Quote

They said love made you strong, but in Louise's opinion it made you weak. It corkscrewed into your heart and you couldn't get it out again, not without ripping your heart to pieces.

Kate Atkinson

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Kate Atkinson
Age: 73
Born: 1951
Born: December 20
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
Jórvík
Opinion
Strong
Without
Heart
Louise
Made
Ripping
Love
Weak
Couldn
Pieces

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I was on the verge of something numinous and profound and in one more second the universe was going to crack open and arcana would rain down on my head like grace and all the cosmic mysteries were going to be revealed.
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Hindsight's a wonderful thing. If we all had it there would be no history to write about.
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Not being published would be great. When I say that to other writers they look at me as if I'm totally insane.
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Feminism is such an incredibly awkward word for us these days, isnt it? Not to be feminist would be bizarre, wouldnt it?
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Become such as you are, having learned what that is.
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Alternate history fascinates me, as it fascinates all novelists, because 'What if?' is the big thing.
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If you don't have a unique voice, then you're not really a writer.
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Men had no purpose on earth whereas women were gods walking unrecognized among them.
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The past is what you take with you.
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Time was a thief, he stole your life away from you and the only way you could get it back was to outwit him and snatch it right back.
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Fairy tales opened up a door into my imagination - they don't conform to the reality that's around you as a child. I started reading when I was three and read everything, but I wanted to be an actress.
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The great thing about writing compared to life is getting to tie things up.
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I'm a lapsed Quaker. I don't go to meetings any more. But I'm very drawn to Catholicism - all that glitter. I'd love to be a Catholic. I think it would be fantastic - faith, forgiveness, absolution, extreme unction - all these wonderful words. I don't think anyone who was ever born a Catholic hasn't died a Catholic, no matter how lapsed they are.
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Ursula craved solitude but she hated loneliness, a conundrum that she couldn’t even begin to solve.
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I spent four years doing a doctorate in postmodern American literature. I can recognize it when I see it.
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When you chopped logs with the ax and they split open they smelled beautiful, like Christmas. But when you split someone's head open it smelled like abattoir and quite overpowered the scent of the wild lilacs you'd cut and brought into the house only this morning, which was already another life.
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Julia's vocabulary was chock-full of strangely archaic words - spiffing, crumbs, jeepers - that seemed to have originated in some prewar girls' annual rather than in Julia's own life. For Jackson, words were functional, they helped you get to places and explain things. For Julia, they were freighted with inexplicable emotion.
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I feel as if I’m waiting for something dreadful to happen, and then I realize it already has.
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She was a terrible mother, there was no doubt about it, but she didn't even have the strength to feel guilty.
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The past is a cupboard full of light and all you have to do is find the key that opens the door.
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