Anthologies Quotes
Quotes tagged as "anthologies"
Showing 1-30 of 58
“Life is short break the rules.
forgive quickly, kiss slowly
love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile...”
― String of Fate
forgive quickly, kiss slowly
love truly. Laugh uncontrollably and never regret anything that makes you smile...”
― String of Fate
“The main thing about aliens is that they are alien. They feel no responsibility for fulfilling any of your expectations. (Dark City Lights)”
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“This isn't where I intended to be. Killing a person has a funny way of getting your life off-track.”
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“The city was a hive from this height, the people and the yellow cabs moving about in the street below like pre-programmed insects. (Dark City Lights)”
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“If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, I'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions.”
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“Only criminals and madmen walk into Central Park after midnight...or, occasionally, an actor. (Dark City Lights)”
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“This isn't where I intended to be. Killing a person has a funny way of getting your life off-track. (Dark City Lights)”
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“Just like life, it was over much too soon. And just like life, there weren't any answers. But like that one-in-an-eight-million great New York moment, I didn't need one. (Dark City Lights)”
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“Sometimes I help him out and sometimes he helps me out, and sometimes he tries to push me through the wall. (Dark City Lights)”
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“A year earlier my parents had moved us out of the city to a split-level on Long Island, their idea of the American dream, which meant it as now an hour-and-a-half commute via the 7:06 Hicksville to Penn Station every morning. (Dark City Lights)”
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“It was as if my sould had left my body, floated up to the ceiling, and was watching me destroy my own career with one deliberately assaultive punch. (Dark City Lights)”
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“She resents the chipped paint of the table and the dingy closet they call a dressing room. (Dark City Lights)”
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“The train hit her with the sound of a meat-filled hefty bag smacking the pavement, and the effect was much the same, I guess. (Dark City Lights)”
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“A Lancashire Weaver
This place might be haunted
the ghost hunter said
'Midst the dust and the grime
walk the feet of the dead.
The machines now stand idle
Looms clatter no more
There's a stack of old bobbins
piled up by the door.
I remember my Mam
she worked here, so she said
A Lancashire weaver
but now she is dead
Along with this mill
and along with the dreams
of working mill lasses
and their jobs, so it seems
We once wove the best
cotton cloth in the world
But now that's all gone
on the scrap heap been hurled
The clatter of clogs
on the old cobbled street
the humdrum staccato
from thousands of feet.
Tough work and much hardship
and many a care
Folks they got by
for brass, it was rare
but still we had pride
By Christ, did we ever!
Will it ever come back
The answer is NEVER
This place might be haunted
the ghost hunter said
'Midst the dust and the grime
walk the feet of the dead.
I'm glad that my Mam
never saw it this way
Out in all weathers
came here every day
When this closed down
she had already died
Perhaps just as well
She'd have bloody well cried.”
― Echoes From a Cobbled Street: Stories and Poems from the North West
This place might be haunted
the ghost hunter said
'Midst the dust and the grime
walk the feet of the dead.
The machines now stand idle
Looms clatter no more
There's a stack of old bobbins
piled up by the door.
I remember my Mam
she worked here, so she said
A Lancashire weaver
but now she is dead
Along with this mill
and along with the dreams
of working mill lasses
and their jobs, so it seems
We once wove the best
cotton cloth in the world
But now that's all gone
on the scrap heap been hurled
The clatter of clogs
on the old cobbled street
the humdrum staccato
from thousands of feet.
Tough work and much hardship
and many a care
Folks they got by
for brass, it was rare
but still we had pride
By Christ, did we ever!
Will it ever come back
The answer is NEVER
This place might be haunted
the ghost hunter said
'Midst the dust and the grime
walk the feet of the dead.
I'm glad that my Mam
never saw it this way
Out in all weathers
came here every day
When this closed down
she had already died
Perhaps just as well
She'd have bloody well cried.”
― Echoes From a Cobbled Street: Stories and Poems from the North West
“No one looked like her, which she'd thought didn't matter, since skin shouldn't matter. Who cares if others judged her for it? Those who saw her only for her skin were themselves blind.”
― Beasts and Beauty
― Beasts and Beauty
“The dimple in his left cheek was ironic-it gave the impression that he was sweet as a cupcake. (Dark City Lights)”
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“The dollar bills attached to her hips fluttered to the rug of the small square stage, like the first flakes of winter in the Bronx. (Dark City Lights)”
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“If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, 'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions. (Dark City Lights)”
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“She shuffled with her head bowed, her dark eyes drifting to avoid contact, and she screamed in bed at night. (Dark City Lights)”
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“She was lost. Torn between what to do. I saw it clearly in her eyes as she stared at me. I wanted to tell her to let go and be with me even if it was just one night but I couldn’t. One night wasn’t enough.”
― Midnight Oil: An Anthology
― Midnight Oil: An Anthology
“That’s when it hit me. I scrambled to his side of the bed in haste, silently opened the bedside drawer and located the box of matches he had used to light the candle.”
― For Melissa: An Anthology
― For Melissa: An Anthology
“When I was learning the anthologist’s trade many years ago, sitting at the knees—metaphorically speaking, at least—of veteran anthologists like Damon Knight and Robert Silverberg, I was taught that you should always save your strongest and best story for last.”
― The Year's Best Science Fiction: First Annual Collection
― The Year's Best Science Fiction: First Annual Collection
“In a general way I am completely disgusted with the anthology racket. People who have given nothing to the world in the way of writing (and never will) presume to use other men's work at nominal, and by God I mean nominal, prices, for their own benefit and profit and to justify themselves as editors or critics or connoisseurs, in furtherance of which they write pukey little introductions and sit back with an indulgent smile and all nine pockets open.”
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