Antonia Michaelis
Abel was brushing the snow off his parka while Mica was dancing around him, still balancing the plate of cookies, singing, 'We're staying, we're staying, we're staying overnight! We're drying! We're drying! Furthermore, we're drying on the line!
— Antonia Michaelis
And the snow that fell onto the roof in winter... it fell softly... softly... and it covered the house, the armchair, the books, the children's voices. It covered Anna and Abel, covered their parallel world, and everything was finally, very, very quiet.
— Antonia Michaelis
As long as you're better at it than skating...," Anna said and stood up too. She wanted to say more, but that wasn't possible because he was kissing her. Reasonable Anna wanted to draw back the danger of touch. But unreasonable Anna welcomed the kiss like happiness. Maybe, she thought, it's better to take these moments when you get them - there might not be too many in life.
— Antonia Michaelis
A story isn't a good one unless it has a good listener
— Antonia Michaelis
Just a tiny little pain, Three days of heavy rain, Three days of sunlight, Everything will be alright, Just a tiny little pain.
— Antonia Michaelis
My child, I know you're not a child But I still see you running wild Between those flowering trees. Your sparkling dreams, your silver laugh Your wishes to the stars above Are just my memories. And in your eyes the ocean And in your eyes the swathe waters frozen overWith your longing to be free. Yesterday you'd awoken To a world incredibly old. This is the age you are broken Or turned into gold. You had to kill this child, I know. To break the arrows and the bow To shed your skin and change. The trees are flowering no more There's blood upon the tiles floor This place is dark and strange. I see you standing in the storm Holding the curse of youth Each of you with your story Each of you with your truth. Some words will never be spoken Some stories will never be told. This is the age you are broken Or turned into gold. I didn't say the world was good. I hoped by now you understood Why I could never lie. I didn't promise you a thing. Don't ask my winter voice for spring Just spread your wings and fly. Though in the hidden garden Down by the green lane The plant of love grows next tithe tree of hate and pain. So take my tears as a token. They'll keep you warm in the cold. This is the age you are broken Or turned into gold. You've lived too long among unto leave without a trace You've lived too short to understand thing about this place. Some of you just sit there smoking And some are already sold. This is the age you are broken Or turned into gold. This is the age you are broken or turned into gold.
— Antonia Michaelis
She had taught herself how to knit, and for the mare's scarf - it was green - she had given herself the best grade possible. And ...'' That's silly!' Mica giggled. 'Well, who is the cliff queen, you or me?' Abel asked. 'It isn't my fault if you're giving yourself grades!
— Antonia Michaelis
That cloak of love you were wearing—he’s torn it to shreds, undoing the seams of trust that held it together. How can you ever wear those shreds?
— Antonia Michaelis
The place in her, though, where her tears should have come from, was rough and dry. No, she didn't find any tears in herself to cry for the storyteller. The storyteller didn't exist anymore.
— Antonia Michaelis
There are fewer answers in the world than questions, and if you ask me now why that is so, I must tell you that there is no answer to that question.
— Antonia Michaelis
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