Quotessence
Home / Quotes / Quote by Cliff Jones Jr.

Quote by Cliff Jones Jr.

“Martha jumped into his path as he made his way through the kitchen, so Flip held out a hand for her. She rubbed against his fingers from her nose to the tip of her tail and then wandered off again like their business was complete.”

Quote by Cliff Jones Jr.

Book:Dreck
Create image

Work

Dreck

Browse quotes and source details for this work. more

Author

Cliff Jones Jr.

Browse famous quotes and profile details for Cliff Jones Jr.. more

You May Also Like

“Direction and duration of gaze figures prominently. For the cat as hunter or prey, surveillance and vigilance are locked together. Releasing gaze from another cat, signals affiliation in blinking and alternating the direction of gaze allows for an antagonist to move away. Barriers to sight lines, are security sought in the cats’ seeking dens and resting spaces with raised sides. Relying on the safety of sight lines, when vulnerable, can be seen in preferred elimination with uncovered litter boxes and why removing box coverings can be effective with unacceptable elimination in the home." From "Cat Behavior, Domestication and Sociality" in BEHAVIOR MATTERS”

DogsCatsAnimal BehaviorCat BehaviorLitter Box
Book:Behavior Matters for Cats and Dogs
Create image

“I did exactly as Sampson said and I conjured up a creature with rabbit ears, a wolf face, a snake body, frog feet, a pig tail, and spikes running from the top of its head to the end of its tail. “Now,” Sampson said. “This is the kind of magic that you shouldn’t do.”

MagicWitchesTurtleFamiliarsJennifer PriesterMortal Realm WitchSampsonThe Worst Familiar In The Realms
Book:Mortal Realm Witch: The Magic Continues
Create image

“The fox barked at her, one sharp, short sound. Without expecting to, Irène laughed. "What?" she said aloud. The fox's mouth opened, showing its white teeth, and its tongue lolled, laughing with her. A sense of recognition tingled in Irène's bones and throbbed in her forehead. Her laughter died. She came to her feet, facing the creature. It scrambled down from the tree trunk, its lithe body weaving through the branches as easily as a stream of water might. It stood on the opposite bank. Its tail arced above its back, a plume of red and black. Its unblinking gaze fixed itself on her. Irène whispered, "Are you here for me?" Again the fox's mouth opened in its grin, and its tail waved once, twice, before it leaped the little brook as easily as if it could fly. Irène stood very still as the fox stepped toward her on narrow black feet as dainty as a dancer's. It---he, she could see now---pressed his cold black nose against the back of her hand, and, when she turned it, nosed her palm. She thrilled at the touch, though the touch of so many other beasts disgusted her. He was different, this fox. It was not just that he was beautiful, and graceful. It was more, much more. Her soul knew him. Her power flared in his presence. He took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers, then whirled and leaped back over the brook to disappear into the forest on the other side. The last thing she saw was that lush red-and-black tail, switching back and forth as he faded into the dimness of the woods. Irène brought her palm to her nose and sniffed the toasty smell of him. She knew what he was, and she knew what it meant. Her mother had Aramis. Her grandmother, Ursule had told her, had had an ugly gray cat. And she---now, surely, a witch in full possession of her power---had a glorious vulpine creature like no other. She had her fox. She would see him again.”

HeritageWitchesFoxFamiliars
Book:A Secret History of Witches
Create image

“And as we stood there, a curious thing happened: a kind of window opened in the rain, just as if a cloud had been hitched aside like a curtain, and in the space between we saw a landscape that took our breath away. The high ground along which the road ran fell away through a black, woody belt, and beyond it, for more miles than you can imagine, lay the whole basin of the Black Country, clear, amazingly clear, with innumerable smokestacks rising out of it like the merchant shipping of the world laid up in an estuary at low tide, each chimney flying a great pennant of smoke that blew away eastward by the wind, and the whole scene bleared by the light of a sulphurous sunset. No one need ever tell me again that the Black Country isn't beautiful. In all Shrophire and Radnor we'd seen nothing to touch it for vastness and savagery. And then this apocalyptic light! It was like a landscape of the end of the world, and, curiously enough, though men had built the chimneys and fired the furnaces that fed the smoke, you felt that the magnificence of the scene owed nothing to them. Its beauty was singularly inhuman and its terror – for it was terrible, you know – elemental. It made me wonder why you people who were born and bred there ever write about anything else.”

IndustryTerrorLandscapeBlack Country
Book:Cold Harbour
Create image