If I was a sheep, I’d be black.

You’re going up against years of conditioning – this idea that for every woman there’s a singular male who will haunt her, fascinate her, for the rest of her life.

I’m already moving towards the kitchen as I say this, because one thing I’ve learned is that you never, ever enter negotiations with a three-and-a-half-year old. It’s like negotiating with terrorists.

Jamie’s eyes met hers and recognition passed between them. He wondered if that was how it was going to be for the rest of their lives. They’d talk as if they were just two people who used to hang out, but all the time their eyes would be saying, I know you well and I miss you badly.

There was thin, reverberating silence; the sort of delicately plucked note that isn’t heard, but felt in the heart.

I’ve got a hangover, okay? So I’m not very... It’s not easy sometimes.

But of course when you’ve got it bad for somebody, you aren’t really sane. You’re a stalker and a groupie combined, and you do things even you don’t want to try and understand.

I reserve my right to choices, too, and I choose to behave badly.

Want to know a secret? I am someone else. Nobody knows the real me.

Aw, bugger it. Don’t die wondering.