There seems to be this impression that if I really am a psychotherapist, I cant be serious about it. They think there must be something fishy going on.

There is a probably natural and learned reticence with myself talking about my early life.

So many people suffer from abuse, and suffer alone.

I grew up in the suburbs of Sydney, an arid kind of place, but every day I took the ferry across the harbour to get to school. I'd watch the ships coming in and going out.

There was a special challenge in describing the awful childhood of a person who happens to be my own husband. It was very painful at times, for both of us.

I loved my life, but my choices were overloading and overwhelming me. Listening to inner feelings and fulfilling some of these urges when they come along is incredibly important.

Most people who went about saying a ghost had poked them with a brolly would be locked up somewhere.

When I came off the boat I was very proud of the thick calluses which had developed on my feet. But now, I am struggling to get into my favourite high heels which is a shame, as I have so many.

Perfect objectivity is always impossible, no matter who writes a person's biography.

Being a psychologist did enable me to maintain objectivity.

There's been a number of erroneous biographies, articles and so on written about Billy and we both thought it would be a good idea to produce a true one.

Demons do exist

The past, the present, and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.

When placing an emergency call, it is important to remember that a corrupt or incompetent cop may be on their way to you.

Never argue with a profit.

...he had a way of taking your hand which made it clear he'd have to be the one to let go." From Alice Hoffman's "Local Girls", pg.102.

Elizabeth Taylor is not beautiful, she is pretty—I was beautiful.

The act of naming is the great and solemn consolation of mankind

These will be my last moments of peace. . . . From now on, my love. . . will bring nothing but chaos.

You're much shorter than my mom." "Brat," she said, surprised into a giggle. "That's no way to talk to a vampire." "Bloodsucking brat." "Better" he said.

Every day we'd trudge up the hill - it was a three-quarter-mile walk up this steep hill to the Leach Pottery, and we would take our lunch with us and generally, I guess, make a nuisance of ourselves.