Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
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★

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@words-in-order
Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
When I looked around I saw and heard of none like me. Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Nought may endure but mutability!
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
Nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose.
Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
How very disappointing truth is sometimes.
Autumn, Ali Smith
It's all right to forget, you know, he said. It's good to. In fact, we have to forget things sometimes. Forgetting it is imprtant. We do it on purpose. It means we get a bit of a rest. Are you listening? We have to forget. Or we'd never sleep ever again.
Autumn, Ali Smith
It was nothing less than magic. Who needs a passport? Who am I? Where am I? What am I? I'm reading.
Autumn, Ali Smith
There's always, there'll always be, more story. That's what story is.
Autumn, Ali Smith
Here's an old story so new that it's still in the middle of happening.
Autumn, Ali Smith
Time travel is real, Daniel said. We do it all the time. Moment to moment, minute to minute.
Autumn, Ali Smith
The power of the lie, Daniel said. Always seductive to the powerless.
Autumn, Ali Smith
Overnight, like a girl in a myth being hunted by a god who's determined to have his way with her, she has altered herself, remade herself so she can't be had by anyone.
Autumn, Ali Smith
The days are still warm, the air in the shadows sharper. The nights are sooner, chillier, the light a little less each time.
Autumn, Ali Smith
Once it would have been a year's worth of news. But news right now is like a flock of speeded-up sheep running off the side of a cliff.
Autumn, Ali Smith
This isn't fiction, the man says. This is the Post Office.
Autumn, Ali Smith
Is there never any escaping the junkshop of the self?
Autumn, Ali Smith