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I still can't understand how Cecil and my old tutor, Fitz, got along so well, when we often called Fitz 'the Genius' and avoided calling Cecil anything at all, so as not to be rude.

Franny Billingsley

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Franny Billingsley
Age: 70
Born: 1954
Born: July 3
Author
Writer
Still
Rude
Anything
Calling
Wells
Genius
Well
Along
Called
Fitz
Understand
Cecil
Often
Tutor
Stills
Avoided

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A poem doesn’t come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means.
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It's one thing to keep secrets. It's quite another to lie.
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You don’t mind when he stares at you.” Cecil jerked his head toward Eldric. He doesn’t stare,” I said. “He looks.
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Life and stories are alike in one way: They are full of hollows. The king and queen have no children: They have a child hollow. The girl has a wicked stepmother: She has a mother hollow. In a story, a baby comes along to fill the child hollow. But in life, the hollows continue empty.
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I was asking about lust, wasnʼt I? I was fairly certain of it. But isnʼt love supposed to come before lust? It does in the dictionary.
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Our English monarchs are so unimaginative,” said Eldric. “They execute people in such tediously conventional ways.
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I don't know what it is, but I ache for it each day. It's as though I have eyes, but there are colors I cannot see. As though I have ears, but there's a range of notes I cannot hear.
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Let’s hope she’s like the others, who look only at the surface. Let’s hope she’d never think that a girl with black-velvet eyes and cut-glass cheekbones could be a witch.
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I don't like my shoes,' said Rose. 'I'm wearing my shoes and you don't see me complain.' 'You only hear a person complain,' said Rose. 'Not see.' How has Rose lived for seventeen years and no one has killed her, not once?
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Father sighed. “Please spare me these arguments of yours.” “Whose arguments should I use?
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I hated myself, but I also loved myself in a hateful way.
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My own mask stayed just where it ought. I’ve had lots of practice.
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It’s one thing if a person learns you’re a witch. It’s quite another if he learns you’re a murderer. I almost forget I’m a witch now that I know I’m a murderer—murderess, actually. Murderess sounds so much worse.
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Blast Cecil!” said Eldric. “You have my permission,” I said.
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I might be a wicked girl who'd think nothing of eating a baby for breakfast, but I'd never allow myself to get expelled. It's far too public.
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The boy shall have a proper beating,' said Cecil. 'But I beat him already,' I said, 'and don't tell me I didn't do it properly. I'm touchy about these things.
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Did I kill him?” I said. “No, miss,” said Robert. “Pity.
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You could at least complain,” I say. “I adore complaining. It calms the nerves.
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People think me a sort of Florence Nightingale, but I have no heroic qualities. I simply don’t feel very much.
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Secrets press inside a person. They press the way water presses at a dam. The secrets and the water, they both want to get out.
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