Quotes from Diane Setterfield

I'm sorry," I heard her say. "One gets so used to one's own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people.

El silencio donde moraban sus demonios.

Her hair was a dirty color that was too dark to be blond, her chin was big and her eyes were small.

He was the first of my ghosts.

Què havia de fer de tota aquella llibertat?

A man like me gets used to recognizing himself from the inside. The inside is what I am familiar with. Nor am I much given to studying my outward appearance in the looking glass. It is a curious thing, to see oneself in a photograph. It is a meeting with the outer man.

I left wide margins. In the left-hand one I noted any mannerisms, expressions and gestures that seemed to add something to her meaning. The right-hand margin I left blank. Later, rereading, it was here that I would enter my own thoughts, comments, questions.

As we drove into Harrow-gate, the atmosphere in the car was heavy with Miss Winter's oppressive silence.

Adeline was made like a piece of wire with knots for knees and elbows.

her eyelids were colored purple, lined Cleopatra-style with kohl and fringed with the same heavy black lashes as yesterday. In the clear daylight I saw what I had not seen the night before: along the ruler-straight parting in Miss Winter's copper curls was a narrow margin of pure white.

Pero ¿qué tormenta golpea en silencio?

There was nothing to see; the mist that hung in the air made everything invisible that was more than a short distance away.

When she felt the baby turn in her underwater world she remembered Quietly. The future was unfathomable, but with every heartbeat she carried her daughter towards it.

You may not want to be my son, but I cannot help but be your father.

her fear of action was overtaken by her fear of inaction.

followed the thread of his voice in the air.

Human lives are not pieces of string that can be separated out from a knot of others and laid out straight. Families are webs. Impossible to touch one part of it without setting the rest vibrating.

To think a book could have so much paper in it!

Do you know the feeling when you start reading a new book before the membrane of the last one has had time to close behind you? You leave the previous book with ideas and themes—characters even—caught in the fibers of your clothes, and when you open the new book, they are still with you. Well, it was like that. All

Anyone would think you'd seen a ghost!

No conviene encariñarse con los personajes secundarios. No es su historia. Vienen, se van, y una vez que se han ido ya no vuelven. Eso es todo.

One should always pay attention to ghosts, shouldn't one, Miss Lea?

undid my knitting. All those little knots that you make one after another, row by row, to knit a sock, I undid them. It's easy. Take the needles out, a little tug and they just fall apart. One after another, row by row. I undid the extra heel and then I just kept going. The foot, the first heel, the ribbing of the leg. All those loops unraveling themselves as you pull the wool. Then there was nothing left to unravel, only a pile of crinkled blue wool in my lap.

It was surprising how a man's mind might remain half in shadow until the right confidant appeared