“I think you will agree that I am alive in every part of this book; turn back twenty, thirty, one hundred pages - I am back there. That is why I hate the story; characters are not snakes that they must shed their skins on every page - there can only be one action: what a man is. When you have understood this, you will be through with novels.” ThinkingMenWritingBookCharacterStoriesActionHateTurnsNovelAlivePagesUnderstoodHundredSkinsI HateTwentiesAgreeThirtyShedSnakesI Am Alive Author:Kenneth Patchen
“Since most of the action of the war actually happens off the page (offstage), I wanted to give the characters something they had to contend with on a daily basis, some sort of obstacle. Weather seemed to be the one great equalizer regardless of your station in life - when it snows, everyone is inconvenienced to a certain degree. Plus it's tactile, weather, it affects the skin.” GivingWarCharacterHappensActionWantedCertainDegreesPagesSkinsBasesObstaclesSnowWeatherStationsPlusEqualizerTactile Author:Said Sayrafiezadeh
“He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused by the gin.” WritingFrontsPagesConsciousSkinsAnklesGinItchingBlankness Book:Animal Farm and 1984 Source: Animal Farm and 1984
“It was her first book, an indigo cover with a silver moonflower, an art nouveau flower, I traced my finger along the silver line like smoke, whiplash curves. ... I touched the pages her hands touched, I pressed them to my lips, the soft thick old paper, yellow now, fragile as skin. I stuck my nose between the bindings and smelled all the readings she had given, the smell of unfiltered cigarettes and the espresso machine, beaches and incense and whispered words in the night. I could hear her voice rising from the pages. The cover curled outward like sails.” FirstsArtBookHandsNightReadingGivenVoiceLinesFlowerPaperPagesSkinsMachinesFingersLipsSmellStuckSmokeBeachNosesRisingTouchedSilverFragileYellowThickCigaretteSailCurvesBindingIncenseEspressoIndigoWhiplash Author:Janet Fitch
“Characters take on life sometimes by luck, but I suspect it is when you can write more entirely out of yourself, inside the skin, heart, mind, and soul of a person who is not yourself, that a character becomes in his own right another human being on the page.” WritingMindHumansHeartPersonsSoulSometimesCharacterHuman BeingsPagesSkinsLuckSuspectsHeart Mind And Soul Book:One Writer's Beginnings Source: One Writer's Beginnings
“It's their skins I'm peeling," she said. "The skins of the insipid scribblers, which I graft to the page, creating monsters of meaninglessness.” SaidCreatingPagesSkinsMonstersMeaninglessnessInsipidPeeling Book:White Oleander Source: White Oleander
“So Mo began filling the silence with words. He lured them out of the pages as if they had only been waiting for his voice, words long and short, words sharp and soft, cooing, purring words. They danced through the room, painting stained glass pictures, tickling the skin. Even when Meggie nodded off she could still hear them, although Mo had closed the book long ago. Words that explained the world to her, its dark side and its light side, words that built a wall to keep out bad dreams. And not a single bad dream came over that wall for the rest of the night.” IfsWorldLongStillsBookDreamLightNightWaitingSidesVoiceDarkRoomsSilencePaintingWallPagesBuiltSkinsGlassesLong AgoFillingDark SideBad DreamPurringShort WordsStained GlassTickling Author:Cornelia Funke
“I'm floating inside my skin. I could go on floating like this for days. Right now, the real world with its heartbreak and disappointments is just a pulse against the protective membrane we've drunk ourselves into. It's somewhere outside us, waiting." A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 141, by” WorldRealWaitingGoes OnTerribleRight NowPagesSkinsDisappointmentDrunkReal WorldFloatingPulseProtectiveMembranes Book:The Gemma Doyle Trilogy Source: The Gemma Doyle Trilogy
“As though she had entered a fable, as though she were no more than words crawling along a dry page, or as though she were becoming that page itself, that surface on which her story would be written and across which there blew a hot and merciless wind, turning her body to papyrus, her skin to parchment, her soul to paper.” SoulStoriesBodyWould BeWrittenWindBecomingPaperPagesSkinsHotSurfaceDryFablesCrawlingPapyrus Author:Salman Rushdie