He's laughing me into a stupor, she thought. I could heckle, I suppose, I could throw a bread roll at him, but he's eaten them all. She glanced at the other diners, all of them going into their act, and thought is this what it all boils down to? Romantic love, is this all it is, a talent show? Eat a meal, go to bed, fall in love with me and I promise you years and years of top notch material like this?

No, friends were like clothes: fine while they lasted but eventually they wore thin or you grew out of them.

I still find it absurdly difficult to concentrate on a novel if there's a phone or computer to hand; I have taken to locking them outside the room like noisy pets.

As new dawns go, this one is depressingly like the old dawn.

Everything was fine, and she had the rare, new sensation of being exactly where she wanted to be.

[He] didn’t like to think of himself as vain, but there were definitely times when he wished there was someone on hand to take his photograph.

At university, I used to write silly little sketches and monologues, but never fiction.