When we were small, Rose and I used to play a game called connect the dots. I loved it. I loved drawing a line from dot number 1 to dot number 2 and so on. Most of all, I loved the moment when the chaotic sprinkle of dots resolved itself into a picture. That's what stories do. They connect the random dots of life into a picture. But it's all an illusion. Just try to connect the dots of life. You'll end up with a lunatic scribble.
Franny BillingsleyThoughts are strange creatures. They lead you from one thing to another. Sometimes you donโt know how you got from one to the next.
Franny BillingsleyDespite her cough, Rose was in unusually good spirits. That was irritating. If Iโm to trade my life for Roseโs, Iโd appreciate her exhibiting a touch of melancholy. Also acceptable would be despair.
Franny BillingsleyHe scooped up my arm, swung me round. โLet go, Cecil,โ I said. โIโve a strange dislike of being forced.โ โBut Briony,โ he said, โIโm so full of good spirits. I could walk to London, I think!โ Why didnโt he?
Franny Billingsley