You must do what you enjoy.
The true writer, the born writer, will scribble words on scraps of litter, the back of a bus tickets, on the wall of a cell.
These days the nights and mornings have a tendency to bleed into one another.
And you stupid, stupid woman, stupid for caring, stupid for thinking that he cared.
He wanted to live life in such a way that if a photograph were taken at random, it would be a cool photograph.
She had never been a proficient flirt. Her spasms of kittenish behaviour were graceless and inept, like normal conversation on roller skates. but the combination of the retsina and sun made Emma feel sentimental and light-headed. She reached for her roller skates.