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Quote by Susan Rowland

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The Swan Lake Murders

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Susan Rowland

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“I will quote one sentence from this text, namely, the one with which it ended. It was also the sentence which finally dissolved the writer’s block that had inhibited the author from starting work. I have since used it whenever I myself have been gripped by fear of the blank sheet in front of me. It is infallible, and its effect is always the same: the knot unravels and a stream of words gushes out on to the virgin paper. It acts like a magic spell and I sometimes fancy it really is one. But, even if it isn’t the work of a sorcerer, it is certainly the most brilliant sentence any writer has ever devised. It runs: ‘This is where my story begins.’”

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Book:The City of Dreaming Books
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“It's purpose, not productivity, is the real measure of intelligence.”

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Book:WHEN PURPOSE LEARNS TO CODE: A Philosophical, Scientific, and Storytelling Inquiry into the Future of Moral Agency in AI. | Stories and Theories from the Seven Dimensions of Artificial Intention.
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“I was coming to fully appreciate the shamanic wisdom that has long understood that the healing journey does not always take us directly into the light, but instead often requires us to enter the dark places within that are the home of our demons and shadows, the realm of the Soul’s separation and wounding, and therefore the home of its deepest healing and renewal as well.”

UnityWholenessResonanceSelf HealingSoul HealingVibrationalInner HarmonySpiritual Nonfiction
Book:Resonance Alchemy: Awakening the Tree of Life
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“She turned and walked towards Krupp. She moved like smoke from the end of a cigarette in a still room, languorous, smooth. Her beauty stopped the conversation of the few people she walked past. Eyes of envy, lust, admiration, longing, followed her every move as she glided through the sumptuously furnished, dimly lit Champagne Bar. Krupp realised she was moving through the room deliberately towards him. He held his breath again as she approached him. His heart thumped against his lungs, making it hard to breathe out. Krupp sat up and he gulped when she saw him and looked straight into his eyes. He felt a tingle up his spine as she seemed to float, slowly, like a ghostly spirit between the tables. He wondered if she was real or a spectre. This could not possibly be Freya, he thought, and yet there was something … She arrived at the table. She relaxed a knee. Their eyes met, a small smile on her lips. Krupp suddenly remembered his manners and stood, hauling himself up with the aid of his stick and the arm of the sofa. It could not have been an elegant move, he thought with annoyance. He should have remained seated. “May I join you?” she said in perfect German.”

Thought ProvokingGrippingReflectiveSecret SocietiesSocial ExpectationsClass DividePlot DrivenPower StrugglesDramatic ArcsRevenge Driven
Book:The Wasp Trap
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