“Who is the other woman whose photograph I do not have? If my mother was the first in my life, she was the last: my lover and my downfall, my hope and my despair. Her photographs I burned in an… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
I have found that in fiction one is freer to speak the truth, if only because in fiction the truth is not expected or… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
We drank our coffee the Russian way. That is to say we had vodka before it and vodka afterwards. — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
“Her hair, just long enough now to tie back in a knot, had a coppery sheen, a hint of fire in the darkness.” — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
Desire is an appetite, quickly sated. Longing is a wound, an opening in the heart or the spirit. Whatever the cause, whatever the duration,… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
“…it seemed to Kirsch that the most reliable guide to the mental landscape of a patient was the patient himself. He was better placed… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
One of the joys of being in love is that it clarifies your priorities. Complication arises from not knowing what you want. — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
“The wind funnelled down the covered platform, jostling the passengers and tearing at their clothes. A woman's scarf whipped by overhead, somersaulting as if… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
And then they would watch her closely as the dark, coagulated masses took form before her eyes, became flesh and bone, became gradually human.… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
“He reached into the grate, picked out a couple of scraps, smoothed them out, leaning close to the flickering light. He was curious to… — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
The future can always wait so long as the here-and-now is rapturous. — Philip Sington Copy Share Image
All writers are insecure, the male ones especially. It's well known. Why else would they spend so much time on make-believe? They're only happy in their imaginary worlds, because that's where they're in charge - where they're God. Did you know that Hemingway's mother dressed him as a girl until he was six years old?" I was not offended by… — Philip Sington Copy Share
