Paula Hawkins


Rhodesian(now Zimbabwe)-born British Author, best known for her 2015 novel "The Girl on the Train"

Author Quotes

I know is, one minute I?m ticking along fine and life is sweet and I want for nothing, and the next I can?t wait to get away, I?m all over the place, slipping and sliding again.

I told him I loved him and I felt every muscle in his body tense, as if he knew what was coming and was bracing himself for it. You do, don?t you, when someone tells you they love you like that. I love you, I do, but . . . But.

I?m not even that upset about the rejection any more. What bothers me most is that I haven?t got to the end of my story, and I can?t start over with someone else, it?s too hard.

If you want someone badly enough, morals (and certainly professionalism) don't come into it. You'll do anything to have them.

It fits her, pretty and carefree as she is. They?re a match, they?re a set. They?re happy, I can tell. They?re what I used to be, they?re Tom and me, five years ago. They?re what I lost; they?re everything I want to be.

It's as if pretending to have a real life instead of living it for real.

Mac saved me. He took me in, he loved me, he kept me safe. And he wasn?t boring. And to be perfectly honest, we were taking a lot of drugs, and it?s difficult to get bored when you?re off your face all the time. I was happy.

Once I?ve made my mind up, I?m a force to be reckoned with.

She wanted to chat in person and I thought it might be best. I?m sorry, OK? We just talked. We met in a crappy coffee shop in Ashbury and talked for twenty minutes?half an hour, tops. OK?

That?s what I?ve taken from the therapy sessions: the holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mold yourself through the gaps.

The thing about being barren is that you?re not allowed to get away from it. Not when you?re in your thirties. My friends were having children, friends of friends were having children, pregnancy and birth and first birthday parties were everywhere. I was asked about it all the time.

They wouldn?t even recognize Megan the happily married suburbanite. In any case, I can?t risk looking backwards, it?s always a bad idea. I?ll wait until the summer is over, then I?ll look for work. It seems like a shame to waste these long summer days. I?ll find something, here or elsewhere, I know I will.

When did you become so weak? I don?t know. I don?t know where that strength went, I don?t remember losing it. I think that over time it got chipped away, bit by bit, by life, by the living of it.

I know that I?m going to be better, that I?m going to be happy. It won?t be long.

I understand what it means emptiness. I'm starting to think that it cannot fill anything in principle. My psychotherapeutic sessions have taught me one thing: the gap in life forever. We must learn to grow, enveloping them like plants, stems entwine concrete structure. These holes form a human personality. I know that now, but do not say it out loud, at least now.

I?m not here for you, I couldn?t be less interested.

If you want someone badly enough, you'll do anything to have them.

It is, will always be, a black hole in my timeline.

It's been so long since I've heard him say my name like that, and its making me hope.

Maybe I?ll want to run again, and again, and eventually I?ll end up back by those old tracks, because there is nowhere left to go. Maybe. Maybe not. You have to take the risk, don?t you?

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

She?s buried beneath a silver birch tree, down towards the old train tracks, her grave marked with a cairn. Not more than a little pile of stones, really. I didn?t want to draw attention to her resting place, but I couldn?t leave her without remembrance. She?ll sleep peacefully there, no one to disturb her, no sounds but birdsong and the rumble of passing trains.

The author claimed that blacking out wasn?t simply a matter of forgetting what had happened, but having no memories to forget in the first place. His theory is that you get into a state where your brain no longer makes short-term memories. And while you?re there, in deepest black, you don?t behave as you usually would, because you?re simply reacting to the very last thing you think happened, because - since you aren?t making memories - you might not actually know what the last thing that happened really was.

The track at the end of the garden with its trains, always taking someone else to somewhere else, reminding me over and over and over, a dozen times a day, that I?m staying put. I

They?re a match, they?re a set. They?re happy, I can tell. They?re what I used to be, they?re Tom and me five years ago. They?re what I lost, they?re everything I want to be.

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Rhodesian(now Zimbabwe)-born British Author, best known for her 2015 novel "The Girl on the Train"