Reminded of favorite poem by Wendy Cope which goes: At Christmas little children sing and merry bells jingle. The cold winter air makes our hands and faces tingle. And happy families go to church and cheerily they mingle, And the whole business is unbelievably dreadful if you're single.

No one is thinking about you. They're thinking about themselves, just like you.

Don't say 'what,' say 'pardon,' darling, and do as your mother tells you.

It is proved by surveys that happiness does not come from love, wealth, or power but the pursuit of attainable goals.

I think that when you're writing fiction what you're doing is reflecting life as you see it, and putting down how you think and how other people think, and the sort of confusions that you don't normally like to admit to.

My books have all generated controversy.

Though with Bridget Jones's Baby: the Diaries, I'd like to make it clear that I did not ever get pregnant by two men.