Then it crosses my mind, "But I’m a very busy woman! I don’t have time for a stroke!"
As long as I live I shall always be My Self - and no other, Just me.
All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.
Once a man strays out of the common herd, he's more likely to meet wolves in the thickets than angels.
After all, what is every man? A horde of ghosts - like a Chinese nest of boxes - oaks that were acorns that were oaks. Death lies behind us, not in front - in our ancestors, back and back until.
Without imagination of the one kind or of the other, mortal existence is indeed a dreary and prosaic business. . . Illumined by the imagination, our life, whatever its defeats - is a never-ending unforeseen strangeness and adventure and mystery.
He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.
Art should become as one with its surroundings.
And don't change for a guy, ever," Leah added. "If they're worthy, they'll like you just the way you are.
You are quite unnecessary, young man!
Most readers of historical fiction are content to just get caught up in a good story, and that is what I want to do as an author. I am not concerned with people knowing exactly what I made up and what is real.