It's the face itself that I love, not that face at twenty-eight or thirty-four or forty-three. It's that face.

…surprised all over again at how very comforting very bad food can be.

Oh you know me. I have no emotions. I'm a robot. Or a nun. A robot nun.

In eight years not a day has gone by when she hasn’t thought of him. She misses him and she wants him back. I want my best friend back, she thinks, because without him nothing is good and nothing is right.

If you have to keep a secret it's because you shouldn't be doing it in the first place

Do you miss her?' 'Who? Emma? Of course. Every day. She was my best friend.

It's hard to overestimate the teenage appetite for high drama.