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Aidan Ladsow
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Member Since
April 2012
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https://www.goodreads.com/nadiawald
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An Unexpected need
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published
2014
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The Scandalous Sister
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published
2014
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2 editions
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Guildhall Guardian: Thamesian #1
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published
2014
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A view of the orchard
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published
2015
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Serpentine Girl
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published
2014
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Un désir inattendu
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Le prince et le mercenaire
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Les amants de l'hôtel du Sud
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L'amant du Duc
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A caress of velvet
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published
2013
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The Romance Cover Review for Guildhall Guardian
Here's a review for GUILDHALL GUARDIAN:http://www.theromancecover.com/2014/0...
“Think where man's glory most begins and ends
And say my glory was I had such friends.”
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And say my glory was I had such friends.”
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“When a child first catches adults out -- when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not always have divine intelligence, that their judgments are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just -- his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone. And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And the child's world is never quite whole again. It is an aching kind of growing.”
― East of Eden
― East of Eden
“Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.”
― King Cole
― King Cole
“Did you ever, in that wonderland wilderness of adolesence [sic] ever, quite unexpectedly, see something, a dusk sky, a wild bird, a landscape, so exquisite terror touched you at the bone? And you are afraid, terribly afraid the smallest movement, a leaf, say, turning in the wind, will shatter all? That is, I think, the way love is, or should be: one lives in beautiful terror.”
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“For, after all, you do grow up, you do outgrow your ideals, which turn to dust and ashes, which are shattered into fragments; and if you have no other life, you just have to build one up out of these fragments. And all the time your soul is craving and longing for something else. And in vain does the dreamer rummage about in his old dreams, raking them over as though they were a heap of cinders, looking in these cinders for some spark, however tiny, to fan it into a flame so as to warm his chilled blood by it and revive in it all that he held so dear before, all that touched his heart, that made his blood course through his veins, that drew tears from his eyes, and that so splendidly deceived him!”
― White Nights and Other Stories
― White Nights and Other Stories
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