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Memories begin to creep forward from hidden corners of your mind. Passing disappointments. Lost chances and lost causes. Heartbreaks and pain and desolate, horrible loneliness. Sorrows you thought long forgotten mingle with still-fresh wounds.

Erin Morgenstern

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Erin Morgenstern
Age: 46
Born: 1978
Born: July 8
Novelist
Writer
Horrible
Passings
Heartbreaks
Pain
Hidden
Mingle
Lost
Forgotten
Disappointment
Creep
Thought
Sorrow
Fresh
Desolate
Stills
Forward
Wounds
Disappointments
Still
Begin
Corners
Creeps
Long
Memories
Loneliness
Sorrows
Mind
Causes
Passing
Chances
Chance

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It's a wonderful sort of feeling when people want to spend more time in a world you created.
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Celia. he says without looking up at her, why do we wind our watch? Because everything requires energy, she recites obediently, eyes still focused on her hand. We must put effort and energy into anything we wish to change.
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„I forgive you for stealing my shawl.“ She smiles as he laughs. And then she vanishes. A simple trick of distracting his attention long enough to slip out through the hall, despite the lingering temptation to stay.
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So it’s really best to keep your secrets when you have them, for their own good, as well as yours.
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The rain increases and umbrellas sprout like mushrooms amongst the graves.
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There is so much that glows in the circus, from flames to lanterns to stars. I have heard the expression “trick of the light” applied to sights within Le Cirque des Reves so frequently that I sometimes suspect the entirety of the circus is itself a complex illusion of illumination” .
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I dont think there's anything wrong with being a dreamer. There is not. But dreams have ways of turning into nightmares.
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They say it's darkest before the dawn, but it also tend to be quietest, and the quiet lets you hear yourself better.
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You think, as you walk away from Le Cirque des Rêves and into the creeping dawn, that you felt more awake within the confines of the circus. You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is the dream.
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Misdirection is one of my strengths.
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The night that seemed endless hours before is now slipping through your fingers, ticking by as it falls into the past and pushes you towards the future.
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Celia laughs and a curl of her hair falls across her cheek. Marco tentatively moves to brush it off her face, but before his fingers reach her, she pushes herself off the ledge, her silver gown a billowing cloud as she falls onto the pile of jewel-toned cushions.
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I like that once upon a time quality, where the telling of a tale has an elevated sense of story. There's a whimsical quality to it. Sometimes in fairy tales more things seem possible, even though often they're real world based.
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Marco moves to close the distance between them, kissing away her tears before catching her lip with his own. As he kisses her, the bonfire glows brighter. The acrobats catch the light perfectly as they spin. The entire circus sparkles, dazzling every patron.
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This is, in part, why there is less magic in the world today. Magic is secret and secrets are magic, after all, and years upon years of teaching and sharing magic and worse. Writing it down in fancy books that get all dusty with age has lessened it, removed its power bit by bit.
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The finest of pleasures are always the unexpected ones.
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Chandresh relishes reactions. Genuine reactions, not mere polite applause. He often values the reactions over the show itself. A show without an audience is nothing, after all. In the response of the audience, that is where the power of performance lives.
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The most difficult thing to read is time. Maybe because it changes so many things.
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The circus looks abandoned and empty. But you think perhaps you can smell caramel wafting through the evening breeze, beneath the crisp scent of the autumn leaves. A subtle sweetness at the edges of the cold.
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Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more than the chaos without.
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