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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

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David Nicholls
Age: 57
Born: 1966
Born: November 30
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Eastleigh Town
Writer
Litter
Words
Scraps
Born
Scrap
True
Bus
Back
Tickets
Writing
Cell
Cells
Scribble
Wall
Scribbles

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When you're reading a book, you're always looking for the natural place to stop. With a movie, you can't really have that sense of it coming momentarily to a halt there's pressure to keep the momentum up.
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Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today and I'll always remember it
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From an evolutionary point of view, most emotions - fear, desire, anger - serve some practical purpose, but nostalgia is a useless, futile thing because it is a longing for something that is permanently lost . . . .
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At university, I used to write silly little sketches and monologues, but never fiction.
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Call me sentimental, but there's no-one in the world that I'd like to see get dysentery more than you
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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.
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She made a firm resolution, one of the resolutions she was making almost daily these days. No more sleepovers, no more writing poetry, no more wasting time. Time to tidy up your life. Time to start again.
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She glanced across to where Tilly and her brand new husband were posing for photographs, Tilly fluttering a fan coquettishly in front of her face. 'Unfortunately I didn't realise there was a French Revolutionary theme.' 'The Marie-Antoinette thing?' said Dexter. 'Well at least we know there'll be cake.
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As soon as she'd met him at the arrivals gate on his return from Thailand, lithe and brown and shaven-headed, she knew that there was no chance of a relationship between them. Too much had happened to him, too little had happened to her.
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I've been a compulsive reader for as long as I can remember.
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A joke was not a single-use item but something you brought out again and again until it fell apart in your hand like a cheap umbrella.
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I suppose the important thing is to make some sort of difference.
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He put one hand lightly on the back of her neck and simultaneously she placed one hand lightly on his hip, and they kissed in the street as all around them people hurried home in the summer light, and it was the sweetest kiss that either of them would ever know. This is where it all begins. Everything starts here, today. And then it was over.
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No, friends were like clothes: fine while they lasted but eventually they wore thin or you grew out of them.
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Fear and anxiety are great motivators for me.
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And of course there is always joy in witnessing the joy of others
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Being a decent human being will require effort and energy.
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She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.
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Once you decide not to worry about that stuff anymore, dating and relationships and love and all that, it's like you're free to get on with real life.
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