That was his mother. When she wasn't crying over the breakfast cereal, she was laughing about killing herself.

There had been times when he knew, somewhere in him, that he would get used to it, whatever it was, because he had learnt that some hard things became softer after a very little while.

You wouldn't believe that so much could change just because a relationship ended.

There were about seventy-nine squillion people in the world, and if you were very lucky, you would end up being loved by fifteen or twenty of them.

You had to live in your own bubble. You couldn't force your way into someone else's, because then it wouldn't be a bubble any more.

It struck him that how you spent Christmas was a message to the world about where you were in life, some indication of how deep a hole you had managed to burrow for yourself

Reciprocation was a pretty powerful stimulant to the imagination.

What good were real feelings anyway?

he was home on his own and listening to the sort of music he needed to listen to when he felt like this, music that seemed to find the sore spot in him and press up hard against it...

Will wrestled with his conscience, grappled it to the ground and sat on it until he couldn't hear a squeak out of it.

Sometimes, sleepers turn up as common people who do everyday things, and create a new destiny for themselves when nobody’s watching.

Signs form a language, but not the one you think you know.

You people are telling me what you think I want to know. I want to know what is actually happening.

Rapping is the only time I'm serious.

If I could have two things in one: the peace of the grave, and the light of the sun.

I find it actually the height of romance to legally bind yourself to someone because you're really taking care of someone, and letting them take care of you. I actually have no cynicism about that.

What we need is progress with an escape hatch.

"Well? Is it true? Did she?" "Did she what?" "You know. Fall outta the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down?"

I'm not fundamentally a writer. I know writers, and I have a tremendous amount of respect for them. It bothers me that no matter how well I do it, it's not really my format.

Beautifully drawn, solid, compelling characters against a background so real and scary I left the lights on all night. It was great!