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As a novelist, I'm incredibly lucky to make a living, but that doesn't mean that I don't lie awake at four o'clock in the morning, worrying.

David Nicholls

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David Nicholls
Age: 58
Born: 1966
Born: November 30
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Eastleigh Town
Morning
Novelist
Four
Worrying
Lying
Novelists
Living
Incredibly
Doesn
Awake
Mean
Clock
Make
Lucky
Worry

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Fear and anxiety are great motivators for me.
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The attraction of a life devoted to sensation, pleasure and self would probably wear thin one day, but there was still plenty of time for that yet.
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If you're my friend I should be able to talk to you but I can't, and if I can't talk to you, well, what is the point of you? Of us?
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…surprised all over again at how very comforting very bad food can be.
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No matter how predictable, banal and listless the rest of my life might be, you can guarantee that there'll always be something interesting going on with my skin.
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Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today and I'll always remember it
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She made you decent, and in return you made her so happy
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She had reached a turning point. She no longer believed that a situation could be made better by writing a poem about it.
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If there's anything I'm keen to get better at in my writing, then it's the writing of prose as opposed to the writing of dialogue.
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you feel a little bit lost right now about what to do with your life, a bit rudderless and oarless and aimless but that's okay that's alright because we're all meant to be like that at twenty-four.
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Failure and unhappiness is easier because you can make a joke out of it.
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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.
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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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He wanted to live life in such a way that if a photograph were taken at random, it would be a cool photograph.
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Do you miss her?' 'Who? Emma? Of course. Every day. She was my best friend.
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I am not up to this. I am not capable. I thought I would be, but I'm not. Some part of me is missing, and I cannot do this.
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Letters, like compilation tapes, were really vehicles for unexpressed emotions and she was clearly putting far too much time and energy into them.
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I think I became a writer because I used to write letters to my friends, and I used to love writing them. I loved the idea that you can put marks on a page and send it off, and two days later, someone laughs somewhere else in the world.
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It's hard to overestimate the teenage appetite for high drama.
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Salmon. Salmon, salmon, salmon, salmon. I eat so much salmon at these weddings, twice a year I get this urge to swim upstream.
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