I have not told half of what I saw.
My father was an aspiring country singer and songwriter. He just didn't get that off that ground. I was afraid, very tentative to do anything with music for years. I didn't tell him I was playing in bands when I was away from home, because it had been such an unpleasant experience and a letdown for him.
Some things we must pass over in silence.
You never know what's really happening behind closed doors. Everything isn't always what it seems.
I write traditional drama, and the small enclosed communities work well with this form. I enjoy exploring secrets. On small islands, privacy is important, and there are secrets that everyone can guess but nobody talks about.
There's only one thing we never wrote down. You know what it was.
One of the things I have noticed about my novels is that they all concern people who can't quite bring themselves to tell the truth about their own lives... I've come to realise that this interest in damaged, untellable stories comes from my parents.
I don’t have any skeletons in my closet. They’re all out front.
If there was one thing I had never been, it was mysterious, and if there was one thing I had never done, it was not talk.
You are in a pitiable condition if you have to conceal what you wish to tell.
Dead men tell no tales.
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
Millions of Indonesians who live with secrets in their family who have a sense of that kind of secret that their parents never told them, want to be told about what happened so they can know where they come from.
I'm as moody and complex and private as anyone I ever knew.
Her blue eyes were still beautiful, but they did not know what was before them, and Mary herself could never look through them again to tell Laura what she was thinking without saying a word.
Nashville is the place where I first realized how impossible it is to look at someone and know what is inside them, what special something they possess.
A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets.
In any novel I write, I have in my mind several things which happened in the protagonist's past which I never mention in the book.
Don't talk - keep it in your heart.
You don't ask about what can be seen.
My half-suppressed Canadian years, my whole childhood and youth, rose like a corpse from the bottom of the sea to confront me.
'Humans of New York' is basically somebody walking up to absolute strangers on the street every day and, within minutes, talking with them about very personal things. Some things they haven't even told their best friends or family members.
I think it's always interesting to me how we keep secrets from the ones we love the most. You could be so close to someone, but still there was something you can't express, you can't tell them, because it's almost too painful and too hard for you to articulate yourself, because you don't fully understand it.
Then there were things-- epic, terrible things-- that he didn't tell her but skirted around, like caressing the edges of a wound, hesitant, testing for pain.
I think talking about one's love life is always... It's a Pandora's box, best kept in journals.
