Zadie Smith

… dressed all in yellow spreading warmth and the promise of sex.

… and catholics give out forgiveness at the same time politicians give out promises and whores give out.

Ryan's freckles were a join-the-dot's enthusiast's wet dream.

The more blessed she felt on earth, the more rarely she turned to heaven.

A past tense, future perfect kind of night.

Is there anything more likely to take the shine off an affair that when the lover strikes up a convivial relationship with the lovee's mother.

You hear girls in the toilets of clubs saying, 'Yeah, he fucked off and left me. He just couldn't deal with love. He was too fucked up to know how to love me.' Now how did that happen? What was it about this unlovable century that convinced us we were, despite everything, eminently lovable as a people, as a species? What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with a god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll—then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time.

His mind was a small thing with big holes through which passions regularly seeped out.

Revelation is where all crazy people end up. It's the last stop on the nutso express.

..and the devil won another easy hand in God's poker game.

But why do they always have to be laughing and making a song-and-dance about everything? I cannot believe homosexuality is that much fun. Heterosexuality certainly is not.