Could you be an old maid if you had worn the scarlet letter?
But when you split someone’s head open it smelled like an abattoir and quite overpowered the scent of the wild lilacs you’d cut and brought into the house only this morning, which was already in anoth...
Before the beginning is the void and the void belongs in neither time nor space and is therefore beyond our imagination.Nothing will come of nothing unless it's the beginning of the world. This is how...
And then suddenly she was on her feet, her heart knocking in her chest, a sudden familiar but long-forgotten terror triggered- but by what?
And I can't cry, I don't even want to cry. My tears would never do justice to this loss.
An eye for an eye, Mac said at the squadron reunion. Until everyone was blind, Teddy wondered?)
Who is to say which of these is real and which a fiction? In the end, it is my belief, words are the only things that can construct a world that makes sense.
What if she were simply to open her bedroom window and throw herself out, head first? Would she really be able to come back and start again? Or was it, as everyone told her, and as she must believe, a...
Suspected everyone did—from Winnie, the least pulchritudinous,
You couldn’t necessarily judge a woman by the man she slept with. (Or could you?) Eva
There were other war veterans in the neighborhood, visible thanks to their limps or missing limbs. All those unclaimed arms and legs lost in the fields of Flanders - Ursula imagined them pushing roots...
There was a strangeness in the shimmering air, a sense of imminence that made Ursula’s chest feel full, as if her heart was growing. It was a kind of high holiness—she could think of no other way of d...
There is a Hindu legend that tells us that there was once a time when all men were gods, but they abused their divinity. Brahma, the god of creation, concluded that people had lost the right to their...
The wounds of war, Juliet thought, rather pleased with the way the words sounded in her head. It could be the title of a novel. Perhaps she should write one. But wasn’t artistic endeavor the final ref...
The whole edifice of civilization turned out to be constructed from an unstable mix of quicksand and imagination.
The toll of the dead had been her business during the war, the endless stream of figures that represented the blitzed and the bombed passed across her desk to be collated and recorded. They had seemed...
The reason she had taken the long way round was on the unlikely chance that she might engineer an accidental meeting with Benjamin Cole.
The purpose of Art is to convey the truth of a thing, not to be the truth itself. SYLVIE BERESFORD TODD
The only way to stop the tears was to keep drinking the whisky.
The man who was speaking had a degree in jargon and a doctorate in nonsense.