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Quote by Isaac Marion

“Zasmuca mnie jednak to, że zapomnieliśmy naszych imion. Już pomijając wszystko inne, to wydaje mi się najbardziej tragiczne. Tęsknie za swoim i opłakuję te należące do innych, ponieważ chciałbym ich kochać , a nie wiem, kim są.”

Quote by Isaac Marion

Book:Warm Bodies
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Warm Bodies

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Author

Isaac Marion
Isaac Marion

Isaac Marion is an American writer known for his works of fantasy, particularly the 'Twilight' series. His novels often explore themes of love, death, and the supernatural. Born in 1981, Marion developed a passion for writing from a young age and turned it into a career. His first novel, 'Twilight,' was published in 2005 and quickly became a bestseller, leading to a successful film adaptation. Marion's works have gained widespread acclaim and have had a significant impact on contemporary fantasy literature. more

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“It was a delicate silver frame, small enough to fit within her hand, containing a photograph of a woman. She was young, with long hair, light but not blond, half of which was wound into a loose knot on the top of her head; her gaze was direct, her chin slightly lifted, her cheekbones high. Her lips were set in an attitude of intelligent engagement, perhaps even defiance. Elodie felt a familiar stirring of anticipation as she took in the sepia tones, the promise of a life awaiting rediscovery. The woman's dress was looser than might be expected for the period. White fabric draped over her shoulders, and the neckline fell in a V. The sleeves were sheer and billowed, and had been pushed to the elbow on one arm. Her wrist was slender, the hand on her hip accentuating the indentation of her waist. The treatment was as unusual as the subject, for the woman wasn't posed inside on a settee or against a scenic curtain, as one might expect in a Victorian portrait. She was outside, surrounded by dense greenery, a setting that spoke of movement and life. The light was diffuse, the effect intoxicating.”

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“The woman glanced up at the stars before lowering to her knees in the sand. She bowed her head, letting the desert grains cover her skirts and run through fingers as she murmured in the old, forgotten language--- the one Agrabah would always respond to. And the ground began to shake. Sand whipped through the air, swirling around the woman, he used her cloak as a shield against the onslaught. The grains spun before her, funneling into a tornado, until every last piece came together to form an unmistakable shape: tigers head, with sharp sandstone for jaws and teeth and a gaping mouth lit by fire. The woman stepped forward and the tiger opened its mouth wider, revealing a glowing staircase within that beckoned her closer. Welcome back, old friend.”

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“Ben ducked beneath the arbor and paused by the fishpond when a memory crept upon him like a shadow. This was the spot where Alice had first read to him from her manuscript. He could still hear her voice, as if it had somehow been captured by the leaves around them and was being played back now, just for him, like a gramophone recording. "I've had a brilliant idea," he heard her say, so young and innocent, so full of joy. "I've been working on it all morning and I don't like to boast, but I'm quite sure it's going to be my best yet." "Is it?" Ben had said with a smile. He'd been teasing, but Alice had been far too excited to notice. She'd leapt on with telling him about her idea, the plot, the characters, the twist, and the intensity of her focus- her passion- changed her face completely, bringing an animated beauty to her features. He hadn't noticed she was beautiful until she spoke to him of her stories. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone with intelligence. And she was 'very' clever. It took a certain kind of clever to figure out a puzzle- to look ahead and see through all the possible scenarios, to be so strategic. Ben didn't have that kind of brain. In the beginning he'd simply enjoyed her enthusiasm, the indulgence of being told a story while he worked, the chance to bat ideas back and forth, which was so much like play. She made him feel young, he supposed; her youthful preoccupation with her work, with the very moment they were in, was intoxicating. It made his adult worries disappear.”

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Book:The Lake House
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“Bir de benim gibi zavallı hayalperestin hayatına bak! Öldüresiye monoton, gölgelerin, hayallerin, uydurma düşüncelerin tutsağı bir hayat. Kalbi çekilmez işkencelerle dolduran, hep kara bulutlarla kaplı, güneş yüzü görmemiş bir hayat! Oysa bu zavallı Petersburglunun da herkes gibi güneşe ihtiyacı var; güneşsiz görülmüş rüyaların bile değeri yok! İşin en acısı, en sonunda hayal alemi de o çok güvendiğimiz, sonsuz sandığımız alem- yavaş yavaş yorulmaya, eski canlılığını kaybetmeye başlıyor. Bütün rüyalarımızı üstüne kurduğumuz düşünceler eskimeye başlayıp, yerine yenilerini de koyamayınca, hayal alemi de yıkılıp yerle bir oluyor ve geride kala kala çalı çırpı ve toz kalıyor fakat yaşayabileceğiniz tek hayat hayal alemiyse, sizi bekleyen başka bir hayat yoksa, ne yapacaksınız?”

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Book:White Nights
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