She had died peacefully, in her sleep, after an evening of listening to all of her favorite Fred Astaire songs, one crackling record after another. Once the last chord of the last piece had died out, she had stood up and opened the French doors to the garden outside, perhaps waiting to breathe in the honeysuckle one more time.
Anne FortierIโll be back tomorrow,โ he said, โat nine oโclock. Donโt open your door to anyone else.โ โNot even my balcony door?โ โEspecially not your balcony door.
Anne FortierI am sorry I didnโt tell you the truth before. I was hoping I wouldnโt have to. You kept asking about Romeo and what he was really like. I was hoping thatโโhe smiled wistfullyโโyou would recognize me.
Anne FortierWe are all cups, and our destiny is poured according to measures we cannot understand, cannot influence.
Anne FortierThere is a trick to flying. The angels told me." He had smiled at my wide-eyed awe. "You need to forget everything you know as a human being. When you are human, you discover that there is great power in hating the earth. And it can almost make you fly. But it never will." I had frowned, not quite understanding him. "So, what's the trick?" "Love the sky.
Anne Fortier