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When I can't take it any more, when my white shirt is translucent and my jacket streaked with mud and Im gtting stabbing pains--cramp, or rheumatism, or arthritis, who knows?--in my legs, I stand up and brush myself off; and then Laura, who has obviously been sitting in her car by the bus stop all …

[...] And when they do die it will hardly be the end of the world. Just, you know, wow, stop press, extremely ancient person dies. [...]

I knew that Ken liked me, but I could never really work out why, apart from once he was looking for the original London cast recording of My Fair Lady, and I saw a copy at a record fair, and sent it to him. See where random acts of kindness get you? To fucking funerals, that's where.

[...] If I can't buy specially priced compilation albums for new girlfriends, then I might as well give up, because I'm not sure that I know how to do anything else.

Where's the superficial? I was, and therefore am, dim, gloomy, a drag, unfashionable, unfanciable and awkward. This doesn't seem like superficial to me. These aren't flesh wounds. These are life-threatening thrusts into the internal organs.