Best 7 quotes of Leonora Morrison on MyQuotes

Apparently we live our lives as a tale which is told. There are times I wish I could tell the tale of my life to others and times I believe it should stay untold, buried with their secrets….and mine. Yet I do not regret my role in what was to come. My early years were very uninteresting but yet they ultimately paved the way for the path that I took.

Hypocrisy is something I have learned saturates every level of our society. I see it more with my old age than I did then. At some stage I started questioning everything that I was being taught and turned against various aspects of my upbringing. Maybe I had my reasons and maybe I needed new ways to cope.

I knew ……. I knew my secret had been unearthed and yet I had not known where it was buried. I had not the ranking to be privy to all their secrets.

I’ve finally given in, my eyes are shut under the blindfold. I can hear and smell, but I cannot see. My hands are clammy I feel cold yet I am warm. It is what I wanted, but I am now unsure, dubious yet at the same time excited and curious. I would like to think I feel a bit like Alice just before she fell down the hole into the rabbit hole. Yet there are no rabbits here… not even those of the rampant persuasion.

I walked through the back yard to the door, for in these parts everyone seemed to always use the backdoor as the front and the front door was only for the vicar. Pushing open the heavy wooden door I immediately smelt the food on the stove and to this day the smell of broth makes me slightly queasy. The heat of the stove hit me and with the flush on my face from walking I felt it redden further.

The epidemic was at its worst in Belfast with one in every seven people succumbing to the fever. Donegal Street where we lived was one of the most affluent areas in town but at the foot of the street near the Linen Hall was one of Belfast’s most deprived areas know as the ‘Half Bap’. Here people lived some eight or more people to a house and there were houses backing on to each other with open sewers. It is also said that in the shebeens off York Street that people were so hungry they ate rats alive.

Why am I impatient I am unsure for what is patience? And why should I ultimately feel that I am lacking in it. Is it timing? Waiting? Abstaining? Obligation? Longing? Torture? Perseverance? Discipline? Wanting? Someone recently referred to it as a staring contest between yourself, fate, god and chance. He also referred to it as a tease, a flirt. It's staring at her image when you want to hear her voice, feel her breath, taste her skin. Patience is the recovery from a really hot dream interrupted by the damn alarm clock. Patience is a hard cock with bound hands.