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I like literature that you respond to in some way. You laugh, you cry, you turn the light on - that's great, it's eliciting a response by proxy.
Joanne Harris
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Joanne Harris
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: July 3
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More quotes by Joanne Harris
I can write absolutely anywhere. All I need is a laptop.
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The dead know everything but they don't give a damn.
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What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?
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Nat Parson says it's the devil's mark. Nat Parson's a gobshite. Maddy was torn between a natural feeling of sacrilege and a deep admiration of anyone who dared call a parson 'gobshite.
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Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same.
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If you want to know what's important to a culture, learn their language.
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The right circumstances sometimes happen of their own accord, slyly, without fanfare, without warning. Layman's alchemy. . . . The magic of everyday things.
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I'd rather be a freak than a clone.
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I liked her better for showing a little spirit.
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A little tantrum in real life seems so much bigger online.
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I don't listen to music when I'm writing, but I often do when I'm reworking, editing or when I need to relax.
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The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.
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Our lives are like these things I make. Turn 'em, build 'em, bake 'em in fire. That's what you've been, son. Baked and fired. But a pot don't have the right to choose whether he be for water, wine, or just left empty. You have, son. You have.
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But I rather thought--I mean, I heard you'd killed Balder the Fair. I never did, snapped Loki crossly. Well, no one ever proved I did. What happened to the presumption of innocence? Besides, he was supposed to be invulnerable. Was it my fault that he wasn't?
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As authors, we all expect criticism from time to time, and we all have our ways of coping with unfriendly reviews.
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Sometimes survival is the worst alternative there is
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This isn't the first time the world has come to an end, and it won't be the last either.
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Clones fit in. Freaks stand out. Ask me which one I prefer.
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We came in the wind of the carnival. A wind of change, or promises. The merry wind, the magical wind, making March hares of everyone, tumbling blossoms and coat-tails and hats rushing towards summer in a frenzy of exuberance.
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Drunkeness, she told us in a rare moment of confidence, is a sin against the fruit, the tree, the wine itself. Wine, distilled and nurtured from bud into fruit it deserves reverance. Joy. Gentleness. (Page 194.)
Joanne Harris