David Almond
David Almond
David Almond FRSLis a British author who has written several novels for children and young adults from 1998, each one receiving critical acclaim...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth15 May 1951
garden voice glasses
She finds tales everywhere, in grains of sand she picks up from the garden, in puffs of smoke that drift out from the chimneys of the village, in fragments of smooth timber or glass in the jetsam. She will ask them, "Where did you come from? How did you get here?" And they will answer her in voices very like her own, but with new lilts and squeaks and splashes in them that show they are their own.
children want different
Its always been the case that politicians want different things from children than good educators do. Good educators want imaginative, exploratory beings, but politicians just want economic units.
stars light dust
We come to a lamp beside the pathway, and suddenly we stop walking, and we start to dance, and we glitter in the shafts of light, like stars, like flies, like flakes of dust.
growing-up feelings littles
When you grow up", I said, "do you ever stop feeling little and weak?" "No," she says. "There's always a little frail and tiny thing inside, no matter how grown-up you are.
song bird tree
I sit in my tree I sing like the birds My beak is my pen My songs are my poems.
cat owl bats
Words should wander and meander. They should fly like owls and flicker like bats and slip like cats. They should murmur and scream and dance and sing.
dream
Maybe we're all in somebody's dream. Maybe everything's a dream, and nothing else.
writing journey land
Writing will be like a journey, every word a footstep that takes me further into undiscovered land.
angel wings one-day
They say that shoulder blades are where your wings were, when you were an angel," she said. "They say they're where your wings will grow again one day.
two wavering superstitions
My work explores the frontier between rationalism and superstition and the wavering boundary between the two.
crazy healing moon
I don't want to be little again. But at the same time I do. I want to be me like I was then, and me as I am now, and me like I'll be in the future. I want to be me and nothing but me. I want to be crazy as the moon, wild as the wind and still as the earth. I want to be every single thing it's possible to be. I'm growing and I don't know how to grow. I'm living but I haven't started living yet.
dream
Truth and dreams are always getting muddled,
book writing cat
Then what shall I write? I can't just write that this happened then this happened then this happened to boring infinitum. I'll let my journal grow just like the mind does, just like a tree or beast does, just like life does. Why should a book tell a tale in a dull straight line? Words should wander and meander. They should fly like owls and flicker like bats and slip like cats. They should murmur and scream and dance and sing.
alright
Yes. But sad's alright. Sad's just apart of everything