Paula Hawkins


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

Author Quotes

When I close my eyes, my head is filled with images of past and future lives, the things I dreamed I wanted, the things I had and threw away.

I like trains, and what?s wrong with that? Trains are wonderful.

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.

At parties, he often holds her hand, even though they?ve been together years. They respect each other, they don?t put each other down.

Cathy?s a nice person, in a forceful sort of way. She makes you notice her niceness. Her niceness is writ large, it is her defining quality and she needs it acknowledged, often, daily almost, which can be tiring.

He never understood that it?s possible to miss what you?ve never had, to mourn for it.

I can?t bear to look at it. Well I can, I do, I want to, I don?t want to, I try not to. Every day I tell myself not to look, and every day I look. I can?t help myself, even though there is nothing I want to see there, even though anything I do see will hurt me.

I do not never understand how people can be overlooked for carelessly causing harm done when they follow their hearts, who said that to follow the heart is a good thing? It is a purely selfish, selfish carry one to conquer everyone.

I felt that there was something unnatural, but I eventually realized that it is a natural thing exists in me.

Beautiful sunshine, cloudless skies, no one to play with, nothing to do. Living like this, the way I'm living at the moment, is harder in the summer when there is so much daylight, so little cover of dark- ness, 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.

Do you have any idea how boring you became, Rachel? How ugly? Too sad to get out of bed in the morning, too tired to take a shower or wash your fucking hair? Jesus. It?s no wonder I lost patience, is it? It?s no wonder I had to look for ways to amuse myself. You?ve no one to blame but yourself.

He says I have to find a way to be happy with myself, I have to stop to seek happiness elsewhere.

I can?t blame all this for my drinking?I can?t blame my parents or my childhood, an abusive uncle or some terrible tragedy. It?s my fault. I was a drinker anyway?I?ve always liked to drink. But I did become sadder, and sadness gets boring after a while, for the sad person and for everyone around them. And then I went from being a drinker to being a drunk, and there?s nothing more boring than that. I?m better now, about the children thing; I?ve got better since I?ve been on my own. I?ve had to. I?ve read books and articles, I?ve realized that I must come to terms with it. There are strategies, there is hope. If I straightened myself out and sobered up, there?s a possibility that I could adopt. And I?m not thirty-four yet?it isn?t over. I am better than I was a few years ago, when I used to abandon my trolley and leave the supermarket if the place was packed with mums and kids; I wouldn?t have been able to come to a park like this, to sit near the playground and watch chubby toddlers rolling down the slide. There were times, at my lowest, when the hunger was at its worst, when I thought I was going to lose my mind.

I don?t believe in soul mates, but there?s an understanding between us that I just haven?t felt before, or at least, not for a long time. It comes from shared experience, from knowing how it feels to be broken.

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