Best 43 quotes of Jessie Burton on MyQuotes

But words are water in Amsterdam, they flood your ears and set the rot, and the church's east corner is crowded.

Every woman is the architect of her own fortune.

Love is best a phantom than reality, better in the chase than caught.

Pity, unlike hate, can be boxed and put away.

A Depressive?' 'Smiles in ballrooms, weeps in bedrooms. Ill in her head.' Olive tapped her temple. 'And here.' She touched her heart.

A lifetime isn't enough to know how a person will behave.

All we can do if we're lucky is stich up the mistakes other people make.

A piece of art only succeeds when it's creator...possesses the belief that brings it into being

Because, Petronella - it's something in his soul. It's something in his soul and you can't get it out.

Believe it or don't believe it, Madame. But my feet are tired too. Bloody tired. Like a dead man's.

Čini se da neke stvari ipak nemaju cijenu. Marin je imala pravo, ne možeš se cjenkati za apstraktne stvari. Svakako ne za izdaju.

Everything man sees he takes for a toy. 'Thus is he always, forever a boy.

From little seeds great flowers grow.

Growing older does not seem to make you more certain. It simply presents you with more reasons for doubt.

Hard grind got us the glory, the saying goes—but sloth will slide us back into the sea. And these days, the rising waters feel so near.

I feel younger than eighteen but burdened as a eighty-year-old.

I felt nothing change in the room, except the shock of my voice alone and the peculiar euphoria one feels in the wake of applause, feeling at once cheapened and triumphant.

I’m doing the absolute opposite of giving myself away. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll be completely visible. If the painting sells, I’ll be in Paris, hanging on a wall. If anything, I’m being selfish. It’s perfect; all the freedom of creation, with none of the fuss.

In suffering we find our truest selves.

Like most artists, everything I produced was connected to who I was - and so I suffered according to how my work was received. The idea that anyone might be able to detach their personal value from their public output was revolutionary. I didn't know if it was possible, even desirable. Surely it would affect the quality of the work? Still, I knew I'd gone too far in the opposite direction, and something had to change. Ever since I could pick up a pen, other people's pleasure was how I'd garnered attention and defined success. When I began receiving public acknowledgement for a private act, something was essentially lost. My writing became the axis upon which all my identity and happiness hinged. It was not outward-looking, a self-conscious performance. I was asked to repeat the pleasure for people, again and again, until the facsimile of my act became the act itself. ...I'd been writing so long for the particular purpose of being approved that I'd forgotten the genesis of my impulse; unbothered, pure creation, existing outside the parameters of success and failure. And somewhere along the line, this being 'good' had come to paralyse my belief that I could write at all.

Like most artists, everything I produced was connected to who I was - and so I suffered according to how my work was received. The idea that anyone might be able to detach their personal value from their public output was revolutionary.

Love your children, for they are the seeds that will make this city bloom.

Marin believes love is better in the chase than caught,’ she says. He raises his eyebrows. ‘That does not surprise me. It is not better. But it is easier. One’s imagination is always more generous. And yet, the chase always tires you out in the end.

Neighbours watching neighbours, twisting ropes to bind us all.

Nothing here is more fabulous than the truth

She had never had a friend like this, in her private room, combing her hair, listening to her, talking about silly nonsense and the uselessness of one's parents; how the future was perfect, because they hadn't lived it yet.

She never married,' Pellicorne says. 'A waste.' For some of us, Nella thinks, it's a waste to be married.

Take care, take care. This city thrives! It's money gives you wings to soar. But it is a yoke on your shoulders and you would do well to take note of the bruise around your neck.

That may be. But to decide that I was never going to live as a proper woman was not your choice to make.' 'What do you mean a proper woman?' 'A proper woman marries - she has children -' 'Then what does that make me? Am I not a proper woman? Last time I looked I certainly was.

The ink was secret nectar, for Marin isn't married.

The night darkens, the stars unfriendly, the cold a knife upon her neck - but Nella waits, until she can no longer difference between Johannes and the darkness that carries him away.

Then where is home, Johannes?" He looks at the maps on his wall. "I don't know," He says. "Where comfort is. And that is hard to find.

There are horizons through the brickwork, you wait and see.

The rules of this house are written in water. I must either sink or swim.

The turnip cannot thrive in the tulips patch of soil.

This city is like no other city in the world. It is brilliant but it is bloated, and I've never called it home

We're nothing more than prisoners to your desire.

What are we all chasing? Nella wonders. To live, of course. To be unbound from the invisible ropes that Johannes spoke of in his study. Or to be happy in them, at least.

What was once, is no longer.

When you have truly come to know a person, Nella -- when you see beneath the sweet gestures, the smiles -- when you see the rage and the pitiful fear which each of us hide -- then forgiveness is everything.

Words are water in this city. One drop of rumour could drown us.

Writing is a leap of faith. But how wonderful that the person you're putting faith in is yourself.

You are a stone, thrown upon a lake. But the ripples you create will never make you still.