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Quote by Hannah Richell

“What did you tell him?" "The truth: that you're spending your days cloistered away and that you only emerge for sleep and sustenance." Jack seizes her arm and nibbles the crook of her elbow. "I suppose that makes you sustenance, does it?”

Quote by Hannah Richell

Book:The Peacock Summer
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The Peacock Summer

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Hannah Richell

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“Ever since the sparrowhawk... since that day... you've released something in me." He clears his throat, as if embarrassed, but he doesn't stop. "For days I was all angst and despair, tortured by the blank walls, uncertain how to cover such a vast space. Then, after that first night together, it was there; the idea arrived, almost fully formed. It's exhilarating, and terrifying." "Terrifying?" "Yes. I'm so gripped by it that I don't want to spend too much time away from the room. I'm terrified I will lose the thread of it if I don't keep going. There's a moment when you're creating, when you lose yourself in the act of it, when you know you're finally hitting the flow of the piece. That's what I'm desperate to hold on to. Though it's quite a challenge. The size of the room means I have to work a little differently. It's all an experimental process, a sort of unfolding." He reaches out to stroke her bare shoulder. "I've never felt so inspired, so excited by a piece's possibility." He glanced at her, that wry smile of his just visible in the darkness. "I think I may have discovered my Muse." "Cloudesley?" He laughs and shakes his head. "No, you clot. You." Lillian smiles. She can't think of a greater or more unexpected compliment than being called Jack's Muse.”

InspirationalMuseLillian And Jack
Book:The Peacock Summer
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“I take the view that God, in his infinite wisdom, didn't bother to spring for two joints - heaven and hell. They're the same place, but heaven is when you get everything you want and you meet Mommy and Daddy and your best friends and you all have a hug and a kiss and play your harps. Hell is the same place - no fire and brimstone - but they just all pass by and don't see you. There's nothing, no recognition. You're waving, "It's me, your father," but you're invisible. You're on a cloud, you've got your harp, but you can't play with nobody because they don't see you. That's hell.”

Religion
Book:Life
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“Jack pulls out the chair next to Lillian and as he sits, she feels his foot settle beside her own, a light but insistent pressure brushing against her heel. Joan teases him briefly on his newfound status as village heartthrob and engages him in a conversation about his art, but as soon as her attention is diverted by the arrival of others from the village, Jack slides his own hand beneath the table and strokes the soft part of Lillian's wrist where it rises out of her glove. "You look beautiful," he murmurs. She jumps at his touch, the words of the fortune-teller echoing in her mind. Someone is watching. "Don't," she says. "Not here." He has an intense way of looking at her, the undercurrent of a smile hidden in his dark grey eyes, the slightly predatory way his gaze sweeps over her that brings a flush to her skin as she remembers the intimate things he did to her the night before; her hands gripping the bedhead, the way she had bitten down on there back of her hand to prevent herself from crying out. It's agony not to be able to touch him. To hell with virtue and propriety; all she wants to do is seize his hand and drag him away from prying eyes and idle gossip and those pretty girls, back to Cloudesley, back to the privacy of her bedroom.”

Sexual AttractionLillian And Jack
Book:The Peacock Summer
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“They follow the road into secluded green valleys, before climbing back up into the chalk hills. She looks across at Jack and finds him smiling at her. "Eyes on the road," she warns, but she takes up his hand and places it on her warm thigh, gradually directing it under the edge of her skirt and petticoat. He glances across at her again, his smile broadening. Lillian shifts a little in her seat, parting her legs slightly, releasing a soft sigh as his fingertips graze her inner thigh.”

Lillian And Jack
Book:The Peacock Summer
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“They have the place to themselves and for a while they simply sit and look out at the view, her body relaxing into his. The cloudless sky is a spectacular wash of graduated colors- navy highest above them, fading to lighter cyan closer to the earth, under-lit by the rosy blush of the sun hovering upon the horizon. There is a peace to the place, a certain stillness, nothing but the setting sun and the occasional silhouette of a soaring bird to distract from the awe-inspiring view.”

SunsetNatures BeautyColors Of NatureLillian And JackPeaceful Place
Book:The Peacock Summer
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“The most poignant image of all is one she only notices as she takes another turn and gazes at the ceiling. In a single patch of blue sky, a solitary gap in the dense canopy, she sees the outline of a familiar bird: a sparrowhawk flying free. She smiles to see it, remembering that first day with Jack in their woodland cathedral. It's then that she realizes, finally, what the room represents. It isn't just a playful depiction of their woodland place, a triumph of the mastery of illusion. This painted room is something else entirely. It is a declaration of love. It is a veiled tribute to their love affair- a depiction of the most precious moments they have shared, laid out in a secret code only she will understand. Lillian spins around, astounded, drinking it all in.”

Declaration Of LoveLillian And JackRepresents
Book:The Peacock Summer
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“Unngh,' the Minotaur says. What he means is that every past is littered and scarred. What he means is that the present moment is the only moment that pulses, that breathes. What he means is that he himself is capable of great tenderness but has also done great harm. The Minotaur knows that sometimes mercy requires expedience. Haste. Sometimes it can't be about how much a thing hurts.”

MercyHarmTendernessHasteThe PastThe Minotaur
Book:The Minotaur Takes His Own Sweet Time
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“The Minotaur lacks confidence in his penmanship. Over time the Minotaur has learned to read, has even been able to make the slow laborious transition from one language to another as cultures die off and fade away as he moves from place to place. But the Minotaur has never been able to rise above rudimentary skills. Most books seem ridiculously small, and the physical act of finding a comfortable sight line over his massive snout frustrates him. Nevertheless the Minotaur is haunted by the idea that books and reading might make those vast stretches of time that loom before him more bearable.”

TimeReadingLanguageBooksPenmanshipThe Minotaur
Book:The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break
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