Author: Alan Bradley

Cites

• Thomas Parnell (4)
  • IN: Speakingg From Among the Bones (2013) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Now from yon black and fun'ral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks I hear a voice begin; (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din; Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones.
    FROM: A Night-Piece on Death, (1721), Poem, Ireland
  • IN: The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches (2014) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: The Marble Tombs that rise on high, Whose Dead in vaulted Arches lye, Whose Pillars swell with sculptur'd Stones, Arms, Angels, Epitaphs and Bones, These (all the poor Remains of State) Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great; Who while on Earth in Fame they live, Are senseless of the Fame they give.
    FROM: A Night-Piece on Death, (1721), Poem, Ireland
  • IN: Speaking from Among the Bones (2013) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Now from yon black and fun'ral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks I hear a voice begin (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground); It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones.
    FROM: A Night Piece on Death, (1721), Poem, US
  • IN: The Dead in ther Vaulted Arches (2014) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: The Marble Tombs that rise on high, Whose Dead in vaulted Arches lye, Whoe Pillars swell with sculptur'd Stones, Arms, Angels, Epitaphs and Bones, These (all the poor Remains of State) Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great; Who while on Earth in Fame they live, Are senseless of the Fame they give.
    FROM: A Night-Piece on Death, (1721), NULL, US
• William Shakespeare (2)
  • IN: Thrice the Brinded Cat Hath Mew'd (2016) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd. Thrice and once the hedge-pig whined. Harpier cries 'Tis time, 'tis time. Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
    FROM: Macbeth, (1623), Play, UK
  • IN: The Chimney Sweepers Come to Dust (2015) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy wordly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney sweepers, come to dust.
    FROM: Cymbeline (IV.ii), (1623), Play, UK
• Alfred Tennyson (2)
  • IN: I am Half-Sick of Shadows (2011) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, came from Camelot: Or when the moon was overhead Came two young lovers lately wed; 'I am half sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.
    FROM: The Lady of Shalott, (1842), Poem, UK
• Thomas and Greene, Robert Lodge (1)
  • IN: The Red Herring Without Mustard (2011) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: ...a cup of ale without a wench, why, alas, 'tis like an egg without salt or a red herring without mustard.
    FROM: A Looking Glasse, for London and Englande, (1592), NULL, UK
• William King (1)
  • IN: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie (2009) Fiction, NULL
    EPIGRAPH: Unless some sweetness at the bottom lie, who cares for all the crinkling of the pie!
    FROM: The Art of Cookery, (1708), NULL, UK