“All these years she had lived in isolation within herself and, strangely, from herself, never wanting or daring to look back. In the stone-floored echoing hall with the heavy low beams, her problems with Edward were already present in those first few seconds, in their first exchange of looks.”

Quote from ‘On Chesil Beach’ by Ian McEwan

“He had to stop his body being swept away, by wind, by time, by continental drift, by shooting stars, by shame.”

Quote from ‘Being Dead’ by Jim Crace

“Well, whatever it is I’ve ended, it’s given me this very swanky green coat.

He wraps it around him. It’s a good fit, it smells leafy and fresh. He would make a good tailor. He has made something, made something of himself. His mother would be pleased at last.

Oh God. Is there still mother after death?”

From ‘Autumn’ by Ali Smith

“Moments left, Teddy thought. A handful of heartbeats. That was what life was. A heartbeat followed by a heartbeat. A breath followed by a breath. One moment followed by another moment and then there was a last moment. Life was as fragile as a bird’s heartbeat, fleeting as the bluebells in the wood. It didn’t matter, he realized, he didn’t mind, he was going where millions had gone before and where millions would follow after. He shared his fate with the many. And now. This moment. This moment was infinite. He was part of the infinite. The tree and the rock and the water. The rising of the sun and the running of the deer. Now.”

From “A God in Ruins” by Kate Atkinson

“I derive the greatest pleasure from travelling. I like the idea of knocking about the world and getting used to the ways and customs of men.”

Margaret Fountaine

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars”

From ‘On The Road’ by Jack Kerouac

“They wanted spring, of course they wanted it, more than anything. They longed for sun with every pore of their skin. But spring hurts. If spring can come, if things can be different, how can you bear what your existence has been?”

From ‘The Siege’ by Helen Dunmore