Mariana Quotes

“The past can teach us, nurture us, but it cannot sustain us. The essence of life is change, and we must move ever forward or the soul will wither and die.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“It's too easy, you see, to get trapped in the past. The past is very seductive. People always talk about the mists of time, you know, but really it's the present that's in a mist, uncertain. The past is quite clear, and warm, and comforting. That's why people often get stuck there.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“These are your beautiful days, Julia Beckett," he promised softly.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Try looking with your soul, instead. The soul sees what truly matters.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“d'you think I'd let a little thing like the grave come between us?

-Richard”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Better to find out certain things by living them, not by reading them in a book.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“It’s still there, you see,” he pointed out. “Bulbs and roots, just waiting to grow. You have to learn to look with more than just your eyes, Julia.” He took a deep pull on the cigarette and exhaled, slowly. “Try looking with your soul, instead. The soul sees what truly matters.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“I've told you once I would not force you to my will ... When we become lovers, it will be because you desire as much as I

-Richard”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“The sky was wide and inviting, and the grass was cool and sweetly refreshing under my bare feet as I walked across the undulating field towards the river. It was a short walk, only a mile or so, but I did not hurry it, letting my soul soak up the glorious sensation of freedom and lightness.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“The shelves covered all four walls of the square room, broken in three places by tall, narrow windows with stained-glass inserts above and upholstered seats below, liberally adorned with loose cushions – the sort of window seats that every book lover dreams of, visualises, yearns for… I stepped forward into the room, wonder-struck, inhaling the rich smell of oiled leather bindings and ancient paper and polished wood.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“If it is true that men have souls that do survive them,” he went on, ignoring me, “and if those souls are born again to life, you need not worry that my ghost will haunt you. I’ll haunt you in the flesh, instead.” My eyes were gently skeptical. “And how would I know you, pray, in another body?” “’Tis simple.” He brought his hand up with an effort, turning his fingers round to show me the heavy crested ring he wore. “Look you here, and remember. ’Tis the hooded hawk of the de Mornays. The hood may blind it, and yet it sees more clearly than the sighted.” “You mean that I should trust my heart.” “More than your heart. Your soul.” His hand lifted higher, and clasped mine strongly. “Feel that, love. There’s nothing can break that. We are two parts of the one whole, you and I. The hawk mates for life, and our lives are but beginning. Faith,” he said, smiling, “d’you think I’d let a little thing like the grave come between us?”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“My pleasure," he assured me, propping one shoulder against the doorjamb and folding his arms across his chest. "Rather nice change from my normal daily routine. I don't often have comely young maidens throwing themselves at my feet."
"Yes, well," I said, coloring, "that won't happen again."
He smiled down at me, and after a final handshake I made my departure. I had almost reached the end of the neatly edged walk when he spoke.
"What a pity," he said, but I don't think I was meant to hear it.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“...seek me not with your eyes, but with your soul. The soul sees what truly matters.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“A l’amour, aux plaisir, aux boccage,” he quoted softly, then turned the words to English: “In love, in pleasure, in the woods, spend your beautiful days…” I stared up at him, dumbly, my heart rising in my throat. I was not aware of the precise moment when we stopped dancing, when he turned those deep, forest-colored eyes on mine and traced the outline of my face with a delicate touch. “These are your beautiful days, Mariana Farr,” he said gently, and then his shoulders blocked the sunlight as he lowered his head to mine and kissed me.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“The markets of my memory were city markets, London markets, crammed into narrow streets or cobbled squares, with hoarse-voiced vendors hawking their wares and all around me the relentless press of people, people everywhere. It was a pleasant change to see the bright-striped awnings gaily ringing around the weathered market cross, and the sunlight beating cheerfully down upon the market square. There were crowds here too, to be sure, but these were friendly country folk, their voices clear and plain, with honest faces scrubbed red by the wind and weather.
"What do you think?" Rachel asked me.
I could only gape, wide-eyed, like an entranced child, and she laughed her lovely musical laugh, grabbing my hand to lead me down into the thick of the crowd. We were jostled and bumped, but I found I did not mind it, and to my amazement I heard myself laughing as the final shreds of oppression fell away from me. The breeze lifted my hair and the sun warmed my face, and I felt suddenly, gloriously alive.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Žmonės amžinai postringauja apie miglose skendinčią praeitį, bet iš tiesų kaip tik dabartis yra miglota ir neapibrėžta. O praeitis, atvirkščiai, aiški kaip ant delno, šilta ir suteikianti ramybę. Štai kodėl žmonės dažnai užstringa joje.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“It's the only thing I begrudge the rich," I said, as I followed him back down the damp-smelling staircase to the ground floor.
"What's that?"
"Their ability to buy books that the rest of us can never hope to own.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Take you my ring,” he repeated, “and keep it with you.” His tone was stubborn, and so I obeyed, sliding the great ring from his outstretched finger. The ring was cold, as his hands were cold, and I held it tenderly in my palm, blinking back the rising wetness of my eyes. “Remember that hawk, Mariana Farr,” he told me gently, “and seek me not with your eyes, but with your soul. The soul sees what truly matters.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Is it your wish that I should leave you now?” “Why would you think that of me?” His eyebrows rose, the vulnerability gone. “You are not a servant, Mariana, to be thus ordered from my sight.” “No,” I admitted, looking down at my feet, “I am not a servant. I am a mistress. A minor difference, I’ll grant you.” His eyes were steady on my face. “You are my love,” he corrected me, softly, “and there is no shame in that. Do you wish this afternoon undone?” I raised my head. “No,” I told him honestly. “I will not force you to my bed,” he said. “I do not want a frightened woman, nor a coy one, but one who gives me love because she wills it so. If I make no promises, it is because the world is an uncertain place, and words matter little. But if you doubt the honor of my love, come,” he stretched his hand towards me, palm upward, “let me renew my pledge.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“I couldn’t stop it from happening,” I told her. “I’ve been able to stop it before, but this time I just couldn’t stop it from happening.” “Well, now.” Her blue eyes were very wise. “You’ve learned a valuable lesson from this, then, haven’t you? You can’t cheat fate, Julia. If you don’t go looking for the lessons of the past, then the past will come looking for you.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“You should have bought the bracelet, you know,” he told me, in a contemplative tone. “The stones would match your eyes.” Pride kept me from saying that the trinket had been too expensive for my purse. I took a small step backwards and he let his hand fall, his expression unconcerned. “I bought this, instead.” I held up my book to show him. “You can read, then.” “My father was a scrivener. He viewed illiteracy as an unpardonable sin.” “You were fortunate. I cannot imagine you would find much to read in your uncle’s house.” I smiled, in spite of myself. “Very little.” “Then you must come visit me at the Hall. I have a good library. You would be welcome to borrow anything you wanted.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Damn and blast!” “Curates can’t use language like that,” I reminded my brother, and he grinned involuntarily. “I’m getting it out of my system,” was his excuse.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“It’s too easy, you see, to get trapped in the past. The past is very seductive. People always talk about the mists of time, you know, but really it’s the present that’s in a mist, uncertain. The past is quite clear, and warm, and comforting. That’s why people often get stuck”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“I sighed. “It’s not the same.” We had come to a stop in the wide front passage, with the Great Hall behind us, and my worst fears were confirmed as Geoff swung open the door to reveal floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves filled with books of every possible size and shape and age. The shelves covered all four walls of the square room, broken in three places by tall, narrow windows with stained-glass inserts above and upholstered seats below, liberally adorned with loose cushions—the sort of window seats that every book lover dreams of, visualizes, yearns for… I stepped forward into the room, wonder-struck, inhaling the rich smell of oiled leather bindings and ancient paper and polished wood.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Really? That’s rather unusual for you, isn’t it? I thought you hardly ever dreamt.’ ‘Maybe it’s the country air.’ ‘What sort of dreams?’ ‘I really can’t remember most of them,’ I said, frowning slightly as I drank my tea. ‘One”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“It’s too easy, you see, to get trapped in the past. The past is very seductive. People always talk about the mists of time, you know, but really it’s the present that’s in a mist, uncertain. The past is quite clear, and warm, and comforting. That’s why people often get stuck there.” I”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“The columbine and iris bowed down to make way for bolder sprays of red valerian, and a mingled profusion of clustered Canterbury bells and sweet william, pale blues and pinks intertwined, danced at the feet of more stately spears of deep-purple foxglove and monkshood.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“could become like that, I thought suddenly. If I did not guard against it, I too could become like the doomed birds in the dovecote. Like lovely, dead-eyed Caroline, with her hair turning white from worry at twenty-five. For if the dovecote was a trap, then so was Greywethers, and my uncle’s hand held the rope that could pull shut the door and bar my flight.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“Daddy could be rather difficult, at times, and he hadn’t yet found any young man who measured up to his exacting standards. The best thing, I’d found, was simply not to introduce them to him. It saved a lot of bother, all around.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana

“I tasted the salt on my own lips, and the bitter taste of blood on his. It was a desperate kiss, the sort of kiss that marks a lovers’ parting, a kiss of sorrow and regret and a kind of blind and wordless promise. I would have risen up when it was finished, but he held me close, his hand stroking my hair. “I’ll hurt your chest,” I protested, but he shook his head. “I am past pain,” he lied, “and I’ve always had a fancy to die in my lover’s arms. ’Tis most romantic.”
― Susanna Kearsley, Mariana