Mary Stewart Quotes

The gods do not visit you to remind you what you know already.

Only a child expects life to be just; it's a man's part to stand by the consequences of his deeds.

I am nothing, yes; I am air and darkness, a word, a promise. I watch in the crystal and I wait in the hollow hills. But out there in the light I have a young king and a bright sword to do my work for...

Merlin, do you mind?' It was the King who asked me, a man as old and wise as myself; a man who could see past his own crowding problems, and guess what it might men to me, to walk in dead air where on...

Silence then, and the scent of apple trees, and the nightmare sense of grief that comes when a man wakes again to feel a loss he has forgotten in sleep.

To expect and dread a thing for a lifetime; does not prepare you for the thing itself.

Thinking and planning is one side of life; doing is another. A man cannot bedoing all the time.

Rest you here, enchanter, while the light fades,Vision narrows, and the farSky-edge is gone with the sun.Be content with the small sparkOf the coal, the smellOf food, and the breathOf frost beyond the...

The essence of wisdom is to know when to be doing, and when it's useless even to try

The street lamps glowed like ripe oranges among the bare boughs. Below in the wet street their globes glimmered down and down, to drown in their own reflections.

I knew that I had turned my world back to cinders, sunk my lovely ship with my own stupid, wicked hands.

Kissing me with a violence that was terrifying and yet, somehow, the summit of all my tenderest dreams.

The car whispered up the slope and nosed quietly out above the trees. He was driving like a careful insult.

Every man carries the seed of his own death, and you will not be more than a man. You will have everything; you cannot have more…

I remember thinking with a queer detached portion of my mind that here was someone wringing her hands. One reads about it and one never sees it, and now here it was.

I had always been content to know that there was more in the living world than we could hope to understand.

Every time your work is read, you die several deaths for every word, and poetry is like being flayed alive.

Nothing ever happens to me.

Perhaps loneliness had nothing to do with place or circumstance; perhaps it was in you; yourself. Perhaps, wherever you were, you took your little circle of loneliness with you...

I was thankful that nobody was there to meet me at the airport. We reached Paris just as the light was fading. It had been a soft, gray March day, with the smell of spring in the air. The wet tarmac g...