Luscious feet that listened to the soil and stole its secrets.
[Wishing her mother had named her Beulah:] At least you did not sit on your beulah.
writing is the loneliest job in the world. There's always that frustrating chasm to bridge between the concept and the writing of it. We're a harassed tribe, we writers.
Nervous hands as if the fingers were dripping from them like icicles.
Some people think they are worth a lot of money just because they have it.
Life owes me a living worth living. Yes, Eden regarded life as her debtor, she its relentless paymaster.