Quotes from David Nicholls

She was reaching the limits of how much its possible to change a man

And they did have fun, though it was of different kind now. All that yearning and passion had been replaced by a steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction and occasional irritation, and this seemed to be a happy exchange; if there had been moments in her life when she had been more elated, there had never been a time when things had been more constant.

The problem with all these fiercely individualistic girls was that they were all exactly the same.

Today. This bright new day that awaits us

A moment passed, perhaps half a second when their faces said what they felt, and then Emma was smiling, laughing, her arms around his neck.

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.

She shouldn't speak her thoughts; nothing good ever came of speaking your thoughts.

For some time now she has had the conviction that life is about to change if only because it must. . . .

You can live your whole life not realising that what you're looking for is right in front of you.

Whatever happens tomorrow, we've had today.

Things should look right, Fun; there should be a lot of fun and no more sadness than absolutely necessary

Sometimes, when it is going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationary.

From an evolutionary point of view, most emotions - fear, desire, anger - serve some practical purpose, but nostalgia is a useless, futile thing because it is a longing for something that is permanently lost . . . .

You can't throw away years of your life because it makes a funny anecdote.

Once you decide not to worry about that stuff anymore, dating and relationships and love and all that, it's like you're free to get on with real life.

Maybe we've grown out of each other.

Don't keep fighting battles that are already lost.

So do you think it's true what they say? About girls liking bastards?' 'He's not a bastard. He's an idiot.' 'Do girls like idiots then?

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.

I'm just not prepared to be treated like this anymore.' 'Treated like what?' She sighed, and it was a moment before she spoke. 'Like you always want to be somewhere else, with someone else.

Sorry' he said. 'No, I'm sorry.' 'What are you sorry for?' 'Rattling on like a mad old cow. I'm sorry, I'm tired, bad day, and I'm sorry for being so...boring.' 'You're not that boring.' 'I am, Dex. God, I swear I bore myself.' 'Well, you don't bore me.' He took her hand in his. 'You could never bore me. You're one in a million, Em.

Why can't you just love me? Why can't you just be in love with me?

Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery. The true writer, the born writer, will scribble words on scraps of litter, the back of a bus tickets, on the wall of a cell .Emma is lost on anything less than 120gsm.

She glanced at the other diners, all of them going into their act, and thought is this what it all boils down to? Romantic love, is this all it is, a talent show?