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Their love was something which coloured the air between them like sunlight.

Joanne Harris

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Joanne Harris
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: July 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Coloured
Sunlight
Air
Something
Love
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More quotes by Joanne Harris

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Anything based on ancient texts is difficult for a modern reader to get their head around.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris
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The process of writing is a little like madness, a kind of possession not altogether benign.
Joanne Harris
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I've never been very good at leaving things behind. I tried, but I have always left fragments of myself there too, like seeds awaiting their chance to grow.
Joanne Harris
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I love it when my books cause controversy, when people argue violently about the ending.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris
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I carried recipes in my head like maps.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris
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Online communities are an expression of loneliness.
Joanne Harris
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Sometimes survival is the worst alternative there is
Joanne Harris
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I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crashing among the hazels and nougatines
Joanne Harris
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Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.
Joanne Harris
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The dead know everything but they don't give a damn.
Joanne Harris
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Some things can be both real and imaginary at the same time, . . . some lies can be true, . . . broken faith may be restored.
Joanne Harris
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I am fascinated by how people eat and what it reveals about them.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris
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Clones fit in. Freaks stand out. Ask me which one I prefer.
Joanne Harris
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I speak as I must and cannot be silent.
Joanne Harris
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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.
Joanne Harris