Bring Up the Bodies

“What is the nature of the border between truth and lies? It is permeable and blurred because it is planted thick with rumour, confabulation, misunderstandings and twisted tales. Truth can break the gates down, truth can howl in the street; unless truth is pleasing, personable and easy to like, she is condemned to stay whimpering at the back door.”

TruthLiesHilary MantelBring Up The Bodies

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“Once he had watched Liz making a silk braid. One end was pinned to the wall and on each finger of her raised hands she was spinning loops of thread, her fingers flying so fast he couldn’t see how it worked. ‘Slow down,’ he said, ‘so I can see how you do it,’ but she’d laughed and said, ‘I can’t slow down, if I stopped to think how I was doing it I couldn’t do it at all.”

InspirationalFact Of Life

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“Well, you know the form,’ Bedingfield says. ‘She lives in that room and has her ladies – those ones – cook for her over the fire. You knock and go in, and if you call her Lady Katherine she kicks you out, and if you call her Your Highness she lets you stay. So I call her nothing. You, I call her. As if she were a girl that scrubs the steps.”

TitlesCatherine Of Aragon

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“When a man admits guilt we have to believe him. We cannot set ourselves to proving to him that he is wrong. Otherwise the law courts would never function.”

LawGuiltConfessionCourts

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“Di che natura è il limite fra la verità e la menzogna? È permeabile e sfocato, poiché è disseminato di voci, dicerie, malintesi e storie alterate. La verità può buttare giù i cancelli, può urlare per strada; se però non è piacevole, gradita e facile da accettare, è condannata a piagnucolare davanti alla porta di servizio.”

Historical FictionThomas CromwellAnne BoleynTudor

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“Il re si siede e comincia a parlare, a sproloquiare. In quegli ultimi dieci anni e più Anna lo ha preso per mano e lo ha portato nella foresta. Lì, al margine del bosco, dove la luce del giorno si frantuma e filtra tra il verde, lui ha perso il senno, l'innocenza. Anna si è fatta rincorrere tutto il giorno, finché lui tremava sfinito, eppure non riusciva a fermarsi neanche per riprendere fiato, non poteva tornare indietro, aveva perso la strada. L'ha inseguita fino al tramonto, l'ha cercata alla luce delle torce. Poi lei gli si è scagliata contro, ha spento le torce e l'ha lasciato da solo nel buio.”

Historical FictionThomas CromwellAnne BoleynTudor

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“The months run away from you like a flurry of autumn leaves bowling and skittering towards the winter ...”

TimeAutumn

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