The last of the lonely places is the sky, a trackless void where nothing lives or grows, and above it, space itself.… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
It is cold at six-forty in the morning on a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
I'm very sceptical about some of the excesses that I regard the Milibands of this world are leading towards. When you think about it,… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
“As he went down the steps to the street, something was troubling him. Something about the Vietcong officer, his face, the expression of frozen… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
The last of the lonely places is the sky, a trackless void where nothing lives or grows, and above it, space itself. Man may… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
The Internet offers authors and their readers a new diversity of opportunities and freedom. — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
“...a woman of quite bovine stupidity and potato-like contours...” — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
He was one of the masters of the thriller and he really was one of the great signposts, because he took the spy thriller… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
As ever with modern Britain, we are let down by a vast, over-manned, over-funded, hidebound, obstructive, box-ticking and incompetent bureaucracy. — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
“The natives who saw him walking alone, and later brought him back to the town for burial, said he was whistling when he went.… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
“… Shannon’s fingers itched to smash the man in the face. Inside his head he kept telling himself, Keep cool, baby, absolutely cool.” — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
“Because he was single, a number of girls made eyes at him, but his rebuffs were always polite and gentle. There were one or… — Frederick Forsyth Copy Share Image
