I feel warm and reassured," I whispered. "He's like Santa.

Braiiinnnnssss," we said in unison. "It's both sad and incredibly impressive that you were all ready with that one.

I sleep better knowing that a naked cork-eater is not sneaking around at night, stealing my underwear.

I had one class in the morning, the mysteriously named "Further Maths". It was two hours long and so deeply frightening that I think I went into a trance.

Why Paris? Paris needs no reason. Paris is its own reason.

This wasn't a position she wanted to be in. And yet . . . yet she knew that she was going to do it anyway.

Being an author means, almost by definition, that you make up characters and then complicate their lives. That's it, really. You make up characters and give them problem after problem after problem.