Quote

My mother and I were like two continents moving slowly but inexorably apart my father, the bridge builder, constantly extending the fragile edifice he had constructed to connect us.

Diane Setterfield

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Diane Setterfield
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: August 22
Author
Writer
Constantly
Constructed
Moving
Continents
Father
Bridge
Mother
Fragile
Two
Connect
Inexorably
Like
Bridges
Edifice
Slowly
Builder
Apart
Extending

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I have always been a reader I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy
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Tragedy alters everything.
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What better way to get to know someone than through her choice and treatment of books?
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One needs no particular talent to be polite. On the contrary, being nice is what's left when you've failed at everything else.
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Boys do not leave their boyhood behind when they leave off their school uniform.
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People with ambition don't give a damn what other people think of them.
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Fate, at first so amenable, so reasonable, so open to negotiation, ends up by exacting a cruel revenge for happiness.
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My genius is not so frail a thing that it cowers from the dirty fingers of newspapernen.
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opening the book, i inhaled. the smell of old books, so sharp, so dry you can taste it.
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I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Books are for me, it must be said, the most important thing.
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There are too many books in the world to read in a single lifetime you have to draw the line somewhere.
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The tears I gratified him with were fake ones. Ones that set off my green eyes the way diamonds set off emeralds. And it worked. If you dazzled a man with green eyes, he will be so hypnotized that he won’t notice there is someone inside the eyes spying on him. – Vida Winters Page 268
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Reading can be dangerous.
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A good story is always more dazzling than a broken piece of truth.
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Our clients' faces, with the customary outward paleness and inner glow of the book lover.
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A birth is not really a beginning. Our lives at the start are not really our own but only the continuation of someone else's story.
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Sometimes you can know things. Things about yourself. Things from before you can remember.
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I know there are people who don't read fiction at all, and I find it hard to understand how they can bear to be inside the same head all the time.
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There is something about words. In expert hands, manipulated deftly, they take you prisoner. Wind themselves around your limbs like spider silk, and when you are so enthralled you cannot move, they pierce your skin, enter your blood, numb your thoughts. Inside you they work their magic.
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For it must be very lonely being dead.
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