R.S. Maxwell > Quotes

“According to Wordsworth, a poet is not to write his verse during the heated moments of powerful feeling, but later, in a state of tranquillity, remembering those feelings with a clear mind. Perhaps Martynsborough is the perfect place for that.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“Sometimes the imagination of a thing can have more gravity than the thing itself; the promise of a kiss as opposed to the act—between that space, that hair’s breadth, one can find truth, Truth with a capital T!”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“To the majestic house cat—may they be batting about balls of yarn in some happy circle of hell.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“I like to think we live in some modern era—we build airships and motor cars and listen to the wireless. We’ve abandoned corsets, we wear trousers, we’ve had suffrage, we work in munitions factories, and yet my gran has heart palpitations if I’m alone in the room with Malcolm, I suppose to assure my virginity before marriage. And, and . . . she seems quite pleased to have me marry Warren, for whom I’ve never showed a moment’s romantic interest—like I’m a child, despite being twenty-five years old and a student at Cambridge. I’ve no idea what to do.” Ruth sighed.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“I like wanting,” he said. “I like wanting you. I like coveting but not having—it is almost better, more satisfying to . . . to think about how very much I want something, to envision it, to play the scene out safely in my mind but not to do it. At least not yet.” He touched her wet hair. “I like knowing you’re here, listening to the rain with me. I’d like to sleep close to you, to feel your presence, to hear the rustling of the sheet, your breath, to sense your warmth without the uncertainty of entangling ourselves any further. That would provide me so very much pleasure, that alone, I think for now, at least.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“I think we should occasionally be haunted by those ills that we create ourselves—for when we peer into strange and darkening windows, we see not monsters, but often our own reflection. Perhaps we shrink in fear of our own sins and shame.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“Indeed, while the rest of us worry about German invaders, you write poetry and chase a ghost. I love it. You’re very curious, and earnest, and not only very sweet but very strong—perhaps you’re not even aware of how monstrously brave you are.” Maude slid her hands around Ruth’s waist. “You’ve stolen my heart, you silly girl, that’s all. Now be a dear and get that blinding light off. I’m deathly tired.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“when we peer into strange and darkening windows, we see not monsters, but often our own reflection.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“I don’t want to see pity in your eyes tomorrow. I want it to stay as it is. The fact of the matter is I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“No, facts are not necessary to tell any story at all, that is, as long as somewhere among all the embellishments, within the spaces—between the hair’s breadth—there might lurk one small and stalwart bit of Truth.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“the love within them had never stopped smouldering.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“As if she were falling backwards from a precipice, arms flailing, the ground rushing up to shatter her body and bones, the love had struck her, broken her, and infected her with a mystical sense of vertigo. All the sonnets that she had read, and all the poems, and tragedies and romances—they all took on a new colour, a new shade of light, a new clarity and poignancy. Everything made sense because she loved him, and within the space between their bodies, between their lips, the agonizing, most minute hair’s breadth that separated them, there lurked a multitude, there lurked a thousand years of time and a limitless space, there lurked Truth. She loved him. That was all. She loved him but could do nothing about it.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass

“Yes, Ruth! Yes! Sometimes the imagination of a thing can have more gravity than the thing itself; the promise of a kiss as opposed to the act—between that space, that hair’s breadth, one can find truth, Truth with a capital T! Either way, it should seem somewhat familiar to you—if you look closely, you’ll see the male figure holds a book in his other hand. You might know it, given that this couple are a depiction of famous literary characters—which is more about your studies.”
― R.S. Maxwell, Through a Darkening Glass