Isn't it strange how life won't flow, like a river, but moves in jumps, as if it were held back by locks that are opened now and then to let it jump forwards in a kind of flood? — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
“Her eyes opened at this sight against her will and she looked around the room almost in fear. But it was dark and shadowy,… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
The book begins and ends with the visits to give the impression of a tunnel into their ancestors and family history. I believe in… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
People think that because I write about India I must be trying to portray India in a way. — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
Someone who wants to write should make an effort to write a little something every day. Writing in this sense is the same as… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
“The bougainvillea hung about it, purple and magenta, in livid balloons.” — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
Do you know anyone who would - secretly, sincerely, in his innermost self - really prefer to return to childhood? — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
Ever since I could first write I have been doing so. When I was taught how to write and read at school, I made… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
What a sense of possession, of confidence, it gave one to have pockets, to shove one's fists into them, as if in simply owning… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
I aim to tell the truth about any subject, not a romance or fantasy, not avoid the truth. — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
My style of writing is to allow the story to unfold on its own. I try not to structure my work too rigidly. — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
I try to trace the connection between the characters and that way a story or plot emerges. — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
Isn't it strange how life won't flow, like a river, but moves in jumps, as if it were held back by locks that are… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
India is a curious place that still preserves the past, religions, and its history. No matter how modern India becomes, it is still very… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
...the moon that hung over the garden like some great priceless pearl, flawed and blemished with grey shadowy ridges as only a very great… — Anita Desai Copy Share Image
