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May I suggest that you all read? And often. Believe me, it's nice to have something to talk about other than the weather and the Queen's health. Your mind is not a cage. It's a garden. And it requires cultivating.

Libba Bray

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Libba Bray
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: March 11
Novelist
Writer
Texas
United States
Nice
Cages
Talk
Suggest
Read
Queen
Often
Queens
May
Weather
Mind
Requires
Something
Garden
Cultivating
Believe
Health
Cage

More quotes by Libba Bray

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But what was the point of living so quietly you made no noise at all?
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Write like it matters, and it will.
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When you peeled back the skin, you were dealing with bone and muscle, blood and nerve endings. It was all the same. She liked the beautiful logic of the circulatory system, the elegance of the neurological, and the fierce warrior spirit of the heart. The body had rules and it had quirks.
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There's a lot about discovering who you are and how difficult that is. And it never stops.
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Could I have a Sloe Gin Fizz, without the gin? What's the point of that, Miss? the waiter said. Tomorrow morning, Mabel said.
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The police have asked for my help. There's been a murder. A murder! Oh, my. Let me just change my shoes, Evie said excitedly. It won't be a minute.
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If there was one truth Evie had learned in her short life, it was that forgiveness was easier to seek than permission. She didn’t plan to ask for either one.
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Live life as if today is your last day living. :-)
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Any book that can help you survive the slings and arrows of adolescence is a book to love for life 'The Catcher in the Rye' did just that, and I still do love it.
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It's always darkest before the ultimate sparkle.
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Because you don't notice the light without a bit of shadow. Everything has both dark and light. You have to play with it till you get it exactly right.
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Goodbye, I whisper at last, when it no longer matters and there is no one to hear it but the window.
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What do you feel? I’ve never been asked this question once. None of us has. We aren’t supposed to feel. We’re British.
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She loved attention. It was like a glass of the best champagne—bubbly and intoxicating—and as with champagne, she always wanted more of it. Still, she didn’t want to seem like an easy mark. “If you must know, I’ve come to join a convent,” Evie said, testing him.
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Oh, sure. Of course, they say now that we’ve got Freud and the motorcar, God is dead.” “He’s not dead just very tired.
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It's so laughable that it's somewhere beyond comedy and right into tragedy again.
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Do you think they missed him terribly when he fell? Did God cry over his lost angel, I wonder?
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I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.
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We've barley stepped into the bright glow of the realms when everything goes dark.
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Next time we see you, you’ll be on trial for some ingenious crime!” Dottie said with a laugh. Evie grinned. “Just as long as they know my name.
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