#charles

Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. ↗

— Charles Dickens

#great-expectations #love #love

New rules. If you are smart enough to live, you won’t hit Charles’s mate in front of his father. ↗

— Patricia Briggs

#anna-cornick #bran-cornick #charles-cornick #cry-wolf #defense

Music's been around a long time, and there's going to be music long after Ray Charles is dead. I just want to make my mark, leave something musically good behind. If it's a big record, that's the frosting on the cake, but music's the main meal. ↗

— Ray Charles

#around #been #behind #big #cake

When Christopher and Charles passed away, I was completely depressed, I felt rejected and real down, and so Roscoe invited me because he had this spirit of compassion, and we had gone to school together, were friends and everything. ↗

— Joseph Jarman

#because #charles #christopher #compassion #completely

Stories about Diana's fashions, about possible rows between Charles and Diana, these were meat and drink. ↗

— Andrew Morton

#between #charles #diana #drink #fashions

When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with scratches and squiggles on them. And when Death calls, how many of us would trade all those pages, all that squandered lifetime-worth of painfully achieved scratches and squiggles, for just one more day, one more fully lived and experienced day? And what price would we writers pay for that one extra day spent with those we ignored while we were locked away scratching and squiggling in our arrogant years of solipsistic isolation? Would we trade all those pages for a single hour? Or all of our books for one real minute? ↗

— Dan Simmons

#charles-dickens #death #life #old-age #regret

And that's when Anna realized that what the wolf had been asking Bran for was death. Impulsively, Anna stepped away from Charles. She put a knee on the bench she'd been sitting on and reached over the back to close her hand on Asil's wrist, which was lying across the back of the pew. He hissed in shock but didn't pull away. As she held him the scent of wilderness, of sickness, faded. He stared at her, the whites of his eyes showing brightly while his irises narrowed to small bands around his black pupil. "Omega," he whispered, his breath coming harshly. ↗

— Patricia Briggs

#anna #asil #charles #cry-wolf #death

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— Colin Roger

#charleston-weddings #wedding-consultant-charleston #wedding-consultants-charleston #wedding-coordinator-charleston #wedding-coordinators-charleston

The time of minor poets is coming. Good-by Whitman, Dickinson, Frost. Welcome you whose fame will never reach beyond your closest family, and perhaps one or two good friends gathered after dinner over a jug of fierce red wine… While the children are falling asleep and complaining about the noise you’re making as you rummage through the closets for your old poems, afraid your wife might’ve thrown them out with last spring’s cleaning. It’s snowing, says someone who has peeked into the dark night, and then he, too, turns toward you as you prepare yourself to read, in a manner somewhat theatrical and with a face turning red, the long rambling love poem whose final stanza (unknown to you) is hopelessly missing. ↗

— Charles Simic

#the-world-doesn-t-end #family

He left the key in the ignition. No one was likely to come up here and steal the truck- and if anyone did... well, he could deal with Charles ↗

— Patricia Briggs

#charles-cornick #funny #funny