Quotes from Meg Rosoff

After all this time, I know exactly where I belong.

I loved horses and horse books as a child.

It's hard recommending books for kids, and a huge responsibility. If you get it wrong, they don't tell you they hate that particular book, they tell you they hate reading.

I am quite a cheerful, dark person. On the outside, I'm optimistic but I expect the worst to happen.

I'd like to think life has improved since 1850, despite the long hours we all seem to spend slaving over hot computers, but the psychological journeys remain the same - the search for love, identity, a meaningful place in the world.

Your writing voice is the deepest possible reflection of who you are. The job of your voice is not to seduce or flatter or make well-shaped sentences. In your voice, your readers should be able to hear the contents of your mind, your heart, your soul.

I can actually trace the moment I decided I couldn't be a doctor. It was in biology, they brought in these African crickets and we were supposed to dissect them - but there's no way I was touching those bugs.

I don't get nearly enough credit in life for the things I manage not to say.

Things Happen and once they start happening you pretty much just to hold on for dear life and see where they drop you when they stop.

The things that break your heart when you think there`s nothing left to break

After all this time, I know exactly where I belong. Here. With Edmond. And that's how I live now.

Every war has turning points and every person too.

And still the brain continues to yearn, continues to burn, foolishly, with desire. My old man's brain is mocked by a body that still longs to stretch in the sun and form a beautiful shape in someone else's gaze, to lie under a blue sky and dream of helpless, selfless love, to behold itself, illuminated, in the golden light of another's eyes.

The facts of his existence are plain. I know that he will never silence those unspeakable voices. He heard how people killed, and how they died and their voices infected him, coursed through his body, poisoned him. He didn't know how to turn off the noise, or turn the hate back out onto the world like the rest of us. He turned it on himself. You could see that from the scars on him.

If you haven't been in a war and are wondering how long it takes to get used to losing everything you think you need or love, I can tell you the answer is no time at all.

I noticed that once you realize someone's watching you it's pretty hard not to find yourself watching them back.

Staying alive was what we did to pass the time.

After all this time, I know exactly where I belong.

I didn't seem to have that effect on anyone but it would have been a waste for both of us to be saints.

I felt a momentary urge to leap into the sea and swim free of the present.

Maybe we shouldn't be living this way, without grass and trees, and ducks, always under pressure, always trying to catch up, never enough time or energy for the things we love, if we can even remember what those things are.

Perhaps the way to succeed is to think of life on Earth as a colossal joke, a creation of such immense stupidity that the only way to live is to laugh until you think your heart will break.

She frowned at him. 'You are in love with solitude.' 'Is there a better cure for the world than solitude?

Somewhere along the line I'd lost the will not to eat.