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Quote by Charles Stross

“Neither of them noticed the pair of polka-dotted knickers hiding behind the ventilation duct overhead, listening patiently and recording everything.”

Quote by Charles Stross

Book:Singularity Sky
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Singularity Sky

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Author

Charles Stross
Charles Stross

Charles Stross is a British science fiction writer born on October 18, 1964. His works are known for their profound philosophical thinking and unique science fiction settings, covering a range of topics from artificial intelligence to political intrigue and time travel. more

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“If it's any consolation, I used my fantastic powers to turn things different colors today," she said with a smile. "Well, one color. Black." "Very goth. And hey, more than I could do." He looked down at her trailing silver hair. "This is a much better look for you, by the way. Neoromantic. And... not actually deadly, I take it?" "It's harmless," she said with a smile. "At least until the new moon. And even then, I have to be actually focusing and directing it to cause harm. I still have a lot to learn, but I feel... comfortable with it now. No more tying it up!" Flynn smiled and for a moment looked like he was going to reach for her hair, now that it wasn't dangerous. His hand rose and floated in the air halfway between him and her... and then he quickly used it to slick his own hair back out of his face. "Yeah. My hair can do things, too. But it's kind of dramatic and you have to ask nicely, sometimes with a little gel.”

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Book:What Once Was Mine
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“FELIX. I can't help myself. I drive everyone crazy. A marriage counselor once kicked me out of his office. He wrote on my chart, Lunatic!...I don't blame her. It's impossible to be married to me. OSCAR. It takes two to make a rotten marriage. (Lies back down on the couch.) FELIX. You don't know what I was like at home. I bought her a book and made her write down every penny we spent. Thirty-eight cents for cigarettes, ten cents for a paper. Everything had to go in the book. And then we had a big fight because I said she forgot to write down how much the book was...Who could live with anyone like that?”

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“Over To Candleford Chapter XXVIII: Growing Pains "This accumulated depression of months slid from her at last in a moment. She had run out into the fields one day in a pet and was standing on a small stone bridge looking down on brown running water flecked with cream-coloured foam. It was a dull November day with grey sky and mist. The little brook was scarcely more than a trench to drain the fields; but overhanging it were thorn bushes with a lacework of leafless twigs; ivy had sent trails down the steep banks to dip in the stream, and from every thorn on the leafless twigs and from every point of the ivy leaves water hung in bright drops, like beads. A flock of starlings had whirred up from the bushes at her approach and the clip, clop of a cart-horse's hoofs could be heard on the nearest road, but these were the only sounds. Of the hamlet, only a few hundred yards away, she could hear no sound, or see as much as a chimney-pot, walled in as she was by the mist. Laura looked and looked again. The small scene, so commonplace and yet so lovely, delighted her." It was so near the homes men and yet so far removed from their thoughts. The fresh green moss, the glistening ivy, and the reddish twigs with their sparkling drops seemed to have been made for her alone and the hurrying, foam-flecked water seemed to have some message for her. She felt suddenly uplifted. The things which had troubled her troubled her no more. She did not reason. She had already done plenty of reasoning. Too much, perhaps. She simply stood there and let it all sink in until she felt that her own small affairs did not matter. Whatever happened to her, this, and thousands of other such small, lovely sights would remain and people would come suddenly upon them and look and be glad. A wave of pure happiness pervaded her being, and, although it soon receded, it carried away with it her burden of care. Her first reaction was to laugh aloud at herself. What a fool she had been to make so much of so little.”

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Book:Over to Candleford
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