He doesn't move his face when he talks. His eyes are like shark eyes. Dead.

From here on out, there's just reality. I think that's what maturity is: a stoic response to endless reality. But then, what do I know?

I just admire my mother very much.

I was born into big celebrity. It could only diminish.

Look,' he said, 'I don't think we should continue this discussion. I don't like this side of you.' 'I'm not a box,' she said 'I don't have sides. This is it. One side fits all. This is it.

I rarely think about my childhood. It's a slippery thing I can't keep hold of for long - it slithers out of my grasp. And a lot of the time I remember what was missing instead of what was there. I am a chronicler of absence.

I like that - the "you-ish" character.