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Quote by Luke A.M. Brown

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The Non-Silence of the Lamb: Contemporary Version

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Luke A.M. Brown

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“It must take a lot of self-discipline,' she said. 'Oh, I don't know. I don't have much.' He felt himself about to say again, and unable to resist saying, that 'Dumas, I think it was Dumas, some terrifically prolific Frenchman, said that writing novels is a simple matter - if you write one page a day, you'll write one novel a year, two pages a day, two novels a year, three pages, three novels, and so on. And how long does it take to cover a page with writing? Twenty minutes? An hour? So you see. Very easy really.' 'I don't know,' she said, laughing. 'I can't even bring myself to write a letter.' 'Oh, now that's hard.' ("Novelty")”

WritingNovelDisciplineWritersProcrastination
Book:American Fantastic Tales: Terror and the Uncanny from the 1940s to Now
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“If writers only dared to dare, a Suetonius or a Tacitus of the Novel could exist, for the Novel is essentially the history of manners, turned into a story and a play, as is History itself often enough. And there is no other difference than this: that the one, the Novel, cloaks its manners under the disguise of invented characters, while the other, History, provides names and addresses. Only, the Novel probes much deeper than history. It has an ideal, and History has none; it is limited by reality. The Novel also holds the stage much longer. ("A Woman's Vengeance")”

WritingHistoryNovelWriters
Book:Les Diaboliques
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“The men were smashing windows and aiming their weapons through them. The driver had opened the door and was shouting for the women and children to get out and run and hide. But Ilina realized in some vague way that he never managed to actually say the word "hide." He really said, "Women and children, get out, get out, get out! Run and..." The clerk's wife thought it was odd that he had stopped in the middle of a sentence, and even stranger that she herself knew the word, heard the word "hide" in her head when the driver stopped talking.”

NovelRussiaThrillerIranCiaEspionage ThrillerNuclear ThreatDagestanCaucasus Region
Book:The Caucasian Menace
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“My Beth. Sitting patient in the shadow Till the blessed light shall come, A serene and saintly presence Sanctifies our troubled home Earthly joys, and hope, and sorrows, Break like ripples on the strand Of the deep and solemn river Where her willing feet now stand. Oh, my sister, passing from me, Out of human care and strife, Leave me, as a gift, those virtues which have beautified your life. Dear, bequeath me that great patience Which has power to sustain A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit In its prison-house of pain. Give me, for I need it sorely, Of that courage, wise and sweet, Which has made the path of duty Green beneath your willing feet. Give me that unselfish nature, That with charity divine Can pardon wrong for love's dear sake- Meek heart, forgive me mine! Thus our parting daily loseth Something of its bitter pain, And while learning this hard lesson, My great loss becomes gain. For the touch of grief will render My wild nature more serene, Give to life new aspirations- A new trust in the unseen. Henceforth, safe across the river, I shall see forever more A beloved, household spirit Waiting for me on the shore. Hope and faith, born of my sorrow, Guardian angels shall become, And the sister gone before me, By their hands shall lead me home.”

LiteratureFictionNovelYoung AdultClassicHistorical Fiction
Book:Little Women
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“Mindfulness (A poem) *** MINDFULNESS ****** We're sitting on a hill, reminiscing about our deeds. These are mesmerising moments of ease; scenes are harmonising in keys. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We think about the nice days from our teens; the things that we did at our free will. We're in sync with the future and past tensions. Indeed, we could enjoy the present intentions. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. We envision our problems gone; with collisions exposed and pawned. Oh! We could enjoy this peaceful time, on this hill, watching the sunrise. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. The beautiful birds stride pass our face. Thick cuticles blurred, striped by hours of grace. They flap their wings, forming art; tail lamps for us, bleeding hearts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. People of different cultures come to us. Simple, they offer their services; no Judas. Wave their hands with care; give their food to share. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period. What a sad case this is; our mindfulness is butchered. Heads are swimming inbetween the past and the future. Opportunities to love others in truth are being missed. Communities could share love so true; limiting the rifts. But we're in a state of oblivion, shunned from the view of fate in this period.”

Life LessonsQuotesIgnoranceMindfulnessAppreciationMitta XinindluPoems By Mitta XinindluPoetic WordsSmall Pleasure
Author:Mitta Xinindlu
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“آقای ویلسن من از شما می پرسم که اگر بومی ها شما را زندانی کنند، از زن و فرزندانتان جدایتان سازند و اگر وادارتان کنند که تا آخر عمر گندم آسیاب کنید، آیا اعتقاد خواهید داشت که باقی ماندن در چنین حالتی وظیفه ی شماست و باید به درخواست تقدیر تسلیم باشید؟؛ نه! من یقین دارم در آن حال شما نخستین اسبی را که در دسترس ببینید به عنوان فرستاده ی تقدیر برای نجات از چنان وضعی سوار می شوید و فرار می کنید. آیا جز این است؟”

NovelNineteenth CenturyAmerican LiteratureClassic Literatureرمانادبیات کلاسیکادبیات آمریکاقرن نوزدهم
Author:Harriet Beecher Stowe
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