There was after all no mystery in the end of love, no mystery but the mystery of love itself, which was large certainly but as real as grass, as natural and unaccountable as bloom and branch and their growth. — John Crowley Copy Share Image
“The Crows of the region could have told them that there are almost always more Crows around them than they can see; but like… — John Crowley Copy Share Image
Learning to decipher words had only added to the pleasures of holding spines and turning pages, measuring the journey to the end with a… — John Crowley Copy Share Image
It occurred to him that seeing a woman's child is like seeing a woman naked, in the way it changes how her face looks… — John Crowley Copy Share Image
“He learned, though slowly, what all great harrowed lovers learn: that love is what most surely compels love -- is perhaps, except for brute force, the only thing that does, though only (and this was the terrible gift he had been given) when the lover truly believes, as August could, that when his love is strong enough it must surely… — John Crowley Copy Share
“...only think a moment that we are here now, and that that was then, and it has come to this, and how odd, odd, odd it is!” — John Crowley Copy Share
Love is a myth.' 'Love is a myth,' Grandfather Trout said. 'Like summer.' 'What?' 'In winter,'Grandfather Trout said, 'summer is a myth. A report,… — John Crowley Copy Share Image
“The Tale was behind them. And it was to there they journeyed. One step would take them there; they were there already” — john crowley Copy Share Image
“They called him John Storm: John after his grandfather, but Storm after his father and his mother.” — John Crowley Copy Share Image
“Handsome guy, Victor, in a brutal, black-Irish way. Like most New York bartenders, he was really an actor, or was it the reverse? ("Novelty")” — John Crowley Copy Share
“There was a game she had played with Sophie in the long hallways of Edgewood, where she and Sophie would stand as far apart as was possible to get and still see eachother. Then they would walk slowly and deliberately, looking always each at the other's face. They kept on, at the same pace, not laughing or trying not to,… — John Crowley Copy Share
“... their lives were full of quiet drama, full of vague yet thrilling signs that life was not as the common run supposed it to be; they were among those... who watch life as though it were a great drab curtain which they are sure is always about to rise on some terrific and exquisite spectacle, and though it never… — John Crowley Copy Share
