You will be fine,’ the fortune teller says. ‘There may be decisions to make and surprises in store. Life takes us to unexpected places sometimes. The future is never set in stone, remember that.
I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.
If she were gone I would be nothing. You should think better of yourself than to settle for that.
Love is fickle and fleeting,” Tsukiko continues. “It is rarely a solid foundation for decisions to be made upon, in any game.
It is a matter of perspective, the difference between opponent and partner,” Tsukiko says. “You step to the side and the same person can be either or both or something else entirely. It is difficult to know which face is true.
Only the ship is made of books, its sails thousands of overlapping pages, and the sea it floats upon is dark black ink.
Follow your dreams Bailey. Be they Harvard or somehing else entirely. No matter what that father of yours says, or how loudly he might say it. He forgets that he was someone’s dream once, himself
Something about the circus stirs their souls, and they ache for it when it is absent.
You believe you could not live with the pain. Such pain is not lived with. It is only endured. I am sorry.
they start in the ice garden, through the twins grow impatient with leisurely pace that celia prefers to take around the frozen trees. before they have traveled halfway through the space they are begging to ride the carousel instead.
Prospero the Enchanter’s immediate reaction upon meeting his daughter is a simple declaration of: “Well, fuck.
My train was late that day. the day I saw you drop your notebook. Had it been on schedule we never would have met. Maybe we were never meant to.
There is the softest of sobbing as the coffin is lowered into the ground, but it is difficult to pinpoint who it is coming from, or if it is instead a collective sound of mingled sighs and wind and shifting feet.
They seek each other out, these people of such specific like mind. They tell of how they found the circus, how those first few steps were like magic.
You are no longer quite certain which side of the fence is a dream.
That’s the beauty of it. Have you seen the contraptions these magicians build to accomplish the most mundane feats? They are a bunch of fish covered in feathers trying to convince the public they can fly, I am simply a bird in their midst.
I tried to explain as much as I could,” Poppet says. “I think I made an analogy about cake.””Well, that must have worked,” Widget says. “Who doesn’t like a good cake analogy?
I mean only that I hope they find darkness or paradise without fear of it, if they can.
Have you tried the cinnamon things?” Poppet asks. “They’re rather new. What are they called, Widge?””Fantastically delicious cinnamon things?
It’s not a real name,” she says. “Not one that he’s carried with him always. It’s one he wears like his hat. So he can take it off if he wants.
Bedtime storiesEventide RhapsodiesAnthologies of MemoryPlease enter cautiously and feel free to open what is closed
I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.
And there are really never endings, happy or otherwise.
Good and evil are a great deal more complex than a princess and a dragon, or a wolf and a scarlet-clad little girl. And is not the dragon the hero of his own story?
And there are never really endings, happy or otherwise. Things keep going on, they overlap and blur, your story is part of your sister’s story is part of many other stories, and there is no telling where any of them may lead.
I have had affairs that lasted decades and others that lasted for hours. I have loved princesses and peasants. And I suppose they loved me, each in their way.
I am haunted by the ghost of my father, I think that should allow me to quote Hamlet as much as I please.
It is likely to make us think we are not caged. We cannot feel the bars unless we push against them.
Perhaps it is controlling the chaos within more than the chaos without.
He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.
The false face had been handsome, yes, but consciously so. As though he was too aware of his own attractivensss, something she found distinctly unappealing.
I’m an emotional sort of person in general and I have a vivid imagination, so I feel the whole spectrum of emotion strongly when I write.