“They whisper: no little man from Customs and Immigration stands at the doors of memory or imagination demanding to see your passport. No arts bureaucrat or ComLit satrap can stamp OzLit, CanLit, FemLit, MigrantLit, or Displaced Person on your visa.” — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
“They whisper: no little man from Customs and Immigration stands at the doors of memory or imagination demanding to see your passport. No arts… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
I am extremely interested in how people negotiate catastrophe, not because I'm morbidly interested in it but because I'm interested in the secret of… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
That is where homeland is. In that shifting space, kinfolk know one another by secret signs; and wherever kinfolk meet, homeland soil coalesces about… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
The world is crammed with messages. We’ll never have time to read them all. — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
“Cap notices the first red and gold leaves of the fall eddying on the surface of the lake. Do they make a pattern? Perhaps.… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
“Nothing, however, is certain except uncertainty and there is always interference in the lines of flight.” — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
All of my writing career is about how human beings negotiate dark matter. — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
“What's yer name?" he demanded. The girl searched for a name. "Stella," she said at last, because she had the stars at her fingertips and she had been studying maps of the sky and she was someone else now, not the girl she had been in Ballarat where her grandfather had pointed out the planets and named them, and not… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share
There are all kinds of under-represented groups in the literary establishment. — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
“From outer darkness to outer darkness, a feathered meteor through a moment of light...” — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
I've found you can go on writing in the dark, and that the act of writing itself, that mysterious, dangerous, intoxicating, absorbing, nourishing magician's… — Janette Turner Hospital Copy Share Image
