“He was tender with her. He wiped her eyelids with his handkerchief, not noticing how soiled it was. It was stained with… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
Writers, at least writers of fiction, are always full of anxiety and worry. — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
“Lucinda might sneak from her own house at midnight to place a wager somewhere else, but she dared not touch the pack… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
“But now she could not bear the way she sounded. She was not a person anyone could love. ... And thus fled… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
“I have traveled widely. I have seen this country in its infancy. I tell you what it will become. The public squares will be… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
At the very end of a book I can manage to work for longer stretches, but mostly, making stuff up for three hours, that's… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
Being famous as a writer is like being famous in a village. It's not really any very heady fame. — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
“Remember, this is the country of the duck-billed platypus. When you are cut off from the rest of the world, things are bound to… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
If you ever read one of my books I hope you'll think it looks so easy. In fact, I wrote those chapters 20 times… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
I had known loneliness before, and emptiness upon the moor, but I had never been a NOTHING, a nothing floating on a nothing, known… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
I did not know that history is like a blood stain that keeps on showing on the wall no matter how many new owners… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
I think that thing about the destruction of the world is there all the time, it's there every day when we look out the… — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
“He were still smiling but his voice were hard as a spoon rattling in a metal cup.” — Peter Carey Copy Share Image
