Novels are nothing but evolution, but there does come a point when that stops, and the story is sealed within the pages of the book. That doesn't happen with a play. Even performances are different every night. — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“Now, from the crown of my head to the curve of my toe-nails, there was an unguent for every part of me - oil… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“Miss Craven held up a pair she thought would fit me—monstrous great things they were, of course, and I thought she smiled as she… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
I suppose I really seemed mad, then; but it was only through the awfulness of having said nothing but the truth, and being thought… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
My nan was a nursery maid. Most people weren't in big houses. They were maids of all work. — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
Being in love, you know... it's not like having a canary, in a cage. When you lose one sweetheart, you can't just go out… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
For was that all, she thought bleakly, that love ever was? Something that saved one from loneliness? A sort of insurance policy against not… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“And yet, I seemed to feel my eyes bound, too, with bands of silk. And at my throat there was a velvet collar.” — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“No-one speaks. No-one moves (…). We glide, softly, in silence, into our dark and separate hells” — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“She loved these walks through London. She seemed, as she made them, to become porous, to soak in detail after detail; or else, like… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“Oh, for shame! Nancy, have you never seen Florrie's face in a chrysanthemum, or a rose?' 'Never.' I said. 'Though there was a flounder… — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
“My locket hangs in my closet beside the glass, the only shining thing among so many shadows.” — Sarah Waters Copy Share Image
