When I read a story, I relive the moment from which it sprang. A scene burned itself into me, a building magnetized me, a mood orseason of Nature's penetrated me, history suddenly appeared to me in some tiny act, or a face had begun to haunt me before I glanced at it.
Elizabeth BowenBut surely love wouldn't get so much talked about if there were not something in it?
Elizabeth BowenWhen one is a child, the disposition of objects, tables and chairs and doors, seems part of the natural order: a house-move lets in chaos - as it does for a dog.
Elizabeth BowenThe paradox of romantic love -- that what one possesses, one can no longer desire -- was at work.
Elizabeth Bowen