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Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow. Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps the wise spurn one to remain safe from the other, but I should rather choose to have my eyes burnt in their sockets than to have been born without.

Anne Fortier

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Anne Fortier
Age: 52
Born: 1971
Born: November 10
Novelist
Writer
DK
Right
Wise
Carries
Great
Eyes
Carrie
Believe
Rather
Seeds
Love
Eye
Remain
Born
Sorrow
Wells
Safe
Sockets
Without
Choose
Spurn
Well
Perhaps
Burnt

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In many ways, a degree in the history of ideas is the ideal training for an aspiring writer.
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...it is fifty percent what they see, and fifty percent what they think they see.
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I am sorry I didn’t tell you the truth before. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. You kept asking about Romeo and what he was really like. I was hoping that”—he smiled wistfully—“you would recognize me.
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By the time we left college, I had become my own image: a dandelion in the flower bed of society. Kinda cute, but still a weed.
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Peppo! I yelled, pulling at my cousin's suspenders. I really don't want to be arrested, okay? Don't worry! Peppo turned a corner and accelerated as he spoke. I go too fast for police!
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.... death turns all men into great lovers. Would that they were equally ardent while the lady was still alive!
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You owe me nothing, but I want everything.
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For as long as I could remember, he had never worn a single piece of clothing that could be considered casual. Khaki shorts and golf shirts, to Umberto, were the garments of men who have no virtues left, not even shame.
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If you let go of me now,” I whispered, stretching against him, “it could be another six hundred years before you find me again. Are you willing to take that risk?
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I think Shakespeare is everybody's treasure.
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I wish I had the power to flip my reality upside down like an hourglass, and that life wasn't a finite affair, but rather a perpetually recurring passage through a hole in time.
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A novel is, hopefully, the starting point of a conversation, one in which the author engages readers and asks that they see things from a different point of view than they might otherwise.
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I absolutely believe the past had its share of warrior women who fought like men. Whether some of these were the actual Amazons from Greek myth is another matter.
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Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow.
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Romeo was cute …” “Cute?” Alessandro rolled his eyes. “What kind of man is cute?” “… and an excellent dancer …” “Romeo had feet of lead! He said so himself!” “… but most importantly,” I concluded, “he had nice hands!
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And whether or not we had now paid our dues, he was my blessing, and I was his.
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Think about it. He drinks poison. What kind of man drinks poison? She is the one who stabs herself with his dagger. The manly way.
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Everything we say is a story. But nothing we say is just a story.
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When the old men fight, the young people die.
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Janice used to say that instinct was reason in a hurry I was not so sure about the reason part.
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