He kissed me for a long moment, holding my shoulders, perhaps to keep me from pressing my whole body against his. Then he tried to lift my bag. "My God," he said. "What happened?" "I found out one may check… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share Image
“A Letter from a Muse to Her Poet: Dear sir, I was called away and couldn’t bring you, but now I feel haunted. I… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
To desperately hope," I whispered James let out a breath. "To gratefully believe. — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“The fear of being noticed after a hundred years disappears as I look into a pair of autumn-colored eyes.” — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“Be a sparrow, I told myself. Be silent and fly away. No one will bother you if you disappear.” — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
The library smells like old books — a thousand leather doorways into other worlds. I hear silence, like the mind of God. I feel… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
That I am your heart's secret fills me with song. I wish I could sing of you here in my cage. You are my… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“I would court you with a passion, if things were different. You’d never get me off your porch swing.” — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“in the wings, as often mothers and grandmothers are, ready to catch the children should they need saving,” — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
Boys and girls hid in the library stacks or behind the gym and flew at each other with no promise of love or even… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“Dear sir: twelve hours is as twelve years to me. I imagine you in your home, smiling, thinking of me. That I am your… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
Books are boring," James said as he wrote. "They line the walls like a thousand leather doorways to be opened into worlds unknown," I… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“I knew that she was trying to save her little girl, but sometimes mothers with the best intentions kill their daughters all the same.” — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“The library smells like old books-a thousand leather doorways into other worlds." "Dear sir, I was called away and couldn't bring you, but now… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
“Time is a ribbon, a delicate organdy, so thin that you can see through it to the layer of time below and the layer… — Laura Whitcomb Copy Share
