But words are water in Amsterdam, they flood your ears and set the rot, and the church's east corner is crowded. — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“You really are an artist, aren’t you? You think it’s all about you, and you never stop looking for pain.” — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“My writing became the axis upon which all my identity and happiness hinged. It was now outward-looking, a self-conscious performance. I was asked to… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“A piece of art only succeeds when it's creator...possesses the belief that brings it into being” — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“We studied men like him at school – protected gentlemen, rich gentlemen, white gentlemen, who picked up pens and wrote the world for the… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“I feel like time’s tricked me, as if I’ve known you from before. Like we passed each other in our prams. Like it’s been… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“Although any collective answer to my question remains to be seen, personally I feel quite certain of it. Because if there’s one thing I’ve… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“Things crumble. Bit by bit. They shift, you don’t notice. Then you notice. Jesus Christ, my legs are broken but I never moved my… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
“Spain's past is a cut of meat turning green on the butcher's slab. When the war ended, people were forbidden to look back and… — Jessie Burton Copy Share Image
