81 Quotes by Sonya Hartnett

The warmth of outside was shaved from my skin and fell in curls to the floor.

Evangeline's obliviousness was a reason to like her rather than not: I liked least those schoolfellows whose awareness of me invariably caused misery.

I am dying: it's a beautiful word. Like the long slow sigh of the cello: dying. But the sound of it is the only beautiful thing about it.

Life is lived on the inside. What's outside doesn't matter.

He's used to the freedom of neglect; he likes it.

That is what dying is: a pull to the ground. I am thin as a shadow, yet clotted as dough, my blood as thickset as mud.

Every atom in me feels composed of lead. This is what dying is: a pull to the ground.

Watching, she had felt unusually and keenly alive, alive the way a knife is sharp, so that the humiliation she was enduring was perfect, like the paring of skin from a hard apple.

I sensed that he was dead, but wasn't sure if death was forever. It seemed best to stay nearby, in case the chance came to make everything changed.