Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in a church where a wedding has been, Lives in a dream. Waits at the window, wearing the facethat she keeps in a jar by the door, Who is it for? All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
“I'm sorry about yesterday," she said. He hung on to his straps and shrugged. "Yesterday happens.”Rainbow Rowell
It’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing. ~ Eleanor Farjeon
Underneath this crust Lies the mouldering dust Of Eleanor Batchelor Shoven, Well versed in the arts Of pies, custards and tarts, And the lucrative trade of the oven. When she lived long enough, She made her last puff, A puff by her husband much praised, And now she doth lie And make a dirt pie, In hopes that her crust may be raised.