Miss Austen

Y pensó que esas eran precisamente las cosas por las que se nos recuerda, por esos pequeños actos de amor, que son la única evidencia de que una vez habitamos sobre la tierra. Las conservas en la alacena. La huella en el reclinatorio Las notas en las paginas del libro...

A veces el desastre saca lo mejor de las personas. Es el éxito lo que estropea su bondad natural.

Perder los libros propios es como perder una parte del alma.

¡Qué inmenso poder tienen las pequeñas cosas cuando las grandes se vuelven frágiles!

A white sky rushed past the windows; the bare branches of the big beech waved high in the wind. The two ladies watched it all from their table, at which Cassandra was enjoying her breakfast. This was always the meal to rely on when visiting; even the worst of kitchens found it hard to go wrong. And she needed all the strength she could muster for the day that lay ahead. ‘This jam was made by my mother.’ Isabella spooned out just enough for a scraping. ‘She was so productive right till the end. We are still, even now, enjoying her food.’ Cassandra took another bite and Eliza was conjured up before her. She could taste her in the fruit, see her picking and stirring and laughing and pouring and thought: these are the things by which most of us are remembered, these small acts of love, the only evidence that we, too, once lived on this earth. The preserves in the larder, the stitch on the kneeler. The mark of the pen on the page."

Y el apellido Austen pasará a la historia