Popular versus literary—a false divide?
Marlee was fourteen. A dangerous age, although, let’s face it, Jackson thought, every age was a dangerous age for a woman.
It was war itself that was evil, not men.
How deceptive that could be. One could lose everything in the blink of an eye, the slip of a foot.
She had married him in order to be safe from the chaos. He had married her, she now understood, for the same reason. They were the last two people on earth who could make anyone safe from anything.
Dystopia, a reliably clean, well-lighted place.
Yes, Mrs. Todd, a bonny, bouncing baby girl. Sylvie thought
Viola felt as if she spent her life wading through a sea of ignorance, shallow but without a shore in sight.
The more Viola forgot her mother, the more she missed her.
The mind is a fathomless mystery.
The gods were on the point of giving up when Brahma said, 'I know where we will hide man's divinity, we will hide it inside him. he will search the whole world but never look inside and find what is a...
She seemed to have no inkling that life wasn't as orderly as her pencil case and that everything is chance and at any moment any number of remarkable things can happen that are totally beyond our cont...
No one ever warned you about how ferocious mother love could be, let’s face it, no one warned you about anything.
Life wasn't about becoming, was it? It was about being.
It was the kind of love (lust, to be honest about it) that survivors of disasters must practise – or people who are anticipating disaster – free of all restraint, savage at times and yet strangely ten...
In the half-century of his life, a tick on the Doomsday clock, he had borne witness to the most unbelievable technological advances. He had started off listening to an old Bush radio in the corner of...
He smelled of cloves and pipe tobacco and had a twinkly look about him as if he were going to toast muffins or read a particularly good story to her, but instead he beamed at Ursula and said, So, I he...
Happiness, like life itself, was as fragile as a bird’s heartbeat, as fleeting as the bluebells in the wood,
Happiness, like life itself, was as fragile as a bird’s heartbeat, as fleeting as the bluebells in the wood, but while it lasted,
A man with an Irish accent could sound wise and poetic and interesting even when he wasn’t.