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@graceforanarchy-blog
Ah, New York, all decked out in city lights like sequins on her best dress-- all dazzle and smart moves. He had seen the city in harsher light, and he knew she was really a whore, but that could be fun, too.
Killing Critics, Carol O'Connell
'My father says people hate other people for what they hate in themselves.'
The Man Who Lied to Women, Carol O’Connell
'When you tell the truth, it's always the same truth. When you lie, you must have a superb memory, or it will be a different lie in every telling.'
The Man Who Lied to Women, Carol O'Connell
Somehow in the last nine years she'd managed to stay upright on a tightrope stretched between brilliance and insanity, the blackness of the abyss always with her, leaving her sometimes wondering if letting go might in the end be the easiest of all.
The Informationist, Taylor Stevens
'. . . Terrible thing being loved, isn't it? It's like a debt hanging over your head, and it pisses you off, doesn't it? Well, good.'
Killing Critics, Carol O' Connell
There should have been more noise to mark the event. In low tones, the doctor had told Markowitz and Kathy how sorry he was. Unspoken were the words, The show’s over. And so Markowitz and Kathy had sat together on a cheap plastic couch in the terrible silence of that waiting room, two unimportant people in the aftermath of an event which had not been properly called to an end. It was a play which tapered off to a mumble and had no curtain to tell the audience it was time to go home.
The Man Who Lied to Women, Carol O' Connell
And so shame is added to her sorrow, but that's okay. For her, sorrow is so deep, the shame is no more than a hard pebble thrown into the vast emptiness.
Blink & Caution, Tim Wynne-Jones
'She ain't pretty; she just looks that way.'
Blink & Caution, Tim Wynne-Jones
Sleep met him like a lover in an empty bed.
The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss
'Hello, Shadow,' he said. 'Don't fuck with me.'
American Gods, Neil Gaiman
'Oh, it's the easiest thing in the world to know what people call themselves.'
American Gods, Neil Gaiman
It was a hard world to know anymore.
My Name is Memory, Ann Brashares
She is my doing and my undoing.
My Name is Memory, Ann Brashares
'The world's not much of a story if you don't know who the character are.'
The Blue Girl, Charles de Lint
The heat of her lips is a shade below painful.
The City's Son, Tom Pollock
He walked because he could not bear to fall.
Range of Ghosts (Eternal Sky #1), Elizabeth Bear
Letters were a way of talking so anyone could hear you at any time. Like standing on the corner repeating yourself forever, but without the endless effort. Their shapes were strange, though, bearing no resemblance to their sounds-- bent trees and stumbling drunkards and the wandering of chickens.
Green, Jay Lake