“Though she'd try to do otherwise, she had never been able to stop cluttering her present with her past. Now somebody she didn't know would pack her treasures into plastic bags and carry them away. A life, at its end,… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“A life, at its end, is a pile of cloth and paper, and goods that can be bagged and labelled. None of the best things - the voice and the laugh, the tilt of the head, the things seen and… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
Strange how love coexists with hate, how they render eachother mute, how the swilling of them together makes a new and softer, sympathetic thing. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“How can you know love, and lose it, and go on living without it, and not feel the loss forever?" "You can't," Feather answered.… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
You're not supposed to have iron bars around you - no one is supposed to have that. You're supposed to fall down hills and… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
More than this, I believe that the only lastingly important form of writing is writing for children. It is writing that is carried in… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Goodbye, fin,' I say. And I wish I was going with him, to some warm sheltered hideaway in the hills, wish that I, too,… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Some things about him are the same as ever. He still looks painfully angelic.” — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of the cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“We walked into the forests which encircled the town. I have never liked them, their dark throat, their sullen height, their slump-shouldered gloom. But… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“They thought back on the tales that the soldier had told. They remembered Hazel, the gentle Bethlehem donkey, who used the last of her… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Though she'd try to do otherwise, she had never been able to stop cluttering her present with her past. Now somebody she didn't know… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“I felt dry as if someone had skinned me. I was not the bones and meat, but the cast-aside skin. The heat had hollowed… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
