Joanne Harris
Joanne Harris
Joanne Michèle Sylvie Harris, MBEis an English author, best known for her award-winning novel Chocolat which was later turned into a successful film. The film adaption was released in 2000, directed by Lasse Hallström and starring Juliette Binoche, Judi Dench, Alfred Molina, Lena Olin and Johnny Depp. It was nominated for 8 BAFTAS and 5 Oscars...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth3 July 1964
book mark ends
The great thing about books is that you can end with a question mark.
Anything that can be dreamed is true.
tamed
A named thing is a tamed thing.
dream chocolate temptation
In my dreams I gorge on chocolates, I roll in chocolates, and their texture is not brittle but soft as flesh, like a thousand mouths on my body, devouring me in fluttering small bites. To die beneath their tender gluttony seems the culmination of every temptation I have ever known.
past stranger mark
The past is an obdurate stranger that puts as many marks on us as we attempt to impose on it.
thinking make-you-think fasting
You priests. You're all the same. You think fasting helps you think about God, when anyone who can cook would tell you that fasting just makes you think about food.
pain misery anticipation
Somehow the anticipation of pain can be even more troubling, more a misery than the pain itself.
freak fit standing-out
Clones fit in. Freaks stand out. Ask me which one I prefer.
wine son fire
Our lives are like these things I make. Turn 'em, build 'em, bake 'em in fire. That's what you've been, son. Baked and fired. But a pot don't have the right to choose whether he be for water, wine, or just left empty. You have, son. You have.
mean presumption-of-innocence faults
But I rather thought--I mean, I heard you'd killed Balder the Fair." "I never did," snapped Loki crossly. "Well, no one ever proved I did. What happened to the presumption of innocence? Besides, he was supposed to be invulnerable. Was it my fault that he wasn't?
morning heart names
Places do not lose their identity, however far one travels. It is the heart that begins to erode over time. The face in the hotel mirror seems blurred some mornings, as if by too many casual looks. By ten the sheets will be laundered, the carpet swept. The names on the hotel registers change as we pass. We leave no trace as we pass on. Ghostlike, we cast no shadow.
garden mind
Garden work clears the mind.
maps recipes
I carried recipes in my head like maps.
mother children mean
Children are knives, my mother once said. They don’t mean to, but they cut. And yet we cling to them, don’t we, we clasp them until the blood flows.