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

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.

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.

A smile is the key to the gate of heaven and love is the road which will get you there.

Where is the man who has the strength to be true, and to show himself as he is?

Modern agriculture is the use of land to convert petroleum into food.

Paintings are like a beer, only beer tastes good and it's hard to stop drinking beer.

Give honour unto Luke Evangelist; For he it was (the aged legends say) Who first taught Art to fold her hands and pray.

Women: We cannot love them all. But we must try.

I have found it very important...to let go of my wishes and start hoping.

Football is not played on paper, it is played on a pitch. This game is not mathematics and in football, two plus two very rarely equals four - it's usually three or five.

Everything is always a little surreal.

I will attract into my life what I am, not what I want.