Author of quotes: Janet Fitch. Page 1

I really did not like the look that she was looking at his house. This cold peace is hardly spoken of sanity - mother resembled a hawk, patiently waiting for her prey to the lightning split the tree.

Love their murmuring was my lullaby, my chest. I put in there, beautiful lingerie, summer camp, new sandals, Christmas. Selflessly fingered gala dinners, private room, bike test lessons in the evenings. Another year like the previous one, and following him, the same serene, one after the other - as a bridge, and a thousand different differences, subtle and elusive, so familiar to the girls growing up without a father.

Her passion dictated their own rules.

Poppies ooze pure bliss. You and I, this sweet battle.

In the evening, in a long and gentle summer dusk, people came out of the apartments, walking dogs, drinking cocktails by the pool, legs dangling in the water. The moon appeared, crouching in the impossible blue of the horizon. <...> I wanted to permanently freeze this moment chime, the quiet lapping of the water, the clanking of dog chains, laughter coming from the pool, the rustle of the ink pen mother, the smell of eucalyptus, the peace and quiet. It would be good to close it all in the locket and hang it on the neck. It would be good in this perfect moment we were attacked by a millennial dream, like Sleeping beauty's castle.

His voice was thick and fragrant as cloves, and iridescent Nightingale, he took us to the spice Bazaar in the middle of the island of Celebes, we drifted with him on a raft in the Coral sea. We were like two cobras, reaching for reed flute.

Would have lived, as a planet, star swaying in the blue, floating in the sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco Spanish guitar.

Snow as white sea, people can go and get lost in it... and forget about everything.

... and the clay in the hands of the Potter is happy.

Never allow the man to stay until morning. <...> Dawn dropped her coat on the magic every night.

Thickened with the evening blue, still retaining the shades of Indigo, like an unspoken hope.

... Her voice - low, deep, warmed by the sun, with a barely perceptible accent - monotone Swedish melody of a bygone generation. You hear it once, you would know the enchanting power of the voice.