“I see you and St. John have been quarrelling, Jane,' said Diana, 'during your walk on the moor. But go after him; he is now lingering in the passage expecting you - he will make it up.'I have not much pride under such circumstances: I would always rather be happy than dignified; and I ran after him - he stood at the foot of the stairs.”

“He reacted like I slapped him, and I hated hurting him, but I knew he needed to know. “He doesn’t deserve it. He can have any girl in the world’s love, and he took yours. Someone who deserves so much more than a summer fling.” He stood and started to walk away, but stopped and glanced back at me. “If you were mine, I would never let you go.” He left the kitchen.”

“Cold,” he said, pressing a finger to my pale wrist.“Not cold so much as underoxygenated,” I said.“I love it when you talk medical to me,” he said. He stood, and pulled me up with him, and did not let go of my hand until we reached the stairs.”

“I nearly ran him over after he ran out in front of my car. So I slammed on the brakes, rolled down my window, and said, “Do you realize I could have killed you?” “It was stupid of me to run out in front of you,” he said. “Yeah, it was,” I replied. “But I’m not talking about now. Last Tuesday I could have killed you. Had you in the scope of my rifle, but I let you live. Now THAT was stupid.”

“Viola?" he says.And I turn to look at him -And when I do, I can hear everything he's thinking.Everything.Clearer than before, clearer than seems possible -And I'm not even sure I'm supposed to, but I look him in the eyes and I see it -In the middle of everything he's feeling -Even after we fought -Even after I doubted him -Even after I hurt him -I see how much he loves me.”

“At John Schlesinger's funeral at a synagogue in St John's Wood some years ago the person I stood next to said to me encouragingly, 'Come on, Stephen - you're not singing. Have a go!' 'Believe me, Paul, you don't want me to,' I said. Besides, I was having a much better time listening to him. 'No. Go on!' So I joined in the chorus. 'You're right,' Paul McCartney conceded. 'You can't sing.”