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Beauty is at its most poignant when the cold hand of Death holds poised to wither it imminently.
Jacqueline Carey
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Jacqueline Carey
Age: 61
Born: 1964
Born: January 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Highland Park
Illinois
Wither
Poignant
Holds
Cold
Hand
Beauty
Death
Hands
Poised
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We pay for sins we do not remember, and seek to do a will we can scarce fathom. That is what it is, to be a god's chosen.
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For this too I learned, that a storyteller's tale may end, but history goes on always. These events, so distant in legend, play a part in shaping the very events we witness about us, each and every day.
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To have a traitor for an ally is to have an enemy in waiting
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Like a falling star, he descended on the Tarbh Cró, a Cassiline berserker, his sword biting and slashing like a silver snake.
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We speak of stories ending, when in truth it is we who end. The stories go on and on.
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Even a stunted tree reaches for sunlight.
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There is no folly like the folly of the wise.
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Fear and lies fester in darkness. The truth may wound, but it cuts clean.
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True friendship must be akin to romance, I think. only without all the anguish and anxiety.
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A nervous silence loosens tongues
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There are patterns which emerge in one's life, circling and returning anew, an endless variation on a theme. So musicians say the greatest sonatas are composed whether or not it is true, I do not know, but of a surety I have seen it emerge in the tapestry of my life.
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Only insofar as you enjoy being sorry, my dear, which, while it is a considerable amount, occurs only after the fact, thus making it a singularly ineffective deterrent, yes?
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Your dreaming self seeks to tell you something your waking ears will not hear
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When Love cast me out, it was Cruelty who took pity upon me
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If you thought better of me, you would not be so surprised
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And having once chosen, never to seek to return to the crossroads of that decision-for even if one chooses wrongly, the choice cannot be unmade.
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