Quote

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?

Joanne Harris

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Joanne Harris
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: July 3
Author
Novelist
Writer
Fairs
Invulnerable
Thought
Faults
Snapped
Ever
Fair
Presumption
Wells
Supposed
Proved
Well
Wasn
Besides
Mean
Heard
Fault
Never
Innocence
Happened
Killed
Loki
Rather

More quotes by 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.
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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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What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?
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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 don't tend to do category fiction very well. One of my problems when I was starting off was that publishers were hesitant to handle my books because they were never sure what I was going to do next.
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If you want to know what's important to a culture, learn their language.
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A little tantrum in real life seems so much bigger online.
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I am fascinated by how people eat and what it reveals about them.
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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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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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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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If you want something you can have it, but you have to do some work. It's the ethic my mother brought me up with.
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Death should be a celebration. Like a birthday. I want to go up like a rocket when my time comes, and fall down in a cloud of stars, and hear everyone go: ahh!
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Some books you read. Some books you enjoy. But some books just swallow you up, heart and soul.
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I'm not fond of cities: the constant activity and swarms of people.
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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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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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Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.
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A thing named is a thing tamed.
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