Outline, Rachel Cusk
But the only hope of finding anything is to stay exactly where you are, at the agreed place. It's just a question of how long you can hold out.
Still Life, Louise Penny
'It's like those old horror films from the Hammer studios, of the monster, not running, never running, but walking without pause, without thought or mercy, toward its victim. Murder is often like that. It starts way far off.'
Honor Among Enemies, David Weber
"Somehow," Jourdain said in bone-dry tones, "I doubt the people who drafted those orders expected us to engage pirates at three-to-one odds first."
"Then they should have said so, Sir."
How to Grow Up, Michelle Tea
...when adulthood seems somehow off-limits to you, growing up takes time. You have to want it, and then you have to make a lot of changes. Some changes you make consciously and some without knowing it, and some changes get made for you. It's so much work I forgot I was even engaged in it; it just became life.
The Kingdom of Gods, N.K. Jemisin
I pulled En loose from its cord. "Kill for me, beloved," I murmured, and dropped it to the floor.
In the Circus of You (poetry), Nicelle Davis & Cheryl Gross
We will die, Mom, he says, But like star-matter we'll regenerate. Why
do you think that is? I ask him. So we can find the joy in it, he tells me.
"Like Me," Varian Johnson, Open Mic: Riffs on Life Between Cultures in Ten Voices, Mitali Perkins, ed.
"Callie, don't make stuff up." They've been friends since nursery school, so she never holds back.
I stare at her, and with my eyes I yell: Control-Alt-Delete! Control-Alt-Delete!
The Horla, Guy de Maupassant
Solitude is indeed dangerous for a working intelligence. We need to have around us people who think and speak. When we are alone for a long time, we people the void with phantoms.
Packing for Mars, Mary Roach
(His boss told me when I'd visited earlier in the year that leg-bobbing is viewed as a red flag during astronaut selection interviews, along with failure to make eye contact. For the remainder of the conversation, the boss and I stared intently at each other across the table, both refusing to look away.)
Glory O'Brien's History of the Future, A.S. King
Why People Take Pictures and The History of the Future. That's what pictures are. They are the history of the future. They will outlive us and they will exist to show us that even if it's gone, even if it's never going to tuck you in at night or sing you a lullaby, it is still there, in silver halide and paper. It is there because you can look at it and remember. It is powerful because once it's there, it changes as you change.
Love is the Drug, Alaya Dawn Johnson
It's strange -- she keeps waiting for her mother to lash out at her, to condemn the life Bird has lived in their absence, but instead of wrathful, Carol Bird looks surprisingly wary. As if she returned home expecting a caterpillar and discovered a crow.
Clariel, Garth Nix
It only occurred to her much later that Jaciel was probably doing the same thing, and her mother's calm place lay in her work. There they were, two people who were so much the same, retreating into their inner worlds, one of the forest, one of gold. Both steadying their breathing, slowing mind and body as they restrained the fury that was their birthright.
R is for Ricochet, Sue Grafton
There was something restful about being in the company of someone I disliked so much. I didn't have to worry about impressing him, which allowed me to focus on the game at hand.
Kitty and the Silver Bullet, Carrie Vaughn
"Thanks," she said. "Everything people say about you--Becky said you'd help."
"I'm happy to," I said, and I was. It felt like winning, and I didn't have to fight anyone, and no one had to die.
Greenglass House, Kate Milford
A strange pleasure crept into his heart. It lasted maybe thirty seconds before the wave of self-reproach he'd known was coming swept in and washed it all away.
Authority, Jeff VanderMeer
He had a sudden image of information floating out the side of his head in a pixelated blood-red mist. These are my relatives. This is my ex-girlfriend. My father was a sculptor. My mother is a spy.
The Strange and Beautiful Sorrows of Ava Lavender, Leslye Walton
Maman, her poor heart made all the more fragile by the loss of her children, soon disappeared completely, leaving behind only a small pile of blue ashes between the sheets of her bed. Emilienne kept them in an empty tin of throat lozenges.
Red Deer (poetry), Anne Marie Macari
you are there--the grace of you--how
I've taken your image inside me,
with all my tenderness I keep you--
little horse, little deer.
Racecraft: The Soul of Inequality in American Life, Karen E. Fields and Barbara J. Fields
Tolerance as an alternative to equality is so firmly rooted in good intentions that practitioners fail to recognize the evil.
Alexander's Bridge, Willa Cather
He liked everything about her, he told himself, but he particularly liked her eyes; when she looked at one directly for a moment they were like a glimpse of fine windy sky that may bring all sorts of weather.
The Goblin Emperor, Katherine Addison
There were many things Maia supposed he might have done or said, but only one that was not cruel. He said, very quietly, "Why?"
Salvage, Alexandra Duncan
No one will notice I'm gone from my bed. It is the last night before I am fully a woman.
And so I let him lead me from the garden.
Who Fears Death, Nnedi Okorafor
"You have tiger eyes," he said. "And those have been extinct for decades."
"You have old man's eyes," I said. "And old men don't have very long to live."
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