People and places are the source of my work, both in prose and verse-and this remark is not the truism it seems, for I do not distinguish as sharply between a place and a person as most people seem to do.
We might all place ourselves in one of two ranks the women who do something, and the women who do nothing; the first being of course the only creditable place to occupy.
Shin: a device for finding furniture in the dark.
We live in a dark universe.
Dark matter promotes the universe.
If the light's not in you, you're in the dark.
Life is a winking light in the darkness.
Bereavement is a darkness impenetrable to the imagination of the unbereaved
For me, the majority of my music is really dark and to the point.
Step into the darkness...there is nothing to fear.
I walk the darkness with a smile.
For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.
Not the place where I was born but where I hang my hat is home.
If you stay long enough in one place the whole world passes you by.
If you want a place in the sun, you must leave the shade of the family tree.
There are people who place a basket on your head to see what you carry.
We can't stop reading. Compulsively we find ourselves reading significance into dreams (we construct a science upon it); into tea-leaves and the fall of cards. We look up at the shifting vapours in the sky, and see faces, lost cities, defeated armies...
Every angel is terrifying. Through the darkness, they move silently... I will go down into death with you. I must go where I must go To see what I must see In that place where no one knows... ... This is where love is taking me. You have been leading...
This book tells my story. I’m writing it in Ireland, in a house on a hillside. The house sits low in the landscape between a holy well and the site of an Iron Age dwelling. It was built of stones ploughed out of the fields by men who knew how to ra...
The deeper I went into the valley, the greater the rewards. First, it was a clump of birches, the bottoms wrapped in thick fog, the uppermost branches clear now, nesting birds waking with bright-eyed songs. Next, I passed under the pines, browned nee...
Whatever happened to me in my life, happened to me as a writer of plays. I'd fall in love, or fall in lust. And at the height of my passion, I would think, 'So is how it feels,' and I would tie it up in pretty words. I my life as if it were happening...
