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f7a1414
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Words are like spices. Too many is worse than too few.
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Joan Aiken |
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860ebcc
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She thought about Penny's stories. There was one about a man who had three wishes and married a swan. If I had three wishes, know what wish for, thought Is. I'd wish for those two boys to be found, and for us all to be back on Blackheath Edge. She thought about Penny teaching her to read. "What's the point of reading?" Is had grumbled at first. "You can allus tell me stories, that's better than reading." "I'll not always be here," Penny..
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Joan Aiken |
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9712d7e
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Night's winged horses No one can outpace But midnight is no moment Midnight is a place. Meet me at Midnight, Among the Queen Anne's Lace Midnight is not a moment, Midnight is a place-- When, when shall I meet you When shall I see your face For I am living in time at present But you are living in space. Time is only a corner Age is only a fold A year is merely a penny Spent from a century's gold. So meet me, meet me at midnight (With sixty s..
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Joan Aiken |
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81223ea
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When the Whispering Mountain shall scream aloud And the castle of Malyn ride on a cloud, Then Malyn's lord shall have and hold The lost that is found, the harp of gold. Then Fig-hat Ben shall wear a shroud, Then shall the despoiler, that was so proud, Plunge headlong down from Devil's Leap; Then shall the Children from darkness creep, And the men of the glen avoid disaster, And the Harp of Teirtu find her master.
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Joan Aiken |
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33c984f
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He paused a moment, gazing in awe at the huge mass of buildings composing the castle. It stood close to the river, on either side and to the rear stretched the extensive park and gardens, filled with splendid trees, fountains and beds of brilliant flowers in shades of pink, crimson, and scarlet. The castle itself was built of pink granite, and enclosed completely a smaller, older building which the present Duke's father had considered too i..
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Joan Aiken |
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5e8daa9
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The use of reading, Gibbon says somewhere, is to aid us in thinking. I have always disagreed with Gibbon over that; he may have used literature to help him think, but for me, often, and for most of the human race I reckon (since I have no reason to think myself unique) books can be a mind-stupefying drug, employed to banish thought, not to invoke it. When I am unhappy I can sink into a novel as into unconsciousness. Blessed War and Peace, t..
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Joan Aiken |
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e45fb70
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Her smile was like a swift light passing across a darkened room. ("Hair")"
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Joan Aiken |
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7db08c6
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It was dusk - winter dusk. Snow lay white and shining over the pleated hills, and icicles hung from the forest trees. Snow lay piled on the dark road across Willoughby Wold, but from dawn men had been clearing it with brooms and shovels. There were hundreds of them at work, wrapped in sacking because of the bitter cold, and keeping together in groups for fear of the wolves, grown savage and reckless from hunger.
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Joan Aiken |
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355da0d
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Trees are swayed by winds, men by words.
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Joan Aiken |
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c36c01b
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You may think it odd that there were three men to look after one tiny station, but the people who ran the railway knew that if you left two men together in a lonely place they would quarrel, but if you left three men, two of them could always grumble to each other about the third, and then they would be quite happy.
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Joan Aiken |
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3ed10d0
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Eat an apple,sing a song, Don't touch a snake as it wriggles along. Run for an hour, walk for a day, Hark to the birds and heed what they say.
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quentin-blake
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Joan Aiken |
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4dbcec2
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the silence behind her was closing and thickening, and becoming coloured, like water into which a brilliant dye is being poured
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Joan Aiken |
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6fa5159
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They came to the high stone shaft with the face of Sul; they descended to the terrace below. And here Caradog waited, leaning on his silver-tipped rod and eying the horizon, until the delicate slip of the new moon moved out from behind the shoulder of Mount Damyake, with the mysterious, shadowy ghost of the old moon cradle inside it, like an egg inside its egg cup. "Now it is time," he said. "Blame it!" expostulated Dido. "It ain't for me..
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Joan Aiken |
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d41403d
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But this is your home' 'Not any longer, my poppet. Women make nests but men make bequests and scatter them. Heigh-ho!
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gender
inheritence
injustice
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Joan Aiken |
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a0e8d12
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recollect
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Joan Aiken |
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9f39c02
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Was
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Joan Aiken |