Sorry' he said. 'No, I'm sorry.' 'What are you sorry for?' 'Rattling on like a mad old cow. I'm sorry, I'm tired, bad day, and I'm sorry for being so...boring.' 'You're not that boring.' 'I am, Dex. God, I swear I bore myself.' 'Well, you don't bore me.' He took her hand in his. 'You could never bore me. You're one in a million, Em.

And you stupid, stupid woman, stupid for caring, stupid for thinking that he cared.

…she was discovering once again that reading and writing were not the same — you couldn't just soak it up then squeeze it out again.

Just kidding' was exactly what people wrote when they meant every word.

Failure and unhappiness is easier because you can make a joke out of it.

The attraction of a life devoted to sensation, pleasure and self would probably wear thin one day, but there was still plenty of time for that yet.

I've only ever been recognised in the street once. In Sweden, strangely.