Call me sentimental, but there’s no-one in the world that I’d like to see get dysentery more than you.
As the possibility of a relationship had faded, Emma had endeavored to harden herself to Dexter’s indifference and these days a remark like this caused no more pain than, say, a tennis ball thrown sharply at the back of her head.
Oh you know me. I have no emotions. I’m a robot. Or a nun. A robot nun.
And then some days you wake up and everything’s perfect.
I think reality is over-rated.
Today. This bright new day that awaits us.
She was reaching the limits of how much its possible to change a man.
And it was at moments like this that she had to remind herself that she was in love with him, or had once been in love with him, a long time ago.
The future rose up ahead of her, a succession of empty days, each more daunting and unknowable than the one before her.
These days grief seems like walking on a frozen river; most of the time he feels safe enough, but there is always that danger that he will plunge through.
But at the best of times she feels like a character in a Muriel Spark novel – independent, bookish, sharp-minded, secretly romantic.
The city had defeated her, just like they said it would. Like some overcrowded party, no one had noticed her arrival, and would notice if she left.
In eight years not a day has gone by when she hasn’t thought of him. She misses him and she wants him back. I want my best friend back, she thinks, because without him nothing is good and nothing is right.
What must that be like? To be admired before you’ve even said a word, to be desired two or three hundred times a day by people who have absolutely no idea what you’re like?
Dexter, I love you so much. So, so much, and I probably always will. I just don’t like you anymore. I’m sorry.
I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference.
He could feel her laughter against his chest, and at that moment he thought that there was no better feeling than making Emma Morley laugh.
You can’t throw away years of your life because it makes a funny anecdote.
Of course you should study whatever you want. The written appreciation and understanding of literature, or any kind of artistic endeavour, is absolutely central to a decent society. Why d’you think books are the first things that the fascists burn?
No matter how predictable, banal and listless the rest of my life might be, you can guarantee that there’ll always be something interesting going on with my skin.