I've always been melancholic. At a party, everyone would be looking at the glittering chandeliers and I'd be looking at the waitress's cracked shoes.
I'm proud of what I write and feel endorsed by my readers.
Optimism can be relearnt.
I went grey at 12, my eyesight went at 17. I've been a crock from very early on.
Minsk! How pissed-off that sounded! It was great. You could scare the bejayzus out of someone if you said it right.
I rang my mother to thank her for giving birth to me and she said, "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?
I'd rather dig a ditch than go to a dinner party with people I don't know.
Besides, I'd seen a really nice pair of shoes yesterday in the mall and I wanted them for my own. I can't describe the feeling of immediate familiarity that rushed between us. The moment I clapped eyes on them I felt like I already owned them. I could only suppose that we were together in a former life. That they were my shoes when I was a serving maid in medieval Britain or when I was a princess in ancient Egypt. Or perhaps they were the princess and I was the shoes. Who's to know? Either way I knew that we were meant to be together.
I still get awful depression. It's who I am.
I knew it, I just knew it! The person who had the job of writing my life's dialogue used to work on a very low budget soap opera.
I don't like this idea of division: that if you're a clever woman then you've got to be a particular way. Because men don't. Men please themselves.
I am prone to despair. We are all born with a particular personality. I get afraid and then I don't want to leave the house.
For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.
Every day I wake up afraid that I won't be able to write, that today is the day it has left me.
Do I mind being called a chick-lit writer? Well, it's not the worst thing that could happen.
It was only when the salt water of my tears ran into my cuts and made them sting that I discovered I was crying.
I love Prada. Not so much the clothes, which are for malnourished thirteen-year-olds, but I covet, with covety covetousness, the shoes and handbags. Like, I LOVE them. If I was given a choice between world peace and a Prada handbag, I'd dither. (I'm not proud of this, I'm only saying.)
Slasher Hathaway marks his territory by spending money. He might as well have pissed on her. It means nothing.
Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?
In an unpredictable and unpleasant world it was both unusual and very pleasant to hear what I wanted to hear.
My friend Kathy is the only person who'll be halfway honest with me. 'Did you ever see a cowboy film, where someone has been caught by the Indians and tied between two wild stallions, each pulling in opposite directions?' she asked.I nodded mutely.'That's a bit what giving birth is like.
For all of my life it was the size of my rear that caused me the most hand-wringing, but in this nearly-50 zone it is my stomach that is the problem. It seems to have broken free from its moorings and there is no knowing how far it will roam.
I think denial's fascinating. It's a jokey word, but it really happens, and sometimes in enormous ways.
I used to write in bed, starting when I woke up. I believe that creative work comes from our subconscious mind, so I try to keep the gap between sleep and writing as minimal as possible.
There's no doubt that relationships do suffer when circumstances change profoundly.
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