Description of W.H. Auden: He suddenly looked terribly old and frail but as nobly formal as a Gothic cathedral |
Oliver Sacks: On the Move, p.199 |
The leaching of her own identity by dementia |
Oliver Sacks: On the Move, p.301 |
Precisely buttoned blouse |
Maggie O’Farrell: I am, I am, I am, p. 4 |
Her scarves skewered to sweaters with a silver pin |
Maggie O’Farrell: I am, I am, I am, p.13 |
The drawl and snap of the upper classes |
Alan Hollinghurst: The Sparsholt Affair, p. 88 |
A smile across the glooming mahogany of the table |
Alan Hollinghurst: The Sparsholt Affair, p.438 |
The sergeant, a tall sinewy machine, had been trained to such a pitch of frightfulness that at a moment’s warning he could divest himself of all semblance of humanity |
Siegfried Sassoon: Complete Memoirs of George Sherston, p.289 |
The clogging monotony of life in the line |
Siegfried Sassoon: Complete Memoirs of George Sherston, p.309 |
Leake and I meandered along the empty street, accompanied by our tipsy shadows |
Siegfried Sassoon: Complete Memoirs of George Sherston, p.415 |
The limitless prairies of my ignorance |
Siegfried Sassoon: Complete Memoirs of George Sherston, p.489 |
The creeping glacier of worry |
Richard Flanagan: First Person, p. 67 |
The solicitor’s dank dun-coloured room, grimed with greed |
Richard Flanagan: First Person, p. 169 |
Fondness seems a rather pastel version of love |
Virginia Lloyd: Girls at the Piano, p. 26 |
The rhythmic collapse of the waves |
Amy Witting: A Change in the Lighting, p.80 |
The harsh, virtuous smell of cleaning powder |
Amy Witting: A Change in the Lighting, p.137 |
Her mother’s quick foreboding tread |
Amy Witting: I for Isobel, p.12 |
Boredom roosting on their shoulders |
Amy Witting: I for Isobel, p.93 |
These are great Jenny. Makes me wonder why I bother! 😉
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Of course you must ‘bother’, Helen!
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I love these too, Jennifer. Siegfried Sassoon is terrific, isn’t he?
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Yes Margaret. He uses a fictitious name, but it’s really memoir, I think.
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