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Quote by Grace Willows

“Rose looked down to the sheet of paper, saw a number and where to sign. Butch was holding out a pen for her to take. When she reached for the pen her fingers grazed lightly against his. She felt it. She saw it. The tiniest arc of electricity. It was as if flint and steel met, just waiting for the right moment to spark the dry tinder into a burning inferno.”

Quote by Grace Willows

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Grace Willows

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“What do you know of love? You've been watching too many Hindi movies. Love is something you grow into over the years. Love is like a plant. It needs time and effort to raise it. You need to let the roots grow deep and strong before the stem is thick enough to support the leaves and branches. Only when the plant is full grown do you get the flowers and fruit of love. Your love is just a seedling. Ignore it and it will die away. You're mistaking lust for love.”

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“To him, Layla's promising aroma was not a reminder of a long-lost boyhood or the instigator of teenage lust. No, for Malachy, the sight of Layla's exotic profile filling up a bag of white onions was a sign, a resounding 'yes' to the age-old questions of the divine. Yes, there was a God. Yes, there was life beyond the sleepy valleys of Ballinacroagh. Yes, there 'were' undiscovered universes waiting just for him. And one of them was standing right before him, in all her astounding milky ways.”

“Today I saw you and spoke to you for the first time. It was like an earthquake; everything in me was overturned, the graves of my heart were opened and my own nature was strange to me. I am forty, and I believed I had reached the autumn of life. I had wandered far, known much and lived many lives. The Lord had spoken to me, manifesting Himself in many ways; to me angels had revealed themselves and I had not believed them. But when I saw you I was compelled to believe, because of the miracle that happened to me.”

“Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33)”