From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Letter to a friend

In my present state of mind it is just as well that I got a letter instead of a phone call. It was nice to read and soothing to hear your voice in my head.
The pie sounds amazing, I'm missing summer in the North West!
I hope you have another enjoyable season with AVE. It's no question that your audition went well and that you'll get in.
Give my love to all the family, they are growing up with out me *sniff* and I miss them.
PS I hope piano lessons are still going strong and that back to school isn't too crazy for you!
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