Only write to me, write to me, I love to see the hop and skip and sudden starts of your ink.
A. S. ByattThink of this - that the writer wrote alone, and the reader read alone, and they were alone with each other.
A. S. ByattLouis de Bernires is in the direct line that runs through Dickens and Evelyn Waugh. . .he has only to look into his world, one senses, for it to rush into reality, colours and touch and taste.
A. S. ByattThey took to silence. They touched each other without comment and without progression. A hand on a hand, a clothed arm, resting on an arm. An ankle overlapping an ankle, as they sat on a beach, and not removed. One night they fell asleep, side by side... He slept curled against her back, a dark comma against her pale elegant phrase.
A. S. Byatt