Mary Fowler Quotes

Mary had typed one line to finish her dissertation – ‘So a life’s work was finally complete’. As an afterthought she had written in pencil, probably after her dissertation had been assessed: ‘What was the red stone that Samuel Fowler disposed of?

Mary was the wife of Fowler Greenhill, M.D., of Fort Beulah, a gay and hustling medico, a choleric and red-headed young man, who was a wonder-worker in typhoid, acute appendicitis, obstetrics, compound fractures, and diets for anemic children.

No cabía la menor duda. Cerró los ojos y lo absorbió por completo. El sonido cesó de pronto. —Vamos —murmuró a media voz—. Esto no es el fin. El fin llegó luego con absoluta nitidez, como un arrullo entre dos ráfagas de lluvia. Mary Postgate soltó de golpe el aire entre los dientes y se estremeció de la cabeza a los pies. Eso es —asintió con satisfacción, y volvió a la casa, poniendo patas arriba la rutina doméstica al darse el lujo de tomar un baño caliente antes del té, y después bajó con un aspecto que, al verla relajadamente tendida en el otro sofá, la señorita Fowler calificó de «¡muy atractivo!».

I made tiny newspapers of ant events, stamp-sized papers at first, then a bit bigger, too big for ants, it distressed me, but I couldn’t fit the stories otherwise and I wanted real stories, not just lines of something that looked like writing. Anyway, imagine how small an ant paper would really be. Even a stamp would have looked like a basketball court. I imagine political upheavals, plots and coups d e’tat, and I reported on them. I think I may have been reading a biography of Mary Queen of Scots at the time…. Anyway, there was this short news day for the ants. I’d run out of political plots, or I was bored with them. So I got a glass of water and I created a flood. The ants scrambled for safety, swimming for their lives. I was kind of ashamed, but it made for good copy. I told myself I was bringing excitement into their usual humdrum. The next day, I dropped a rock on them. It was a meteorite from outer space. They gathered around it and ran up and over it; obviously they didn’t know what to do. It prompted three letters to the editor.

Alexander McCall Smith, Janet Evanovich, John Grisham, Mary Higgins Clark, Robert Crais, C. J. Box, Diane Mott Davidson, James Lee Burke, and Laura Lippman, but there were also fresh names, wonderful writers all, Mary Saums, Dorothy Howell, David Fuller, Charles Finch, Megan Abbott, Christopher Fowler, Patricia Briggs, Deanna Raybourn, and Donis Casey.

What was up I didn’t know. But the morning of Carnival, when I was lighting those candles, these two mockingbirds, you see, they flew from the skies, rested on my porch, watched my hands they did. I looked at their bodies. So pretty, shaped like swollen arrows. To them I said, “Welcome.” Who these birds were, I did not know. But mockingbirds don’t fly up every day and watch me light candles, no. So I said to myself, Soliel Marie, something could be up. A breeze blew through. I sucked in as much of the clear wind as I could. I wanted it to sit in my body. Swirl through, find my heart and my bone, I told the breeze. The two mockingbirds right then, lifted wings through the air, them. Then I knew. I opened my mouth so the breeze could leave. Believe me, yes, I felt the sign was definite. Change was coming.