I listen to people talking sometimes, that great river that is language, with all its undercurrents of grammar and nuance, and I wonder how we all learn so quickly to speak it, given that we begin when we are barely old enough to stand upright. I have no memory of finding it hard. Indeed, I have no memory of it at all.
Sarah DunantTag: language
...their heathen fingers understand truth and beauty.
Sarah DunantAmbassadors, of course, do not blush. It is a requisite of the job that they can sustain any manner of insult without any visible change at all to their face.
Sarah DunantThere have been none like us before. And there will be none afterwards. Be careful what you write.
Sarah DunantAny man in love with Cesare is already half in love with his sister. Now, when [Pedro Calderon] shuts his eyes, he cannot see anything else.
Sarah DunantFamily. The greatest loyalty after God in the world.
Sarah DunantJohannes Burchard. The only man in Rome whose face remains the same be it perfume or shit under his nose.
Sarah DunantIt was so cold. In the monastery. Sometimes the wind came from the sea with ice in it... It could freeze the skin off your face. Once the snow was so deep we couldn't get out of the doors to the woodshed. A monk jumped from a window. He sank into a drift and took a long time to get up. That night, they made me sleep next to the stove. I was small, thin, like a piece of birch bark. But then the Stove went out.
Father Bernard took me into his cell... It was he who first gave me chalk and paper. He was so old his eyes his eyes looked as if he was crying. But he was never sad. In winter he had fewer blankets than the others. He said he didn't need them because God warmed him.
(...)
But even Father Bernard was cold that night. He laid me down on the bed next to him, wrapped me in an animal skin, then in his own arms. He told me stories about Jesus. How His love could wake the dead and how with Him in one's heart one could heat the world... When I woke it was light. The snow had stopped. I was warm. But he was cold. I gave him the skin but his body was stiff. I didn't know what to do. I got out a piece of paper from his chest under the bed and drew him, lying there. His face had a smile on it. I knew that God had been there when he died. That now He was in me, and because of Father Bernard I would be warm forever.
Tag: inspirational historical-fiction
One enemy at the time.
Sarah DunantTag: borgias alexander-vi cesare-borgia
Ah, he has too many ideas, that man da Vinci. His mind works faster than his hands.
Sarah DunantTag: imagination da-vinci borgias
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