from Chapter 3 in The 13 Clocks by James Thurber, illustrated by Marc Simont
The Princess Saralinda was tall, with freesias in her dark hair, and she wore serenity brightly like the rainbow. It was not easy to tell her mouth from the rose, or her brow from the white lilac. Her voice was faraway music, and her eyes were candles burning on a tranquil night. She moved across the room like wind in violets, and her laughter sparkled on the air, which, from her presence, gained a faint and undreamed fragrance.
from Chapter 3 in The 13 Clocks by James Thurber, illustrated by Marc Simont "Not so fast," the Golux said. "Half the places I have been to, never were. I make things up. Half the things I say are there cannot be found. When I was young I told a tale of buried gold, and men from leagues around dug in the woods. I dug myself."
"But why?" "I thought the tale of treasure might be true." "You said you made it up." "I know I did, but then I didn't know I had. I forget things, too." from Chapter 2 in The 13 Clocks by James Thurber, illustrated by Marc Simont Even the hands of his watch and the hands of all the thirteen clocks were frozen. They had all frozen at the same time, on a snowy night, seven years before, and after that it was always ten minutes to five in the castle. Travelers and mariners would look up at the gloomy castle on the lonely hill and say, "Time lies frozen there. It's always Then. It's never Now."
from Chapter 1 in The 13 Clocks by James Thurber, illustrated by Marc Simont I wrote The Thirteen Clocks in Bermuda, where I had gone to finish another book. The shift to this one was an example of escapism and self-indulgence. Unless modern Man (sic) wanders down these byways occasionally, I do not see how he can hope to preserve his sanity. I must apologize to my publishers and to the talented Marc Simont, who were forced to keep up with the constant small changes I insisted on making all the time, even in the galley proofs. In the end they took the book away from me, on the ground that it was finished and that I was just having fun tinkering with clocks and running up and down secret stairs. They had me there.
from the Foreword to The 13 Clocks by James Thurber, illustrated by Marc Simont ... We cannot
know what his fantastic legs were like– though evidence suggests eight complexly folded scuttling works of armament, crowned by the foreclaws' gesture of menace and power. ... from A GREEN CRAB'S SHELL, by Mark Doty, in Fire to Fire, new and selected poems |
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