He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
Your own love story? Your paramour may have had lovers before you. But no one has ever loved him the way you do. No one has ever heard music. Not the way you hear it. The songs are beautiful vampires,… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
But I saw the pain and sadness in everything, and swirled it round my mouth like a fine wine. — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
I think it's sort of the hypothetical point where communism and fascism meet. They love tragedy, and they love surface beauty. You just watch… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
I do think everything that happens in American pop culture sort of prescribes for England and does end up happening there six months later,… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
What people don't understand when you've already been a suicide and pulled through is that after the sadness comes fear: Where is my mind… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
I wish I had been less keen to inject my own opinions, but I was a teenager and your teenage self is generally an… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
“When he asked if he was mine, tears in his eyes, I think he knew what he would do, what he would have to… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
I want you to stay. I never want there to be a time when we don't share space. — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
In other words, it was a struggle with himself. And the product of that struggle: anger, bitterness, resentment, envy or transformation, aspiration, hope, decency..the… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
“I don't want to go to university. I don't like unity and I hate verses. I just love the choruses of songs. ” — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
I enjoy films where two characters are coming of age, just different ages. That's why I love 'Paper Moon' so much. — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
He was only twenty-five.He was young enough to miss his youth just as it was slipping away. The worst kind of loss-the one that… — Emma Forrest Copy Share Image
