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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
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Joanne Harris
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: July 3
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More quotes by Joanne Harris
I don't think I've ever had a mentor. The closest thing is my friend Christopher Fowler, another writer. Chris kept me sane for a long time before I made it.
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I love it when my books cause controversy, when people argue violently about the ending.
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To be closed from everything, and yet to feel, to think...This is the truth of hell, stripped of its gaudy medievalisms. This loss of contact.
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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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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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I can write absolutely anywhere. All I need is a laptop.
Joanne Harris
Everything comes home, my mother used to say every word spoken, every shadow cast, every footprint in the sand. It can't be helped it's part of what makes us who we are.
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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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One of the things that writing has taught me is that fiction has a life of its own. Fictional places are sometimes more real than the view from our bedroom window. Fictional people can sometimes become as close to us as our loved ones.
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What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?
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The dead know everything but they don't give a damn.
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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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The process of writing is a little like madness, a kind of possession not altogether benign.
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Guilleaume left La Praline with a small bag of florentines in his pocket before he had turned the corner of avenue des Francs Bourgeois I saw him stoop to offer one to the dog. A pat, a bark, a wagging of the short stubby tail. As I said, some people never have to think about giving.
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And so Nat stood up and joined the group, and followed, and watched, and awaited his chance as the light of Chaos lit the plain and gods and demons marched to war.
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Change isn't always comfortable, but it is a fact of life.
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Anything that can be dreamed is true.
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Anything based on ancient texts is difficult for a modern reader to get their head around.
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I am fascinated by how people eat and what it reveals about them.
Joanne Harris
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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