Mary Ann Shaffer Quotes

And down the street―I'm not averting my eyes now―a man in a patched jumper is painting the door to his house sky blue. Two small boys, who have been walloping one another with sticks, are begging him to let them help. He is giving them a tiny brush apiece. So―perhaps there is an end to war.

As to that Sidney, he sounds a very fine man - but bossy. It's a failing common in men.

My neighbour Evangeline Smythe is going to have twins in June. She is none too happy about it, so I am going to ask her to give one of them to me

I have gone to [this bookshop] for years, always finding the one book I wanted - and then three more I hadn't known I wanted.

It's a real lightning bolt, this Science of Phrenology. I've found out more in the last three days than I knew in my whole life before. Mrs. Guilbert has always been a nasty one, but now I know that she can't help it - she's got a big pit in her Benevolence spot. She fell in the quarry when she was a girl, and my guess is she cracked her Benevolence and was never the same since.

It's called 'The Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892-1935'. They let a man named Yeats make the choosings. They shouldn't have. Who is he - and what does he know about verse?
I hunted through that book for poems by Wilfred Owen or Siegfried Sassoon. There weren't any - not one. And do you know why not? Because Mr Yeats said - he said, "I deliberately chose NOT to include any poems from World War I. I have a distaste for them. Passive suffering is not a theme for poetry.

All I could do was scream, "How dare you! What have you DONE?! Put my books back!

Men are more interesting in books than they are in real life.

I love seeing the bookshops and meeting the booksellers
booksellers really are a special breed. No one in their right mind would take up clerking in a bookstore for the salary, and no one in his right mind would want to own one
the margin of profit is too small. So, it has to be a love of readers and reading that makes them do it
along with first dibs on the new books.

Life goes on. What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on.

On the page, I'm perfectly charming, but that's just a trick I learned. It has nothing to do with me.

I myself have never had one, but now I can picture one. I didn't like Wuthering Heights at first, but the minute that specter, Cathy, scrabbled her bony fingers on the window glass - I was grasped by the throat and not let go. With that Emily I could hear Heathcliff's pitiful cries upon the moors.

One year as his wife, and id have become one of those abject, quaking women who look at their husbands when someone asks them a question. I've always despised that type, but I see how it happens now

She was showing me her treasures, Sophie
her eyes did not leave my face once. We were both so solemn, and I, for once, didn't start crying; I just held out my arms. She climbed right into them and under the covers with me
and went sound asleep.

Does it even give thee pause, that men used to have a soul
not by hearsay alone, or as a figure of speech; but as a truth
that they knew, and acted upon! Verily it was another world
then ... but yet it is a pity we have lost the tidings of our
souls ... we shall have to go in search of them again, or worse
in all ways shall befall us.
Thomas Carlyle

I never met a man half so true as a dog. Treat a dog right, and he'll treat you right. He'll keep you company, be your friend, and never ask you no questions. Cats is different, but I never held that against 'em.

I could tell you more about reading and how it perked up our spirits while the Germans were here.

Now, about Markham V. Reynolds (Junior). Your questions regarding that gentleman are very delicate, very subtle, very much like being smacked in the head with a mallet. Am I in love with him? What kind of a question is that? It's a tuba among the flutes, and I expect better of you. The first rule of snooping is to come at it sideways - when you began writing me dizzy letters about Alexander, I didn't ask if you were in love with him, I asked what his favorite animal was. And your answer told me everything I needed to know about him - how many men would admit that they loved ducks? (This brings up an important point: I don't know what Mark's favorite animal is. I doubt it's a duck.)

I did not throw 'The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation' at the audience. I threw it at the elocution mistress. I meant to cast it at her feet, but I missed.

Perhaps there is some secret sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect readers. How delightful if that were true.

He had no imagination either-fatal for one engaged in child-rearing

It was not a windy day, my hair always looks like that.

What a blight that woman is. Do you happen to know why? I lean toward a malignant fairy at her christening.

All his flowers have been awaiting me on my arrival. I don't know whether to feel flattered or hunted.

Then i imagined a lifetime of having to cry to get him to be kind, and I went back to no again.

I think you learn more if you're laughing at the same time.

Is better to know the truth that live in uncertainty.

Oh bless Speranza, for giving her son such a preposterous name as Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde.

Thousands of those men and boys died here, and I have recently learned that their inhuman treatment was the intended policy of Himmler. He called his plan Death by Exhaustion, and he implemented it. Work them hard, don't waste valuable foodstuffs on them, and let them die. They could, and would, always be replaced by new slave workers from Europe's Occupied countries.

Isola doesn't approve of small talk and believes in breaking the ice by stomping on it.

My worries travel around in my head on their well worn path

I believe I am becoming pathetic. I'll go further, I believe that I am in love with a flower-growing, wood-carving quarryman/carpenter/pig farmer. In fact, I know I am. Perhaps tomorrow I will become entirely miserable at the thought that he doesn't love me back - may, even, care for Remy- but at this precise moment I am succumbing to euphoria. My head and stomach feel quite odd.

Never met a man half so true as a dog. Treat a dog right and he'll treat you right - he'll keep you company, be your friend, never ask you no questions. Cats is different, but I never held that against them.

My friend Mrs. Maugery bought a pamphlet that once belonged to you, too. It is called 'Was There a Burning Bush? A Defense of Moses and the Ten Commandments'. She liked your margin note, "Word of God or crowd control???" Did you ever decide which?

Night-time train travel is wonderful again! No standing in the corridors for hours, no being shunted off for a troop train to pass, and above all, no black-out curtains. All the windows we passed were lighted, and I could snoop once more. I missed it so terribly during the war. I felt as if we had all turned into moles scuttling along in our separate tunnels. I don't consider myself a real peeper-they go in for bedrooms, but it's families in sitting rooms or kitchens that thrill me. I can imagine their entire lives from a glimpse of bookshelves, or desks, or lit candles, or bright sofa cushions.

I did not want to spend my time reading about people who never were, doing things they never did.

Have you noticed there are some people
Americans especially
who seem untouched by the war, or at least, unmangled by it? I don't mean to imply that Mark was a shirker
he was in their Air Corps
but he's simply not sunk under it. And when I'm with him, I feel untouched by the war, too. It's an illusion, I know it is, and truthfully, I'd be ashamed of myself if the war hadn't touched me. But it's forgivable to enjoy myself a little
isn't it?

Grandpa, that's something I never am." I asked him, "What's that?" And he said, "Lonesome in my spirits." Eli to Eben

Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.

Moses: God or crowd control?!?

Yesterday, Amelia and Kit came over for supper, and we took a blanket down to the beach afterward to watch the moon rise. Kit loves to do that, but she always falls asleep before it is fully rise, and I carry her home to Amelia's house. She is certain she'll be able to stay awake all night as soon as she's five.

Will Thisbee gave me The Beginner's Cook-Book for Girl Guides. It was just the thing; the writer assumes you know nothing about cookery and writes useful hints - When adding eggs, break the shells first.

Treat a dog right and he'll treat you right ... Cats is different, but I never held it against them.

You can purchase my silence with torrid details, you know.

There was Isola in a mad hat and a purple shawl pinned with a glittering brooch. She was smiling fixedly in the wrong direction and I loved her instantly.

The old adage--humor is the best way to make the unbearable bearable--may be true.

Remy watched the sea breathe in and out. Then she said, "It would have been better for her not to have such a heart." Yes, but worse for the rest of us.

When I got up this morning the sea was full of sun pennies - and now it all seems to be covered in lemon scrim. Writers ought to live far inland or next to the city dump, if they are ever to get any work one. Or perhaps they need to be stronger-minded than I am.

It was so kind of you to write to me about your experiences during the Occupation. At the war's end, I, too, promised myself that I had done with talking about it. I had talked and lived war for six years, and I was longing to pay attention to something - anything - else. But that is like wishing I were someone else. The war is now the story of our lives, and there's no subtracting it.

Then Susan suggested a new dress. I reminded her that the Queen was very happy wearing her 1939 wardrobe, so why shouldn't I be? She said the Queen doesn't need to impress strangers - but I do. I felt like a traitor to crown and country; now decent woman has new clothes - but I forgot that the moment I saw myself in the mirror.

i have siezed the day, and the night too. -Juliet-

Do you arrange your books alphabetically? (I hope not.)

He's always had more than his fair share of what we call cheek and what Americans call can-do spirit.

If there is Predestination, then God is the devil.

People don't know how chickens can turn on you, but they can
just like mad dogs.

I, too, have felt that the war goes on and on. When my son, Ian, died at El Alamein
side by side with ... visitors offering their condolences, thinking to comfort me, said, "Life goes on." What nonsense, I thought, of course it doesn't. It's death that goes on; Ian is dead now and will be dead tomorrow and nexe year and forever. There's no end to that. But perhaps there will be an end to the sorrow of it.

I much prefer whining to counting my blessings.

My grandson Eli was evacuated to England when he was seven. He is home now - twelve years old, and tall - but I will never forgive the Germans for making me miss his childhood.

Redd up the ship!

She is one of those ladies who is more beautiful at sixty than she could possibly have been at twenty. (how I hope someone says that about me someday)!

Your questions regarding that gentleman are very delicate, very subtle, very much like being smacked in the head with a mallet ... it's a tuba among the flutes.

Do you suppose the St. Swithin's furnace-man was my one true love? Since I never spoke to him, it seems unlikely, but at least it was a passion unscathed by disappointment.

I am no proof against compliments, especially compliments about my writing. I'll be delighted to dine with you.

My worries travel about my head on their well-worn path, and it is a relief to put them on paper.

In a good mood I call my hair Chestnut with Gold Glints. In a bad mood, I call it mousy brown

I tried to protest, but Sam turned his back

The crematorium could not burn the bodies fast enough - so after we dug long trenches, we pulled and dragged the bodies to the edges and threw them in. You'll not believe it, but the SS forced the prisoners' band to play music as we lugged the corpses - and for that, I hope they burn in hell with polkas blaring.

I never met a man half so true as a dog.

Juliet, none of your margin notes! Sophie, dear, don't let her drink coffee while she reads. And off we'd go with new books to read.

I suppose I do have a suitor, but I'm not really used to him yet. He's terribly charming and he plies me with delicious meals, but I sometimes think I prefer suitors in books rather than right in front of me.

Not even the Germans could ruin the sea.

Have you ever noticed that when your mind is awakened or drawn to someone new, that person's name suddenly pops up everywhere you go? My friend Sophie calls it coincidence, and Mr. Simpless, my parson friend, calls it Grace. He thinks that if one cares deeply about someone or something new one throws a kind of energy out into the world, and "fruitfulness" is drawn in.

I thought I was in love (that's the pathetic part - my idea of being in love).

Oh dear, I want to nuzzle into my sofa, but I have to get up and put on an evening dress.

After all, what's good enough for Austen ought to be good enough for anyone.

He is so shy, Juliet. He always has been-I don't think anybody's ever been in love with him, or him with anybody before, so he'd not know the right thing to do about it. It'd be just like him to hide away mementos and never say a word. I despair for him, I do.

Reading keeps you from going ga-ga.

I don't want to be married just to be married. I can't think of anything lonelier than spending the rest of my life with someone I can't talk to, or worse, someone I can't be silent with.

I miss the feeling that we understood one another, but I begin to think that was only my delusion all along.

I have a tiny infant of an idea, much too frail and defenseless to risk describing, even to you ... I am going to coddle it and feed it and see if I can make it grow.

He's got that way of believing his opinion is the truth, but he's not disagreeable about it. He's too sure he's right to bother being disagreeable.

I've read fast - too impatient not to. But I'll go back and start over again - reading more slowly this time, so I can take everything in.

Miss X has always been a ditherer
she was a ten month baby and has not improved in any material way since then.

All piety and no sense...

His writings have made me his friend.

He didn't say much at our first meeting - nor at any of our meetings since, come to think of it - but left him into a room, and everyone in it seems to breathe a sigh of relief. I have never in my life had that effect on anyone; I can't imagine why not.

I should pity you, did I not know, that the Mind will make friends of any thing. A Mind that can make friends of any thing - I thought of that often during the war.

Women like poetry. A soft word in their ears and they melt - a grease spot on the grass.

This profusion of questions, exclamations, and tales is the new version of the Society. Its members are spread all over the world, but they are joined by their love of books, of talking about books, and of their fellow readers. We are transformed each time we pass a book along, each time we ask a question about it.