When one is writing a novel in the first person, one must be that person. — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
Here was the freedom I desired, long sought-for, not yet known Freedom to write, to walk, to wander, freedom to climb hills,… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“Men and women who have never lived make finer captives on the printed page, or if they have lived, and are historical,… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“How alive was her writing though, how full of force. Those curious, sloping letters.” — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“Little notes, scrawled on half-sheets of paper, and letters, when he was away, page after page, intimate, their news. Her voice, echoing… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“The child destined to be a writer is vulnerable to every wind that blows. Now warm, now chill, next joyous, then despairing,… — Daphne Du Maurier Copy Share Image
Writing every book is like a purge; at the end of it one is empty ... like a dry shell on the… — 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… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“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… — Daphne du Maurier Copy Share Image
“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
