Paula Hawkins


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

Author Quotes

I want to call her back and ask her, What does it feel like, Anna, to live in my house, surrounded by the furniture I bought, to sleep in the bed that I shared with him for years, to feed your child at the kitchen table he fucked me on?

I?m not normal.

I'm good enough to make him believe that it's all about him.

It must take the most incredible self-control, that stillness, that passivity; it must be exhausting.

It's the only thing I have left, my last roll of the dice. If this doesn?t work, I have to let it go. I just have to let it go.

Maybe the courage I need has nothing to do with telling the truth and everything to do with walking away.

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.

So I can?t sleep, and I?m angry. I feel as though we?re having a fight already, even though the fight?s only in my imagination. And in my head, thoughts go round and round and round. I feel like I?m suffocating.

The clouds that menaced this morning did so all day, growing heavier and blacker until they burst, monsoon-like, this evening, just as office workers stepped outside and the rush hour began in earnest, leaving the roads gridlocked and tube station entrances choked with people opening and closing umbrellas.

The truth is, I never felt bad for Rachel.

Those dogs, the unwanted ones that have been mistreated all their lives. You can kick them and kick them, but they?ll still come back to you, cringing and wagging their tails. Begging. Hoping.

When I look at Tom, I thank God that he found me, too, that I was there to rescue him from that woman. She?d have driven him mad in the end, I really think that?she?d have ground him down, she?d have made him into something he?s not.

I liked my job, but I didn?t have a glittering career, and even if I had, let?s be honest: women are still only really valued for two things?their looks and their role as mothers. I?m not beautiful, and I can?t have kids, so what does that make me? Worthless.

I want to drag knives over my skin, just so that I can feel something other than shame, but I'm not even brave enough to do that.

I?m playing at real life instead of actually living it.

I'm well aware that there is no job more important than that of raising a child, but the problem is that it isn't valued.

It?s an odd thing to say, but I think this all the time. I don?t feel bad enough. I know what I?m responsible for, I know all the terrible things I?ve done, even if I don?t remember the details?but I feel distanced from those actions. I feel them at one remove.

I've been up for hours; I can't sleep. I hate insomnia more than anything, just lying there, brain going round, tick, tick, tick. I itch all over. I want to shave my head.

My sense is ashamed of the incident proportional to the number of people who witnessed, not only with the nature of the situation

One more day of drinking, perhaps, and then I?ll get myself straight tomorrow.

So who do I want to be tomorrow?

The holes are permanent in life. You grew around these holes, like the roots of a tree growing looking space between the concrete; you have to conform to the space that you leave.

The windows of number fifteen, reflecting morning sunshine, look like sightless eyes.

Tom didn?t feel the way I did. It wasn?t his failure, for starters, and in any case, he didn?t need a child like I did. He wanted to be a dad, he really did?I?m sure he daydreamed about kicking a football around in the garden with his son, or carrying his daughter on his shoulders in the park. But he thought our lives could be great without children, too. We?re happy, he used to say to me. Why can?t we just go on being happy? He became frustrated with me. He never understood that it?s possible to miss what you?ve never had, to mourn for it.

Whenever I became a desire to oblivion whenever you become less able it.

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