Deandra Cyril > Deandra's Quotes

“Well, now she was free to make her own decisions and she couldn’t wait to come back with Emilia and move into the lovely cottage near the sea.”
― Anne Allen, The Ghost of Seagull Cottage: Inspired by The Ghost and Mrs Muir

“Madame, I think you’ll be a great tour guide. Lead on.”
― Laurie Loveman, Memories

“by”
― R.D. Ronald, The Elephant Tree

“He’s soaked. Rain clings to his clothes, his hair darkened and dripping, his breath shallow like he ran the whole way here. His eyes meet mine—raw, searching. And I swear, for one fragile second, the rest of the world disappears.”
― Tricia Newlan, Echoes of One Night: Forbidden Love Romance

“Music Is the Language of Emotions”
― Alexander Morpheigh, The Pythagorean

“Not merely a piece of crime fiction, the story brings to the realization that in today’s small global village we are linked to each other in some way whether we want to be or not and cannot hide from the events that affect us all.”
― David Øybo, Julebord: The Holiday Party

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. 
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. 
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Gentlemen, we must know exactly how many enemy soldiers are facing us.”
― Michael G. Kramer, Full Story of the Anglo-Saxon Invasion

“Being magnanimous in victory usually worked, but to keep abreast of the situation he had to 
pump the girl for all she knew. Was there a pang of remorse for his actions in his mind? 
Possibly, but what choice did he have? If he wanted to survive, he had no room for weakness.”
― Max Nowaz, The Arbitrator

“There once was a dog named Bonnie who had lived in a library since she was a puppy.”
― Coco Calvoz Cordon, Debbie Wants No Words

“For many years Rembrandt basked in the limelight because of his dramatic style of chiaroscuro, while Caravaggio being the true pioneer of the style remained in the shadows, forgotten for centuries.
”
― Rich DiSilvio, The Arnolfini Art Mysteries

“You never would get through to the end of being a father, no matter where you stored your mind or how many steps in the series you followed. Not even if you died. Alive or dead a thousand miles distant, you were always going to be on the hook for work that was neither a procedure nor a series of steps but, rather, something that demanded your full, constant attention without necessarily calling you to do, perform, or say anything at all.”
― Michael Chabon, Telegraph Avenue

“The only bright spot in the entire evening was the presence of Kevin "Tubby" Matchwell, the eleven-year-old porker who tackled the role of Santa with a beguiling authenticity. The false beard tended to muffle his speech, but they could hear his chafing thighs all the way to the North Pole.”
― David Sedaris, Holidays on Ice

“Unlike any other form of thought, daydreaming is its own reward.”
― Michael Pollan, A Place of My Own: The Education of an Amateur Builder

“An idea is a feat of association, and the height of it is a good metaphor.”
― Robert Frost

“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. when a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.”
― Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

“Does happiness really depend on self-delusion?”
― Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind