“But gradually through the tumultuous talk of the days and the nightlong wonderings when I sat groping for hope through the darkness,… — Kathrine Kressmann Taylor Copy Share Image
“Parker stared at the bare branches along Saint Marks Place as they swayed with the wind, reaching for one another, and longed… — Abby Slovin Copy Share Image
“Aren't you afraid of death, oak? How can you speak so casually about it?' The trees creaked their bare branches until it… — Felix Salten Copy Share Image
How torturous is the "churchly" language one must speak in church - the tone, style, habit. It is all artificial; there is… — Alexander Schmemann Copy Share Image
Like a fierce wind roaring high up in the bare branches of trees, a wave of passion came over me, aimless but… — Marion Milner Copy Share Image
“It was like hundreds of roads he'd driven over - no different - a stretch of tar, lusterless, scaley, humping toward the… — George A. Zorn Copy Share Image
“Somehow, what they'd had was already over, and she hadn't even been aware of the end. This happened with roses: it was… — Alice Hoffman Copy Share Image
“The last caravan they robbed had been filled with fine clothing, pieces of which were strewn about their camp. Trousers hung from… — Kiersten White Copy Share Image
“When the shot came, the rooks rose outward from their roost with coarse cries of alarm, but in a few minutes they… — Elizabeth Speller Copy Share Image
I dream dark dreams. I dream of a figure moving through the forest, of children flying from his path, of young women… — John Connolly Copy Share Image
