Her purity of spirit would never be in doubt, though she moved through a blemished world.

The cost of oblivious daydreaming was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse.

Wasn't writing a kind of soaring, an achievable form of flight, of fancy, of the imagination?

And though you think the world is at your feet, it can rise up and tread on you.

He knew these last lines by heart and mouthed them now in the darkness. My reason for life. Not living, but life. That was the touch. And she was his reason for life, and why he must survive.

At that moment, the urge to be writing was stronger than any notion she had of what she might write.

We go on our hands and knees and crawl our way towards the truth

Above all, she wanted to look as though she had not given the matter a moment's thought, and that would take time.

In that shrinking moment he discovered that he had never hated anyone until now. It was a feeling as pure as love, but dispassionate and icily rational.

It wasn't torpor that kept her - she was often restless to the point of irritability. She simply liked to feel that she was prevented from leaving, that she was needed.

He had never before felt so self-consciously young, nor experienced such appetite, such impatience for the story to begin.

A star is a rock that could no longer hide its beauty from the world.

There are some things in life that we try to ignore, thinking that maybe if we don't see the problem, it won't see us when in reality, it's only getting bigger.

You can't teach a child what to dream, but you can teach them how to dream. #imagination

I think my attitude to human beings has changed since leaving prison.

PAIN, n. An uncomfortable frame of mind that may have a physical basis in something that is being done to the body, or may be purely mental, caused by the good fortune of another.

If everybody's not a beauty, then nobody is

The display is the computer.

If people don't like Marxism, they should blame the British Museum.

Art is Nature made by Man, To Man the interpreter of God.