Quotes from Jacqueline Winspear

has wounded me. Maisie knew the abyss; she knew what it was

There's only one thing left to do. St. Paul's on Old Year's Night. For Auld Lang Syne, my dears. For old time's sake.

Thank you." She began to butter the bread, placed a sliver of cheese on top, and continued. "Apparently he referred to himself as a 'foundling.' The term is a bit old-fashioned, and was enough to pique my interest. I remembered the Foundling Hospital, the one built by Thomas Coram in the 1700s. It only moved out of London about four or five years ago, and now it's in Redhill.

May I know what it is to feel the weight on another's shoulders.

resembled photographs she had seen of Rudyard Kipling, when the newspapers published photographs of the author and his wife visiting the battlefields of northern France in search of their only son's final resting place.

Think of a dead body as if you are viewing a set of clothing, Maisie—but consider it as the attire the soul has worn for many a year.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: "A man can stand anything, except a succession of ordinary days.

And unless you show that you are as good at everything as they are, you find that you spend virtually all your time running behind them screaming like a banshee, 'Me too, me too!

The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it. —ALBERT EINSTEIN

it began as springs arising from an aquifer at Thames Head in the Cotswolds, and it was only when the German George I—the first Hanoverian monarch in Britain—acceded to the throne and could not pronounce "th" that the name of the river might as well have been spelled "Tems.

I am going to talk to you three times a week from a country that is fighting for its life. Inevitably I'm going to get called by that terrifying word "propagandist." But of course I'm a propagandist. Passionately I want my ideas—our ideas—of freedom and justice to survive. Vernon Bartlett, May 28, 1940, during the inaugural broadcast of the British Broadcasting Corporation's North American Service

The act of writing a novel is generally thought to be a solitary journey from that first awe-inspiring blank page to the end. However, the fact that most authors offer acknowledgments speaks to the presence of a team in the background, offering advice, support, information, a shoulder to cry on, or someone to share a laugh with.

Least I feel as if I'm doing something. Making shells, like. Least I'm not just sitting on my bum while them boys get shot to bits over there.

She had learned, long ago and in the intervening years when she was apart from all she loved, that to endure the most troubling times she had to break down time itself--one carefully crafted stitch after the other. If consideration of what the next hour might hold had been too difficult, then she thought only of another half and hour.

Wolfgang von Goethe: "A man can stand anything, except a succession of ordinary days.

She understood loss, understood how it could leach into every fiber of one's being; how it could dull the shine on a sunny day, and how it could replace happiness with doubt, giving rise to a lingering fear that good fortune might be snatched back at any time.

Then as each month, each year passed, it was as if the memory of you - of us… the explosion - were encased in a fine tissue-paper.' … 'I felt as if I were looking through a window to my own past, and instead of being transparent, my view was becoming more and more opaque, until eventually the time had passed. The time for coming to see you had passed.

There's some people who seem to be dealt the wrong hand, and it's just one thing after another.

Truth walks towards us on the paths of our questions.

Hartnell's appearance at this time will indubitably require you to address…a conflict, perhaps? It is a rhetorical question. Consider your discomfort and welcome it as the ache necessary for you to become more deeply attuned.

If you can find your North Star," he'd say, "you can find your whole universe.

there's more crooks over there in Westminster than there are lurking down the Mile End Road—

Sometimes I feel as if, when you throw that big clod of earth onto the coffin, you're not just startin' to fill the 'ole in the ground but the big gapin' one that's been blown in your life.

Do your work with a light step. Run your fingers across the weaving of knowledge you've gathered. Then you will be successful.