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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.
Joanne Harris
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Joanne Harris
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: July 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Summer
Merry
Carnivals
Promise
Coats
Tumbling
Wind
Tails
Hares
Came
Magical
Exuberance
Everyone
Promises
Blossoms
Making
Hats
Frenzy
Change
March
Coat
Towards
Rushing
Carnival
More quotes by Joanne Harris
Change isn't always comfortable, but it is a fact of life.
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Places have their own characters. . . . But the people begin to look the same.
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I carried recipes in my head like maps.
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I like autumn. The drama of it the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.
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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.
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What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?
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Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the heart. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.
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People reveal so much of their mental processes online, simply because the psychological effect of anonymity just means that a whole raft of inhibitions are left alone when people log on.
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You priests. You're all the same. You think fasting helps you think about God, when anyone who can cook would tell you that fasting just makes you think about food.
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You 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.
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Sheep are not the docile, pleasant creatures of the pastoral idyll. Any countryman will tell you that. They are sly, occasionally vicious, pathologically stupid. The lenient shepherd may find his flock unruly, definant. I cannot afford to be lenient.
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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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It isn't just a village. The houses aren't just places to live. Everything belongs to everybody. Everyone belongs to everyone else. Even a single person can make a difference.
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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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The great thing about books is that you can end with a question mark.
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I'm not fond of cities: the constant activity and swarms of people.
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Anything that can be dreamed is true.
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She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world.
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Sometimes survival is the worst alternative there is
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A thing named is a thing tamed.
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