“How can you know love, and lose it, and go on living without it, and not feel the loss forever?" "You can't,"… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Though she'd try to do otherwise, she had never been able to stop cluttering her present with her past. Now somebody she… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Justin is twenty-four years old: the world will never be more suited to him than it is now, he will never feel… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“A life, at its end, is a pile of cloth and paper, and goods that can be bagged and labelled. None of… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Just a few more minutes here, I suggest: life hates to leave, worried what it might miss. But Vernon, closer, is shaking… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
Love is like moonlight or thunder, or rain on a tin roof in the middle of the night; it is one of… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“...it's stupid to be that way, so easily hurt; it's better to be like a plank of wood, an emotional mule. It's… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
My life was pouring out my feet and seeping through cracks in the floor; yet still I knelt and did not move,… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
I want my life to be mystifying," she declared, although she didn't know what she meant. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
I suppose that's what happens when you make other people's lives miserable: life gets miserable back at you. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“And she's striken with sudden nostalgia for the life she's been so eager to pack away, she wishes there was some way… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
How does one craft happiness out of something as important, as complicated, as unrepeatable and as easily damaged as life? — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
Strange how love coexists with hate, how they render eachother mute, how the swilling of them together makes a new and softer, sympathetic thing. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“How can you know love, and lose it, and go on living without it, and not feel the loss forever?" "You can't," Feather answered.… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
Affection makes fools. Always, without exception, love digs a channel that's sooner or later flooded by the briny water of despair. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
You're not supposed to have iron bars around you - no one is supposed to have that. You're supposed to fall down hills and… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
More than this, I believe that the only lastingly important form of writing is writing for children. It is writing that is carried in… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Goodbye, fin,' I say. And I wish I was going with him, to some warm sheltered hideaway in the hills, wish that I, too,… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
A small town is nothing but eyes and gaping maw; it pecks at its own like a flock of vicious birds. — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“Some things about him are the same as ever. He still looks painfully angelic.” — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of the cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
“We walked into the forests which encircled the town. I have never liked them, their dark throat, their sullen height, their slump-shouldered gloom. But… — Sonya Hartnett Copy Share Image
