When I moved to New York out of college, that was my goal. To be a stage actress. And to do dramatic works. Like Madea, and Night, Mother, and Sam Shepard, and all that kind of stuff. Thats what I really wanted to do.
I am a part of the part that at first was all, part of the darkness that gave birth to the light, that supercilious light which now disputes with Mother Night her ancient rank and space, and yet cannot succeed; no matter how it struggles, it sticks to matter and can't get free. Light flows from substance, makes it beautiful.
May dawn, as the proverb goes, bring happy tidings coming from her mother night.
The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night.
What-what do you want?" Annabeth asked, trying to maintain a tone of confidence. The voice cackled maliciously. 'To curse you, of course! To destroy you thousand times in the name of Mother Night!' "Only a thousand times?" Percy murmured. "Oh, good...I thought we were in trouble.
What is a mom but the sunshine of our days and the north star of our nights.
My family always comes first. My world revolves around my husband, Peter, our daughter, Victoria, and our son, William, but not necessarily in that order. Then, it's this fascinating world of publishing that devours most of my days and many nights.
Lucivar winced. "She guzzled half the flask — and it wasn't one of his home brews, it was the concoction you created." Jaenelle’s eyes widened. “You let her drink a ‘gravedigger’?” “No no no,” Wilhelmina said, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t ever drink a gravedigger until he’s had a bath.” She smiled placidly when Jaenelle and Lucivar just stared at her. “Mother Night,” Lucivar muttered. “Do you know that song?” Wilhelmina asked Jaenelle.
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