It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.
Gregory MaguireTags: beginning
So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.
Gregory MaguireTags: awakening
Is this the main thing that painters of portraits care about? The person on the verge of becoming someone else?
Gregory Maguire... the decades looked on and didn't notice her passing. They stared from their fixed mounts across at each other and didn't see revolution striding between them, on her way to destiny.
Gregory MaguireHe knew about being alone. The weather was always cold there.
Gregory MaguireHe didn’t remember that a mere book might reek of sex, possibility, fecundity. Yet a book has a ripe furrow and a yielding spine, he thought, and the nuances to be teased from its pages are nearly infinite in their variety and coquettish appeal. And what new life can emerge from a book. Any book, maybe.
Gregory MaguireThe future reshapes the memory of the past in the way it recalibrates significance; some episodes are advanced, others lose purchase.
Gregory MaguireFor one short wet month early in the next year the drought lifted. Spring tipped in like green well water frothing at the hedges bubbling at the roadside splashing from the cottage roof in garlands of ivy and stringflower
Gregory MaguireTags: wicked
...No opening sermons concerning children with humps and fins for limbs, who nonetheless, immortal souls all, deserve life, liberty, and the pursuit of Happy Meals.
Gregory MaguireShe's sent the crows out to blind the guests coming for dinner!"
What?"
She's BLINDING THE GUESTS COMING FOR DINNER!"
Well, that's one way to avoid having to dust, I suppose.
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