And the sculptor woman was so clever in the way she did it. She had the beret just about to leave my hand. So it&#39;s attached to this finger and that&#39;s what will keep it there. And I&#39;m looking up at it, so there&#39;s no question but that that beret is going to fly.

Something was jigging and worrying in his brain; it felt like a hive of bees, stirred up by a stick.

The sort of poetry I seek resides in objects man can&#39;t touch.

She didn't like to be read so easily but she couldn't help respecting someone who could.

Written By Nora Roberts

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links