4 Quotes by Gina Berriault

Some days after, the girl encountered her again, in a dream, as she was years ago: a very slender young woman in a long white skirt, her amber hair to her waist, her eyes coal black with ardor.

The day was cold, and every time the little transparent fans of water swept in and drew back, the wet sand mirrored a clear sky and the sun on its way down.

Short stories and some short novels are close to poetry – with the fewest words they capture the essence of a situation, of a human being. It’s like trying to pin down the eternal moment.

It’s over me like a ton of water, the things I don’t know.