And yet, in terms of its emotive potential, I still find art more attractive, currently, than books, which fail at a deeper level.

— Andrew Miller

Artists could never, would never, harm anybody. They’re too busy painting. Same with ad drunks. They might be a bit useless at functional tasks, they may break things (small objects, precious objects, door handles, car accessories, and such), but they’re too pissed to get seriously involved in anything.

— Andrew Miller

Art, I subsequently realized, is like that. It softens by association and implication. It renders the hard pliable. Furthermore, it creates gaps, gaping holes really, in possibility.

— Andrew Miller

Control is an advertising concept.

— Andrew Miller

If the trees and the plants are brothers, if the birds are my sisters, then cats are truly my kin.

— Andrew Miller

Intimacy, finally, had got the better of us.

— Andrew Miller

I regret, most of all, my shrivelled heart. So focused on the numbers. On the math of my personal equation. Can a man change his heart? Are there ways to improve the spirit of who you are? Of why, you choose?

— Andrew Miller

Sometimes the heart demands.

— Andrew Miller

The poverty of the villages is almost picturesque from the windows of a coach that is not stopping.

— Andrew Miller

The visit, like all visits home for a long time now, has been an obscure failure. When is it we cease to be able to go back, truly go back? What secret door is it that closes?

— Andrew Miller