But writers and their woes: they couldn't be parted. Not for anything.

Children, Hadley thinks to herself, children are more civilised than this gang on the sauce.

She kissed him but he didn't seem to recognize it.

The hangover: such a cure, she thinks, for overthinking.

Talents too many, not enough of any.

The longer I don't write, the more I hurt.

I want to be a good man, a good writer.""Be one or the other, Ernest, not both.

No man should be asked to live with so much sadness, and with so little promise of relief.

Ernest chose to go, she finally thinks, watching the fire turn the papers black. He loved her but he could not live anymore.

Martha thanks Sylvia, gesturing with the book. "Just remember not to try to hard with understanding it, " Sylvia says. "Like people, they're best not to be too thoroughly understood.

Paris without a good book is like a pretty girl with only one eye.

Intuition: the feeling you know something when you know nothing.

It's everywhere, really. It's between the galaxies. It is in this room. We believe that everywhere that you have space, empty space, that you cannot avoid having some of this dark energy.

The injury that we do to a man must be such that we need not fear his vengeance.

To discover he is loved in return ought really to disenchant the lover with the beloved.

I started working when I was 9 or 10.

Libya, more than anyone else's war, was Hillary Clinton's war.

It is a real tragedy for a nation when three groups of it's people, namely politicians, religious leaders and charity workes, just pretend to be generous.

I want to be the black Madonna.

The nakedness of woman is the work of God.