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Quote by Angela J. Townsend

“I was a struggling single mom when my novel, The Forlorned, became a motion picture. I thought my life had turned around for the better until a convicted child molester sued me for trademark infringement over the word FORLORNED. Finally, after three long years of legal proceedings, the US Supreme Court sided with me. Always stand up and fight for what is right. Never give in—never give up!”

Quote by Angela J. Townsend

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The Forlorned

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Angela J. Townsend

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“So it is that supernatural horror is the product of a profoundly divided species of being. It is not the pastime of even our closest relations in the wholly natural world: we gained it, as part of our gloomy inheritance, when we became what we are. Once awareness of the human predicament was achieved, we immediately took off in two directions, splitting ourselves down the middle. One half became dedicated to apologetics, even celebration, of our new toy of consciousness. The other half condemned and occasionally launched direct assaults on this "gift.”

“To rise, you must fall. To fall, you must rise. You are the light in the darkness. You are the darkness in the light. You are the servant who sits at the right hand of Death. You are Death who sits at the right hand of the servant. Fire and Water. You will meet Death not once but twice as it is written, and you will show It your face. Water and Fire. The kiss of death, the kiss of life. Into the hole, you shall descend to judge the dead. From the hole, you shall ascend to judge the living.”

“In the quiet corners of existence, we grapple with our perceived insignificance, yet relentlessly chase dreams. But beware, for these very aspirations can blur our vision of reality. Instead of fixating on distant horizons, let us savor the present—our most precious currency. Amid fractured identities and fleeting emotions, find solace in imperfection, and weave meaning from the void.”

“You will find me in the flicker of dying bulbs, in the rustle of sleepless winds, in the corridor's caged whispers, in the door's slow-blooming creak, in the wail of distant gales, in night's ink-thick hollows, in the silver hush of anklets, in each bead trembling on an orphaned necklace- for even after I am gone, your fear will keep me breathing everywhere light forgets to look.”

“După cum bine știți, Sire, suntem cu toții oameni încercați, botezați cu foc și plumb. Însă trebuie să vă mărturisesc: ne este frică. Ne este frică de umbrele mișcătoare ce tremură în colțul ochiului și care dispar în momentul în care întoarcem capul spre ele. Ne este frică de foșnetele din noapte ce se sting atunci când sărim din coșmaruri tulburătoare cu armele în mâini, urlând spre Beznă. Fiara ne pândește - din umbră, din ceață - cu colții ascuțiți lucind albi printre negurile ce ne înconjoară tăcute. Uneori, se arată. La mare distanță, și numai pentru o clipă. Ne privește de departe cu ochi de foc, adulmecându-ne spaimele, oboseala, neliniștea, apoi dispare, topindu-se în întunecimile dese. Mă întreb dacă este, într-adevăr, ceea ce căutăm, sau doar un joc de lumini, o imagine incertă născocită de mințile noastre cele atât de tulburate...”