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Quote by Tanya Thompson

“With the amount of diazepam in me, I should have been content to lie back and let events unfold as they may, and my curiosity did for a moment consider it, but then a punch of panic reminded me that people far saner than I were murdered for less in more conspicuous locations.”

Quote by Tanya Thompson

Book:Assuming Names: A Con Artist's Masquerade
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Assuming Names: A Con Artist's Masquerade

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Tanya Thompson

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“People are not always good ambassadors for God. But Hulda held firm. To her last breath, she praised him. And I saw in her what I had never seen in empty religious observance. I saw the joy that comes from the presence of God." Roxannah crossed her arms over her belly. "Even when she was dying?" "Even as she lay dying. One night, toward the end, as I sat by her bed, weeping, she laid her hand on my head. 'Adin, you must be like Moses,' she said. I stopped my sniveling and stared at her in shock. She had not spoken for several days by then. 'Moses?' I stammered." Roxannah gave him a puzzled look. "He is our greatest prophet," Aden explained. "Hulda said, 'Remember how God spoke to Moses mouth to mouth? You must learn to speak to him like that.'" "What does that mean?" "In our language, speaking mouth to mouth is an expression of closeness. It means you are on intimate terms with someone. Friends who share their hearts openly. God spoke to Moses mouth to mouth. With the familiarity of a friend. Hulda wanted me to understand that true faith leads to that kind of friendship with God.”

PrayingFaith In GodMosesTrue FriendshipDying WordsMouth To Mouth
Book:The Queen's Cook
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“Thus, no matter where you live in New York City, you will find within a block or two a grocery store, a barbershop, a newsstand and shoeshine shack, an ice-coal-and-wood cellar (where you write your order on a pad outside as you walk by), a dry cleaner, a laundry, a delicatessen (beer and sandwiches delivered at any hour to your door), a flower shop, an undertaker's parlor, a movie house, a radio-repair shop, a stationer, a haberdasher, a tailor, a drug-store, a garage, a tearoom, a saloon, a hardware store, a liquor store, a shoe-repair shop. Every block or two, in most residential sections of New York, is a little main street. A man starts for work in the morning and before he has gone two hundred yards he has completed half a dozen missions: bought a paper, left a pair of shoes to be soled, picked up a pack of cigarettes, ordered a bottle of whiskey to be dispatched in the opposite direction against his home-coming, written a message to the unseen forces of the wood cellar, and notified the dry cleaner that a pair of trousers awaits call. Homeward bound eight hours later, he buys a bunch of pussy willows, a Mazda bulb, a drink, a shine-- all between the corner where he steps off the bus and his apartment.”

New YorkNew York CityManhattanPlacesVintage StyleMetropolitan Living
Book:Here is New York
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“My hair, always pale, is now flossy white and very, very long. It is fine too, finer it seems with each passing day. It is my one vanity- Lord knows I haven't much else to be vain about. Not any more. It has been with me a long time- since 1989, this present crop. I am fortunate indeed that Sylvia is happy to brush it for me, oh so gently; to plait it, day in, day out. It is above and beyond her job description and I am very grateful. I must remember to tell her so. I missed my chance this morning, I was too excited. When Sylvia brought my juice I could barely drink it. The thread of nervous energy that had infused me all week had overnight become a knot. She helped me into a new peach dress- the one Ruth bought me for Christmas- and exchanged my slippers for the pair of outside shoes usually left to languish in my wardrobe. The leather was firm and Sylvia had to push to make them fit, but such price respectability. I am too old to learn new ways and cannot abide the tendency of the younger residents to wear their slippers out. Face paint restored some life to my cheeks, but I was careful not to let Sylvia overdo it. I am wary of looking like an undertaker's mannequin. It doesn't take much rouge to tip the balance: the rest of me is so pale, so small. With some effort I draped the gold locket around my neck, its nineteenth-century elegance incongruous against my utilitarian clothing. I straightened it, wondering at my daring, wondering what Ruth would say when she saw.”

Dressing UpWhite HairVintage Style
Book:The House at Riverton
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