Igenlode Wordsmith

“Joshua drives towards the Horn under the light of the stars and the somewhat distant tenderness of the moon. Pearls run off the staysail; you want to hold them in your hand, they are real precious stones that live only in the eyes. The wake spins out very far behind up the slopes of the seas like a tongue of fire and the close-reefed sails stand out against the clear sky, with the moon making the sea on the quarter glisten. White reflection of the southern ice. Broad greenish patches of foam on the water. Pointed tooth-like seas masking the horizon, dull rumbling of the bow struggling and playing with the sea.

The entire sea is white and the sky as well. I no longer know how far I have got, except that we long ago left the borders of too much behind.”
― Bernard Moitessier, The Long Way

“If meat costs 3s. 6d. a pound, we think it cheap; if vegetables cost 3s. 6d. a pound we think them dear. Moral: eat vegetables.”
― Katharine Whitehorn, Cooking in a Bedsitter

“Intent figures stood on trestle ladders peering, with the aid of inspection lamps, at the engines stripped of their cowlings. Everything was in good order and the floor of the hangar was surprisingly clean. The economical lines of the Spitfires looked very beautiful in the half-light, illuminated by the orange splashes of the lamps.”
― Ronald Adam, We Rendezvous at Ten

“While she was downstairs she could have the illusion that her mother was quietly sleeping in the bedroom; now, faced with the empty bed and the need to clear it, she had to recognise that she was alone. Slowly the tears came, accompanied by great helpless sobs. Instead of having someone to lean on, to advise her, to bully her into staying on her feet when life seemed impossibly hard, she herself would have to be the adviser, the kind helper, the referee of family quarrels; hers would be the knee on to which grandchildren would climb to be comforted, hers would be the shoulder on which the women would weep out their bereavements and all the myriad sorrows of being mams.
"Aye, Mam," she whispered brokenly, "I don't know whether I can do it.”
― Helen Forrester, Liverpool Daisy