As much as I try to make the past keep still and mind its manners, it moves and murmurs with me through every day.
Deborah LevyI have never got a grip on when the past begins or where it ends, but if cities map the past with statues made from bronze forever frozen in one dignified position, as much as I try to make the past keep still and mind its manners, it moves and murmurs with me through every day.
Deborah LevyThe young woman was a window waiting to be climbed through. A window that she guessed was a little broken anyway.
Deborah LevyI can't stand THE DEPRESSED. It's like a job, it's the only thing they work hard at.
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Has anyone ever actually told you how up yourself you are?
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To use the language of a war correspondent, which was, she knew, what Isabel Jacobs happened to be, she would have to say thay Kitty Finch was smiling at her with hostile intent.
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We're kissing in the rain.' Her voice was hard and soft at the same time. Like the velvet armchairs. Like the black rain inked on his hand.
Deborah LevyTo become a WRITER I had to learn to INTERRUPT, to speak up, to speak a little louder, and then LOUDER, and then to just speak in my own voice which is NOT LOUD AT ALL.
Deborah LevyMots clés writers-on-writing
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