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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: 72
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
More quotes by Kate Atkinson
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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Why do cats sleep so much? Perhaps they've been trusted with some major cosmic task, an essential law of physics - such as: if there are less than five million cats sleeping at any one time the world will stop spinning.
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I am mad, I think. I am mad therefore I think. I am mad therefore I think I am.
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The past is what you take with you.
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Become such as you are, having learned what that is.
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You must never believe everything they say about a person. Generally speaking, most of it will be lies, half-truths at best.
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You can step in the same river but the water will always be new.
Kate Atkinson
I feel as if I’m waiting for something dreadful to happen, and then I realize it already has.
Kate Atkinson
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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I don't have goals when writing books, apart from getting to the end. I have rather vague ideas about how I want things to feel, I'm big on ambience. I have a title, a beginning and a probable ending and go from there.
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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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Oh, God. What was happening to her, she was turning into a normal person.
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Patricia embraces me on the station platform. 'The past is what you leave behind in life, Ruby,' she says with the smile of a reincarnated lama. 'Nonsense, Patricia,' I tell her as I climb on board my train. 'The past's what you take with you.
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(although anyone with half a brain must surely be mired in existential gloom all the time)
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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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Ursula craved solitude but she hated loneliness, a conundrum that she couldn’t even begin to solve.
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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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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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The beginning is the word and the end is silence. And in between are all the stories.
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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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