David Nicholls may refer to:
Find the thing you love, and do it with all your heart, to the absolute best of your ability, no matter what people say.
Be nice wont you?" "I am nice, I'm always nice. " "But not too nice. I mean don't make a religion out of it, niceness.
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.
you feel a little bit lost right now about what to do with your life, a bit rudderless and oarless and aimless but that's okay that's alright because we're all meant to be like that at twenty-four.
I read a lot of F. Scott Fitzgerald. I love 'Tender is the Night,' and its atmosphere of doomed romance. He was one of the greatest prose stylists, with a wonderfully clear but lyrical quality.
I've been a compulsive reader for as long as I can remember.
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 All that yearning and passion had been replaced by a steady pulse of pleasure and satisfaction and occasional irritation, and this seemed to be a happy exchange; if there had been moments in her life when she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.
but they had also settled into the maddening familiarity of friendship; maddening for her at least.
She wondered if she was doomed to be one of those people who spend their lives trying things.
I applied for the University of Life. Didn't get the grades.
Everything was fine, and she had the rare, new sensation of being exactly where she wanted to be.
Better by far to be good and courageous and bold and to make difference. Not change the world exactly, but the bit around you
I had always been led to believe that ageing was a slow and gradual process, the creep of a glacier. Now I realise that it happens in a rush, like snow falling off a roof.
Don’t keep fighting battles that are already lost.
Dexter, I love you so much. So, so much, and I probably always will. I just don't like you anymore. I'm sorry.
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.
You're gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence. Either that or a scented candle
I contemplate the idea that maybe I'm an alcoholic. I get this occassionally, the need to define myself as something-or-the-other, and at various times in my life have wondered if I'm a Goth, a homosexul, a Jew, a Catholic or a manic depressive, whether I am adopted, or have a hole in my heart, or possess the ability to move objects with the power of my mind, and have always, most regretfully, come to the conclusion that I'm none of the above. The fact is I'm actually not ANYTHING.
For the best part of my childhood I visited the local library three or four times a week, hunching in the stacks on a foam rubber stool and devouring children's fiction, classics, salacious thrillers, horror and sci-fi, books about cinema and origami and natural history, to the point where my parents encouraged me to read a little less.
I think reality is over-rated