Gretchen Louise

“Gold shone in the warm brown of his eyes. “Stories, dancing, music—they nourish. They make us think and feel. They distract us from the hardness of life. That’s a gift from God.”

Lucie stroked the ribs under a leaf, the structure that held it together. “And math and science and business—they make things run. They’re necessary. Weighty. Gifts from God.”
― Sarah Sundin, Until Leaves Fall in Paris

“The store smelled of old books and woodsmoke. A counter stood on the wall to his left, flanked by bookshelves and magazine racks. Photographs hung over the counter—pictures of authors, it looked like. Bookcases jutted out from the wall to his right, and bookshelves covered every wall, even under the windows. On the shelf before him, books ran in a proper row for half a shelf, then a stack of books on their sides. More books rested in front of the row, on top, wherever they fit. New books with crisp dust jackets stood beside older titles with spines shiny from wear. More books covered a table by the window, circled by two mismatched wooden chairs and a stuffed armchair.”
― Sarah Sundin, Until Leaves Fall in Paris

“...we’ve had over five months of writing letters, as transatlantic phone calls are way too expensive for either of us. But I don’t mind. In fact, this is better. There is something so truthful and revelatory about writing to someone.”
― Katherine Reay, The English Masterpiece

“Over the pale green book-plate that read “Borrowed from the subscription library of Green Leaf Books, Paris,” she glued a new one that read “From the Library of . . .” with space for the owner to inscribe his or her name, and “Purchased at Green Leaf Books, Paris” at the bottom. A dark green vine edged the bookplate.”
― Sarah Sundin, Until Leaves Fall in Paris