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It is these black clothes, said Strange. I am like a leftover piece of funeral, condemned to walk about the Town, frightening people into thinking of their own mortality.

Susanna Clarke

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Susanna Clarke
Age: 64
Born: 1959
Born: November 16
Author
Editor
Language Teacher
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Susanna Mary Clarke
Walks
Funeral
Strange
Frightening
Black
Town
Thinking
Towns
Like
Piece
People
Clothes
Leftover
Walk
Condemned
Pieces
Mortality

More quotes by Susanna Clarke

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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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Unfortunately, Childermass's French was so strongly accented by his native Yorkshire that Minervois did not understand and asked Strange if Childermass was Dutch.
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And the name of the one shall be Fearfulness. And the name of the other shall be Arrogance... Well, clearly you are not Fearfulness, so I suppose you must be Arrogance.' This was not very polite.
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I know magicians and I know magic and I say this: all magicians lie and this one more than most.
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It is also true that his hair had a reddish tinge and, as everybody knows, no one with red hair can ever truly be said to be handsome.
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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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You've got to sing like you don't need the money. You've got to love like you'll never get hurt. You've got to dance like there's nobody watching. You've got to come from the heart, if you want it to work.
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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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But, though French, she was also very brave.
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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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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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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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She wore a gown the color of storms, shadows, and rain and a necklace of broken promises and regrets.
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To be more precise it was the color of heartache.
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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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He hardly ever spoke of magic, and when he did it was like a history lesson and no one could bear to listen to him.
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It would need someone very remarkable to recover your name, Stephen, someone of rare perspicacity, with extraordinary talents and incomparable nobility of character. Me, in fact.
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Some years ago there was in the city of York a society of magicians. They met upon the third Wednesday of every month and read each other long, dull papers upon the history of English magic.
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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.
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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.
Susanna Clarke