I know of people who don't believe it, but depression is an illness, but unlike, say, a broken leg, you don't know when it'll get better.

Her world had shrunk - no matter who she was with, she'd prefer to be with him. That's what happened when you fell in love - you only want to see them.

Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted make-up.

I've always been melancholic. At a party, everyone would be looking at the glittering chandeliers and I'd be looking at the waitress's cracked shoes.

I don't like this idea of division: that if you're a clever woman then you've got to be a particular way. Because men don't. Men please themselves.

Love and kindness go hand in hand.

So I'm back again to the eternal question, the one that has plagued me all my life: How Do Other People Do It? How come they were given life's rule book and I missed out? Where was I when God was dispensing capability and cop on? Looking at shoes, probably.