The outward manifestations of an inner combustion are never very directed.

I love the detail about the workings of the human heart and mind that only fiction can provide - film can't get in close enough.

I used to believe, although I don't now, that growing and growing up are analogous, that both are inevitable and uncontrollable processes. Now it seems to me that growing up is governed by the will, that one can choose to become an adult, but only at given moments. These moments come along fairly infrequently -during crises in relationships, for example, or when one has been given the chance to start afresh somewhere- and one can ignore them or seize them.

What harm has he ever done to you?' 'You know what harm he's done me. He offended me with his terrible taste.

I'm a good person. In most ways. But I'm beginning to think that being a good person in most ways doesn't count for anything very much, if you're a bad person in one way.

…I've had a bad week." What's happened?" Nothing's happened. I've had a bad week in my head, is all.

Unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money.