Epistolary Quotes

“i miss u i love you
there's no second ive lived you can't call your own”
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

“I am in no mood to fulminate on paper--I wish the two of us were in a room together talking of what matters most, the air thick with affinity. In January a man crawls into a cave of hopelessness; he hallucinates sympathies catching fire. Letters are glaciers, null frigates, trapping us where we are in the moment, unable to carry us on toward truth.”
― Carlene Bauer, Frances and Bernard

“Now we’re guests in a faraway land nearly 40 years on.
No trees, no cool breeze,
no best friends.
Only endless days spent in sending SMSs...”
― Nabeel Philip Mohan, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“Bob, I am grateful for your
Three letter name.
It's another reminder of home
Of a world predictable
Of a life I had.”
― Wilfred Waters, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“You are...the embodiment
of immediate good karma.
The equalizer between bottom
feeders and the sanctimonious
cogs in the system.”
― G.A.P. Gutierrez, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“Haris...as a naive migrant
who just moved here,
relying on you tapered worries.”
― Tammy Sulit, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“You stand for what is right-
for the patient and the staff.
Pressures of work may down you,
maybe bent but not broken.”
― Mujel Hasan, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“[Y]ou, one day, will knock lips with Turkish-coffee-clad veils whose beds our kin must tuck in misty-eyed.”
― Armineonila M., No Return Address: A collection of poems

“...though I always imagined from her increasing friendship for us since her husband's death that we should, at some future period, be obliged to receive her.”
― Jane Austen, Lady Susan

“As no two persons see the same thing with the same eyes, my view of hospital life must be taken through my glass, and held for what it is worth. Certainly, nothing was set down in malice, and to the serious-minded party who objected to a tone of levity in some portions of the Sketches, I can only say that it is a part of my religion to look well after the cheerfulnesses of life, and let the dismals shift for themselves; believing, with good Sir Thomas More, that it is wise to "be merrie in God.”
― Louisa May Alcott, Hospital Sketches

“Even the new things that
I less than know,
I keep trying, did again
until perfect.”
― Alliah "Lenzkie" Tabaya, No Return Address: A collection of poems

“We did really love each other . . . didn't we? Didn't we? In the name of that reality —
M.”
― Iris Murdoch, A Severed Head

“Then humming thrice, he assumed a most ridiculous solemnity of aspect, and entered into a learned investigation of the nature of stink...The French were pleased with the putrid effluvia of animal food; and so were the Hottentots in Africa, and the Savages in Greenland; and that the Negroes on the coast of Senegal would not touch fish till it was rotten; strong presumptions in favour of what is generally called stink, as those nations are in a state of nature, undebauched by luxury, unseduced by whim and caprice: that he had reason to believe the stercoraceous flavour, condemned by prejudice as a stink, was, in fact, most agreeable to the organs of smelling; for, that every person who pretended to nauseate the smell of another's excretions, snuffed up his own with particular complacency...”
― Tobias Smollett, The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

“Truth in art is not any correspondence between the essential idea and the accidental existence; it is not the resemblance of shape to shadow, or of the form mirrored in the crystal to the form itself; it is no echo coming from a hollow hill anymore than it is a silver well of water in the valley that shows the moon to the moon and Narcissus to Narcissus.”
― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

“the poet must sing, and the sculptor think in bronze, and the painter make the world a mirror for his moods, as surely and as certainly as the hawthorn must blossom in spring, and the corn turn to gold at the harvest-time, and the moon in her ordered wanderings change from shield to sickle, and from sickle to shield.”
― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

“It is darker than usual in my chamber tonight, not having you here to light the tallow candles as you usually do. I used to find comfort in your warm smile as you would spark light throughout my melancholy space.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“The wax of my single tallow candle has melted considerably and only a tiny spark of life remains in its fire. As I sit at this desk, its flailing light bewitches me. My hands are clutched tightly together, trying to summon my energy to regain my composure.
Inside my heart, a deep sadness resides, creeping its way through my body.

Lowering my hands to my womb, I feel a great sense of hollow emptiness. Once there sat a precious life, wrestling its way inside my being and sparking my heart with love and hope.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“Clutch the cloth close to your heart,
let its creation speak its art.
Share its journeys across the land,
away from the dark horse’s hand.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“The Emperor likes to keep an eye on all mail sent from the palace and so he does
not approve of the use of envelopes. So I have learned how to employ the ancient art of letter locking: delicately folding and slitting sections of the letter and gluing them down with adhesive where necessary. I feel a lightness of life to know that my words in this letter are sealed away and will only be revealed to you.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“Staring ahead, I felt my body clutched and clawed at. Strong words of desperation were cried
into my ears. I felt a deep responsibility for the people and the situations that they found
themselves in. I also felt helpless to prevent the Emperor from causing any more harm.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“Old, yet beloved to my family,
the cart is marked with the prints
and sweat of our ancestors,
who began our journeys in trade.

I carry our world in this cart,
wares we have taken ages to create.
Foraging through earth and trees
to source our natural ingredients.

Wares I push with deep pride,
along the sloping, uneven terrain.
I can travel further with the cart
and expand my avenues for trade.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“Pressing my nails firmly into the bark of the tree, I watch as a silhouette reveals itself in the moonlight. Tall and built, the human frame enters the clearing that
I stand in. My eyes are immediately drawn to the breathtaking sight of his face. I am familiar with those deep brown eyes, which draw me gently towards him.
I let him pull me into his warm embrace.

“Kirano!” I breathe, pressing my head against his regal blue jacket. I can hear his heart beating rapidly with excitement.

“Aisha,” Kirano’s voice is as soothing as I remember. Looking up, I see his warm, adoring smile. “I see that you tied your favourite silk scarf to the tree.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“Father reaches out to touch my scarf. “Your mother’s scarf,” he says softly. “She loved this so very much, you know. I remember her creative streak, how she refused
to use the strong dye colours that we usually use for silk design. Instead, she preferred a shade of white, which would not sell as successfully in trade. She loved
this scarf, the way it sat humbly around her neck and gave her senses of comfort and peace as she held you tight. You would often beg to wear it, Aisha.”

I stroke the scarf subconsciously. A memory flashes in my mind of my mother’s shaking hands as she shaped spun silk into this beautiful scarf. My gentle mother,
who coughed violently and shook, plagued she was with an illness that had deteriorated her immensely. I spent every moment I could with her, my heart
knowing that each might be my last.

“Beautiful Aisha, wear this scarf with your love,” said my mother one morning as she tied it around my neck.

I stared at her, my lips wobbling as tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’ll wear it, always loving you, Mother,” I replied. My mother nodded, her eyes also filling with tears as she realised that I understood how little time we had left together.”
― Susan L. Marshall, Adira and the Dark Horse

“I rather dread doctors at one’s age, it always seems to me they take one look at you, cry cancer & remove several important portions of your anatomy. (p89)”
― Nancy Mitford, The Bookshop at 10 Curzon Street: Letters between Nancy Mitford and Heywood Hill 1952-73

“Mis amigos son muy peculiares en cuestión de libros. Leen todos los best sellers que caen en sus manos, devorándolos lo más rápidamente posible…, y saltándose montones de párrafos según creo. Pero luego JAMAS releen nada, con lo que al cabo de un año no recuerdan ni una palabra de lo que leyeron.”
― Helene Hanff, 84, Charing Cross Road

“Según entienden ellos la cosa, compras un libro, lo lees, lo colocas en la estantería y jamás vuelves a abrirlo en toda tu vida, ¡PERO NUNCA LO TIRAS! ¡JAMÁS DE LOS JAMASES SI ESTÁ ENCUADERNADO EN TAPA DURA! Pero… ¿por qué no? Personalmente creo que no hay nada menos sacrosanto que un mal libro e incluso un libro mediocre.”
― Helene Hanff, 84, Charing Cross Road

“¿Por qué será que personas a las que jamás se les pasaría por la imaginación robar nada encuentran perfectamente lícito robar libros?”
― Helene Hanff, 84, Charing Cross Road

“Londres, por las cartas que escribí, ¡han colocado, en el emplazamiento de la librería, una placa de cobre con mi nombre! Sigo pensando que soy un escritora sin cultura ni demasiado talento, pero a pesar de todo ¡me han dedicado una placa en un muro de Londres.”
― Helene Hanff, 84, Charing Cross Road

“Perhaps when we are young, we are too blind to see what our own heart most desires, even when it is directly in front of us. I sometimes wonder why that is the case. Is it misplaced pride, or a desire to lead a more exciting life than our ancestors before us?” - Uncle Lyle Steward, The Boy is Back”
― Meg Cabot

“Perhaps when we are young, we are too blind to see what our own heart most desires, even when it is directly in front of us. I sometimes wonder why that is the case. Is it misplaced pride, or a desire to lead a more exciting life than our ancestors before us?” - Uncle Lyle Stewart, The Boy is Back”
― Meg Cabot