Kate Morton
Kate Morton
Kate Mortonis an international bestselling Australian author. Morton has sold more than 10 million books in 38 countries, making her one of Australia's "biggest publishing exports". The award-winning author has written five novels: The House at Riverton, The Forgotten Garden, The Distant Hours,The Secret Keeper, and The Lake House, which was published in October 2015...
NationalityAustralian
ProfessionAuthor
CountryAustralia
retrospect becoming realising
In retrospect, it seems like everything in my life led to me becoming a writer. I just didn't realise it at the time.
cancer rejection persons
Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.
dream memories night
She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.
doors mets wanted
Doors lead to things and I've never met one I haven't wanted to open.
princess maids fairy-tale
...which fairy-tale princess ever chose her maid over her prince?
anchors opposites two
There were two now where they had been three. David's death had dismantled the triangle, and an enclosed space was now open. Two points are unreliable; with nothing to anchor them, there is nothing to stop them drifting in opposite directions. If it is string that binds, it will eventually snap and the points will separate; if elastic, they will continue to part, further and further, until the strain reaches its limit and they are pulled back with such speed that they cannot help but collide with devastating force.
moderation too-short wells
Ah, well. Life's too short for moderation, wouldn't you say?
acquisition allies compulsion
Nell was not one for friends and had never hidden her distaste for most other humans, their neurotic compulsion for the acquisition of allies.
loneliness self might
It didn't occur to him that she might have chosen to remain this way. That where he saw reserve and loneliness, Cassandra saw self-preservation and the knowledge that it was safer when one had less to lose.
thinking air doors
Round and round the questions flew, until finally I found myself standing at the open door of a bookshop. It’s natural in times of great perplexity, I think, to seek out the familiar, and the high shelves and long rows of neatly lined-up spines were immensely reassuring. Amid the smell of ink and binding, the dusty motes in beams of strained sunlight, the embrace of warm, tranquil air, I felt that I could breathe more easily.
passion writing stories
I simply love writing good stories, that's my passion.
enough these-days
Life could be cruel enough these days without the truth making it worse.
might events remember
Will history remember us, I wonder? I do hope so - to imagine that one might do something, touch an event somehow, & thereby transcend the bounds of a single human lifetime!
cities phones lines
Gerry?' Laurel had to strain to hear thought the noise on the other end of the line. 'Gerry? Where are you?' 'London. A phone booth on Fleet Street.' 'The city still has working phone booths?' 'It would appear so. Unless this is the Tardis, in which case I'm in serious trouble.