A wonderful look at the many different kinds of love ^___^
Some particularly favourite lines:
Better to celebrate it alive and vibrant, there, with Charmain and Edward, than to waste precious energy dusting tiresome cobwebs off a long ago memory.
There were also things that people called love but were not love at all: the urge to control, the urge to keep, the urge to kill when the object of one’s love didn’t behave in the way desired. Love didn’t strangle. Or poison. There was a lot of foolishness and madness and wickedness in the world and sometimes they were called ‘love.’ But Miss Marple knew the difference.
And if Miss Marple were honest with herself, and, really, why on earth at this age should she not be honest with herself, that thrill was a strong and as intoxicating as falling in love. And, unlike falling in love, it was still there, very much alive in Miss Marple’s heart and mind. It had not faded, not in all of Miss Marple’s years, not with all the problems that had been laid before her; as Shakespeare had once said, age didn’t wither it, not custom stale its infinite variety.
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Date: 2019-02-15 06:28 pm (UTC)Some particularly favourite lines:
Better to celebrate it alive and vibrant, there, with Charmain and Edward, than to waste precious energy dusting tiresome cobwebs off a long ago memory.
There were also things that people called love but were not love at all: the urge to control, the urge to keep, the urge to kill when the object of one’s love didn’t behave in the way desired. Love didn’t strangle. Or poison. There was a lot of foolishness and madness and wickedness in the world and sometimes they were called ‘love.’ But Miss Marple knew the difference.
And if Miss Marple were honest with herself, and, really, why on earth at this age should she not be honest with herself, that thrill was a strong and as intoxicating as falling in love. And, unlike falling in love, it was still there, very much alive in Miss Marple’s heart and mind. It had not faded, not in all of Miss Marple’s years, not with all the problems that had been laid before her; as Shakespeare had once said, age didn’t wither it, not custom stale its infinite variety.