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I was a narrative historian, believing more and more as I matured that the first function of the historian was to answer the child's question, "What happened next?
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Elderly gentlemen, gentle in all respects, kind to animals, beloved by children, and fond of music, are found in lonely corners of the downs, hacking at sandpits or tussocks of grass, and muttering in a blind, ungovernable fury elaborate maledictions which could not be extracted from them by robbery or murder. Men who would face torture without a word become blasphemous at the short fourteenth. It is clear that the game of golf may well be included in that category of intolerable provocations which may legally excuse or mitigate behavior not otherwise excusable.
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Everything. I have done everything you wanted...You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me. I was frightening...I have reordered time...I have turned the world upside down...And I have done it all for you. I am exhausted from living up to your expectations.
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One should not be happy or distressed over desirables and undesirables, knowing that such feelings are just created by the mind.
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Knowing that I am different from the body, I need not neglect the body. It is a vehicle that I use to transact with the world. It is the temple which houses the Pure Self within.
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Don't ever give up. Believe in yourself or no one else will. My personal saying is: 'I'd rather die knowing that I tried to do what I love.'
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The only distinction that democracies reward is a high degree of conformity.
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In [writing] fiction, every sentence is its own reward.
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Ann Winder-Boyle's small-scale encaustic pictures always reward a second look - they have an intriguing edge of darkness about them.
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The reward is in the doing of it.
