We’re a superstitious breed, we Irish, and wise enough to build around a faerie hill without disturbing it, to leave a stone dance where it stands. And to keep back from a place where the dark still thrums.
I’m not looking for a man right now. Too damn much trouble. Even when it’s good, they take a lot of time, effort, and energy. I’m enjoying using all that time, effort, and energy on myself.
Maybe some could say that changing her mind was part of her problem. But she didn’t think so. If you never changed your mind, what was the point of having one? It seemed to Hayley she’d known too many people who were stuck with one way of thinking, and how could that be using the brain God gave you.
Shut up. You Matter. That’s it.
My own brother calling me a brickhead. Sneering faeries insulting me. Women punching me in the face. How much more am I to swallow in one bloody day?
One of the best things about dogs, to Fiona’s mind, was their absolute joy in welcoming you home, whether you’d been gone for five minutes or five days. There lay unconditional and boundless love.
Everyone feels hemmed in from time to time, no matter where they live.” She laid a hand on his thigh. “When I’m feeling that way, I go to Ireland. Walk along an empty beach. When I do, I think of all the people who have walked there before, and will walk there again. Then it occurs to me that nothing is forever. No matter how bad, or how good, everything passes and moves on to another level.” “‘All things change; nothing perishes,’” he mumbled.
She was a fine woman, and lived a good and long life. But it’s left to us still living to miss those who aren’t.
He’d learned quickly enough that when you cooked for a family, everybody was a critic.
If you look for it, you can find something good about anybody.
You’re asking for it, Julie Lynne.” “When.
When a woman brings something up, then doesn’t have much to say about it, she’s got a lot to say about it.
Need a gallon of milk and a box of bullets? This was the spot.
When are you going to stop being annoyed.
When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly’s done, When the battle’s lost and won.
Do you think I’ll let it go, that I’ll hide from it because you, who’s anything but a coward, is afraid of what ifs?
They had their feast, a happy family group, roasted wild pheasant seasoned with tarragon, stuffed with oranges, apples, shallots, and sage, cooked on a bed of carrots and potatoes, tomatoes. Peas and good brown bread from the oven, farm butter. Good friends, old friends.
I’m good at figuring out how things work, but I don’t know how this happened.
Love’s not a faulty toaster. You can’t take it apart and study the pieces, replace a part and figure out how it all fits back together. You just feel it.
He hated this feeling of free-floating, just drifting from place to place, thought to thought, without any sense of anchor or root.