#tori

Stories are what death thinks he puts an end to. He can't understand that they end in him, but they don't end with him. ↗

— Ursula K. Le Guin

#stories #death

I pronounce ye married, laird and lady. No’ ’til death will ye part. And now, Toran,” he added with a wink, “ye may kiss the bride. ↗

— Willa Blair

#highland-romance #historical-romance #romance #scottish-romance #death

The clitoris is pure in purpose. It is the only organ in the body designed purely for pleasure. ↗

— Eve Ensler

#clitoris #pleasure #vagina #design

Thomas Cromwell is now about fifty years old. He has a labourer's body, stocky, useful, running to fat. He has black hair, greying now, and because of his impermeable skin, which seems designed to resist rain as well as sun, people sneer that his father was an Irishman, though really he was a brewer and a blacksmith at Putney, a shearsman too, a man with a finger in every pie, a scrapper and a brawler, a drunk and a bully, a man often hauled before the justices for punching someone, for cheating someone. How the son of such a man has achieved his present eminence is a question all Europe asks. ↗

— Hilary Mantel

#design

Children worked in the mills: "I will always believe that children are designed for green meadows and play, not for factories and cotton dust." from "Lizzie After the War" www.nancybbrewer.com--amazon/kindle/nook ↗

— Nancy B. Brewer

#historical-romance-fiction #design

Stories, like people and butterflies and songbirds' eggs and human hearts and dreams, are also fragile things, made up of nothing stronger or more lasting than twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks. Or they are words on the air, composed of sounds and ideas-abstract, invisible, gone once they've been spoken-and what could be more frail than that? But some stories, small, simple ones about setting out on adventures or people doing wonders, tales of miracles and monsters, have outlasted all the people who told them, and some of them have outlasted the lands in which they were created. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#dreams

Love's stories written in love's richest books. To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#dreams

Hair is gray and the firers are burning. So many dreams on the shelf. You say I wanted you to be proud of me. I always wanted that myself. ↗

— Tori Amos

#music #pop #pride #songs #tori

I'm convinced that most men don't know what they believe, rather, they only know what they wish to believe. How many people blame God for man's atrocities, but wouldn't dream of imprisoning a mother for her son's crime? ↗

— Criss Jami

#apologetics #atrocities #belief #bias #biases

A writer doesn't dream of riches and fame, though those things are nice. A true writer longs to leave behind a piece of themselves, something that withstands the test of time and is passed down for generations. ↗

— C.K. Webb

#fame-and-fortune #legacy #stories-imortality #writing #dreams