When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
The harsh light above them caught her face, and Sean could see what she'd look like when she was much older - a handsome woman, scarred by wisdom she never asked for.
Mystic River
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The harsh light above them caught her face, and Sean could see what she'd look like when she was much older - a handsome woman, scarred by wisdom she never asked for.
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If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can't someone be healed by happiness?
She needed to recover. His father had died in January; it was only the end of May. They needed to stick to the routine they'd established during the intervening months. in that way, their life would return to its original shape, like a spring stretched in bad times but contracting eventually into happiness. That the world could come permanently unsprung had never occurred to him.
Lament invoked love.Woe invoked wonder.Grief invoked grace.Cry invoked celebration.(Page 80)
A lady laced with grace . . . Such, is impossible to despise.
Three years? That's a thousand tomorrows, ma'am.