The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself, and die singing. At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of the dying to come; it simply sings and sings until there is not the life left to utter another… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share
My fictitious characters will take the bit between their teeth and gallop off and do something that I hadn't counted on. However, I always… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
I want to know what they look like, their height, and colouring, physique and speech pattens. — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
Old age is an ordeal, of flesh and mind. Of winding down, of slowing down, of dying cells. It's accepting the loss of physical… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“But not we men. We weren't fit to be told. For so you women think, and hug your mysteries, getting your backs on us… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things. — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“It's not worth getting upset about, Mrs. Dominic. Down in the city they don't know how the other half lives, and they can afford the luxury of doting on their animals as if they were children. Out here it's different. You'll never see man, woman or child in need of help go ignored out here, yet in the city those… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share
“You still think love can save us. It's more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“You still think love can save us. It’s more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
If you love people, they kill you. If you need people, they kill you. They do I tell you! — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“The law should not be a huge and weighty slab which falls upon a man and squashes him into a uniform shape, for men… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
