“The whole underneath of Paris was an ant nest, Metro tunnels, sewer shafts, catacombs, mines, cemeteries. She'd been down in the city of bones where skulls and femurs rose in yellowing walls. Right down there, win the square before them.… — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
Wherever I went I felt like the last person awake in a room full of sleepers — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
“Where I had expected to appreciate the monuments and love the natural environment, the reality was entirely the reverse. The immense beauty of many buildings and landscapes had an immediate and visceral impact, and yet in the natural world, where I am generally most comfortable, I was hesitant. While I was duly impressed by what I saw, I could never… — Tim Winton Copy Share
I've been a writer and a parent since adolescence, it feels like, and I'm still making both gigs up as I go along. I did both in different forms of isolation - too young by conventional standards, too far off-grid culturally and geographically. So my experience is probably too specific to be useful. None of us do this stuff the… — Tim Winton Copy Share
Surviving is the strongest memory I have; the sense of having walked on water. — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
“Few landscapes have been so deeply known. And fewer still have been so lightly inhabited.” — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
“Life was something you didn't argue with, because when it came down to it, whether you barracked for God or nothing at all, life… — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
“Shit, he said as a great, green glut of water poured up at our feet. I wonder what the ordinary people are doin today.” — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
I guess it must be a time-of-life thing, looking back and trying to make some sense of who I am and where I've been. It's a weird thing, having to give an account of yourself, to try to make sense of yourself for yourself. I'm not that old, but I have been writing fiction professionally for a long time now.… — Tim Winton Copy Share
Will you look at us by the river! The whole restless mob of us on spread blankets in the dreamy briny sunshine skylarking and chiacking about for one day, one clear, clean, sweet day in a good world in the midst of our living. Yachts run before an unfelt gust with bagnecked pelicans riding above them, the city their twitching… — Tim Winton Copy Share
The night is full of stories. They float up like miasmas, as though the dead leave their dreams in the earth where you bury… — Tim Winton Copy Share Image
