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It was such a pleasure to sink one's hands into the warm earth, to feel at one's fingertips the possibilities of the new season.
Kate Morton
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Kate Morton
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: July 19
Author
Novelist
Writer
Berri
South Australia
Australia
Pleasure
Sink
Hands
Gardening
Earth
Possibilities
Feel
Season
Feels
Seasons
Warm
Garden
Fingertips
Possibility
Gardener
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Had any poet adequately described the wretched ugliness of a loved one turned inside out with grief?
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A girl expecting rescue never learns to save herself. Even with the means, she will find her courage wanting.
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A twinge at the edge of her lips and she continued, the soft, slow lilt of recitation: Ancient walls that sing the distant hours.
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All true readers have a book, a moment when real life is never going to be able to compete with fiction again.
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She doesn't know I cry for the changing times. That just as I reread favourite books, some small part of me hoping for a different ending, I find myself hoping against hope that the war will never come. That this time, somehow, it will leave us be.
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Adults weren’t supposed to understand their children and you were doing something wrong if they did.
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The stretch of years leaves none unmarked: the blissful sense of youthful invincibility peels away and responsibility brings its weight to bear.
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I've heard it said that children born to stressful times never shake the air of woe . . . .
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A true friend is a light in the dark. Viven
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I want to be independent. To meet interesting people. ... I just mean new people with clever things to say. Things I've never heard before. I want to be free. Open to whatever adventure comes along and sweeps me off my feet.
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Nighttime is different. Things are otherwise when the world is black. Insecurities and hurts, anxieties and fears grow teeth at night. p493
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And then he was kissing her, and she was struck by his nearness, his solidity, his smell. It was of the garden and the earth and the sun. When Cassandra opened her eyes, she realized she was crying. She wasn't sad, though, these were the tears of being found, of having come home after a long time away.
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What could be more perfect than marrying the person you love.
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I'm good with words, but not the spoken kind I've often thought what a marvelous thing it would be if I could only conduct relationships on paper.
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I am not a storyteller . . . not like the others. I only have one tale to tell.
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Curiosity might have killed the cat, but little girls usually fared much better.
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But in my humble opinion, a house needs a good party once in a while remind folks it exists.
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Reluctance to begin is quick to befriend procrastination. . . .
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Mother didn't understand that children aren't frightened by stories that their lives are full of far more frightening things than those contained in fairy tales.
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... people who'd led dull and blameless lives did not give thanks for second chances.
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