Stories, whether they're good or bad, are expressions of interactions within society. Some may be seen as 'boring', but in their own right, they are still stories to be explored. People throughout lif...
I write about love all the time, what a tragedy those stories turn into.
(pl. ) of Story
Some stories are true that never happened.
Books wrote our life story, and as they accumulated on our shelves (and on our windowsills, and underneath our sofa, and on top of our refrigerator), they became chapters in it themselves.
When we read a story, we inhabit it. The covers of the book are like a roof and four walls. What is to happen next will take place within the four walls of the story. And this is possible because the...
I think that's just a story.""But, Jace," she said. "All stories are true.
There's magic in stories, magic in hope, and magic in coming together. I have learnt from people's stories, been inspired by their hope, and been strengthened by their coming together.
While the stories are fiction, the journey is real.
I've been obsessed with stories since I was a kid so it's no surprise that I ended up writing for a living.
A person who reads lives more than one life, but that means that they die more than once as well.
They are not my stories...they are merely mine to tell
The moral of this story is that no matter how much we try, no matter how much we want it ... some stories just don't have a happy ending.
We read about you to be with you, to walk in someone else's shoes, to experience another life. Some of those lives are hard, and others are easy, but we're with you every step of the way. We read abou...
A story is inside of us all. Each word and sentence is alive and we grace the pages to keep it from dying.
The story you live is the ripple you leave.
I make books because I love them as objects; because I want to put the pictures and the words together, because I want to tell a story.
In the light, we read the inventions of others; in the darkness we invent our own stories.
Roger left the cricket stumps and they went into the drawing room. Grandpapa, at the first suggestion of reading aloud, had disappeared, taking Patch with him. Grandmama had cleared away the tea. She...
She told him of ship voyages she had taken to places he had never heard of, and stories he knew were all untrue, were bad non-truths, even, but he nodded and tried to convince himself to be convinced,...
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
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