Amelia

“I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, at least I might be able to talk about it more.”
― Jane Austen, Emma

“THE SUBTLE BRIAR
When you cut down the hybrid rose its blackened stump beneath the graft spreads furtive fingers in the dirt. It claws at life, weaving a raft of suckering roots to pierce the earth. The first thin shoot is fierce and green, a pliant whip of furious briar splitting the soil, gulping the light. You hack it down. It sulks between the flagstones of the garden path to nurse a hungry spur in shade against the porch. With iron spade you dig and toss it living on the fire.

It claws up towards the light again hidden from view, avoiding battle beyond the fence. Unnoticed, then, unloved, unfed, it clings and grows in the wild hedge. The subtle briar
armors itself with desperate thorns
and suborn leaves-and struggling higher,
unquenchable, it now adorns itself with blossom, till the stalk is crowned with beauty, papery white fine pedals thin as chips of chalk or shaven bone drinking the light.

When you cut down the hybrid rose to cull and plough its tender bed, trust there is life beneath your blade: the suckering briar below the graft, the wildflower stock of strength and thorn whose subtle roots are never dead.”
― Elizabeth Wein, Rose Under Fire

“I always deserve the best treatment because I never put up with any other.”
― Jane Austen, Emma