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Quote by T.F. Hodge

“Words set the tone for how the table is set, and how the food will be digested.”

Quote by T.F. Hodge

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T.F. Hodge

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“Penny rolled over, got to her feet, trying to get control of her scattered mind, but Quinn was behind her now and had his powerful arm around her neck. “I will snap your neck, Penny. I swear to God, I will snap your neck. Nothing you can do will stop me.” Penny went limp. “You think the king will let you get away with this, Quinn?” she hissed. “Anyone messes with me, Penny, you or anyone else, and I go on strike. See how well you enjoy life without me and my crews. Without food.”

FightCigarThreatenPennyQuinn GaitherStand Up To
Book:Fear
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“Go, Breeze,” someone yelled. But another voice yelled, “Quit showing off, stupid mutant.” Brianna stopped dead. Her dress settled back into place. “Who said that?” Zil. The same jerk who had picked on Jack over the phones. “Me,” Zil said, stepping forward. “And don’t bother trying to look tough. I’m not scared of you, freak.” “You should be,” Brianna hissed. Suddenly there was Dekka, up off her chair, hand extended between Brianna and Zil. “No,” she said in her deep voice. “None of that.” Quinn joined her. “Dekka’s right, we can’t be having fights and stuff here. Sam will shut this place down.” “Maybe we should have two different clubs,” a seventh grader named Antoine said. “You know, one for freaks and one for normals.” “Man, what is the matter with you?” Quinn demanded. “I don’t like her acting like she’s so cool, is all,” Zil said, stepping beside Antoine. “You should be on our side, Quinn. Everyone knows you’re a normal,” another kid, Lance, said. “Well…kind of normal. You’re still Quinn.”

PrejudiceDiscriminationFightFreakStereotypeBreezeArgueBriannaQuinn GaitherZil SperryAntoineMutanr
Book:Hunger
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“Hey, brah,” Quinn said. “What is going on, do you know?” Sam asked. “It’s a club.” Quinn grinned. “Man, you must be working too hard. Everyone knows about it.” Sam stared at him. “It’s a what?” “McClub, brah. All you need is some batteries or some toilet paper.” This announcement left Sam baffled. He considered asking Quinn for clarification, but then Albert appeared, formally dressed, like he thought it was graduation or something. He actually had on a dark sports coat and slacks in a lighter shade. His shirt was pale blue, collared, and ironed. Spotting Sam, he extended his hand. Sam ignored the hand. “Albert, what is going on here?” “Dancing, mostly,” Albert said. “Excuse me?” “Kids are dancing.” Quinn caught up then and stepped in front of Sam to shake Albert’s still-extended hand. “Hey, dude. I have batteries.” “Good to see you, Quinn. The price is four D cells, or eight double As, or ten triple As, or a dozen Cs. If you have a mix, I can work it out.” Quinn dug in his pocket and produced four triple A batteries and three D cells. He handed them to Albert, who agreed to the price and dropped the batteries into a plastic bag at his feet. “Okay, the rules are no food, no alcohol, no attitude, no fights, and when I call ‘time,’ there’s no arguing about it. Do you agree to these rules?” “Dude, if I had any food, would I be here? I’d be home eating it.” Quinn put his hand over his heart like he was pledging allegiance to the flag and said, “I do.” He jerked a thumb back at Sam. “Don’t bother with him: Sam doesn’t dance.” “Have a good time, Quinn.”

DancingPaymentBatteriesSam TempleAlbertClubQuinn Gaither
Book:Hunger
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“Where are you going, Albert?” Albert said nothing. How rare, Quinn thought: Albert speechless. “Not really your concern, Quinn,” Albert said finally. “You’re running out.” Albert sighed. To his three companions he said, “Go ahead and get in the boat. The Boston Whaler. Yes, that one.” Turning back to Quinn he said, “It’s been good doing business with you. If you want, you can come with us. We have room for one more. You’re a good guy.” “And my crews?” “Limited resources, Quinn.” Quinn laughed a little. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you, Albert?” Albert didn’t seem bothered. “I’m a businessman. It’s about making a profit and surviving. It so happens that I’ve kept everyone alive for months. So I guess I’m sorry if you don’t like me, Quinn, but what’s coming next isn’t about business. What’s coming next is craziness. We’re going back to the days of starvation. But in the dark this time. Craziness. Madness.” His eyes glinted when he said that last word. Quinn saw the fear there. Madness. Yes, that would terrify the eternally rational businessman. “All that happens if I stay,” Albert continued, “is that someone decides to kill me. I’ve already come too close to being dead once.” “Albert, you’re a leader. You’re an organizer. We’re going to need that.” Albert waved an impatient hand and glanced over to see that the Boston Whaler was ready. “Caine’s a leader. Sam’s a leader. Me?” Albert considered it for a second and shook the idea off. “No. I’m important, but I’m not a leader. Tell you what, though, Quinn: in my absence you speak for me. If that helps, good for you.” Albert climbed down into the Boston Whaler. Pug started the engine and Leslie-Ann cast off the ropes. Some of the last gasoline in Perdido Beach sent the boat chugging out of the marina. “Hey, Quinn!” Albert shouted back. “Don’t come to the island without showing a white flag. I don’t want to blow you up!”

RunningLeaderLeavingHidingQuinn GaitherAlbert HillsboroughBuinessman
Book:Fear
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“He showed, in a few words, that it is not sufficient to throw together a few incidents that are to be met with in every romance, and that to dazzle the spectator the thought should be new, without being farfetched; frequently sublime, but always natural; the author should have a thorough knowledge of the human heart and make it speak properly; he should be a complete poet, without showing an affectation of it in any of the characters of his piece; he should be a perfect master of his language, speak it with all its pruity and with the utmost harmony, and yet so as not to make the sense a slave to the rhyme. Whoever, added he, neglects any one of these rules, though he may write two or three tragedies with tolerable success, will never be reckoned in the number of good authors.”

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Book:Candide
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