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British
-
Author
&
Screenwriter
October 27, 1957
British
-
Author
&
Screenwriter
October 27, 1957
She thought little of her ordeal. Cruelty was part of nature, like a winter frost; something to be survived and then forgotten (p.689)
Tim Willocks
In the end, every man's life is but a tale told to him that's lived it, and to him alone.
Tim Willocks
Men, and pigs, are hard on women who sacrifice their virtue, especially for love." Mattis Tannhouser
Tim Willocks
Sadness is never bad," said Amparo. "Sadness is the mirror of being happy
Tim Willocks
Her eyes were of different colors, the left as brown as autumn, the right as gray as Atlantic wind. Both seemed alive with questions that would never be voiced, as if no words yet existed with which to frame them. She was nineteen years old, or thereabouts; her exact age was unknown. Her face was as fresh as an apple and as delicate as blossom, but a marked depression in the bones beneath her left eye gave her features a disturbing asymmetry. Her mouth never curved into a smile. God, it seemed, had withheld that possibility, as surely as from a blind man the power of sight. He had withheld much else. Amparo was touched—by genius, by madness, by the Devil, or by a conspiracy of all these and more. She took no sacraments and appeared incapable of prayer. She had a horror of clocks and mirrors. By her own account she spoke with Angels and could hear the thoughts of animals and trees. She was passionately kind to all living things. She was a beam of starlight trapped in flesh and awaiting only the moment when it would continue on its journey into forever.” (p.33)
Tim Willocks