You're not allowed to say anything about books because they're books, and books are, you know, God.

She thought I was...soulful, by which I think she means that I don't say much and I always look vaguely pissed off.

...self-consciousness is a man's worst enemy.

Everyone disliked their partners at some time or another, she knew that. But she’d spent her hours in the dark wondering whether she’d ever liked him. Would it really have been so much worse to spend those years alone? Why did there have to be someone else in the room while she was eating, watching TV, sleeping?

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

The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product.

Do you ever do that thing where you lie in bed and you can't sleep so you end up writing out recent conversation you've had? So they look like a play?' Well you should. It's fun. I keep them. Look through them, sometimes.