Sara > Recent Status Updates

The victims of Jack the Ripper were never “just prostitutes”; they were daughters, wives, mothers, sisters, and lovers. They were women. They were human beings, and surely that in itself is enough.

It is only by bringing these women back to life that we can silence the Ripper and what he represents. By permitting them to speak, by attempting to understand their experiences and see their humanity, we can restore to them the respect and compassion to which they are entitled.

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him…

That somewhere, between the notes, was Sam. She forgot about time as she drifted between pieces, voicing the unspeakable, opening old wounds, playing and playing as the sound forgave and saved her.

The notes burst from her fingers, staggering at first, but then more confidently as the emotion in the music took over. It was a mournful Piece, but it made her into something clean and new. She was surprised that her hands had not forgotten, that somewhere in her mind, after a year of darkness and slavery, music was still alive and breathing.

It was all forty-three dollars you wanted to give over to her, and you were grieved when you weren't able to. And you know, Colt, remembering that, I wept. For so, so many things, I could just weep.
There is not language sufficient for me to express the depth of my sorrow for what happened, my son. Sorry doesn't begin to scratch the surface, but I think you know that. You would know that. Oh, Gilbert.

I hated you for such a long time, but you were just a small old woman and I was lost. I didn't know what to do so I cut the flowers. This didn't help.

I don't care what you do with the money; I know you don't "need" it. Maybe you should get a new roof; yours looks in need of replacement. Buy a sailboat. Plan a trip to Italy. Get someone in there to build you bookshelves in that sunroom.

I wanted to follow up on a few things. If you do not cash the checks I've sent, I'll bring him home. It's enough you're keeping him and I'm not going to allow it to be a financial responsibility on top of the rest.
I'll keep sending a check each month, the amount being my own prerogative.

I'm ready to go, but I don't think Fiona is OK. Please make sure she is OK. Dear Sybil, I do love you. The children are fortunate it's not you they're losing. You've been a wonderful mother to them. The first thing I will do is kiss Gilbert for you.
I’d like to hear from you. Not a demand, merely a hope, but either way, until we meet again, and I believe we will—we must— with love,Daan

What a beautiful letter

I'm coming for a week…from France. Stewart isn't coming because he has things going on… but I'm coming because you are scaring me with your miserable crotchetiness.

As there is no such rhythm in the human life, I have to think that when it comes to seasons we all get one round. We are born and grow through childhood in spring. We live those glorious, lively, interesting years of our twenties, thirties, forties in summer. We settle into ourselves in autumn, that cool but not yet cold time, rich and aromatic. & in winter we age (brutally) & die. One turn of the seasons per person

Hyde Park, a notorious venue of flirtation for soldiers and servants, lay just in between. According to Henry Mayhew, it was here that housemaids and nursemaids walking in the park to and from their place of work often first encountered “the all powerful red coat” and “succumbed to Scarlet Fever.”

This made me think of Kitty & Lydia in P&P 🤣

She'd never imagined any of this—this island, the greenhouses, the purpose she'd found in translating the late sorcerer's spells, the new community they were building, the plants and the dragons, the winged cat, and Yarrow. All of it. She hadn't even known this life was out there to dream about. Now, though, it was the life she wanted.
"I'm home," Terlu told him.

she met up with Lotti and Dendy, both of them sporting Rowan's crocheted eyes. Dendy wore one on each of his largest leaves, while Lotti had affixed two tiny ones at the center of her petals. "You both look..." Terlu trailed off, not sure what adjective they were looking for.
"Amazing?" Lotti suggested.
"Yes, amazing," Terlu said
Dendy said, "I waaas goiling for 'absurd.'"
"That too," Terlu agreed.