Clara Brown Quotes

There are no English words to describe how one woman walked into that lodge and another walked out. All Clara knew was that it took her back. Back to the birch grove and the angel songs. Back to who she was before Sister Mary, before the school, before they tried to beat her into a little brown white girl. She felt a certainty, from then on, that all the ones who had come before walked with her. Life was no longer just survival. It was about being someone. An Indian someone, with all the truth that was born into her at the moment she was placed in her mother's womb.

Edmund would miss him, if no one else. And there hadn’t been a single brown-haired little girl to play peekaboo with during church or an emerald-eyed beauty to watch from a distance. And he lived for the brief glimpses he had of Clara. Sweet, beautiful, loving Clara.

The visitor had a brown, weatherbeaten face, like a friendly pirate, and piercing eyes twinkling with humour. Over tea, the talk turned at once to distant places, Arabia and Kanchenjunga; atlases were dragged from their shelves and laid open on the floor, and it was as if the world had suddenly opened wide its doors. Later, Daphne explained that Clara Vyvyan had indeed travelled all over the world, mostly alone, with her few worldly possessions in a pack on her back. She had explored the Greek islands, had met with bandits in Montenegro, had crossed Canada to camp out with trappers in Alaska ... but she always came home again to Trelowarren, a beautiful eighteenth-century Gothic-style house close to the River Helford, where her roots lay. These were embedded as deeply in the garden as in the house, for Clara was a passionate gardener, and was often rewarded by the discovery of some particularly rare plant in one of the unlikely places to which her pioneering spirit led her. She wrote excellent books about her travels, which won her a small but faithful public, and which were published by Peter Owen; but, like so many good things, are probably now out of print.

three things were most important in easing life’s final journey. People needed strong relief from physical pain and troublesome symptoms, they needed to preserve their dignity, and they needed help with the psychological and spiritual pain of death.

hospice care? Some of the services are as follows: Home visits by specialty trained hospice nurses and Medical Director Pain management and symptom control Personal hygiene care from certified home health aides All medications related to the terminal diagnosis All specialized therapies required for the terminal diagnosis Psychosocial, spiritual, and grief support services Volunteers as requested

My Keeper's house. Right there. Brown shingles, dark red shutters, yellow-and-black police tape wrapped around the massive tree trunks. The attic window looks out over the yard and the world narrows until that attic window is the only thing I can see.

Clara wore a dress of brown and cream velvet, and her feathered mask, in comparison, made her look like a sparrow

Clara wore a dress of brown and cream velvet, and her feathered mask, in comparison, made her look like a sparrow.

But first a description: Clara Bowden was beautiful in all senses except maybe, by virtue of being black, the classical. Clara Bowden was magnificently tall, black as ebony and crushed sable, with hair plaited in a horseshoe which pointed up when she felt lucky, down when she didn’t. At this moment it was up. It is hard to know whether that was significant. She needed no bra – she was independent, even of gravity – she wore a red halterneck which stopped below her bust, underneath which she wore her belly button (beautifully) and underneath that some very tight yellow jeans. At the end of it all were some strappy heels of a light brown suede, and she came striding down the stairs on them like some kind of vision or, as it seemed to Archie as he turned to observe her, like a reared-up thoroughbred. Now, as Archie understood it, in movies and the like it is common for someone to be so striking that when they walk down the stairs the crowd goes silent. In life he had never seen it. But it happened with Clara Bowden. She walked down the stairs in slow motion, surrounded by afterglow and fuzzy lighting. And not only was she the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, she was also the most comforting woman he had ever met. Her beauty was not a sharp, cold commodity. She smelt musty, womanly, like a bundle of your favorite clothes. Though she was disorganized physically – legs and arms speaking a slightly different dialect from her central nervous system – even her gangly demeanour seemed to Archie exceptionally elegant. She wore her sexuality with an older woman’s ease, and not (as with most of the girls Archie had run with in the past) like an awkward purse, never knowing how to hold it, where to hang it or when to just put it down. ‘Cheer up, bwoy,’ she said in a lilting Caribbean accent that reminded Archie of That Jamaican Cricketer, ‘it might never happen.’ ‘I think it already has.’ Archie, who had just dropped a fag from his mouth which has been burning itself to death anyway, saw Clara quickly tread it underfoot. She gave him a wide grin that revealed possibly her one imperfection. A complete lack of teeth in the top of her mouth. ‘Man…dey get knock out,’ she lisped, seeing his surprise. ‘But I tink to myself: come de end of de world, d’Lord won’t mind if I have no toofs.’ She laughed softly.

I love you, Achilles Odyssey” Deirdre said, and Achilles had never felt more happy. His heart raced, and his palms got sweaty as he looked into those honey-brown eyes and said,“Ah yes, that’s the problem. I can’t love you. I love you more than anything in this world, in this universe. But I’m a God and you’re a human and one day you’ll be gone and I’ll be there and my heart will shatter and I’ll never love someone again. And one day you’ll realize what you’re doing, who you’re dating, what you’re getting yourself into, and you’ll leave, and you’ll love someone else and you’ll tell them you love them just like you told me and I will never, never get over that. I love you, Deirdre Ameyfarm, but I can’t be here anymore. I have to...” His breath caught in his throat as he swallowed a sob. “leave. For good.” [NOTE: this quote is from a prompt: When someone’s heart breaks, so does the rest of our world. This creates valleys, fissures, and cracks in the pavement. What’s the story behind the Grand Canyon?]

Despite his grumbling, Inspector Brown, living up to his title, searched every inch of the Daimler from grill to bumper.

Then everything comes rushing back. The knife in his chest, the bullet in ------'s perfect head. Blood bleeding through ----'s brown-blonde hair. Blood soaking the marble floors. I scream again, my body curling in on itself.