Twenty years is, after all, a long time. We are not the same people we were. Old friends, lovers, even family members: they are strangers who happen to wear a familiar face. We have no right to claim to know… — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
“He looked like a once-green leaf that had begun to dry and to reveal the structure of its veins.” — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
“The most extraordinary thing about it all was how simple it was just to carry on. There were meals to be prepared and eaten; dishes to be washed; clothes to be laundered, ironed, and put on and taken off; beds to be slept in and made and unmade. The prosaic needs of day-to-day living blunted all impact of the miraculous;… — Graham Joyce Copy Share
“Someone said that thirty was a significant birthday, and everyone around the table agreed. Someone else said it was the first time you heard the bell. What bell? someone asked. But they all knew what bell. It was like you'd already completed a few laps, observed another, but this was the first time you'd properly heard the bell. There had… — Graham Joyce Copy Share
If critics of 'readable fiction' want literature to change the ways people dream, they need first to come down from the mountain and speak… — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
“And there was Tara, again with that shy half-smile and her burgundy lips slightly puckered, that shy kink, an incomplete curlicue at the corner… — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
“The sun was up and I want to say that it was golden, but it wasn't golden, it was the color of treacle. I want to say the grass was green, but it wasn't, it was turquoise, the color of a quarry pool. The rocks were lion-colored and glimmered with quartz, and the sky I wanted to call blue was… — Graham Joyce Copy Share
“There is no "mid" about it. Life is a crisis from the cradle to the grave.” — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
The overintellectualization of surrealism can be a bromide. A dream interpreted is a deflated dream. — Graham Joyce Copy Share Image
