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Quote by Jonathan Harnisch

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Sex, Drugs, and Schizophrenia

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Jonathan Harnisch

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“I moaned, "No!" That seemed to be the signal Willow was waiting for. She broke, bounding away from me, racing down the dock. As she lunged forward, she emitted a sound I had never heard from her, that I had never heard from any dog. It wasn't a bark, or a snarl, or a growl. It was more like the roar of a lion than any sound a dog should make, and it cut through Emma's cries, the gulls' shrieks, the rush of the waves.”

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Book:The Witch's Kind
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“Rachel's voice is fierce. The Commander will send out scouts. We should-" "Oh, he sent out scouts," Willow says. "Five of them. And they were doing a good job of searching the city. Unfortunately for them, all they managed to find was me." "You killed them?" Ian asks. "No. I invited them over for dinner." She smacks his shoulder. "the sun is almost down. By the time the Commander realizes his scouts aren't coming back, it will be too dark to send more. He can't risk us seeing torchlight, and they can't search these ruins without light." "You scare me a little," Ian says, but his voice is full of admiration. Adam steps closer to Willow. "She's good at everything she does." Quinn clears his throat." Maybe we should get back to the problem?" "We can't travel at night," I say. "We need light as well. But we can leave at dawn, and-" "They'll leave at dawn, too," Adam says. "And if they're that close already, there's no way we can outrun them. Not with children and elderly and the wagons." "Which is why we're going to create a barrier between us," I say. "Something they can't cross." Rachel meets my eyes, and her smile is cold and bright. "Fire." I match her smile with one of my own. "Fire. And when the army finally gets past the blaze, we won't be where they expect, because we're leaving the main road behind." "What are we waiting for?" Willow asks. "Let's go burn something down.”

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Book:Deception
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“As the leaves randomly fell, she contemplated how they sacrificially gave up their essence to sustain new life. Or was it the tree’s sacrifice? Each leaf was a part of Gaia’s play. Their final act: to decompose so a new level of soil could be made, an earthen writing tablet for the next layer of history to be recorded. One generation became the groundwork for the next. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Nothing was exempt, not even the leaves.”

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Book:Legacy
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“By now, at the end of a sloping alley, we had reached the shores of a vast marsh. Some unknown quality in the sparkling water had stained its whole bed a bright yellow. Green leaves, of such a sour brightness as almost poisoned to behold, floated on the surface of the rush-girdled pools. Weeds like tempting veils of mossy velvet grew beneath in vivid contrast with the soil. Alders and willows hung over the margin. From where we stood a half-submerged path of rough stones, threaded by deep swift channels, crossed to the very centre. ("The Basilisk")”

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Book:Terror by Gaslight: More Victorian Tales of Terror
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“They all seemed hungry, happy, and healthy enough in their buzzing—oh the days were hot, and the noise of bees filled the air that was dusty with pollen and sun haze, and there were tiny black flies stuck to one another crowded by the creek and a creek stink rising from the deep pool under the willow tree where a wheat sack of new kittens had been drowned, and their tiny terrible struggling had shot like an electric current through the confusion of muddy water and up the arm of the person who had tied the stone around the mouth of the sack and thrust it into the water; and the culprit had not been able to brush away the current; it penetrated her body and made her heart beat with fear and pity. I was the culprit.”

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Book:Scented Gardens for the Blind
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