Mary Morgan
The twentieth century in France was sustained by a culture of performance rooted in Paris, a city whose arrondissements each carried their own character and history. Mary Morgan was a French actress born on 2 August 1906 in the 10th arrondissement of that city.
Paris defined both the opening and the closing coordinates of her life. She was born in the 10th arrondissement and died in the 16th, and her work as an actress was conducted in the French language. As a citizen of France, she belonged to the culture and the tongue that shaped the country's performing tradition throughout the century she lived in.
Morgan died on 7 October 1997 in the 16th arrondissement of Paris. The arc from birth to death ran entirely within the same city, beginning in one quarter and ending in another, across more than nine decades. That she remained a French-language actress and a French citizen throughout places her squarely within the Parisian world into which she had been born.
Quotes by Mary Morgan
Mary Morgan's insights on:
Ailsa had made up her mind that the man she would marry must steal the breath from her lungs, make her skin tingle with his touch, and consider her an equal when it came time for her to rule the island. Her heart yearned for love, and she would settle for nothing less.
I will not force ye, Eve, but ken this… I want ye like no other. ‘Tis an aching need and grows with each passing day. Ye speak of torment, but mine burns.
Ye cannae leave.” “Why?” she yelled, glancing over her shoulder at Cormac. “Tell me why I can’t leave and go home?” “Truth?” “Yes, dammit!” “Because your home has yet to be discovered. Ye have crossed the veil of ages into the year 1207.
One kiss,” he murmured against her cheek. The tight knot within him begged for release. She swallowed. “I…do… don’t know.” “I will nae beg for one, Eve.” He nuzzled the skin below her ear, making him crave her even more. “Yes,” she whispered.
Usually, Eve didn’t like men with long hair. Nope, she preferred her men clean cut and shaven. However, the moment this man stepped into her path, she couldn’t stop staring at him. Her breathing became shallow and the air thick. Eve thought a Celtic God had appeared out of thin air.
Pluck the petals from the flower, mix with a drop of honey, add a splash of tears, and give to your lover on Yule.
Taking Eve’s face in her hands, she said, “Enjoy your trip to Scotland, my friend. I love you. Who knows, you may fall in love with a Highlander.” Eve burst out laughing. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.” “They’re good for the soul and heart.
