Quotes by Suzy Davies

A happy childhood can fortify one against the ravages of life, and part of that happiness is found in books, which become our constant companions for the rest of our lives.

How insightful of Finland to devise a topic-based curriculum in their schools! This means that dicreet subjects that are taught may cross-fertilise each other, and the possibilities in this are amazing!

I thought I would write a love letter. But then, I wrote a book. - Suzy Davies, on Joharis Window

Dreams, kindled in the fire of imagination,ignite in the brilliance of our minds,and are wrought in the work of our hands -

Whose ideas breathe through me? Am I a thief? Do I dream my own dreams?

Books are a portable kind of time travel. We go back as well as forward when we read them. When we come back into the now, after being immersed in worlds previously unknown to us, we find ourselves, transformed. Touched by their magic, nothing we ever perceived beforehand remains quite the same.

Sir, I’ve known him ever since he was born! We’ve played snowball, and built snow-houses together, which are called igloos, and once, when one of Santa’s reindeer was sick on Christmas Eve, Snow Bear stepped in to help with the presents, and load them on the sleigh - he’s very kind, and clever, and strong, you know.

The Art of Writing for Children is the knowledge of what is significant to them

The sea is rushing in now as unconsciousness does.I can see a chord, hear gospel songs as we hoist the sails.The sails are a soft white bird. We are airborne. We are primitive.

When first I set eyes on The Isle of Wight Polar Bear, my world was filled, in that instant, with the magic and wonder of childhood - Suzy Davies, Author, Snugs The Snow Bear

Reading an authors Biography contributes to an understanding and enjoyment of their work, and gives a richness to the reading experience.

Writing which flows is more like play than work!

It is winter, and very cold. There are icicles against the glass, and frost. I am tracing a pattern, before it melts. Before it fades, and is lost for good, like memories

I want to sling a stone, a small rock into a pool, see it ripple. I want to shake a tree, create a small storm..

The landscape is bathed in the honeyed light of morning. Sometimes the memory of winter comes again. And my days are colored reveries of you, my nights sensuous

On his departure, he glanced swiftly back as he passed the furtive gaze of the gloved footmen.He was swept away in the momentum of shimmering glass....I had seen how the world turned, and I was beginning to feel my own power

His lone withdrawing figure blended anonymously with the darkness, Dr Ravens quick, light steps becoming gradually distant, drowned out by the clicking staccato rush of trains, the steady drip of rainwater, and the clock of a nearby church as it heralded the hour

I was an unwilling passenger leaving the Big Country. I would miss the mountains and the waterfalls,the treks on broad horses backs to hidden villages in secret valleys.

Writing is...creating tattoos which are invisible, under your skin

Our eyes met. I kissed her soft face, and down the stairs they descended. Their voices blended into an echo, a murmur. I ventured barefoot into the bedroom. The dark gown lay crumpled upon the bed