A Quote by Martha Grimes

The English inn stands permanently planted at the confluence of the roads of history, memory, and romance. — © Martha Grimes
The English inn stands permanently planted at the confluence of the roads of history, memory, and romance.
History is my passion. So I write what I love to read. I find that if I combine history with a strong, sensual romance, it is like a one-two punch. The reader doesn't want the history without the romance, and of course the heavier the history, the more it has to be leavened with a sensual, all-consuming love story.
Imagination, whatever may be said to the contrary, will always hold a place in history, as truth does in romance. Has not romance been penned with history in view?
There's roads, and there's roads, And they call. Can't you hear it? Roads of the earth And roads of the spirit The best roads of all Are the ones that aren't certain. One of those is where you'll find me 'Til they drop the big curtain.
I think the '60s were an extraordinary time. I feel bad for the kids today who missed this wonderful confluence, which was simultaneously a confluence of the global and the mythological.
The Christian is the most contented man in the world, but he is the least contented with the world. He is like a traveler in an inn, perfectly satisfied with the inn and its accommodation, considering it as an inn, but putting quite out of all consideration the idea of making it his home.
A notion for a story is for me a confluence of real events, historical perhaps, or from my own memory to create an exciting fusion.
There's a history of English literature where the best boils to the top, and Jane Austen stands right at the top of that.
The history of the Bible text is a romance of literature, though it is a romance of which the consequences are of vital import; and thanks to the succession of discoveries which have been made of late years, we know more about it than of the history of any other ancient book in the world.
It was an eight-harlot inn, if that's how you measure an inn. (I understand that now they measure inns in stars. We are in a four-star inn right now. I don't know what the conversion from harlots to stars is.)
I have long been interested in landscape history, and when younger and more robust I used to do much tramping of the English landscape in search of ancient field systems, drove roads, indications of prehistoric settlement.
Long a student and admirer of the American West, its history, its art, its culture, its cast of personalities, I'm aware that in the West a great confluence of events and people combined to create something unique in the annals of human history.
The straight roads are the roads of progress, the crooked roads are thee roads of genius.
It was a fortunate moment in history that I happened to be in. There was a confluence of the internet and all this other stuff that I was able to capitalize on.
As a result of the sacred ordinances performed in the holy house of God, no light need be permanently extinguished, no voice permanently stilled, no place in our heart permanently left vacant.
One's homesickness for Heaven finds at least an inn there; and it's an inn on the right road.
What is memory but the repository of things doomed to be forgotten, so you must have History. You must have labor to invent History. Being faithful to all that happens to you of significance, recording days, dates, events, names, sights not relying merely upon memory which fades like a Polaroid print where you see the memory fading before your eyes like time itself retreating.
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