The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
No one in their right mind would take up work in a bookshop for the wages, and no one in their right mind would want to own one - the margin of profit is too small.
It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and for ever. There's no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.
Have you ever noticed that when your mind is awakened or drawn to someone new, that person's name suddenly pops up everywhere? My friend Sophie calls it coincidence, and Reverend Simpless calls it grace. He thinks that if one cares deeply about someone or something new one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and 'fruitfulness' is drawn in.
I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me.
Light griefs are loquacious, but the great are dumb. Seneca
She's one of those women who are more beautiful at sixty than they could possibly have been at twenty.
That, it seems to me, was her willingness to be delighted by people - their phrases, their frailties, and their fleeting moments of grandeur.
The only flaw in the feast is that it ends. If I could have anything I wanted, I would choose story without end, and it seems that I have lots of company in that. ... The good news is that as long as we don't get too caught up in the space-time continuum, the book does still go on, every time a reader talks about it with another reader.
It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and next year and for ever. There's no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.
Have you ever noticed that when your mind is awakened or drawn to someone new, that person's name suddenly pops up everywhere? My friend Sophie calls it coincidence, and Reverend Simpless calls it grace. He thinks that if one cares deeply about someone or something new one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and 'fruitfulness' is drawn in.
I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me.
Light griefs are loquacious, but the great are dumb. Seneca
She's one of those women who are more beautiful at sixty than they could possibly have been at twenty.
That, it seems to me, was her willingness to be delighted by people - their phrases, their frailties, and their fleeting moments of grandeur.
The only flaw in the feast is that it ends. If I could have anything I wanted, I would choose story without end, and it seems that I have lots of company in that. ... The good news is that as long as we don't get too caught up in the space-time continuum, the book does still go on, every time a reader talks about it with another reader.