There are stories told to him only at this time of year. Fantastic, magical stories, the old Hollier in the woods finding only three red berries, which peel back in the night to reveal gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh,… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“We should not forget that when we limp away afflicted through the spirit, it is not to the factory gates or to the corporate… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
Those partial to drink were hiding faults and dishonesty. They were sloppy souls, even the ones with pleasant manners and fine noses. — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
I'll tell you this, lad: A tattoo says more of a fellow looking at it than it can do of the man who's got… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“We should not forget that when we limp away afflicted through the spirit, it is not to the factory gates or to the corporate… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“The show brought Claudia sadness finer than any requiem or any gravestone or anything beautiful or sorrowful that she could think of. On afternoons… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
At night, in the garden, it occurs to you that it might have been your heart that left you as you reached the capital.… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“To be comfortable inside one’s sadness is not valueless. This too will pass. All things tend towards transience, mutability. It is in such mindful… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
You didn’t understand what he was saying, until he kissed you. It was a kiss of such complicity, of such uncomplicated sympathy, that you… — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“That boy may have been born on third base but he sure as shit ain’t scored a triple.” — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
“Personal effects: how irrelevant they are, how sad, how lost, how vagrant, without the force that gives them purpose.” — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
People went through life like well handled jugs, collecting chips and scrapes and stains from wear and tear, from holding and pouring life. — Sarah Hall Copy Share Image
