All those words of praise they use for novels – spare, economical. Why should I shell out £17 for economical?
It’s never over till it’s over with a friend.
Marriage is like a barbecue. When you light a barbecue, it’s very exciting to see the flames. That’s lovely, but you have to wait until the flames have died down. Everything that you want from a barbecue happens on the hot embers. You can’t cook on those flames.
Although I was too young to understand the theory of universal (that’s to say male) guilt, I was old enough to know which sex suffered migraine and which sex caused it.
I could use the company but I can’t go through the pain of getting it.
I’m a Jewish Jane Austen.
The girls pick snouts from the pack as though they’re chocolates and it matters which they select.
What it is to see, what liberties are taken when one looks, where looking leaves one vis-a-vis one’s subject, or how far looking ultimately becomes one’s subject – these are important questions.
I took the route favoured by all worldly failures and became a spiritual success.
The perfect bacon sandwich is on white bread, very soft and very thick. Sourdough with a good crust. The bacon is half way to being crispy – and there’s lots of it – and enough brown sauce to trickle down your arm. You’ve not really enjoyed a bacon sandwich unless 10 minutes later you’re still licking your wrists.
In the matrimonial life of the Jewish male every day is Yom Kippur.
How do you go on knowing that you will never again – not ever, ever – see the person you have loved? How do you survive a single hour, a single minute, a single second of that knowledge? How do you hold yourself together?
