Best 43 quotes of Sarah Winman on MyQuotes

Memories no matter how small or inconsequential are the pages that define us.

She was always like that: grateful for life itself. Her glass was not only half full, it was gold plated with a permanent refill.

Without reason, why bother? Existence needs purpose: to be able to endure the pain of life with dignity; to give us a reason to continue. The meaning must enter our hearts, not our heads. We must understand the meaning of our suffering

And I wonder what the sound of a heart breaking might be. And I think it might be quiet, unperceptively so, and not dramatic at all. Like the sound of an exhausted swallow falling gently to earth.

But most of all I wrote about him - now called Max - my brother, our friend, missing now for 10 days. And I wrote about what I’d lost that morning. The witness of my soul, my shadow in childhood when dreams were small and attainable for all. When sweets were a penny and God was a rabbit.

—¿Crees que un conejo podría ser Dios? —le pregunté a Arthur distraídamente. —No existe absolutamente ninguna razón por la que un conejo no pueda ser Dios.

Do I believe in an old man in the clouds with a white beard judging us mortals with a moral code from one to ten? Good Lord no, my sweet Elly, I do not! I would have been cast out from this life years ago with my tatty history. Do I believe in a mystery; the unexplained phenomenon that is life itself? The greater something that illuminates inconsequence in our lives; that gives us something to strive for as well as the humility to brush ourselves down and start all over again? Then yes, I do. It is the source of art, of beauty, of love, and proffers the ultimate goodness to mankind. That to me is God. That to me is life. That is what I believe in.

El mundo es un lugar diferente cuando estás bien, cuando eres joven. El mundo es hermoso y seguro.

Emotions embarassed her except when she sang. My dad said that was exactly why she sang.

Everything was real, not perfect. And yet that's what had made it so perfect.

He heard the back door open and close. Carol, of course. Smelled her before he could see her. He’d never asked them when the affair began but always presumed it ran along invisible tracks parallel to his parents’ marriage. Mum had the painting and he had Carol. Truce. /It’s hard being born here, breathing this air. It becomes part of you, whether you want it to or not. Those lights become dawn and dusk. Mum used to say that. Did she? We were friends once. I never knew that. In the early days, we were. But the she seemed to withdraw. Rarely went out with your dad anymore. Maybe it was being a new mum. I reckon you were enough for her. Lucky Dora, we used to say. Ellis put his arm around her shoulder./ It was hard for us, wasn’t it? Getting to know each other? We know each other now, said Ellis. Yeah. And you know you’re too good for him. I know, said Carol, and they laughed. Do you think he’s alright? said Ellis, looking back to the house. Course he is. He’s just used to being a bastard. He’s one of them men who discovered later on that he’s got a heart.

I’d been feeling like this for a while; the continual looking back the stuckness of it all. I blamed it on the coming new year only 4 1/2 months away when the clocks would read zero and we would start again, could start again, but I knew we wouldn’t. Nothing would. The world would be the same, just a little bit worse.

I haven't cried. But sometimes I feel as if my veins are leaking, as if my body is overwhelmed, as if I'm drowning from the inside.

I looked young then and my young was audacious. I lay back in those tiny dusty rooms and let the summer dusk unbutton me.

I'm going to run away," she said. "Where to?" "Atlantis," she said. "Where's that?" "No one really knows where it is," she said. "But I'll find it and then I'll go and then they'll worry.

I’m not sure what I believe, I say, sharply. No one deserves to go through this. That’s all I know. You’re lovely. I leave the room. I take my rage out on the kettle and cutlery drawer. The nurses can hear me make the tea, fucking London can hear me make the tea. Onto a plate, I pile biscuits that I don’t even feel like eating, and return to his room. How are you with food? I ask him. Not too good right now, he says. These are mine then, I say, and I sit down and place the chocolate bourbons on my lap. You’ll get fat, he says. I am fat, and I lift up my jumper. This wasn’t here yesterday, I say. This is trespassing.

I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. The sky was dark and vast and empty and not even a plane disturbed that sullen stillness, not even a star. The emptiness above was now mine within. It was a part of me, like a freckle, like a bruise. Like a middle name now one acknowledged.

I sat in front of the roaring hearth and watched the men play poker badly and loudly. My mother bent down and filled my wine glass. Maybe it was the angle or the light. Maybe it was simply her, but she looked so young that night. And Nancy must’ve noticed it too because I caught her looking at her as she carried in a tray of teas and it was a gaze I could see that extinguished all thoughts of her erratic marriage (A marriage that incidentally would never happen due to Detective Butler’s shameful ‘outing’ by national Inquirer magazine). Later, as my mother entered my room to say good night I sat up and said, ‘Nancy’s in love with you.’ ‘And I’m in love with her.’ ‘But what about dad?’ She smiled, ‘I’m in love with him too.’ ‘Oh. Is that allowed?’ She laughed and said, ‘for a child of sixties, Elle . . . I know. Bit of a letdown.’ ‘Never,’ she said. ‘Never. I love them differently that’s all. I don’t sleep with Nancy.’ ‘Oh God I don’t need to know that.’ ‘Yes you do. We play by our own rules Ellie always have. That’s all we can do. For us it works.’ And she leaned over and kissed me good night.

I thought this is how it would be if the sun died. The gentle shutting down of an organ; sleepy no longer working. No explosion at the end of life just the slow disintegration into darkness where life as we know it never wakes up because nothing reminds us that we have to.

I’ve asked Carol to marry me. What? Just now? No, said his father with a rare laugh. For the last 20 years. She’s always said no. Really? Says she doesn’t want me telling her what to do with her money. And I thought she was just being modern, Ellis smiled. Yeah, that too. But she said I had to get your permission first. Mine? So that’s what I’m asking. You have it. You can think about it — — Nothing to think about. But you might feel different later. I won’t. Just marry her, Dad. Marry her. His father took off his cap and smoothed his hair. He put the cap back on. Painting’s upstairs, he said.

I walked out and breathed fresh air. I felt the sun on my skin. The world is a different place when you are well, when you are young. The world is beautiful and safe. I said hello to the gatekeeper. He said hello back to me.

... I wrote about ... my childhood, when dreams were small and attainable for all. When sweets were a penny and god was a rabbit.

<...> maybe the need to be remembered is stronger than the need to remember.

Men and boys should be capable of beautiful things.

Nothing stays forgotten for long, Elly. Sometimes we simply have to remind the world that we're special and that we're still here.

Nothing stays forgotten for long, Elly. Sometimes we simply have to remind the world that we're still here.

—¿Que si creo en un anciano de barba blanca que vive en las nubes y juzga a los mortales con un código moral de diez mandamientos? ¡Cielo santo, querida Elly, claro que no! Me habría expulsado de esta vida hace años por mi alocada historia. ¿Que si creo en un misterio, en el inexplicable fenómeno que constituye la vida misma? ¿Que si creo en algo más grande que nosotros y que ilumina la inconsecuencia de nuestras vidas? ¿En algo que nos da una razón por la que luchar y la humildad para purificarnos y empezar de nuevo? Entonces sí, sí que creo en él. Es la fuente del arte, de la belleza, del amor, y ofrece la bondad suprema a la humanidad. Esto es Dios para mí. Esto es la vida, y es en esto en lo que creo.

She was of another world; different. But by then, secretly, so was I.

... shunning all offers of help, all offers of the more practical... This was his task, he said, and it would be carried out alone. Penance, my brother reminded me, was a lonely place to be.

Shut up, Arthur,' said my mother, and he zipped his mouth shut like an infuriating child. Ginger started to laugh. Not at anything in particular, but just because Ginger was stoned.

Si no tenemos una razón para vivir, ¿qué sentido tiene la vida? La existencia necesita un propósito, y éste consiste en ser capaces de soportar el sufrimiento de la vida con dignidad. El propósito nos da una razón para continuar, pero el significado debe calar en nuestro corazón, no en nuestra mente. Debemos comprender el significado de nuestro sufrimiento.

The air fizzed. I remember telling this to Annie once, and Ellis couldn’t remember a bloody thing. He’s so disappointing at times. Couldn’t remember the fishing boats, or Francoise Hardy, or how warm the evening was, and how the air fizzed - Fizzed? he said. Yes, I said. Fizzed with possibly or maybe excitement. I said to him that just because you can’t remember doesn’t mean the past isn’t out there. All those precious moments are still there somewhere. I think he’s embarrassed by the word precious, said Annie. Maybe, I said, looking at him.

The choir sang and the old man sang and Drake couldn't sing, and suddenly he began to cry because of the music, because of the sound of the boys' voices, because of what they might turn into.

The creek was hers now and yet she felt nothing. It had been the longest walk of her life for no one was at the end waiting for her. She slept through winter. Missed Christmas and awoke to a New Year. She felt so lost. Until the first bluebells and ramsons colored the green-brown floor of her world.

The principles of catching rumours were, in fact, similar to the principals of catching dreams, but because rumour was weightier, the catcher had to be positioned closer to the ground. Rumour flew low, dreams flew high, and somewhere in between were prayers.

There's something about first love...it's untouchable to those who played no part in it. But it's the measure of all that follows.

There was no point in tears outliving eyes, so she let them fall.

This had always been the worst time when the quiet emptiness could leave him gasping for breath. She was there, his wife, a peripheral shadow moving across a doorway, or in the reflection of a window, and he had to stop looking for her. And the whiskey helped – helped him walk past her when the fire was doused. But occasionally she followed him up the stairs and that’s why he began to take the bottle with him, because she stood in the corner of their bedroom and watched him undress, and when he was on the verge of sleep, she leant over him and asked him things like, Remember when we first met?

We were the centre of that liquid universe, for we were the night sun and we said to ships, do not come too close, we have rocks at our feet. And the crash of waves sent white spray flying, and I am scared and exhilarated and a little bit in love too.

You're a Doer, my love. That's why God made you so big. So you could do everything yourself. Girls like you don't quit til you're dead. That should be a comfort.

You said I could be anything I wanted when I was older', I said. She smiled and said, 'And you can be. But it's not very easy to become Jewish.' 'I know,' I said forlornly, 'I need a number.' And she suddenly stopped smiling.

You see, that's who you are, Joe. All these things. That's the person I know, and through him is the way you'll know me, because connected to all these things are moments, and for so many of them, I was there. And that's the thing that hurts so much... You see, you were the only person who knew everything. Because you were there. You were my witness. And you make sense of the fucked-up mess I become every now and then. And I could at least look at you and think, at least he knows why I am the way I am. There were reasons. But I can't do that anymore and I feel so lonely.

You smell nice,’ she said. ‘Chanel,’ he said. ‘Wasted on you,’ she said and he reached into his bag and pulled out an almond tart. ‘Look what I’ve got,’ he said triumphantly as he lowered it under her nose. ‘Almonds,’ she said, ‘just like Paris.’ ‘For us to share,’ he said, ‘just like Paris.’ I never knew if she had any real appetite or not for she hadn’t eaten solids for days. But he broke a piece off and held it to her mouth and she ate hungrily for it was the memory she was tasting again and the memory tasted good. I moved a chair close to the bed for him and he sat down and held her hand. his own death he’d made peace with years ago but everyone else’s still frightened him and so he held her hand to not let her go. He held her hand because he wasn’t ready to let her go.