Cyclists. I really hate them. I wish they would not be so self-righteous and realise they are a danger to pedestrians. I wish cyclists would not vindictively snap off wing mirrors on cars when they were trying to cross in front of the car at a danger to motorists and pedestrians.
Vocabularies are crossing circles and loops. We are defined by the lines we choose to cross or to be confined by.
Ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, fire, from the other, frost.
As a little girl, I didn't like stories about little girls. I liked stories about dragons and beasts and princes and princesses and fear and terror and the Four Musketeers and almost anything other than nice little girls making moral decisions about whether to tell the teacher about what the other little girl did or did not do.
Only write to me, write to me, I love to see the hop and skip and sudden starts of your ink.
You know, it's a truism that writers for children must still be children themselves, deep down, must still feel childish feelings, and a child's surprise at the world.
I have a dreadful fear that the more you try to prevent revealing the self the more you do.
Creative Writing was not a form of psychotherapy, in ways both sublime and ridiculuous, it clearly was, precisely that.
Things are not what they seem.
There is a certain aesthetic pleasure in trying to imagine the unimaginable and failing, if you are a reader.
Harm can come about without will or action. But will and action can avert harm.
You did not so much mind being -conventionally- betrayed, if you were not kept in the dark, which was humiliating, or defined only as a wife and dependent person, which was annihilating.
The more research you do, the more at ease you are in the world you're writing about. It doesn't encumber you, it makes you free.
You are safe with me." "I am not at all safe, with you. But I have no desire to be elsewhere.
I know that part of the reason I read Tolkien when I'm ill is that there is an almost total absence of sexuality in his world, which is restful.
Good writing is always new.
Young girls are sad. They like to be; it makes them feel strong.
I cannot bear not to know the end of a tale. I will read the most trivial things – once commenced – only out of a feverish greed to be able to swallow the ending – sweet or sour – and to be done with what I need never have embarked on. Are you in my case? Or are you a more discriminating reader? Do you lay aside the unprofitable?
Autobiographies tell more lies than all but the most self-indulgent fiction.
The minds of stone lovers had colonised stones as lichens clung to them with golden or grey-green florid stains. The human world of stones is caught in organic metaphors like flies in amber. Words came from flesh and hair and plants. Reniform, mammilated, botryoidal, dendrite, haematite. Carnelian is from carnal, from flesh. Serpentine and lizardite are stone reptiles ; phyllite is leafy-green.
In our world of sleek flesh and collagen, botox and liposuction, what we most fear is the dissolution of the body-mind, the death of the brain.
When I was a child - in wartime, pre-television - books were my life.
There are many ways of writing badly about painting... There is an 'appreciative' language of threadbare, not inaccurate, but overexposed and irritating words... the language of the schools which 'situates' works and artists in schools and movements... novelists and poets [that] see paintings as allegories of writing.
On buses and trains, I always think about the inexhaustible variety of human genes. We see types, and occasionally twins, but never doubles. All faces are unique, and this is exhilarating, despite the increasingly plastic similarity of TV stars and actors.
That is human nature, that people come after you, willingly enough, provided only that you no longer love or want them.
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