Aotearoa Author Quotes

“I wonder what plant I would be, if I were a plant. Maybe something with big leaves that droop sulkily if not provided with the exact right amount of water and light.”
― Rebecca K. Reilly, Greta & Valdin

“fix your hair she tells herself go for a tidy ponytail tucking stray strands behind the ears then like just get on with it she's bad ass eh auntie she be sure to sanitise cause he's near his mask falling under the nose like an afternoon nap”
― Carin Smeaton, Hibiscus Tart

“I chose Francis Thompson, whom I had discovered for myself, and I felt curious when one member of the class, choosing Katherine Mansfield, was commended by the teacher for choosing a New Zealand writer when none of our English studies even supposed that a New Zealand writer or New Zealand existed.”
― Janet Frame, To the Is-land: An Autobiography

“At home, only he can claim the title of Professor,
but the way he opens a block of cheese,
is akin to unwrapping a bar of chocolate,
by putting it in a food processor.”
― Claudia Jardine, Biter

“Are you saying I'm plain, Mum?"
"I'm your mother, dear. I have to think you're stunning.”
― Barbara Else, Eating Peacocks

“...many native food plants are of historical interest only and offer very little food value or taste quite unpalatable to unaccustomed taste buds.”
― Andrew Crowe, A Field Guide to the Native Edible Plants of New Zealand

“When the Customs and Health launch arrived, members of the press also came on board, and I was surprised they asked to talk to me. I had not realised that in the seven years I had been absent, the publication overseas and in New Zealand of several books had built a reputation known as an overseas reputation and therefore valued apparently more than a reputation within New Zealand - the reputation of excellent writers living in New Zealand was usually qualified by the phrase known within New Zealand only.”
― Janet Frame, The Envoy from Mirror City

“What a marvellous listener you are. When you look at me with those wild eyes I feel that I could tell you things that I would never breathe to another living soul."

Was there a hint of mockery in his voice or was it her fancy? She could not be sure.”
― Katherine Mansfield, A Dill Pickle