The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 4

by Beth Brower

A person of middling status cannot afford to feel happy about everything all of the time. That is an expensive state of mind.”

“You’re not half so bad once you get dolled up a bit, love.” Clearly the epitaph on my future gravestone. Emma M. Lion RIP Not Half So Bad Once Dolled Up

“You are wise in this thing. However, if the right man should come along, and money looks more like love than one would initially suppose, don’t turn your back on a chance for happiness merely because he has the means to save you.” It was the most fiscally romantic thing I had ever heard.

Rain this morning. It smells of Heaven. Or how Heaven would smell, were I in charge. That doesn’t feel blasphemous, but it sounds as if it might be. Reminder to self: Enquire of Hawkes.

Father always liked fall best. Mother claimed it was his natural melancholy. I don’t agree. One doesn’t have to prefer spring to be a contented soul.

Novel writers, bless them, are such strange birds.

Islington sent for wine and fruit and, of all things, three kinds of cake. “You like cake,” he said by way of explanation when he looked at me.

besties i think I'm in love with islington