Quotes from Susanna Clarke

She preferred those occupations that require no companion. She walked alone, rad alone, sat alone in the sittingroom or in the ray of faint sunshine which sometimes penetrated the little courtyard ab about one o'clock. She was less open-hearted and confiding than before; it was as if someone -- not necessarily Jonathan Strange -- had disappointed her and she was determined to be more independent in future.

a cold, miserable little hamlet on the eastern coast of America called Piper's Grave.

Both had indulged in, if not Black Magic, then certainly magic of a darker hue than seemed desirable or legitimate.

Stephen had never seen a landscape so calculated to reduce the onlooker to utter despair in an instant. "This is one of your kingdoms, I suppose, sir?" he said. "My kingdoms?" exclaimed the gentleman in surprize. "Oh, no! This is Scotland!

He had the odd idea that, though only a whisper, it could have passed through stone or iron or brass. It could have spoken to you from a thousand feet beneath the earth and you would have still heard it. It could have shattered precious stones and brought on madness.

The little man was all smiling acquiescence.

Perhaps I am too tame, too domestic a magician. But how does one work up a little madness? I meet with mad people every day in the street, but I never thought before to wonder how they got mad. Perhaps I should go wandering on lonely moors and barren shores. That is always a popular place for lunatics – in novels and plays at any rate. Perhaps wild England will make me mad.

My father believed that, in understanding and in knowledge of right and wrong and in many other things, women are men's equals and I am entirely of his opinion.

and a couple of days later he sent Strange a haggis (a sort of Scotch pudding) as a present.

carving of a fox which carried a baby in its mouth.

There is at least as much contrariness in your character as in mine. Why not come and be contrary with me?

is like asking a politician to achieve high office without the benefit of bribes or patronage.

Had it not been for Mr. Drawlight and Mr. Lascelles (benevolent souls!) the Town would have been starved of information of any sort, but they drove diligently about London making their appearance in a quite impossible number of drawing-rooms, morning-rooms, dining-rooms and card-rooms.

It is also true that his hair had a reddish tinge and, as everybody knows, no one with red hair can ever truly be said to be handsome. At

Today it stopped raining. The World became light of Heart again.

The Tides themselves are full of movement and power so that, while they may not exactly be alive, neither are they not-alive.

In May 1976 Arne-Sayles wrote a letter to the director of the museum, asking to borrow the head so that he could perform a magical rite of his own invention, transfer the seer's knowledge to himself and so usher in a New Age for Mankind. To Arne-Sayles's astonishment, the director refused.

But I haven't got his mind and I haven't got his memories. I don't mean that he's not here. He is here.' I touched my breast. 'But I think he's asleep. He's fine. You mustn't worry about him.

Timey-Wimey: Steven Moffat, Blink and J. W. Dunne's theories of Time'

According to the second system I have given the years names like 'The Year I named the Constellations' and 'The Year I counted and named the Dead'. I like this much more. It gives each year a character of its own. This is the system I shall use going forward.

Two memories. Two bright minds which remember past events differently. It is an awkward situation. There exists no third person to say which of us is correct.

On the other side of the Courtyard I saw the Other looking out of a Window. The Window was tall and dark; the Other's noble head with its high forehead and neatly trimmed beard was framed in one Corner. He was lost in thought as he so often is. I waved to him. He did not see me. I waved more extravagantly. I jumped up and down with great energy. But the Windows of the House are many and he did not see me.

His mouth was long and mobile, red and oddly wet.

Ketterley shrugged. 'A vision of cosmic grandeur, I suppose. A symbol of the mingled glory and horror of existence. No one gets out alive.