Do I want to be like him? Not really, I don't think. But I find myself worrying away at that stuff about pop music again, whether I like it because I'm unhappy, or whether I'm unhappy because I like.
Do you ever do that thing where you lie in bed and you can't sleep so you end up writing out recent conversation you've had? So they look like a play?'Well you should. It's fun. I keep them. Look thro...
Do you need someone to talk to? she said gently. Oh. Thank you. No, no, I'm fine. He touched his face – he'd been crying harder than he'd realized. You sure? You don't look fine. No, really. I've just...
During the night, I have one of those dreams that aren’t really dreams at all, just stuff about Laura fucking Ray, and Marco fucking Charlie, and I’m pleased to wake up in the middle of the night, bec...
E' o non è un'ingiustizia che i leader mondiali si facciano strada non grazie alla loro capacità di risolvere problemi globali, ma di addormentarsi a comando? La maggior parte della gente perbene di n...
Even though we get a lot of people into the shop, only a small percentage of them buy anything. The best customers are the ones who just have to buy a record on a Saturday, even if there’s nothing the...
For alarmingly large chunks of an average day, I am a moron.
For the first time, but certainly not the last, I began to believe that Arsenal's moods and fortunes somehow reflected my own
For us it is not comparable, the FA Cup and Champions League,’ Arsène Wenger said before Arsenal played Leeds in the FA Cup. ‘The Champions League is compulsory. The FA Cup is something that is for en...
Forse noi viviamo troppo protesi verso un apice, dico noi che assorbiamo emozioni da mattina a sera, e di conseguenza non riusciamo a sentirci semplicemente contenti: noi dobbiamo essere o disperati o...
He accused her of being bourgeois, whatever that was—it seemed to involve engagement rings and babies and all sorts of things she wasn’t interested in. He got so heated about them that for a moment sh...
He knew he had only himself to blame; but it was more or less entirely her fault.
He wanted Rachel to be his wife, his lover, the centre of his whole world; a girlfriend implied that he would see her from time to time, that she would have some kind of independent existence away fro...
He was beginning to wonder whether June’s facility, and their shared interest, might serve them better in the long run than a passionate sexual relationship that would eventually die on them.
He was distraught, of course: he was just the kind of idiot who could only understand what things meant by doing them first.
He was thinking about Edith. She was constantly on the verge of canceling their marriage. She would only commission a few shows at a time, reluctantly, and if he had listened properly, she’d always be...
He's at the chocolate teapot end of the competency scale.
His father fell off a window-ledge. No wonder his mum had cheered up.
How could there be a bad song called ‘Iron Man’, or ‘War Pigs’, or – my cup ranneth over – ‘Rat Salad’?
How had I managed to edit all this out in the intervening years? How had I managed to turn her into the answer to all the world’s problems?
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