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“...I'm innocent still -inside me are stained glass windows that have never been broken- and when I see your light it stains my soul with color ...”
John Geddes“What I want to write is that I lay there until morning, with tear-stained eyes, a tear-stained pillow, a tear-stained life. What can one do with levels of gloom and guilt, fear and disbelief, of bewilderment above one's capacity to register? I slept soundly.”
Darin Strauss, Half a Life“Everyone breathing is broken. Keep breathing light into them until the stained glass collage takes your breath away.”
Ryan Lilly, Write like no one is reading“People are seen through the stained glass window of our imagination. ( "The hidden sides of his character" )”
Erik Pevernagie“I fell like a celibate hustlerA stained & sullied spirit...Halfway between freaky and holy”
Neil Mach, The Bedevilment of Bertie Lunn“I know someone who has never been able to read _The Cuckoo Clock_ since leaving her girlhood home, because it had to be read sitting halfway up the stairs, where the light through a stained-glass landing window fell on it, staining the pages red and blue and green.”
Rosemary Sutcliff, Blue Remembered Hills: A Recollection“I should know better than anyone--you can't tell who a person is just from his looks.”
Cheryl Rainfield, Stained“I consider myself a stained-glass window. And this is how I live my life. Closing no doors and covering no windows; I am the multi-colored glass with light filtering through me, in many different shades. Allowing light to shed and fall into many many hues. My job is not to direct anything, but only to filter into many colors. My answer is destiny and my guide is joy. And there you have me.”
C. JoyBell C.“She will at least be decently clothed as she waits. Tomorrow I shall find her a brush and powder and whatever else a woman of her dignity requires.” Fin rolled her eyes. “Is ‘dignity’ what you call it?” Jeannot offered her his hand. Fin took it and pulled herself up from the deck. She was barefoot and her pants and shirt were stained with everything from blood to oakum to lampblack. She stretched her shirt out between her hands and considered its mottle of stains. “I’m not dignified?” she asked. When Fin looked up, Jeannot had an eyebrow cocked high and one side of his mouth was curled in amusement. “Where you are concerned, much requires redefinition.”
A.S. Peterson, Fiddler's Green