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

— Suzy Davies

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

— Suzy Davies

The piper never knew we were watchers..... Sounds echoed - sounds of a Scottish love song. They echoed through the silence, soft and melancholy, as he kept time with his foot, and the metal of the bagpipes glinted, through faint moonshine, and lifting fog

— Suzy Davies

There are bald patches, like Daddy's head, on the pebble-dash, higher up than last year. I have picked off the stones. (I was a graffiti artist. No words, no pictures. The trace of identity marked in spaces.

— Suzy Davies

There were women who navigated in canoes, holding their children, the beguiling wind blowing soft sleet kisses, raining upon their skins

— Suzy Davies

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.

— Suzy Davies

The song was a sea-shanty, and Snugs loved that kind of song. The music had an accordion, and the tune reminded him of the ship, and the songs Captain Light Owler played, when he was off duty, about pirates and the baddies on the sea.

— Suzy Davies

The sun came out, warm on my back through my white school blouse. The streets were familiar, past the old tannery, the Jet garage. Past the Asian corner shop with rainbow jars of Kayli, gobstoppers and Herbert love hearts. I was in love with Frankie.

— Suzy Davies

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

— Suzy Davies

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

— Suzy Davies