From the plough to paper, from the wheel to house, from tool handles to sailing ships. Man would have been nothing without trees.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés chris-priestley uncle-montague-s-tales-of-terror



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In my confused state I wondered if I had not died and gone to hell. And if this was the case, I wished that I had been allowed more opportunities to sin, for this seemed a rather excessive judgement on what had been a frankly dull and blameless life. But I was not dead. I could see that now.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés robert



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She had the the most extraordinary capacity for falling asleep at a moments notice. Any kind of pause in the routine was an excuse for a nap. I swear she was more cat than human.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés robert step-mother



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Writers were a strange sort; I knew that much from the newspapers.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés humor writers



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After all, it was only a story,' I said, determined to prove her wrong. 'All manner of terrible things may happen in a story. They may be startling at the time, but it passes. One gets caught up in the narrative, but the dangers aren't real, are they? Things happen in any way the storyteller chooses. It is all just made up.

Chris Priestley


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Just because something is told as a story and that story is part legend or myth, or feat of imagination, does not mean there is no truth in it.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés stories



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I stood a little self-consciously. I was of an age when I was still unsure of myself in such formal matters as greetings and partings.

Chris Priestley


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Give me a funeral over a wedding any day,.' said Uncle Montague with a sigh. 'The conversation is almost always superior.

Chris Priestley


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Does something amuse you?' asked Uncle Montague.
'I was merely reminding myself, Uncle, that I am getting too old to be so easily frightened by stories.'
'Really?' said Uncle Montague with a worrying degree of doubt in his voice. 'You think there is an age at which you might become immune to fear?

Chris Priestley


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But she was no guardian angel. She was not trying to help me at all. She had been trying to claim me as she had claimed the lives of my fellow passengers.
She was the thing that remained forever unseen in my visions of her tales. She lurked near the bodies of those whose whose lives were so cruelly taken. She was there always, waiting.

Chris Priestley

Mots clés robert



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