Jennifer Robson > Quotes

“And tomorrow would be better than today.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Worrying about what would become of her work once it was finished was a waste of time, she told herself. The act of creation was what mattered.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“It was her own fault, as simple as that, and fussing over it or letting herself feel sad wouldn't do a whit of good. It was a shame she wouldn't see him again, for she had truly liked him, and in a different world...
Enough. Enough. It was done, and over, and she'd forget him soon enough, because she had never been the sort of girl to sit around and lick her wounds and moan about how life was unfair. That's what her mum taught her. "Chin up," she'd always said when Ann had come to her in tears about something awful that had happened. A teacher had been cruel at school, her cat had run away, awful Billy from round the corner had pulled her pigtails and said no one would ever kiss her because of her ginger hair. "Just keep your chin up, Ann, and you can face anything," Mum had said. "And don't look back, no matter what you do." Her mum had never been one for hugs or soft words, but she had been honest, and most of the time she'd been right, too. So chin up it was, and no looking back.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Just keep your chin up, Ann, and you can face anything,” Mum had said. “And don’t look back, no matter what you do.” Her mum had never been one for hugs or soft words, but she had been honest, and most of the time she’d been right, too. So chin up it was, and no looking back.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“then the organ began to play the opening bars of the national anthem and they all sang, a choir of thousands of voices, and it sent shivers up her spine to know the subject of the anthem, the king himself, was listening.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“I know what you mean. All those people who lived through the war. You’d think they were made out of cast iron.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Feeling in need of refreshment, she followed her nose down the street to an Italian café. It was amazing how restorative a few gulps of coffee could be. Hot, bracingly black, and pleasingly bitter, it lifted her spirits far more effectively than the insipid cups of tea so beloved by her English friends.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Now men will go content with what we spoiled, Or, discontent, boil blood, and be spilled. They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.”
― Jennifer Robson, Somewhere in France

“He had given her a book on Miriam Dassin, who was best known for her large-scale embroideries, but had also experimented with mixed-media collage and sculpture.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“was in need of one hundred grams of green olives, the same amount of prunes, about twenty-five grams of fennel seed, and—although she knew it was a rarity indeed—something that might impart the flavor of fresh orange peel.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“was just what she needed, and even after the show’s ridiculously self-centered participants began to grate on her nerves she couldn’t summon up the energy to find a more congenial activity. She was too tired to read, too tired to tackle the mountain of laundry on her closet floor, and too tired to head downstairs and see if Michelle and Sunita felt like going”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“So they said goodnight to Miss Duley, who warned them to be careful and for heaven's sake stay well clear of men in uniform.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Grand-Mère’s Friday-Night Chicken My mother made a version of this in the 1970s; I have updated it with ingredients that are readily available today, if not necessarily to cooks of 1947. This is the dish that came to mind when I tried to think of something that Miriam would have made, and though it is far from authentic in its origins, it is delicious and relatively easy to make. Serves 4 1 medium orange ½ teaspoon fennel seeds 8 chicken thighs, skin-on and bone-in, about 3½ to 4 pounds Salt and pepper 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil 1 cup prunes, pitted and halved (quarter if especially large) 1 cup green olives, pitted ½ cup dry white wine or dry (white) vermouth”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Persian insect powder, mixed into a paste with petroleum jelly, had killed the lice in her hair, but then she’d inspected her clothes and found them infested with body lice, likely picked up from one of the walking wounded who”
― Jennifer Robson, Somewhere in France

“Swirls of tiny gold beads, translucent crystals, and matte copper sequins would cover nearly all the bodice by the time she was finished, the design continuing onto the skirt in irregular waves.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“You never know who you’ll meet when you do something new.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“There really was nothing like a dog to make one feel as if one mattered to the world.”
― Jennifer Robson, Moonlight Over Paris

“She would manage, somehow, and spring would come, and her garden would grow green and bright. And she would survive.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“made his way to the lectern. “A reading from the book of Solomon: “My beloved speaks and says to me: Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.”
― Jennifer Robson, Goodnight From London

“My beloved speaks and says to me: Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away; for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtle dove is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.”
― Jennifer Robson, Goodnight From London

“You have been my North Star, my point of light in a darkened sky, the steadfast beacon guiding me home.”
― Jennifer Robson, Goodnight From London

“sylvan bliss, now slipping so gently by her window, with the”
― Jennifer Robson, Somewhere in France

“The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up. —Paul Valéry”
― Jennifer Robson, Moonlight Over Paris

“If she tried, she could recall almost all their faces, if not their names, the hundreds of men she had nursed and soothed and even, before she had lost the habit entirely, prayed for on her knees before bed each night.”
― Jennifer Robson, After the War Is Over

“It is unfair, but that’s true of nearly everything about this war. For that matter, life itself is unfair. Your only chance is to grab hold of happiness when you have it, and enjoy it for however long it lasts.”
― Jennifer Robson, Goodnight From London

“But that’s part of loving someone. Sharing the weight of the burdens they carry. If you want to tell me, then go ahead. I won’t break.”
― Jennifer Robson, Goodnight From London

“She was left with the lingering memory that once, not so very long ago, and not so very far away, she had been loved.”
― Jennifer Robson, Our Darkest Night

“Not pretty, but lovely, which had seemed somehow better. Deeper and truer, a compliment born of honesty rather than obligation.”
― Jennifer Robson, The Gown

“Let me be a seal upon your heart, like the seal upon your hand. For love is fierce as death, passion is mighty as Sheol; its darts are darts of fire, a blazing flame.”
― Jennifer Robson, Our Darkest Night

“The influenza that struck England in the autumn was an altogether more lethal and frightening disease. It killed in hours; it killed strong young men and women, people who had survived the war and ought to have lived for many more years; and it emptied London’s streets and public places as not even the zeppelins and Gotha bombers had managed to do. Roads and sidewalks had been sprayed with disinfectant, masks had been as ubiquitous as hats, and handshakes had become a thing of the past. But still the epidemic had rolled on, striking down thousands upon thousands of Londoners in October and November alone. And then, in December, fewer people had died, and it seemed that fewer still were dying in January. No one could pinpoint the reason; certainly no treatment had emerged to beat back the disease. Likely enough it would roar back again, an enemy retreating so it might regroup and attack again. The flu had kept Robbie in France for longer than she had expected, for after the Armistice he’d been”
― Jennifer Robson, Somewhere in France