Audrey Niffenegger Quotes

I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.

I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories s...

About Author

Audrey Niffenegger (born June 13, 1963) is an American writer, artist, and academic. Her debut novel, The Time Traveler's Wife, published in 2003, was a bestseller.

I want my own bed, in my own apartment. Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home.

I wanted someone to love who would stay: stay and be there, always.

I was thinking; it’s very peaceful, here with you. It’s nice to just lie here and know that the future is sort of taken care of. Henry?

Time, let me vanish. Then what we separate by our very presence can come together.

When somebody is that patient, you have to feel grateful, and then you want to hurt them. Does that make any sense?

It's hard being left behind...It's hard to be the one who stays...Why is love intensified by absence?

She looks up at me, still rocking. Henry . . . why did me decide to do this again? Supposedly when it’s over they hand you a baby and let you keep it. Oh yeah. --Wednesday, September 5, 2001

Alba, it's okay,' Clare says softly. She looks at me. 'Say the poem about lovers on the carpet.'I blank, and then I remember. I feel self-conscious reciting Rilke in front of all these people, and so...

Clock time is our bank manager, tax collector, police inspector; this inner time is our wife.

DeTamble & DeTamble, Alcoholics at Large, I have not

Every angel is terrifying

Henry: How does it feel? How does it feel?Sometimes it feels as though your attention has wandered for just an instant. Then, with a start, you realize that the book you were holding, the red plaid co...

Our love has been the thread through thelabyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust.

Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I...

I can appreciate that, says Henry. He’s adding to the list. I look over his shoulder. Sex Pistols, the Clash, Gang of Four, Buzzcocks, Dead Kennedys, X, the Mekons, the Raincoats, the Dead Boys, New O...

I feel that I an everything to her.

Turning each page is like making a bed, an enormous expanse of paper slowly rises up and over.

Rivelerò un segreto: a volte sono contenta che Henry non ci sia. A volte mi piace stare sola. A volte, a tarda notte, passeggio per la casa e fremo di piacere all'idea di non dover parlare né toccare,...