Susan Mcgarvey

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The Girl with All...
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by M.R. Carey (Goodreads Author)
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The Tooth Fairy
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The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr
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The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson
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The Heirloom Life Gardener by Jere Gettle
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The Feast Nearby by Robin Mather
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The Boy on the Bridge by M.R. Carey
The Boy on the Bridge
by M.R. Carey (Goodreads Author)
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The Rook by Daniel O'Malley
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The Girl with All the Gifts by M.R. Carey
The Girl with All the Gifts
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Fool Me Once by Harlan Coben
Fool Me Once
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The Trespasser by Tana French
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The Woman in Cabin 10 by Ruth Ware
The Woman in Cabin 10
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More of Susan's books…
“If television's a babysitter, the Internet is a drunk librarian who won't shut up.”
Dorothy Gambrell, Cat and Girl Volume I

John Marsden
“Some people wake up drowsy. Some people wake up energized. I wake up dead.”
John Marsden, Tomorrow, When the War Began

David Benioff
“I've always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.”
David Benioff, City of Thieves

C.S. Lewis
“First came bright Spirits, not the Spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers. Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand, and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between them went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done.

I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye.

But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face.

“Is it?...is it?” I whispered to my guide.
“Not at all,” said he. “It's someone ye'll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.”
“She seems to be...well, a person of particular importance?”
“Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.”
“And who are these gigantic people...look! They're like emeralds...who are dancing and throwing flowers before here?”
“Haven't ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.”
“And who are all these young men and women on each side?”
“They are her sons and daughters.”
“She must have had a very large family, Sir.”
“Every young man or boy that met her became her son – even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”
“Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?”
“No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”
“And how...but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat-two cats-dozens of cats. And all those dogs...why, I can't count them. And the birds. And the horses.”
“They are her beasts.”
“Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.”
“Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.”
I looked at my Teacher in amazement.
“Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough int the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.”
C.S. Lewis, The Great Divorce

Neil Gaiman
“Sleep my little baby-oh
Sleep until you waken
When you wake you'll see the world
If I'm not mistaken...

Kiss a lover
Dance a measure,
Find your name
And buried treasure...

Face your life
Its pain,
Its pleasure,
Leave no path untaken.”
Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

74725 Ask Gillian Flynn and Megan Abbott — 1033 members — last activity Oct 10, 2014 06:54AM
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To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper LeePride and Prejudice by Jane AustenFahrenheit 451 by Ray BradburyJane Eyre by Charlotte BrontëThe Stand by Stephen King
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