The pigment must be mixed with the tears of spinsters of good family, who must live long lives of impeccable virtue and die without ever having had a day of true happiness.
Susanna ClarkeAnd what do you keep in such a pretty little box, sir? Snuff?'
Oh, no! It is a great treasure of mine that I wish Lady Pole to wear tonight!' He opened the box and showed Stephen a small, white finger.
...He danced with a young woman with no hair, but who wore a wig of shining beetles that swarmed and seethed on her head. His third partner complained bitterly whenever Stephen's hand happened to brush her gown; she said it put her gown of its singing; and, when Stephen looked down, he saw that her gown was indeed covered with tiny mouths which opened and sang a little tune in a series of high, errie notes.
Susanna ClarkeShe wore a gown the color of storms, shadows, and rain and a necklace of broken promises and regrets.
Susanna Clarkeyou must learn to live as I do - in the face of constant criticism, opposition and censure. That, sir, is the English way.
Susanna ClarkeTags: english
Oh! And they read English novels! David! Did you ever look into an English novel? Well, do not trouble yourself. It is nothing but a lot of nonsense about girls with fanciful names getting married.
Susanna ClarkeTags: humour literature novels
But when the fairy sang the whole world listened to him. Stephen felt clouds pause in their passing; he felt sleeping hills shift and murmur; he felt cold mists dance. He understood for the first time that the world is not dumb at all, but merely waiting for someone to speak to it in a language it understands. In the fairy’s song the earth recognized the names by which it called itself.
Susanna ClarkeTags: jonathan-strange-mr-norrell
John Longridge, the cook at Harley-street, had suffered from low spirits for more than thirty years, and he was quick to welcome Stephen as a newcomer to the freemasonry of melancholy.
Susanna ClarkeTags: humor beautiful-imagery
To sit and pass hour after hour in idle chatter with a roomful of strangers is to me the worst sort of torment.
Susanna ClarkeTags: humor
Lovers are rarely the most rational beings in creation...
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