When the leaves rustle, they sound very much like the stealthy movement of a woman in evening dress, and when they shiver suddenly, and fall, and scatter away along the ground, they might be the patter of a woman’s hurrying… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
He lacked tenderness; he was rude; and he had more than a streak of cruelty in him; he was a thief and a liar.… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“You understand now... how simple life becomes when things like mirrors are forgotten.” — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
I could fight with the living but I could not fight the dead. If there was some woman in London that Maxim loved, someone he wrote to, visited, dined with, slept with, I could fight her. We would stand on common ground. I should not be afraid. Anger and jealousy were things that could be conquered. One day the woman… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share
“The only time I got into trouble was when I forged M's signature on the weekly report we had to take home every Friday… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“They are not brave, the days when we are twenty-one. They are full of little cowardices, little fears without foundation, and one is so easily bruised, so swiftly wounded, one falls to the first barbed word. Today, wrapped in the complacent armor of approaching middle age, the infinitesimal pricks of day by day brush one lightly and are soon forgotten,… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share
“We all of us have our particular devil who ruses us and torments us, and we must give battle in the end.” — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“There have been men in arid deserts where the sun has so disfigured them that they have become things of horror – parched and… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. When shutting drawers and flinging wide an hotel wardrobe, or the impersonal shelves of a furnished villa,… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“And perhaps one day, in after years, someone would wander there and listen to the silence, as she had done, and catch the whisper… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
