Margaret Leigh
@rogue_star
@rogue_star
Sutty and I were two different kinds of bad cop. Our being partnered together was a sort of punishment for us both, and we each tried to make things as difficult as possible for the other. It was the only thing we had in common.
There was no lull from news bulletins coming through the radio; the French stations told how the English people were digging trenches in Hyde Park, and the English stations told how the French were calm and ready for anything.
In Shakespeare’s England, the Vikings were taken up as violent catalysts in the early story of the kingdom’s greatness. Rediscovered during the Enlightenment as a sort of ‘noble savage’, the figure of the Viking was enthusiastically adopted by the nationalist Romantics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Searching for their own emerging ide
... See more—Think about something you would like to share in a speech that is special to you or makes you feel vulnerable. Do you have an insecurity that you have improved upon? What is the problem you have overcome? What’s the life challenge that other people struggle with that you have also struggled with? Make a list of ten ideas. Keep them to yourself for
... See moreAnd so before the summer was over, we gave up. The kids were too busy indulging their new selves and quit playing make-believe out in the woods. And Gretchen and I were lost in our private worlds of self-disgust and conjugal disharmony. By Christmas we’d forgotten about the portal, and the clearing began to fill in. We did what people do: we heaved
... See moreHanslip’s weakness was a somewhat ostentatious self-presentation. He affected an old-fashioned style, and had had his metabolism tweaked so that he stabilised at about ten per cent overweight: enough to give him a more solid look without requiring frequent adjustments to the heart.
clockwise is only clockwise because that is the direction of time, of a shadow, on a sundial in the northern hemisphere.
When properly recited in appropriate surroundings, Viking-Age poetry can taste like cold iron on the tongue, its complex rhyme schemes building upon one another like layers of frost—treacherous but beautiful.