Pardon me, my friends, I have ventured to paint my happiness on the wall.

MARCH, 1846 — I have at last got the little room I have wanted so long, and am very happy about it. It does me good to be alone, and Mother has made it very pretty and neat for me. My work-basket and desk are by the window, and my closet is full of dried herbs that smell very nice. The door that opens into the garden will be very pretty in summer, and I can run off to the woods when I like.

The eye instinctively looks for analogies and amplifies them, so that a face imagined in the pattern of a wallpaper may become more vivid than a photograph.

My favourite painting is often the one or the collection that I am currently working on. This is probably due to the fact that I don’t yet know where it will take me.

I like the natural sound of a room. All the rooms have their own sound, so it's a matter of putting it where you like and seeing what it sounds like.

Now, I love my own space. I love getting to choose how I dress. I love the fruits of the changes I made.

Perhaps someone had once hoped to lighten the air of the blue room in Hill House with a dainty wallpaper, not seeing how such a hope would evaporate in Hill House, leaving only the faintest hint of its existence, like an almost inaudible echo of sobbing far away...

The room was rococo. I had a strong sense of gilt.

The walls of the bookstore have wood panels up to just above her head, but beyond that is blue wallpaper. Maya can't reach the wallpaper unless she has a chair. The wallpaper has a bumpy, swirling pattern, and it is pleasing to rub her face against it. She will read the word damask in a book one day and thinks, Yes, of course, that's what it's called. In contrast, the word wainscoting will come as a huge disappointment.

I’m not a big red-carpet girl. But I love the work.

The wall has more moods than Mad King Aerys, they'd say, or sometimes the wall has more mood than a woman.

My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One or the other of us has to go.

I'm very attracted to it. I may be diverting from Tory party policy here, but I don't care.

Having me in the dining-room was almost the equivalent of having a Raeburn on the walls; I was classy, I was heavily varnished, and I offended nobody.