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Ian Ventham had bought two to look quirky in sales photos and it had got out of hand, as these things do.
“The whole world's writing novels, but nobody's reading them.”
― The Silkworm
― The Silkworm
“I have done it," she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S, it reads. And beside it, P A T R O C L U S.
"Go," she says. "He waits for you."
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― The Song of Achilles
"Go," she says. "He waits for you."
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.”
― The Song of Achilles
“He was a book, and he was holding his final pages, and he wanted to get to the end to find out how it went, and he didn't want it to be over.”
― The Raven King
― The Raven King
“She asked, "Okay, wait, so why is Ronan at the library?"
"Cramming," Noah said. "For an exam on Monday."
It was the nicest thing Blue had ever heard of Ronan doing.”
― The Raven Boys
"Cramming," Noah said. "For an exam on Monday."
It was the nicest thing Blue had ever heard of Ronan doing.”
― The Raven Boys
“My mom’s smile is genuine,
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
A lilac beaming
In the presence of her Sun.
Indentions in the sand prove
Time’s linear progression,
Her hair yet unblighted,
Carrying midnight’s consistency.
Clear tracks fading as the
Movement slips further
In the past.
Cheekbones
High, soft,
In summer’s hue,
Hopeful.
Each step’s unknown impact,
A future looking back.
My father’s strength:
One whose
Life is in his arms.
Squinting past the camera,
He rests upon a rock
Like caramel corn half eaten,
Just to the left
Of man-made concrete convention
Daylight’s eraser
Removing color to his right.
Dustin sits
In my father’s lap,
Open mouth of a drooling
Big mouth bass;
Muscle tone
Of a well exercised
Jelly fish,
He looks at me
Half aware;
His wheelchair
Perched at the edge
Of parking lot gravel grafted
Like a scar on nature’s beach,
Opening to the ironic splendor
Of a bitter tasting lake.
I took the picture.
Age 11.
Capturing the pinnacle arc
Of a son
To my lilac
Who
Outlived him and weeps,
Still.
Their sky has staple holes –
Maybe that’s how the
Light
Leaked out.”
― From My Mother
Carole’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Carole’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
801 books
|
75 friends
520 books
|
19 friends
1,109 books
|
25 friends
826 books
|
88 friends
1,290 books
|
43 friends
74 books
|
44 friends
287 books
|
18 friends
580 books
|
68 friends
More friends…
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