No One Knows Anything, Really. It's All

Without A Revolution Of The Inner Life, However Slow, All Our Big Designs Are Worthless. The Work We Have To Do Is With Ourselves If We're Ever Going To Be At Peace With Each Other...the Good That Flows From It Will Shape Our Societies In An Unprogrammed, Unforeseen Way, Under The Control Of No Single Group Of People Or Set Of Ideas.

A Person Is, Among All Else, A Material Thing, Easily Torn And Not Easily Mended.

The Moment You Lose Curiosity In The World, You Might As Well Be Dead.

I Couldn't Think About Novels At All. It Seemed The Only Writing That Was Appropriate To That Horrendous Event Was Journalism, Reportage. And, In Fact, I Think The Profession Rose Quite Honorably To The Task. Novelists Require A Slower Turnover, I Mean, In Time.

Briony Began To Understand The Chasm That Lay Between An Idea And Its Execution.