My nation, as all nations, is becoming a land without peace, without thought, without mind, Madam Abbess. We are suffocating our spirits in commercial and material things. This is not envy, said Mr. K...
The moment was all we truly had: a succession of moments, a triumphal march of them, to create a life beyond compare.
It has always been my temperament to prefer a tiny amount of the excellent to a plenitude of the mediocre...
The sun had just slipped behind the trees and evening cast its dark, smoky shadow.
I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.
But the living must fear death, or they would not struggle to stay alive. from 'The Fallen Kings.
It was not an unusual site to see Negro tenant farmers crossing the intersection of Spring and Barbrick on the way to the cotton warehouse
I had a few people ask me if I might one day write my own autobiography. I just told them, 'It's already being written; through my books.
An American Family Sampler is a book any reader will find insightful, thoroughly researched, and fun to read. Robert Frump, author, award winning journalist, business leader
Then the vulture swooped down and away, racing the LeTort spring to the Conodoguinet Creek from there to the Susquehanna river and from there to the sea. Same river my ancestors took to reach the plac...
I enjoy writing historical fiction because it allows me to live more lives than just this one.
Before I disappear behind the door, I stop and turn around to look at him.
Over time, this unspoken attration continued to blossom, refusing to dwindle or fade, though they had little opportunity to foster or nourish it. Slowly and patiently, Robert's sheer persistence in th...
All of my books are acts of subversion disguised as historical fiction.
I stop to brace myself against the walls, which are painted with the fingerprints of family.
It's their failure, my little Anna, not yours. Men who try to understand the world without the help of children are like men who try to bake bread without the help of yeast.
I have never learned to hate. Don't let my first lesson come from you.
Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left, but did you hear me cry out to you!
Leave the gun, take the cannoli--Clemenza to Rocco in the Godfather (1972)
He is dressed in a long, white robe and in his hand is a white cap. I draw up as he passes down the hall; he does not see me. Shortly I hear a horse leaving. There is much I do not know about him, but...