Hopefully we have life in the minds and hearts of the people we interacted with.

I’d never been envious of those who believe in an afterlife until now. It would be so much cosier than dissolution. She’s gone to the next room. Nope, can’t manage it. She’s gone to dust and rubble. Gone nowhere. No where to go to. No she to go to it. Much easier to be convinced you will be met in Elysian fields by a thousand virgins, or drink from fountains of Manhattans. I can’t even get close to what they call faith, though I quite see Pascal had a point.

No. I mean, it depends on how you look at it. In the sense that we all have a piece of cosmic dust in us from the beginning – The Big Bang – then yes. But no, I don’t believe in heaven or hell.

I don't believe in an afterlife. I don't believe in a single or multiple godhead. I respect people who do, but I don't believe it myself. But there's a big but which enters in here. I am much more conscious than I ever was, for obvious reasons, of what it will mean to people left behind once I'm dead. It won't mean anything for me. But it will mean a lot to them. ... So in one curious way I've come to believe in the afterlife as a place where I still have moral responsibilities, just as I do in this life except that I can only exercise them before I get there. Once I get there, it'll be too late.

Compulsory headphones for phone users in public.

Running out of time.

I’m at my happiest in the ocean, and even better if my husband is there throwing me around.

Losing my husband. We are properly codependent.

Like a very full heart and a flip in my stomach when I see him.

In the Pet Shop Boys song Being Boring they’ve a great line that says “I never dreamed that I would get to be the creature that I always meant to be”. And I feel I am, so that’s great.