Harold had become, over the past week, a connoisseur of silences. He was an expert at differentiating the particulars; was this a Tranquil Silence, marked by slow sighs and peaceful smiles? Or was it a Tired Silence, marked by ornery chair shifting? Or a Tense Silence, full of tight breaths and cautious glances?
Graham MooreTag: silence
Realism, I think, is fleeting. It's the romance that will live forever.
Graham MooreThe human mind thrills at few things so much as making connections. Discovering. Solving.
Graham MooreLove grew docile with age, like a faithful hound. It became precious and prized, locked away from the world like a jewelry box. Love grew commendable dependable-love was eggs, love was ham, love was the morning paper.
Graham MooreA vice is a thing which may be applauded in moderation but becomes horrific in overuse.
Graham MooreArt is a social object, books and films and records and television shows, they’re social objects that bring people together in conversation. I love the notion that I could write something that two people could share. That’s the goal.
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