Perfection, in anything, is unbearably dull. Myself, I prefer a touch of imperfection. — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
The bird with the thorn in its breast, it follows an immutable law; it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself,… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
My fictitious characters will take the bit between their teeth and gallop off and do something that I hadn't counted on. However, I always… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
I want to know what they look like, their height, and colouring, physique and speech pattens. — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
Old age is an ordeal, of flesh and mind. Of winding down, of slowing down, of dying cells. It's accepting the loss of physical… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“But not we men. We weren't fit to be told. For so you women think, and hug your mysteries, getting your backs on us… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
How frightening, that one person could mean so much, so many things. — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“It's not worth getting upset about, Mrs. Dominic. Down in the city they don't know how the other half lives, and they can afford… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“You still think love can save us. It's more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“You still think love can save us. It’s more killing than hate. Hate is so clean, so simple. Like being in the ring. With… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
If you love people, they kill you. If you need people, they kill you. They do I tell you! — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
“The law should not be a huge and weighty slab which falls upon a man and squashes him into a uniform shape, for men… — Colleen McCullough Copy Share Image
