This is me.’" He handed her the precious scrap of paper. ‘Call me or I’ll call you, but one of us will call, yes? What I mean is it’s not a competition. You don’t lose if you phone first — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
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. — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
These days grief seems like walking on a frozen river; most of the time he feels safe enough, but there is always that danger… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
“Good God, 'the elusive thing'. She had reached a turning point. She no longer believed that a situation could be made better by writing… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
Emma was a shocking driver, simultaneously sloppy and petrified, and for the first fifty miles had been absent-mindedly driving with her spectacles on top… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
I still find it absurdly difficult to concentrate on a novel if there's a phone or computer to hand; I have taken to locking… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
You've got to stop letting women slip drugs into your mouth, Dex, it's unhygienic. And dangerous. One day it'll be a cyanide capsule. — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
“He presses two fingers against each eye and attempts to account for this crippling melancholy, but is having trouble with rational thought. It feels… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
“Live each day as if it's our last', that was the conventional advice, but really who had the energy for that? What if it… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
She was reaching the limits of how much its possible to change a man — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
“How would she fill the days? She had no idea. The trick of it, she told herself, is to be courageous and bold and… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
“What if it rained or you felt a bit glandy? It just wasn't practical. Better by far to simply try and be good and… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
Sometimes, when it is going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
The city had defeated her, just like they said it would. Like some overcrowded party, no one had noticed her arrival, and would notice… — David Nicholls Copy Share Image
