109
" That something which is unique has its own beauty that can never be destroyed; that it’s always worth mending, even when it’s broken; and that the fractures and the scars become part of the beauty too, making the piece even more remarkable, even more precious.” And then she said, “Heal your heart, Ella. Let Angus help you. Mend your marriage with veins of the purest gold and remake it, better and stronger than before.” And we did. Because, you see, Kendra, I fell in love with your grandfather all over again. Caroline was right: our love was worth mending. In the end, we made the scars part of the beauty of our marriage. "
― Fiona Valpy , Sea of Memories
114
" I know, now, that our lives are made up of changing seasons. Through the darkest days of bleak midwinter we have to do what we can to keep the faith, nourishing our bodies and our souls, keeping a flame burning—no matter how tiny or how tenuous—deep down inside our hearts. And that, in the bleakest moments of all, we should make a Christmas for ourselves, piling on the tinsel, lighting the candles and the fairy lights and rolling back the darkness that threatens to encroach, with the promise of a rebirth; a reawakening; a Réveillon. Because, if we can just hang on in there long enough, spring will return and the leaves, hidden deep within the bare branches and the stark vine stocks, will unfurl to the sunlight with tender, new promise. "
― Fiona Valpy , The French for Christmas
116
" from Edinburgh to the wilderness of Scotland’s west coast, and it was growing dark as they turned off the tiny road to bump along the drive of Arisaig House. The grey stone building, glimpsed between a phalanx of tall pines, with its blacked-out windows, and the dark hills rising steeply behind it, looked somewhat forbidding to Ella as she peered out through the window. She craned her neck to look up at the clock tower that stood sentry on one side of the courtyard, its gilded hands pointing towards eleven o’clock. As the truck drew to a halt, silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the cooling engine and the faint, plaintive cry of a nightbird from the seashore somewhere below them. A door opened, throwing a rectangle of light across the gravel, and Ella "
― Fiona Valpy , Sea of Memories