Paula Hawkins


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

Author Quotes

There is a pile of clothing on the side of the train tracks. Light-blue cloth?a shirt, perhaps?jumbled up with something dirty white. It?s probably rubbish, part of a load dumped into the scrubby little wood up the bank. It could have been left behind by the engineers who work this part of the track, they?re here often enough. Or it could be something else. My mother used to tell me that I had an overactive imagination; Tom said that, too. I can?t help it, I catch sight of these discarded scraps, a dirty T-shirt or a lonesome shoe, and all I can think of is the other shoe and the feet that fitted into them.

We live together ... when we were together, Ben and me. We were not afraid of anything.

Writing an important email to a colleague at the office in New York, or a carefully worded break-up message to his girlfriend.

I have to keep things vague, jumble up all the men, the lovers and the exes, but I tell myself that?s OK, because it doesn?t matter who they are. It matters how they make me feel.

I quit! I feel so much better, as if anything is possible. I?m free!

I will get up early on Saturday to clean. She says it?s cathartic, it sets her up for a good weekend, and because she cleans the house aerobically, it means she doesn?t have to go to the gym.

I?ve been the fool. If he does it with you, he?ll do it to you.

It comes down to it, they feel a bit pointless, as if I?m playing at real life instead of actually living it. I need to find something that I must do, something undeniable.

It?s not even rejection, its dismissal.

Life they have, look how beautiful it is! I have never understood how people can blithely disregard

Now they?ll see. She?s much more than just the girl on the train.

Revealing not easy.

Sometimes I feel like seeing if I can track down anybody from the old days, but then I think, what would I talk to them about now? 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.

The more I want to be oblivious, the less I can be. Life and light will not let me be.

There is a rotten seed planted deep inside me

We. Us. Our little family. With our problems and our routines. Fucking bitch. She?s a cuckoo, laying her egg in my nest. She has taken everything from me. She has taken everything and now she calls me to tell me that my distress is inconvenient for her?

Yesterday ? sensible, clear-headed, right-thinking ? I decided I must accept that my part in this story was over. But my better angels lost again, defeated by drink, by the person I am when I drink. Drunk Rachel sees no consequences, she is either excessively expansive and optimistic or wrapped up in hate.

I have to start talking if I do not do it now, maybe I will not have the courage to try, and the unspoken words will end up piling up in the throat to choke in his sleep.

I remember an argument, right at the end, when things were about as bad as they could be; he lost his temper with me. What happened to you, Rachel? he asked me. 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 will not go back to sleep, I sleep in my heart will not wildly in my chest, it hurts me.

If he does it with you, he'll do it to you.

It comes from shared experience, from knowing how it feels to be broken. Hollowness: that I understand.

It?s not that unusual, death by train. Two to three hundred a year, they say, so at least one every couple of days. I?m not sure how many of those are accidental.

Like the police, he?d probably just think I?m a nutter, some weirdo who?s read about the case in the newspaper.

Now, I think he might be dead.

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