“Even now, Dickon was upstairs, writing sonnets to his new love, while back at Seadown House, Marianne was writing 'Ella' on scraps of paper and then burning them.”
“Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes all the pressure off the second.”
“We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it.”
“I loved words. I love to sing them and speak them and even now, I must admit, I have fallen into the joy of writing them.”
“I could write paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.”
“You are given the form, but you must write the sonnet for yourself.”