Maxioms by Elizabeth Bowen
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.
Some people are molded by their admirations, others by their hostilities.
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent read more
The heart may think it knows better: the senses know that absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends. The friend becomes a traitor by breaking, however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone: a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.
Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
Fate is not an eagle, it creeps like a rat.
Absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
Absence blots people out. We really have no absent friends.
The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the read more
The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.
