap, Maisie, and we can indulge ourselves without the comfort of pillow or bed.

There is nothing of which every man is so afraid, as getting to know how enormously much he is capable of doing and becoming.

I can dance with life again.

Maurice’s maxim: “To solve a problem, take it for a walk.

Now that’s discrimination – when you look down your nose at the very men who fought to make sure you could still go to work in your tidy, warm office. That’s the trouble with people – they cherish their comforts, but they don’t want to know where they come from.