In the background is the hiss of the gas heater; we hear the sound without hearing it for, side by side, together and miles apart, we are deep in our books.
Miss Winter restored to me the virginal qualities of the novice reader, and then with her stories she ravished me.
Mr. Lomax had signed for Emmeline. That told me that she had survived the fire, at least. And on the second line, the name I had been hoping for. Vida Winter. And after it, in brackets, the words, for...
No one can hold you to a decision made in the middle of the night.
Our lives are so important to us that we tend to think the story of them begins with our birth. First there was nothing, then I was born...Yet that is not so. Human lives are not pieces of string that...
Quale sostegno, quale consolazione nella Verità, a paragone di una storia? A che giova la Verità a mezzanotte, al buio, quando il vento ruggisce nel comignolo come un orso? Quando il lampo sprigiona o...
Rose waited for the night to bring her the same comfort. It didn't. Her mother was dead...she was now too exhausted to sleep -- and too heartbroken to weep.
Sarà che le emozioni hanno un odore, o un sapore; sarà che le trasmettiamo inconsapevolmente inviando vibrazioni nell'aria.
She made her resolution. In for a penny, in for a pound.
She was a do-gooder, which means that all the ill she did, she did without realizing it.
Silence is not a natural environment for stories. They need words.
So they became friends, the way old married couples often do, and enjoyed the tender loyalty that awaits the lucky on the other side of passion, without ever living the passion itself.
Sometimes you can know things. Things about yourself. Things from before you can remember.
Terminado el entierro, por fin podría llorar.
That name was Adeline March.
The beginning, perhaps. The girl without the mother. But after that . . . I wish someone could tell me what it means. I wish there was someone who could just tell me the truth.
The mist was almost gone. The magical shapes of the topiary had lost their charm and looked like the unkempt bushes and hedges they were.
The storyteller gave me a sideways look. Miss Lea, it doesn't do to get attached to these secondary characters. It's not their story. They come and go, and when they're gone, they're gone for good. Th...
The world of the almanac was a queer one. In the real world, families branched like trees, blood mixed by marriage passed from one generation to the next, making an ever-wider net of connections. Titl...
Then he looked beyond the ever-shifting alteration to study the stillness of her expression. He knew his camera could not capture this - that some things were only truly seen by the human eye. This wa...
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