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Happiness was useless to me. It was heartache that filled my purse. What happy man has need of Shakespeare?
Jennifer Donnelly
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Jennifer Donnelly
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 29
Author
Novelist
Writer
Port Chester
New York
Happiness
Happy
Need
Purse
Needs
Purses
Men
Heartache
Shakespeare
Useless
Filled
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She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
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There was a basket at her feet. She reached into it and lifted out the head of a young woman, a marquise. She wore Bourbon white to her death, but wears the tricolor now - white cheeks, blue lips, red dripping from her neck. Long live the revolution.
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Because beautiful things never last. Not roses nor snow… And not fireworks, either
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I just love historical fiction.
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The world goes on, stupid and brutal, but I do not. Can't you see? I do not.
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Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.
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He pressed himself into me and kissed my neck, and it was as if everything strong and solid inside me, heart and bones and muscle and gut, softened and melted from the heat of him.
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Voice is not just the sound that comes from your throat, but the feelings that come from your words.
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You can't argue with the dead, no matter what you say, they always have the last word.
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Funny, 'ow you can 'old a jewel in your 'and, and toss it away, and not even know what you 'ad until it's gone.
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It is hope, not despair, that undoes us all.
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I struggled for a long time to get anything published.
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Why is it that weeks and months and years go by so quickly, all in a blur, but moments last forever?
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The King walks. He nods. His glance is like God's touch - under it all things spring to life. A wave of his hand and a hundred musicians tear into the Handel, making a sound you've never heard before, and never will again. A sound that goes through you, through flesh and bone, and reorders the very beat of your heart.
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There is an advantage to be found in most everything that happens to you, even if it is not immediately apparent.
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She was his soulmate, as much a part of him as the very flesh and bone that made him. She was with him, in him, in everything he did. She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.
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I played a role. That is what actors do. But I played it too well. I went too far. And by the time I wanted to stop, to take a bow and leave the stage, it was too late.
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The guitar's still around me. I slip it off and put it down. I want to feel him. To feel his breath on my neck. The warmth of his skin. To feel something other than sadness. Hold me, I tell him silently. Hold me here. To this place. This life. Make me want you. Want this. Want something. Please
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I grew up on a mixed diet of mass and class, and I still read that way. I hate it when people apologize for what they read. Some bestsellers aren't exactly literary. So what? They're fun and rip-roaring, Who instituted the book police and why do we have to answer them? Grrrrr!
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I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.
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