Traylor Quotes & Sayings

Ever since Romanticism, an oppositional mode, artists have the right, and indeed the duty, to attack social convention. But it is ridiculous and in fact self-infantilizing for them to expect to be financially supported by the general public whom they are insulting. — Camille Paglia

I'd have no option than to charge your mother with murder. — S.A. David

In college, I majored - I can't believe there is such a thing - in advertising. And I worked in advertising and PR for a while, and I liked it. — Traylor Howard

When the smell of her perfume, something that reminded him of faint spicy blossoms and spring, wasn't wreathed in a cloud around him.
Maybe it was magic. Was she one of the creatures from the many Scottish tales his nurse had told him as a child? — Karen Ranney

I will not be spoken to in that tone," she said to her mother.
Enid's mouth gaped open. For only a moment, however, until she began to protest.
"You've gotten snippy since your marriage, haven't you? I'll not take that behavior from you, child. Your sister would never have disrespected me in such a fashion."
"Enough!" Ellice held up her hand, her gaze never once leaving her mother.
"When have you ever respected me, Mother? I'm only a poor substitute for Eudora." She took a deep breath. "I'm not Eudora," she said. "I'm not your beloved daughter who died. I'm the one who lived. I'm tired of hearing about what my sister did or would have done. I suspect that Eudora would have silenced you long before now."
She grabbed her skirts and walked around her mother, heading for the kitchen. At the door, she stopped and turned.
"Must I die before you begin to value me as well? — Karen Ranney

She'd dreamed of him. Her imagination, unfettered in her sleep, had featured him. He'd been gloriously naked and her hands had explored the whole of him, delighted to discover that the handsome man was even more magnificent without clothes.
Drumvagen might be set into the Scottish wilderness, but what furnished her with a great deal of knowledge she otherwise might not have had. She listened to the maids discussing their love lives with a frankness they never would have had they known she was eavesdropping. Then, there was the sight of the handsome Scots lads bathing in the sea.
The books she read from Mairi's library had strengthened her imagination, adding details otherwise missing from her personal experience. — Karen Ranney

She laughed. He was right. Her laughter was enchanting. So, too, the sparkle in her eyes as she glanced at him. He'd never seen eyes as darkly brown as hers. With her dark hair she should have been a study in monochrome, but she wasn't. Her cheeks matched her pink lips. — Karen Ranney

She threw open the window to breathe in the spring air, heavy with the sweet perfume of roses and heather. To her right was the rolling glen beckoning her to come and walk. 'Sit here awhile and dream your thoughts on this flat rock.' How often had she done that? — Karen Ranney

The room smelled of lemon wax and the perfume she wore, something delicate and unassuming, not truly mirroring the complex woman she was. She would wear something hinting of roses, or more exotic blooms, a scent that teased the senses.
She hated the mirrors, so he had them removed. He found another desk in the attics, one more suited for a study, but she'd been overjoyed when first viewing it. There was enough space in the sitting room, and that's where it rested, beneath the window looking out over Huntly's glen.
He wished this view of the lake. She would have liked the sight of the birds soaring over the trees or the pale light of dawn reflected in the water. — Karen Ranney

In poetry we pare down our thoughts into their most graceful shapes, like minimalist sculptures. — Patricia Robin Woodruff

His breath halted as he stared at her. Why hadn't he seen it before? The woman in his carriage, the one who'd emerged from his carriage like a Botticelli Venus, was beautiful.
Not in the way Cassandra had been beautiful, with glittering eyes and full, red lips. Cassandra's blond beauty might have faded in time, become handsomeness instead.
This woman's beauty was simple; well-defined cheekbones, a high forehead, slender nose, and stubborn chin. As the years passed she might grow even more attractive.
He suspected that her laugh would captivate, just as her tears would act like a razor to whomever brought them forth. Her smile had already charmed him, and now her silence incited his curiosity. Not about who she was and why she was here, but about more.
Who was the woman behind the smile? — Karen Ranney

To those who believe the dead do not visit them, I say you have cataracts in your soul. I am a man of science, yet I believe in guardian angels and the haunting by ghosts. — Alyson Richman

Our highest intelligence is deep water flowing into the shallows — Jayne Ryan

If he sacrifices his legs, he will be admitting to Dr. Traylor that he has won; he will be surrendering to him, to that night in the field with the — Hanya Yanagihara

As a kid, I went by Tray. In college, they called me Hitch. And Trash. And Park. All the usuals. — Traylor Howard

The female in his carriage didn't say a word, merely turned and stare at him with doelike brown eyes.
Was she too afraid to speak? — Karen Ranney

One of the challenges Christians confront is how the politics we helped create has made it difficult to sustain the material practices constitutive of an ecclesial culture to produce Christians. — Stanley Hauerwas

Shadowy mystery stalkers? Hidden escape hatches? Creepy subterranean tunnels? My mother tried to get me to take social work for my master's. I told her it was boring. I was so wrong. — Kelley Armstrong

Take no pride in choice alone!" he cried. "It is what you choose that matters! — Ellen Gunderson Traylor

I'm a below-the-radar girl. No one really knows anything about me. — Traylor Howard

The morning sun danced on her hair, transforming the brown to gold and reddish glints. An errant sunbeam angled over her face, dusting her long lashes with light, accentuating the perfection of her nose, her cheekbones, and the beauty of her complexion. — Karen Ranney

Why should she listen to a litany of her flaws when she knew them all so well? She never stood up straight. She always looked down at the ground when she walked. She jutted out her elbows and didn't stand with grace. She never backed up until she felt the chair behind her and then gracefully sank to the cushion like a feather. Instead, she sat like a stone falling to the ground.
When she did laugh, it normally ended in an unladylike snort. She cried much too often when touched by a scene, a flower, a sunset. — Karen Ranney

'Bram and Alice' is the best show I've done so far, and it only aired three times. — Traylor Howard

Howard University holds something called "Heart's Day," an all day ceremony in which a writer is honored. I was the recipient of this honor. It's a wonderful ceremony that Eleanor Traylor chair of English at Howard University organizes for writers. Writers from around the country came to pay tribute to my work. It was very flattering. — Ishmael Reed

What were her abilities? She played the pianoforte passably well even though it didn't interest her. She loved to read and could spend the rest of her life in a library. She'd written a book, and her imagination was such that she could transport herself from the wilds of Scotland to anywhere. — Karen Ranney

He shouldn't be captivated by the sight of a tear caught on her lashes, or her perfect nose, slightly pink. Those lips were even more intriguing, so he made himself look away, staring out at the forest beyond the gazebo.
He glanced down to find Ellice still looking up at him, her eyes liquid pools of chocolate.
Their gaze caught and held, the seconds ticking by in solemn regularity. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. Pulling away would be a difficult task.
He must for his own safety. This woman with her guileless eyes, soft heart, and lurid imagination was a danger. — Karen Ranney

We articulate our fears, like children in the dark, giving them names in order to tame them. — Patricia Duncker