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This is a very grave matter, punishable by...well, I do not exactly know what, but something rather severe, I should imagine.

Susanna Clarke

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Susanna Clarke
Age: 65
Born: 1959
Born: November 16
Author
Editor
Language Teacher
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Susanna Mary Clarke
Graves
Exactly
Imagine
Rather
Wells
Well
Punishable
Matter
Severe
Something
Grave

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I have a scholar's love of silence and solitude. To sit and pass hour after hour in idle chatter with a roomful of strangers is to me the worst sort of torment.
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He understood for the first time that the world is not dumb at all, but merely waiting for someone to speak to it in a language it understands.
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What nobility of feeling! To sacrifice your own pleasure to preserve the comfort of others! It is a thing, I confess, that would never occur to me.
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He screamed. Mmm?' inquired the gentleman. I...I would never presume to interrupt you, sir. But the ground appears to be swallowing me up.' It is a bog,' said the gentleman, helpfully. It is certainly a most terrifying substance.
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Ha!' said the tall man drily. 'He was in high luck. Rich old uncles who die are in shockingly short supply.
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It has been remarked (by a lady infinitely cleverer than the present author) how kindly disposed the world in general feels to young people who either die or marry.
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The governess was not much liked in the village. She was too tall, too fond of books, too grave, and, a curious thing, never smiled unless there was something to smile at.
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Lovers are rarely the most rational beings in creation.
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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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Houses, like people, are apt to become rather eccentric if left too much on their own this house was the architectural equivalent of an old gentleman in a worn dressing-gown and torn slippers, who got up and went to bed at odd times of day, and who kept up a continual conversation with friends no one else could see.
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He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same.
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Can a magician kill a man by magic?” Lord Wellington asked Strange. Strange frowned. He seemed to dislike the question. “I suppose a magician might,” he admitted, “but a gentleman never would.
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Oh! And they read English novels! David! Did you ever look into an English novel? Well, do not trouble yourself. It is nothing but a lot of nonsense about girls with fanciful names getting married.
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Such nonsense! declared Dr Greysteel. Whoever heard of cats doing anything useful! Except for staring at one in a supercilious manner, said Strange. That has a sort of moral usefulness, I suppose, in making one feel uncomfortable and encouraging sober reflection upon one's imperfections.
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Mr. Robinson was a polished sort of person. He was so clean and healthy and pleased about everything that he positively shone - which is only to be expected in a fairy or an angel, but is somewhat disconcerting in an attorney.
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For, though the room was silent, the silence of half a hundred cats is a peculiar thing, like fifty individual silences all piled one on top of another.
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Sing like no one is listening. Love like you’ve never been hurt. Dance like nobody’s watching, and live like it’s heaven on earth.
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Bryon tilted his head to a very odd angle, half-closed his eyes and composed his features to suggest that he was about to expire from chronic indigestion.
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After two hours it stopped raining and in the same moment the spell broke, which Peroquet and the Admiral and Captain Jumeau knew by a curious twist of their senses, as if they had tasted a string quartet, or been, for a moment, deafened by the sight of colour blue.
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Well, I suppose one ought not to employ a magician and then complain that he does not behave like other people.
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