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Hope's one thing, expectation's quite another.

Kate Morton

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Kate Morton
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: July 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Berri
South Australia
Australia
Another
Thing
Expectation
Expectations
Quite
Hope

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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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. . . companions were to be valued, wherever one found them.
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You make a life out of what you have, not what you're missing.
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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've heard it said that children born to stressful times never shake the air of woe . . . .
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Even the most pragmatic person fell victim at times to a longing for something other.
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It was such a pleasure to sink one's hands into the warm earth, to feel at one's fingertips the possibilities of the new season.
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Doors lead to things and I've never met one I haven't wanted to open.
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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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There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.
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I love the structural part of the writing process.
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It didn't occur to him that she might have chosen to remain this way. That where he saw reserve and loneliness, Cassandra saw self-preservation and the knowledge that it was safer when one had less to lose.
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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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She was the breeze on a summer's day, the first drops of rain when the earth was parched, light from the evening star.
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Children don’t require of their parents a past and they find something faintly unbelievable, almost embarrassing, in parental claims to a prior existence.
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That, my dear, is what makes a character interesting, their secrets.
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She either confused me with a much older child or else she glimpsed deep inside my soul and perceived a hole that needed filling. I've always chosen to believe the latter. After all, it's the librarian's one sworn purpose to bring books together with their one true reader.
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She did as she felt, and she felt a great deal.
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Nighttime is different. Things are otherwise when the world is black. Insecurities and hurts, anxieties and fears grow teeth at night. p493
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