Suzy Davies Quotes

She hands me an ornament of The Virgin Mary. "Pray to the Holy Mary, Mother of God!" I notice she has a gold chain round her neck. It has the holy cross and a shamrock

The sea is rushing in now as unconsciousness does.I can see a chord, hear gospel songs as we hoist the sails.The sails are a soft white bird. We are airborne. We are primitive.

So little Moon Pig put her snout into the soft dandelion head, which was round, and glowing, just like the moon. She blew and blew...

A happy childhood can fortify one against the ravages of life, and part of that happiness is found in books, which become our constant companions for the rest of our lives.

Libraries are like caves. They are places of transformation. There are secrets hidden within those walls.

It's great to know that others can feel shy like me, too," smiled Luna, "and that I can make them laugh with my funny Moon Crater Face

Creativity is a flame that lights up and ignites the senses

On his departure, he glanced swiftly back as he passed the furtive gaze of the gloved footmen.He was swept away in the momentum of shimmering glass....I had seen how the world turned, and I was beginning to feel my own power

The Girl in the Red Cape: A Mystical Sled Ride"

Knik to Willow, the race is on,
across the Tundra, miles from home,
Girl in Red flies through the snow,
shimmering dreams of ice-rainbows.
Sinuous bodies seem to fly
like a wolf-pack going by!
How they thunder as they run
steaming fur, in icy sun.

Copyright Suzy Davies, "The Girl In the Red Cape," Coming Soon to Amazon


Fairy Tales, Retellings, Fiction, Fantasy, JuvenileFiction, Retellings, Suzy Davies, Michele Bourke, Inspirational.

It is winter, and very cold. There are icicles against the glass, and frost. I am tracing a pattern, before it melts. Before it fades, and is lost for good, like memories

Frog Princess loved the lilly flowers
where Green Frog lay dreaming away the hours

Well, I'll tell yer now, it's going t' be even better for talkin' t' me! Get your arse down tut station. I'd gor meself, but I'm sending you as a proxy. Sort it out at Oxford Street for me, will yer, eh?They're not doin' the bloody figures, an' I for one want to know what the eck's goin' on! You'll be writin' me a full report. And if they're pissing about, sack 'em, right? Get your arse on the next bloody train, eh! I want you there as soon as possible. Get yourself checked in tut hotel when you get there. You can phone that man, Bart is it, whatsisname, and let 'im knor, eh?.....What d'yer say? You'll do it for me? Grand! Get your arse down that station, now! The phone clicked off

Her grandmother had told her that Moonwishes were magic

The undercarraige kissed the snowy earth. Shadowy snow scenes, with frosted trees that shivered, flashed past the side windows. Powedery snow floated on the air. They glided to a standstill. The bird had landed

Nestled in the cabbage leaves,
bunny's snuggly and sound asleep

Music teaches us about lyricism in writing, a delicate turn of phrase, selectiveness with words, rhythmic passages. Most of all, music, like good writing, touches our emotions with cadences that slip in like a subtle visitor, familiar and known before.

The piper never knew we were watchers.....Sounds echoed - sounds of a Scottish love song. They echoed through the silence, soft and melancholy, as he kept time with his foot, and the metal of the bagpipes glinted, through faint moonshine, and lifting fog

The landscape is bathed in the honeyed light of morning. Sometimes the memory of winter comes again. And my days are colored reveries of you, my nights sensuous

Stella knew that no matter how far a person traveled, there would always be places that held undiscovered treasure; the secrets of people and their hearts

Books are a portable kind of time travel. We go back as well as forward when we read them. When we come back into the now, after being immersed in worlds previously unknown to us, we find ourselves, transformed. Touched by their magic, nothing we ever perceived beforehand remains quite the same.

I don't like books which give me the answers. I love books that give me the questions

I was climbing high, high up Pen Dinas Head among the sparkling yellow gorse, sea birds and white heather, with the oily sheep huddled together against the wind

Mommy says, "Bedtime for You!"
So Owl says a friendly "Hoo!

Luna drifted off to sleep, hearing Ms Cardinal's song in the distance. Her eyelashes fluttered, and her body made little movements. She was dreaming of Maria cuddling her lovingly. What a happy dream that was!

It was back home that The Northern Lights cast these wondrous rainbows in the snow, and where Snugs used to play tag with the huge curtain of shining light that ran, even faster than the wind, across the vast snow-covered landscape.

Each evening the night swallowed the sun and gave the raven the sun's energy. He stored this power in his wings, tinged with the blue of Alaskan skies.

Can we go to Alum Bay, please?" Snugs asked the moose, his little nose twitching with excitement, and his voice a little faster than usual because he couldn't wait

This cape had become Stella. Bold, Bright, Daring, Red! It was a girl in a story-book. Stella was a star on the red carpet, in Hollywood. What a bright smile she had! That photograph! That trophy! And that red hair that flowed like a mane in the wind!

How tranquil it was, wading ankle-deep in flowers, pink snow, cascading, tumbling down, tingeing the earthen pathways

I want to sling a stone, a small rock into a pool, see it ripple. I want to shake a tree, create a small storm..

Writing "Snugs the Snow Bear" was an exhilerating walk on a beach - I stopped now and then to study the rock pools, put my hand to my forehead, to gaze over the vast ocean, and the tide danced; played music at my feet, turned over precious shells and stones, returned them to me, polished. I picked one, held it to my ear. The tide rushed in, ran over my naked feet, and I was home.

There is wisdom to be found in fairytales, a deeper meaning in the magic of their worlds

The sun came out, warm on my back through my white school blouse.the streets were familiar, past the old tannery, the Jet garage. Past the Asian corner shop with rainbow jars of Kayli, gobstoppers and sherbert love hearts. I was in love with Frankie.

When first I set eyes on The Isle of Wight Polar Bear, my world was filled, in that instant, with the magic and wonder of childhood - Suzy Davies, Author, "Snugs The Snow Bear

Our lives are woven together like these threads yet the beauty is fragile.

What's in a fairytale? Shadows and light, good and true, vile and ugly, frightening and comforting, heroes and heroines who know that belief in their own magic spurs them on. It is their own faith and courage as they reach for an unwritten Destiny that grants their deepest hopes and makes dreams, as if by magic, come true.

If you want to know what makes you happy, imagine your very last day on this earth. Think about who you would wish to spend it with, where you might be and what you might be doing. For me, I would wish to spend it with the ones I love, somewhere not far from Nature, by the ocean, or maybe in a vibrant city, in a street with sights and sounds of people. Perhaps there's a vista of a fountain or a river... and watching the world go by, I'd be writing, completing the last chapter to a final book ...

Snow always takes me back to places of my childhood. I think it's because it makes everything look so bright, new and sparkling. It creates an atmosphere of excitement and wonder.

How insightful of Finland to devise a topic-based curriculum in their schools! This means that dicreet "subjects" that are taught may cross-fertilise each other, and the possibilities in this are amazing!

The song was a sea-shanty, and Snugs loved that kind of song. The music had an accordion, and the tune reminded him of the ship, and the songs Captain LightOwler played, when he was off duty, about pirates and the baddies on the sea.

Reading an author's Biography contributes to an understanding and enjoyment of their work, and gives a richness to the reading experience.

Poems are the music of our childhoods

Foamy and frothy,
ribbons white,
reflecting soft sunbeams
to our delight,
foaming in crests,
rippling warm sands,
tracing their patterns
on the dry land.
From The poem, " Seashore

It was high tide, and the sound of the waves
coming in sounded like the breath of an enormous dinosaur.
Round the lighthouse, on the opposite side to Snugs' room, Mr andMrs Merryweather put down the blinds, and blew out the candle. They
were very tired, and tomorrow was Christmas Eve on The Isle of Wight.

He was just about to turn the light off, when there was a heavy, "Tappety, tap, tappety, tap," on the door. It was the kind of loud sound that could only be made with a hoof. A moose's hoof, that is.

The joy of reading is in discovery; a good writer creates, "gaps, spaces, and absences," in a richly layered text. He/she creates a desire in the reader to strive for meaning. Paradoxically, the writer guides the reader, but allows them some flexibility to recreate the text, thereby putting their own unique interpretation on what they have read.

Good writers always have a strong sense of who they are and who they are not. Like actors, their boundaries are strong, and fluid. They have a deep understanding of the human condition, and an empathy that is not so diffuse that it is diluted.

So Big Bear dined with the Princess,
"Did you see him? You'd never have guessed!"
His party hat was like her crown,
and they talked until the sun went down.
From the winter poem, The Fairytale Princess

Sir, I've known him ever since he was born! We've played snowball, and built snow-houses together, which are called igloos, and once, when one of Santa's reindeer was sick on Christmas Eve, Snow Bear stepped in to help with the presents, and load them on the sleigh - he's very kind, and clever, and strong, you know.

Dreams, kindled in the fire of imagination,
ignite in the brilliance of our minds,
and are wrought in the work of our hands" -

I thought I would write a love letter. But then, I wrote a book." - Suzy Davies, on "Johari's Window

They must be looking everywhere for you," said Tawny, stretching out her wings to their full span - which was very far indeed!
It seemed to Luna that Tawny was saying that Maria was looking for her across the whole wide world.
"Luna The Moon Pig, The Pig Who Hid

The trees are bedecked with snow, the air is perfumed; how sweet, how dark the sultry fragrance. Forever hypnotising, always haunting. I want to inhale the fragrance of your skin, drink from your open mouth.

Whose ideas breathe through me? Am I a thief? Do I dream my own dreams?