- naumkina14has quoted2 years ago
It was him and it wasn’t him - naumkina14has quoted2 years agoDid you ever hear tell of the writer Lynn C. Doyle?’ She shook her head. ‘Well that’s not his real name. It’s a pen name. A joke name. Because it sounds the same as linseed oil. They’re homo-phones. Homo – same, phono – sound.’
‘What?’
‘Things that sound the same. Lynn C. Doyle and linseed oil. Get it?’
She nodded to please him. If he were here now she would say to him Bartók and bar talk. But he was dead, lying in the other room and would never chuckle at her discovery. - naumkina14has quoted2 years agoLocked in the safe. In isolation.
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoDo you compose the music or does the music compose you? Where are the notes between the notes? Graces, grace notes or, as the French would have it, agréments.
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoNeglect your art for one day and it will neglect you for three
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoEach day she didn’t work drove her deeper into panic.
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoCatherine could only manage two drinks. She hated the feeling of being out of control. Or throwing up.
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoI love somebody working with my hair. I could stay here all night.’
- naumkina14has quoted2 years ago, as one of her tutors had once said, architecture was frozen music then she dreaded to think what kind of music this was.
- naumkina14has quoted2 years agoShe hated sticky fingers at any time
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