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This is the forked tongue of grief again. It whispers in one ear: return to what you once loved best, and in the other ear it whispers, move on.

Chris Cleave

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Chris Cleave
Age: 51
Born: 1973
Born: May 14
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
London
England
Grief
Ears
Return
Move
Loved
Moving
Forked
Best
Whispers
Tongue

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My maternal grandmother was in London during the Blitz. Indeed, the man she was dating before she met my grandfather was killed beside her in a cinema, in 1941, when a bomb came through the roof - a tragedy in which she herself was badly wounded.
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There's what people say, and there's what people mean, and I like to explore the difference between the two.
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Life is extremely short and you cannot dance to current affairs.
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Psychiatry in this place is like serving an in-flight meal in the middle of a plane crash. If I wanted to make you well, as a doctor, I should be giving you a parachute, not a cheese-and-pickle sandwich.
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It was hard not to be full of hope
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At some point you just have to turn around and face your life head on.
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I am a woman built upon the wreckage of myself.
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WWII was, without exaggeration, the biggest event in all of human history, and it is still within living memory.
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I'm not happy with just repeating myself.
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your culture has become sophisticated, like a computer, or a drug that you take for a headache. You can use it, but you cannot explain how it works. Certainly not to girls who stack up their firewood against the side of the house.
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Everyone carries the weight of WWII with them in their recent family history, and yet it is rarely spoken about within families, because veterans and survivors don't tend to talk.
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I know that the hopes of this whole human world can fit inside one soul.
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I planned how I would kill myself in the time of Churchill (stand under bombs), Victoria (throw myself under a horse), and Henry the Eighth (marry Henry the Eighth)- Little Bee
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