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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
Strange
Frightening
Black
Town
Thinking
Towns
Like
Piece
People
Clothes
Leftover
Walk
Condemned
Pieces
Mortality
Walks
Funeral

More quotes by Susanna Clarke

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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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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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There is nothing in the world so easy to explain as failure - it is, after all, what everybody does all the time.
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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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A piece of writing is like a piece of magic. You create something out of nothing.
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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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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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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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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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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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I was told once by some country people that a magician should never tell his dreams because the telling will make them come true. But I say that is great nonsense.
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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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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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He smiles but rarely and watches other men to see when they laugh and then does the same.
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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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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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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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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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