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In the time it takes for her to walk from the bathhouse at the seawall of Fortune's Rocks, where she has left her boots and has discreetly pulled off her stockings, to the waterline along which the sea continually licks the pink and silver sand, she learns about desire.

Anita Shreve

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Anita Shreve
Age: 71 †
Born: 1946
Born: October 7
Died: 2018
Died: March 29
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Dedham Massachusetts
Anita Hale Shreve
Rocks
Learns
Along
Pulled
Walk
Continually
Walks
Boots
Takes
Sand
Discreetly
Desire
Silver
Licks
Left
Fortune
Stockings
Time
Sea
Pink

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Children don't heal as well.. they change.. they mutate with disaster and make accomodations.
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THE HERETIC'S DAUGHTER is raw, honest and completely captivating. Kathleen Kent takes what would seem to be a familiar subject and gives it a fresh, new perspective-moving us through a wrenching gamut of emotions as she does so. A searing look at one of the worst periods in our history.
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Reunions are always fraught with awkward tensions - the necessity to account for oneself the attempt to find, through memories, an ember of the old emotions.
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I wonder this: If you take a woman and push her to the edge, how will she behave?
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Good luck, I'm beginning to discover, is just as baffling as the bad. There never seems to be a reason for it - no sense of reward or punishment. It simply is - the most incomprehensible idea of all.
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Sometimes it seems to me that all of life is a struggle to contain the natural impulses of the body and spirit, and that what we call character represents only the degree to which we are successful in this endeavor.
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Love and marriage are wonderful arenas in which to place a character. We are most likely to risk our morals and beliefs while in love. Betrayal gives tremendous insights into a character as well.
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The difficulty lay with the mind accommodating itself to the notion of the plane, with all its weight, defying gravity, staying aloft. She understood the aerodynamics of flight, could comprehend the laws of physics that made flight possible, but her heart, at the moment, would have none of it. Her heart knew the plane could fall out of the sky.
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That I have no right to be jealous is irrelevant. It is a human passion: the sick, white underbelly of love.
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Among other things, Kathryn knew, grief was physically exhausting.
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Sometimes, she thought, courage was simply a matter of putting one foot in front of another and not stopping.
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I loved him, Muire said. We were in love. As if that were enough.
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Odd how intensely you knew a person, or thought you did, when you were in love-soaked, drenched in love-only to discover later that perhaps you didn't know that person quite as well as you had imagined.
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I thought about how one tiny decision can change a life. A decision that takes only a split second to make.
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I learned that night that love is never as ferocious as when you think it is going to leave you. We are not always allowed this knowledge, and so our love sometimes becomes retrospective.
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I guess that's the point of drinking, to take all the feelings and thoughts and morals away until you are just a body doing what a body will do.
Anita Shreve
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Is imagination dependent upon experience, or is experience influenced by imagination?
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the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived.
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Olympia thinks often about desire - desire that stops the breath, that causes a preoccupied pause in the midst of uttering a sentence - and how it may upend a life and threaten to dissolve the soul.
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And then she moved from shock to grief the way she might enter another room.
Anita Shreve