Remy watched the sea breathe in and out. Then she said, “It would have been better for her not to have such a heart.” Yes, but worse for the rest of us.
I’ve read fast – too impatient not to. But I’ll go back and start over again – reading more slowly this time, so I can take everything in.
As to that Sidney, he sounds a very fine man – but bossy. It’s a failing common in men.
That’s what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you to another book, and another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It’s geometrically progressive – all with no end in sight, and for no other reason than sheer enjoyment.
I never met a man half so true as a dog. Treat a dog right, and he’ll treat you right. He’ll keep you company, be your friend, and never ask you no questions. Cats is different, but I never held that against ’em.
My worries travel around in my head on their well worn path.
Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.
Naturally curly hair is a curse, and don’t ever let anyone tell you different.
Moses: God or crowd control?!?
Then i imagined a lifetime of having to cry to get him to be kind, and I went back to no again.
Isn’t that something-to know your own soul by hearsay, instead of its own tidings? Why should I let a preacher tell me if I had one or not? If I could believe I hada soul, all by myself, then I could listen to its tidings all by myself.
I am to cover the philosophical side of the debate and so far my only thought is that reading keeps you from going gaga.
In a good mood I call my hair Chestnut with Gold Glints. In a bad mood, I call it mousy brown.
After all, what’s good enough for Austen ought to be good enough for anyone.
If there is Predestination, then God is the devil. by Remy, Ravensbruck concentration camp survivor.
Miss X has always been a ditherer – she was a ten month baby and has not improved in any material way since then.
We read books, talked books, argued over books and became dearer and dearer to one another.
I much prefer whining to counting my blessings.
I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me. How awful, backward, cowardly, and mentally warped that will be if it turns out to be true.
He had no imagination either-fatal for one engaged in child-rearing.