Anne-Marie Ormsby

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Anne-Marie Ormsby

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December 2011


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Anne-Marie Ormsby Every night my mother tucks me up in bed - a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered song. I wonder when she will stop, she has been dead for 3 week…moreEvery night my mother tucks me up in bed - a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered song. I wonder when she will stop, she has been dead for 3 weeks.(less)
Anne-Marie Ormsby I usually have to step away from what I'm writing, have a glass of wine and refocus my brain on where I'm trying to get to. Sometimes you just have to…moreI usually have to step away from what I'm writing, have a glass of wine and refocus my brain on where I'm trying to get to. Sometimes you just have to accept it isn't a writing day and leave it alone til tomorrow! (less)
Average rating: 4.29 · 63 ratings · 26 reviews · 3 distinct worksSimilar authors
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In Search of Fear ….. with Helen Matthews

American actress Vera Miles stars as Lila Crane in the horror classic ‘Psycho’, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, 1960. (Photo by Archive Photos/Getty Images)

Mid -February already? I hope you’re all doing ok and managing to get through lockdown with some positive experiences. It’s tough but I hope you’re keeping well and reading lots! This week I have the good fortune of having author Helen Matthe

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Published on February 12, 2021 10:09

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A brilliantly researched book which highlights the shocking treatment of Native Americans. An excellent book that belongs on the shelf of all true crime readers.
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More of Anne-Marie's books…
Ray Bradbury
“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.”
Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury
“One day many years ago a man walked along and stood in the sound of the ocean on a cold sunless shore and said, "We need a voice to call across the water, to warn ships; I'll make one. I'll make a voice like all of time and all of the fog that ever was; I'll make a voice that is like an empty bed beside you all night long, and like an empty house when you open the door, and like trees in autumn with no leaves. A sound like the birds flying south, crying, and a sound like November wind and the sea on the hard, cold shore. I'll make a sound that's so alone that no one can miss it, that whoever hears it will weep in their souls, and hearths will seem warmer, and being inside will seem better to all who hear it in the distant towns. I'll make me a sound and an apparatus and they'll call it a Fog Horn and whoever hears it will know the sadness of eternity and the briefness of life."

The Fog Horn blew.”
Ray Bradbury, The Fog Horn

Albert Camus
“Don’t walk in front of me… I may not follow
Don’t walk behind me… I may not lead
Walk beside me… just be my friend”
Albert Camus

Ralph Waldo Emerson
“For every minute you are angry you lose sixty seconds of happiness.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Jack Kerouac
“I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”
Jack Kerouac, The Portable Jack Kerouac




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