Paula Hawkins


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

Author Quotes

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.

When everyone is out and about, being flagrantly, aggressively happy. It?s exhausting, and it makes you feel bad if you?re not joining in.

I lay there and I thought of what that teacher said, and of all the things I?d been: child, rebellious teenager, runaway, whore, lover, bad mother, bad wife. I?m not sure if I can remake myself as a good wife, but a good mother?that I have to try.

I wake abruptly, my breath jagged and heart racing, my mouth stale, and I know immediately that?s it. I?m awake. The more I want to be oblivious, the less I can be. Life and light will not let me be.

I?m not just going to be ignored.

If you want to be happy, not like one while living like everyone else.

It isn?t normal to invade someone?s privacy to that degree. It?s what is often seen as a form of emotional abuse.

It's impossible to resist the kindness of strangers.

Maybe if I?d done all that, I wouldn?t have ended up here, not knowing what to do next. Or maybe, if I?d done all that, I?d have ended up exactly where I am and I would be perfectly contented. But I didn?t do all that, of course.

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl? Three for a girl. I?m stuck on three, I just can?t get any further. My head is thick with sounds, my mouth thick with blood. Three for a girl. I can hear the magpies?they?re laughing, mocking me, a raucous cackling. A tiding. Bad tidings. I can see them now, black against the sun. Not the birds, something else. Someone?s coming. Someone is speaking to me. Now look. Now look what you made me do.

She's cuckoo, laying her egg in my nest.

The behavior you?re describing?reading your emails, going through your Internet browser history?you describe all this as though it is commonplace, as though it is normal. It isn?t, Megan. It isn?t normal to invade someone?s privacy to that degree. It?s what is often seen as a form of emotional abuse.

The train stops. We are almost opposite Jess and Jason's house, but I can't see across the carriage and the tracks, there are too many people in the way. I wonder whether they are there, whether he knows, whether he's left, or whether he's still living a life he's yet to discover is a lie.

This is what marriage is?safe, warm, comfortable.

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