It was common enough, to see so much death and want a child. Common, therefore human, and he wanted it all the more. When the wounded were screaming, you dreamed of sharing a little house somewhere, of an ordinary life, a family line, connection.

Writing a novel resembles a journey with only the sketchiest of maps.

Briony began to understand the chasm that lay between an idea and its execution.

...falling in love could be achieved in a single word—a glance.

Arguing with a dead man in a lavatory is a claustrophobic experience.

Oblivion seemed the only reasonable option.

No one knows anything, really. It's all rented, or borrowed.