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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?

Kate Atkinson

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Kate Atkinson
Age: 72
Born: 1951
Born: December 20
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
Jórvík
Bizarre
Awkward
Feminism
Incredibly
Feminist
Days
Word
Would

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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.
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Perhaps we are on an insula ex machina, an artificial place not in the real world at all -- a backdrop for the stories we must tell.
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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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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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(although anyone with half a brain must surely be mired in existential gloom all the time)
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Jennifer had never liked the pain of remembering what had happened, but for Theo it was the pain that kept Laura alive in his memory. He was afraid that if it ever began to heal she would disappear.
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The past is what you take with you.
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I did feel when my mother died if anyone was going to haunt me it would be her. And she hasn't, so I think it is possibly the end.
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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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Probably not needing to be published would give me more time to think about a book.
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Love was the hardest thing. Don't let anyone ever tell you different.
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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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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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Sometimes,' Sylvie said, 'one can mistake gratitude for love.
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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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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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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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I am mad, I think. I am mad therefore I think. I am mad therefore I think I am.
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Oh, God. What was happening to her, she was turning into a normal person.
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If you don't have a unique voice, then you're not really a writer.
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