Book: The thorn birds. Page 1

FIA was one of those people who feels too much, so that it is impossible to endure, impossible to live, and she received a harsh lesson. Nearly twenty-five years she was suppressing all feeling and was convinced that such persistence in the end will win.

I'm old, I have only one left - time.

What infernal torture - life! Thank God I'd had the courage to go to its very edge.

For the Irish the worst beach - his passion for drink or violent temper?

Here, on the edge of the world, you have three invincible enemy - heat, dust and flies. No matter how you try, you to get rid of them.

- What could be hitting this Holy man so much that he did Jilly axis of its activities?
I don't know. Something extraordinary? The sudden salvation of thousands of souls at once, suddenly opened the gift to heal the lame and the blind... But the time of miracles has passed.
- Well, come on, I highly doubt it. Just the Lord God changed the technique. In our days he uses money.

Curiously, very many priests as beautiful as Adonis, and attracted to women irresistible, like don Juan. Maybe because they take a vow of celibacy, they are afraid, can not be brought before the trouble is charm?

All of it, from the wavy black curls and amazing blue eyes and small delicate hands and feet, truly perfection. Can not be that he knew nothing about it. And however, it has some kind of detachment, somehow it makes feel that have not been and will not be a slave to your appearance. Shamelessly exploited, if necessary, if it helps to achieve some goal, but did not admire him, rather like people who are able to resist such charms, even despise not worth it.

Roses. Ashes of roses. Roses, everywhere roses. Petals on the grass. Summer roses - white, red, tea. Syrupy sweet aroma in the night. Pale pink roses, discolored moonlight, almost ashy. Ashes of roses, ashes of roses. I give you up, my meggie. But you've really become a threat, you know, you became my threat. And because I crushed you with the heel of my ambition; you mean no more to me than baby rose, thrown in the grass. The smell of roses. The Smell Of Mary Carson. Roses and ashes, ashes and roses.

Caring, sacrifice-a-kind a stronger proof of love than a million kisses, they are easy.

The usual, reverential fear ingrained firmly, you understand that when you first try to break his years of bondage.

On then friends, so without them it was impossible to do.

Maybe this is hell is a long time earthly bondage. May be destined to us the torments of hell we suffer, when we live...

What a curious to understand the lines a face that is already so familiar, and which, it appears, does not know.