I hate time. It never does what you want it to.

You know that things aren't going well for you when you can't even tell people the simplest fact about your life, just because they'll presume you're asking them to feel sorry for you.

When your sad--like really sad--you only want to be with other people who are sad.

I miss him like one might miss a scar, or wooden leg, something disfiguring but characteristic.

One could argue that most of the trouble in the world is caused by introspection.

Where would David Copperfield be if Dickens had gone to writing classes? Probably about seventy minor characters short, is where. (Did you know that Dickens is estimated to have invented thirteen thousand characters? Thirteen thousand! The population of a small town!)

Sequels are very rarely a good idea, and in any case, the success of the book changed my relationship with the club in some ways.