I knew what people thought. Clacktons, we were rubbish. Town like Monkton, one pub, roadhouse, rail silo and… — Tim Winton

And you know someone's special when you never get enough of them.

Honestly, sometimes you'd rather be a dog. A mutt doesn't torture itself with thinking.

Nanna was the first dead person I ever saw. Her hair was blue against the pillow. And when me hand bumped her cheek she was cold and heavy and a kind of spark went through me, like a terrible familiar feeling. And I understood it then. She was meat. That's what dead things are.