The Classic Notting Hill junkie, i.e; Armani underwear, Pink's shirt and Burberry belt tourniquets

Men think wiles charming unless they find out your charms are wiles.

Wear your pain like lip gloss!

My love is unique. No one can rival her, for she is the most beautiful girl alive. Just by passing, she has stolen my heart.

A pair of Blahniks and a girl can vanquish anything

I suppose you’re young, ’ she conceded, managing once again to make youth sound like impetigo

London is speared by the tube map of fashion zone: zone one is classic-edgy, zone two is edgy-dowdy while the counties do a classic, edgy, dowdy hotch potch - epitomised so beautifully by Kate Moss.

I had walked all over the fragile bloom of his heart like a Boadicea in Blahniks

The Duke is worried you lack the fitness to walk up Bond Street. You’re generation lacks the drive.

Chic rarely bothers to leave the Rue De Faubourg Saint-Honore.

Pleasantly bustling shoppers streamed past us on Bond Street - smart-suited men and well-heeled women whose commitment to luxury goods glazed over their eyes like a bad case of malaria.

Sugar, it's no parade but you'll get down the street one way or another, so you'd just as well throw your shoulders back and pick up the pace.

In the mirror you see the reflection of your face. In the world you see the reflection of your thoughts.

How much time is wasted in what is called thought, but is merely care--an anxious idling over the fancied probabilities of result

Someone should have warned me about love's dark underbelly, about the rejection and despair.

Only he who does nothing makes no mistakes.

To always hit the target, throw a dart, then call whatever you hit the target.

They kept the lie going, and the people loved it.

I maintain that some Jew wrote it who probably heard about Christian people but never encountered any.

I love my brother. I miss my brother.