Literary Fiction Quotes

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. 
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?”
He, of course, replied, “No.”
“Well, we’re going to a better place.”
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.”
“Are you afraid of ghosts?” I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,” he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,” as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. 
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?” Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Whither be the heart of Justice?
            Lo, in stone, child. Lo, in stone.
            Whither be the heart of Justice?
            Lo, tis fast in stone.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“The early women rise before I do. Their lamps splinter the gloom of the kitchens. They chatter in whispers as they brew tea for the cooks. Windows are open to counter the heat of the ovens. Outside, the sky is as black as my soul.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Her unexpected outburst rocked Flaminius to his core. Suddenly, she didn't seem so angelic. Her face twisted with rage; veins in her neck throbbed with fury in a scene all too familiar. Her reaction switched him off to her instantly as all his worst fears came to life.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“This world would be a pleasant place if people didn’t inhabit it.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Why do you have such faith in me, Aurelia?" 
"I've told you a million times that I love you, you make me feel safe and cherished, and you care deeply for our people. Why wouldn't I have faith in you?”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“On the Acropolis, he’d thought she’d seen too much sun for a woman but in the courtyard, under the moon, her face, neck, and arms were as pale as the moon goddess. Allowing himself to imagine it was the moon goddess leading him upward was a way of climbing to the second story.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“My Aspasia. With her, he’d discovered the sweetness in life . . . and she might like to know that. He’d tell her sometime. But he knew he’d given this lovely woman what she’d wanted most, their son’s name. He leaned over to the child. “So, you’re Little Pericles.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“The softness, warmth and weight of her breast filled his palm. “I’ve imagined this for weeks,” he murmured. Thinking of her out there on the battlefield. In his tent. What more could a woman want? Quite a lot, actually.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Pericles let a moment pass, then another. The Spartans needed time to set in balance the risks of accepting the offer and the joys of being rich. Not as much time as he’d expected, though.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“As Aristocleia raised her cup to toast Xanthippus, her gown slipped from her shoulders, exquisite as Aphrodite’s, and flowed like the water that slid over her naked breasts when she allowed him to watch her bathe. It was wonderful to possess a gem of a woman. It made a man feel beautiful and godlike himself, briefly.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Legends were mostly bullshit, even his own, but they sometimes could be useful.”
― William Kely McClung, Black Fire

“After that, nothing was the same. The very notion of my having a family turned vague, hard to credit, even weirdly jokey.”
― Michael Wyndham Thomas, The Erkeley Shadows

“Do you blame Shakespeare for any of it?”
The question is so unlikely, so nonsensical coming from such a sensible man, that I can’t suppress a smile. “I blame him for all of it.”
― M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains

“Do flyers become archers when you give them a bow? No. They need arrows, too.”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“She could see the headlines now.

‘Spinster dies alone in her condo. No one discovered her corpse for three days.’

She had been so preoccupied with work, that she’d neglected to do the grocery shopping and was now regretting it.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“The seclusion of this ranch house threatened to take her breath away, but she managed to smile. So this is what it’s like to be a country girl.”
― Cricket Rohman, Colorado Takedown

“Chase looked like a drowning man without a life preserver, and by the look in his eyes, he was going under for the third time.

“I knew you would be like the waters of the South Pacific Ocean.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I liken people to different bodies of water,” he quickly explained.

“You what?”

“Each ocean has a different personality,” he said to clarify. “The Pacific Ocean is warmer and inviting, but the color is muddied in places. The Arctic Ocean is cold and very uninviting, one might even say that it is not very appealing, but it’s full of life. Then there is the South Pacific Ocean, warm, inviting, and crystal clear. It has this purity to it. Why, the coloring of the water is some of the brightest blue I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There are even places that you can see thirty meters down.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“Is it the darkness of my face or the darkness of space? And is there a difference?”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“Oh, sorry, love. I was just getting out of the shower when I heard this loud commotion in front of my door.” Jake gave her a sloppy grin. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code when coming to the aid of a beautiful neighbor. I’ll keep it in mind for the next time I come running.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“Will turned over the last words for a long time. Then he thought about the flashing message-light up in the kitchen.”
― Michael Wyndham Thomas, The Erkeley Shadows

“The television set then came after her, chomping its teeth.  Upon reaching the living room, the television succeeded at eating her body bit-by-bit: first the legs, then the body, and finally her flailing arms.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and The Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“An Affair With The Media
Being President presupposes a relationship with the media. One does have control over the intimacy of that connection.
My media association might be best represented by the following interview, recently undertaken for this book:
“What do you think of Newstime’s review of your book, Madam President?”
“Newstime’s review? Surely you mean Bill Bologna who works for Newstime?”
“Well, yes.”
“Now, Bill Bologna. What has he published?”
“He’s a critic. He does reviews.”
“Oh, he gets paid for reading what other people have published and then writing what he thinks of their writing?”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“The morgue was the name the human workers gave to this room in the facility. They were careful not to utter it in front of the androids, for fear of offending them.”
― A.R. Merrydew, The Girl with the Porcelain Lips

“Somethings wrong,’ he told her.
‘Be specific Jack,’ she said pressuring him.
Jack turned again to the desert. ‘We should already be dead,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s wrong.”
― A.R. Merrydew, The Girl with the Porcelain Lips

“She stood panting as adrenalin fired up her muscles. Flipping open the safety catches on both of her laser pistols, she set them for maximum delivery. Anything or anyone on the receiving end of these weapons would never survive, even as atoms.”
― A.R. Merrydew, The Girl with the Porcelain Lips

“After iris-scanning was legally accepted as identity verification for drivers licenses, passports and so much more, anyone could securely log onto the Internet from any computer anywhere via such a scan.
Elections (much less air travel) have never been the same”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“Kurt said, “I have always wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smug look from the face of thee Prussian Pickle!”
― Michael G. Kramer, His Forefathers and Mick

“After the front legs emerged, what looked like a quartered and bloodied cut of steak followed.  This piece of steak had rich and dark fur, wet with the mare’s internal membranes that covered the whole body, but it did not have the look of a horse at all.  And yet from the steak’s center came this pulsating heartbeat, as though its pace-setting qualities tried in vain to pull away or escape from its thoroughbred side.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and The Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“At first, she bucked like a wild stag beneath me, and she tried to scream, but the pillow did a good job of muffling her voice.  Before long, the bucking stopped, and my wife’s corpse, blue without oxygen, appeared below me like a hideous phantom.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and The Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction