“When we are sad—at least I am like this—it can be comforting to cling to familiar objects, to the things that don't change. Your descriptions of the desert—that oceanic, endless glare—are terrible but also very beautiful. Maybe there's something to be said for the rawness and emptiness of it all."
"I wanted all of life to feel that frantic and pressurized with portent, so even colours and weather and tastes would be more saturated. That’s what the songs promised, what they trawled out of me."
I do not want to have you To fill the empty parts of me
"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is."
"I thought we together, we will spend time together and our lifes will never be separated. I thought I don't needing go these double-bill screenings to kill raining nights. I thought I will not scared to live in this country alone, because now I having you, and you my family, my home. But I wrong. You doesn't promise anything solid."
'I was trying, desperately, to keep a hold on my world - my job, my vanished husband and my column - but I was disconnecting. The ties to my ordinary life were loosening, snapping, and the dark world of Bethan Avery was becoming more real than my own.'
'Yet we were all quiet for so long after, touched by the magnitude, the beautiful unfathomable magnitude of it all. This is what we are connected to. What we are all connected to. When the lights go out, so do we.'
"I realised that without the whole truth my life would have no power, no real meaning... The process of writing has been the processes of remembering, and of trying to make sense out of those memories. I understand that sometimes the only way we can survive our own memories is to shape them into a story that makes sense out of events that seem inexplicable."
Having last week finished 'The Nightingale', set in occupied France, it got me thinking about the masterpiece that is Anthony Doer's Pulitzer Prize winning 'All The Light We Cannot See', similarly set during the Second World War in Paris. There were so many exquisite passages from this book that it was hard to pick just … Continue reading Perfect Prose #2: All The Light We Cannot See