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She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.

Kate Morton

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Kate Morton
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: July 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Berri
South Australia
Australia
Star
Rain
Summer
Stars
Light
Parched
Earth
Drops
Firsts
Breeze
First
Evening

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She's one of the few people able to look beyond the lines on my face to see the twenty-year-old who lives inside.
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The girl in the mirror caught my eye briefly...It is an uncanny feeling, that rare occasion when one catches a glimpse of oneself in repose. An unguarded moment, stripped of artifice, when one forgets to fool even oneself.
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Adults weren’t supposed to understand their children and you were doing something wrong if they did.
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You'll beat this. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you will. You're a survivor. I don't want to survive it. I know that, too, Nell had said. And it's fair enough. But sometimes we don't have a choice.
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I love the structural part of the writing process.
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She did as she felt, and she felt a great deal.
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Doors lead to things and I've never met one I haven't wanted to open.
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I sound contemptuous, but I am not. I am interested--intrigued even--by the way time erases real lives, leaving only vague imprints. Blood and spirit fade away so that only names and dates remain.
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I am not a storyteller . . . not like the others. I only have one tale to tell.
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The certainty that she would find what it was she sought just slipped away, until one night she knew there was nothing, no one waiting for her. That no matter how far she walked, how carefully she searched, how much she wanted to find the person she was looking for, she was alone - The Forgotten Garden
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Those who live in memories are never really dead. The House At Riverton
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... for home is a magnet that lures back even its most abstracted children.
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She hadn't wanted to be loved carefully, only well.
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She doesn't know I cry for the changing times. That just as I reread favourite books, some small part of me hoping for a different ending, I find myself hoping against hope that the war will never come. That this time, somehow, it will leave us be.
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Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down, before they knew their endings.
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A twinge at the edge of her lips and she continued, the soft, slow lilt of recitation: Ancient walls that sing the distant hours.
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I want to be independent. To meet interesting people. ... I just mean new people with clever things to say. Things I've never heard before. I want to be free. Open to whatever adventure comes along and sweeps me off my feet.
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I simply love writing good stories, that's my passion.
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Time had a way of moulding people into shapes they themselves no longer recognised.
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