At Birkin Grif's left, his seat insecure on a scruffy packhorse, Theomeris Glyn, his only armour a steel-stressed leather cap, grumbled at the cold and the earliness of the hour, and cursed the flint hearts of city girls. — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
Identity is not negotiable. An identity you have achieved by agreement is always a prison. — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
I think it's undignified to read for the purposes of escape. After you grow up, you should start reading for other purposes — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
“As they moved from exhibit to exhibit like reluctant tourists in some artist's studio, Buffin sat on a stool with his limbs tense. He… — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
“He ran toward the light. When he passed the corpse of his dead friend, he began to weep again. He picked up his sword. He tried to smash a crystal window with its hilt. The corridor oppressed him. Beyond the windows, the dead brains drifted. He ran on. 'You should have done it,'whispered Birkin Grif in the soft spaces of… — M. John Harrison Copy Share
“Some internal process held him rapt. He had begun, perhaps, to map the paths inside himself which led to the Past. This gave him an absentminded air, and an irritable one, as if by our presence we interrupted some private conversation--although had anyone suggested this he would have rejected it angrily. Attempting to live simultaneously in two worlds, he rode… — M. John Harrison Copy Share
Budapest is a prime site for dreams: the East’s exuberant vision of the West, the West’s uneasy hallucination of the East. It is a… — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
Writing's like gambling. Unpredictable and sporadic successes make you more addicted, not less. — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
“You can't cure people of their character,' she read. After this he had crossed something out then gone on, 'You can't even change yourself. Experiments in that direction soon deteriorate into bitter, infuriated struggles. You haul yourself over the wall and glimpse new country. Good! You can never again be what you were! But even as you are congratulating yourself… — M. John Harrison Copy Share
“When the landed gentry cut up a seed cake for tea it makes no difference to the cake which of them holds the knife;… — M. John Harrison Copy Share Image
Egnaro is a secret known to everyone but yourself. It is a country or a city to which you have never been; it is an unknown language. At the same time it is like being cuckolded, or plotted against. It is part of the universe of events which will never wholly reveal itself to you: a conspiracy the barest outline… — M. John Harrison Copy Share
