“We’ve found a house for you, sir.”
There’s a story I’ve heard many times about how my brother Jason got the scar that runs above his left eye, almost parallel with his eyebrow.
If I’d known I was about to meet the man who’d shatter me like bone china on terra-cotta, I would have slept in. Instead, I roused our florist, Mr. Sitwell, from his bed to make a boutonnière. My first consulate gala was no time to stand on ceremony.
I only put the centipede in Eliza’s slipper since I thought she was stealing my sister Sofya from me. I was eight years old and had just lost my mother. I couldn’t lose Sofya, too.
And there’s the Ark Royal, keeping a good distance from the enemy...There were a couple of quiet explosions – pop-pop-pop.
New Zealand, 1994: Sirens are wailing in the distance, a rarity in Queenstown, at any hour, day or night.
What went wrong and how can I fix it?
Simon sat on a bench in Central Park—in Strawberry Fields, to be more precise—and felt his heart shatter.
I know within thirty-three seconds of entering the front door that my home is empty and my husband and daughter are missing.
It would be crazy — and probably impossible — to try to create a guide to anything in the digital marketing space in this day and age without touching on social media and the role that it plays.
The night they decided to leave London Bea had a dream. Dreams are like silent films; guns are fired without shots, people talk without voices.
Daisy Jones was born in 1951 and grew up in the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles, California.
Caro pulled her jersey over her knees knowing she should just be sensible and have an early night.
Even before stepping into the cottage, Gary knows that this is bad.
JOE AND I were in the back seat of a black sedan, cruising along a motorway from Amsterdam Airport Schiphol to the International Criminal Court in The Hague.
Wails of grief drifted over the city like a black aria. The mud brick dwellings burst with anguish, as the sorrow swirled into the night desert.
A prime number is divisible only by itself and by one. If I were a prime number, I’d want to be a five.
We think we write the stories but, in a significant way, the stories write us.
By the time I pull my car into the garage, my hands are shaking on the wheel. I tell myself I have no reason to feel so nervous.
Nadia once told me that she was kept awake at night by the idea that she would read about the end of the world on a phone notification.