All right, Monsieur Jay,' she said, smiling. 'I'll tell them you're OK.
Joanne HarrisTheir love was something which coloured the air between them like sunlight.
Joanne HarrisToo much balast slows you down.
Joanne HarrisAnd yet I could still hear them. As if some part of their essence had evaporated into the air, become a part of this place, ingrained, like the scent of cigarettes and burning sugar, in the woodwork and plaster. Everything was buzzing with that vanished presence, buzzing and singing and laughing louder than ever before, stone and tile and polished wood, all whispering with agitation and excitement; never still, never silent.
Joanne HarrisThere was a quote he could not quite remember, something about the past being an island surrounded by time. He had missed the last boat to the island.
Joanne HarrisHe drank, for the same reason he wrote second-rate science fiction. Not to forget but to remember, to open the past and find himself there again. He opened each bottle, began each story with the secret conviction that here was the magic drought that would restore him. But magic, like wine, needs the right conditions in order to work.
Joanne HarrisYou don't write because someone sets assignments! You write because you need to write, or because you hope someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside you or bring something back to life.
Joanne HarrisI've never viewed you as an enemy, more an adversary...
Joanne HarrisIf knowledge was power I had under my possession the entire school
Joanne HarrisTags: gentlemen-and-players
What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?
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