“The next best thing to talking to her is talking about her.”
Graham Greene book The End of the Affair
Source: The End of the Affair
Source: Awakening
“The next best thing to talking to her is talking about her.”
Graham Greene book The End of the Affair
Source: The End of the Affair
“I tried to talk to Annabeth, but she was acting like I'd just punched her grandmother.”
Rick Riordan book The Battle of the Labyrinth
Source: The Battle of the Labyrinth
Stevie Nicks (1948) American singer and songwriter, member of Fleetwood Mac
(on asking Christine McVie to return in 2013) Caspar Llewellyn Smith, "Stevie Nicks: the return of Fleetwood Mac", http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2013/jan/12/stevie-nicks-return-of-fleetwood-mac?intcmp=ILCMUSTXT9383 The Guardian, 12 January 2013
Garth Nix (1963) Australian fantasy writer
Source: The Keys to the Kingdom series, Superior Saturday (2008), p. 78.
Tariq Aziz (1936–2015) Iraqi Foreign Minister under Saddam Hussein
Daughter of Tariq Aziz, Zenaib Aziz, referring to death of Tariq Aziz... mentioned on BBC News (June 5, 2015), "Tariq Aziz, ex-Saddam Hussein aide, dies after heart attack" http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-33021771 <br class="br">About
Adrienne Kennedy (1931) African-American playwright
On how her mother’s influence appears in her works in “Adrienne Kennedy by Suzan-Lori Parks” https://bombmagazine.org/articles/adrienne-kennedy/ in BOMB Magazine (1996 Jan 1)
“There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.”
Mary E. Pearson book The Adoration of Jenna Fox
Source: The Adoration of Jenna Fox
Sue Grafton (1940–2017) American writer
On why Kinsey Millhone, the private-investigator heroine of her popular series of mystery novels, will never have a cat.
New York Times, p. C10 (August 4, 1994)
Jerome K. Jerome book Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow
Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow (1886)
Context: And who would not risk its terrors to gain its raptures? Ah, what raptures they were! The mere recollection thrills you. How delicious it was to tell her that you loved her, that you lived for her, that you would die for her! How you did rave, to be sure, what floods of extravagant nonsense you poured forth, and oh, how cruel it was of her to pretend not to believe you! In what awe you stood of her! How miserable you were when you had offended her! And yet, how pleasant to be bullied by her and to sue for pardon without having the slightest notion of what your fault was! How dark the world was when she snubbed you, as she often did, the little rogue, just to see you look wretched; how sunny when she smiled! How jealous you were of every one about her! How you hated every man she shook hands with, every woman she kissed—the maid that did her hair, the boy that cleaned her shoes, the dog she nursed—though you had to be respectful to the last-named! How you looked forward to seeing her, how stupid you were when you did see her, staring at her without saying a word! How impossible it was for you to go out at any time of the day or night without finding yourself eventually opposite her windows!