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Life goes on. What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on.

Mary Ann Shaffer

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Mary Ann Shaffer
Age: 73 †
Born: 1934
Born: December 13
Died: 2008
Died: February 16
Librarian
Novelist
Writer
Martinsburg
West Virginia
Goes
Courses
Course
Death
Doesn
Thought
Life
Nonsense

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I don’t know whether to feel flattered or hunted.
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The first rule of snooping is to come at it sideways.
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If there is Predestination, then God is the devil. by Remy, Ravensbruck concentration camp survivor
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What a blight that woman is. Do you happen to know why? I lean toward a malignant fairy at her christening.
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When I got up this morning the sea was full of sun pennies - and now it all seems to be covered in lemon scrim. Writers ought to live far inland or next to the city dump, if they are ever to get any work one. Or perhaps they need to be stronger-minded than I am.
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Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.
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Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.
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Then i imagined a lifetime of having to cry to get him to be kind, and I went back to no again.
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Those times, I tried to think of something happy, something I'd liked - but not something I loved, for that made it worse.
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I much prefer whining to counting my blessings.
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She is one of those ladies who is more beautiful at sixty than she could possibly have been at twenty. (how I hope someone says that about me someday)!
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Isn't that something-to know your own soul by hearsay, instead of its own tidings? Why should I let a preacher tell me if I had one or not? If I could believe I hada soul, all by myself, then I could listen to its tidings all by myself.
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What on earth did you say to Isola? She stopped in on her way to pick up Pride and Prejudice and to berate me for never telling her about Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. Why hadn't she known there were better love stories around? Stories not riddled with ill-adjusted men, anguish, death and graveyards!
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Men are more interesting in books than they are in real life.
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I hope, too, that my book will illuminate my belief that love of art - be it poetry, storytelling, painting, sculpture, or music - enables people to transcend any barrier man has yet devised.
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Women like poetry. A soft word in their ears and they melt - a grease spot on the grass.
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This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.
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Light griefs are loquacious, but the great are dumb.
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In a good mood I call my hair Chestnut with Gold Glints. In a bad mood, I call it mousy brown
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Reading keeps you from going ga-ga.
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