Bridget Jones's Diary (Bridget Jones, #1)

by Helen Fielding

Yesssss! Yessssss! Daniel Cleaver wants my phone no. Am marvelous. Am irresistible Sex Goddess. Hurrah!

However, one must not live one’s life through men but must be complete in oneself as a woman of substance.

I shall be poised and cool and remember that I am a woman of substance and do not need men in order to be complete, especially not him.

Oh God. Do not want to go to scary party. Want to stay home with bottle of wine and watch Eastenders.

It continued all evening. There’s nothing worse than people telling you you look tired. They might as well have done with it and say you look like five kinds of shit.

I’m no good at anything. Not men. Not social skills. Not work. Nothing.

Girls are so much nicer than men (apart from Tom—but homosexual).

Seems weird to have been so close during the year and now be completely out of touch.

But that’s just the kind of person I am: liking to love others.