The world was an awfully large place and it wasn't easy to find a person who'd gone missing sixty years earlier, even if that person was oneself.
...She's understood the power of stories. Their magical ability to refill the wounded part of people.
Gerry?' Laurel had to strain to hear thought the noise on the other end of the line. 'Gerry? Where are you?' 'London. A phone booth on Fleet Street.' 'The city still has working phone booths?' 'It would appear so. Unless this is the Tardis, in which case I'm in serious trouble.
... people who'd led dull and blameless lives did not give thanks for second chances.
All true readers have a book, a moment when real life is never going to be able to compete with fiction again.
She's one of the few people able to look beyond the lines on my face to see the twenty-year-old who lives inside.
I probably coughed self-pityingly in response, little aware that I was about to cross a tremendous threshold beyond which there would be no return, that in my hands I held an object whose simple appearance belied its profound power. All true readers have a book, a moment, like the one I describe, and when Mum offered me that much-read library copy mine was upon me.
Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.
Children don’t require of their parents a past and they find something faintly unbelievable, almost embarrassing, in parental claims to a prior existence.
But history is a faithless teller whose cruel recourse to hindsight makes fools of its actors.
Adults weren’t supposed to understand their children and you were doing something wrong if they did.
Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down, before they knew their endings.
Cassandra's grandmother smiled then, only it wasn't a happy smile. Cassandra thought she knew how it felt to smile like that. She often did so herself when her mother promised her something she really wanted but knew might not happen.
She doesn't know I cry for the changing times. That just as I reread favourite books, some small part of me hoping for a different ending, I find myself hoping against hope that the war will never come. That this time, somehow, it will leave us be.
Ah, well. Life's too short for moderation, wouldn't you say?
Even the most pragmatic person fell victim at times to a longing for something other.
There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.
Percy climbed the first step, then the next, remembering the thousands of times she'd run through the door, in a hurry to get to the future, to whatever was coming next, to this moment.
I simply love writing good stories, that's my passion.
She hadn't wanted to be loved carefully, only well.
I want to be independent. To meet interesting people. ... I just mean new people with clever things to say. Things I've never heard before. I want to be free. Open to whatever adventure comes along and sweeps me off my feet.
Better to lose oneself in action than to wither in despair.
While I wasn't certain how I felt about spiritualists, I was certain enough about the type of people who were drawn to them. Only people unhappy in the present seek to know the future.
A way of looking at you that told you she was listening, that she understood all you were saying, and all you weren't.
The girl in the mirror caught my eye briefly...It is an uncanny feeling, that rare occasion when one catches a glimpse of oneself in repose. An unguarded moment, stripped of artifice, when one forgets to fool even oneself.
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