The world is chaotic. All artists know this, but they try to make sense of it. Sophia has made sense of it for him. She has stitched it together like the most beautiful cloak. Her love has sewn it together and they can wrap it around themselves and be safe from the world. Nobody can reach them.
Deborah MoggachEven when I succeed in getting there we only have an hour. At ten o’clock the night-watch trumpet sounds and those who are out return to bed. What a blameless, hardworking nation we are. In bed by ten, faithful husbands and faithful wives. It is no city for lovers, for those out late on the street are viewed with suspicion.
Deborah MoggachSophia will not come. How mad he is to imagine, for a moment, that she might. Why should she risk everything for him? He can offer her nothing, only love.
Deborah MoggachAfter the storm the city lies becalmed. It is a sunny morning, still and cold. Branches litter the streets like broken limbs. People clear away the wreckage. They swarm around like ants whose anthill has been scuffed; how doggedly they rebuild their lives.
Deborah MoggachIt is a nice sunny day; his bunions have stopped hurting. There is always something to celebrate, in Gerrit’s view.
Deborah MoggachYou may only call me "Mrs. Darcy"... when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.
Deborah MoggachBut it's also true that the person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing. All we know about the future is that it will be different. But perhaps what we fear is that it will be the same. So we must celebrate the changes.
Deborah MoggachMots clés evelyn-greenslade
The only real failure is the failure to try, and the measure of success is how we cope with disappointment.
Deborah MoggachMots clés film evelyn-greenslade
Everything will be alright in the end so if it is not alright it is not the end.
Deborah MoggachMots clés life inspirational travel india deborah-moggach
Douglas Ainslie: Look. Can you hear yourself? Can you? Do you have any idea what a terrible person you have become? All you give out is this endless negativity, a refusal to see any kind of light and joy, even when it's staring you in the face, and a desperate need to squash any sign of happiness in me or... or... or... anyone else. It's a wonder that I don't fling myself at the first kind word or gesture that comes my way, but I don't, ou... ou... ou... out of some sense of dried-up loyalty and respect, neither of which I ever bloody get in return.
Jean, his wife: [long pause] I checked my emails. There's one from Laura.
Mots clés nagging marriage-advice marriage-counseling
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