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Quote by Steven Sherrill

“Unngh,' the Minotaur says. What he means is that every past is littered and scarred. What he means is that the present moment is the only moment that pulses, that breathes. What he means is that he himself is capable of great tenderness but has also done great harm. The Minotaur knows that sometimes mercy requires expedience. Haste. Sometimes it can't be about how much a thing hurts.”

Quote by Steven Sherrill

Book:The Minotaur Takes His Own Sweet Time
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The Minotaur Takes His Own Sweet Time

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Steven Sherrill

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“The Minotaur lacks confidence in his penmanship. Over time the Minotaur has learned to read, has even been able to make the slow laborious transition from one language to another as cultures die off and fade away as he moves from place to place. But the Minotaur has never been able to rise above rudimentary skills. Most books seem ridiculously small, and the physical act of finding a comfortable sight line over his massive snout frustrates him. Nevertheless the Minotaur is haunted by the idea that books and reading might make those vast stretches of time that loom before him more bearable.”

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Book:The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break
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“As the Minotaur walks to his car Buddy charges the fence, snorting, slobbering and barking maniacally. The Minotaur is no longer afraid of Buddy, and he knows the dog means no real harm. But they have an unspoken understanding. Each of them has a history; each clings to an image, however diminished, of himself and his place in the world.”

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Book:The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break
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“The Minotaur comes and goes. He has for centuries. And there have been many bridges. The Minotaur pauses, as he walks, midway through the covered bridge that serves, in more ways than one, as the entrance to Old Scald Village. He rests his heavy snout against one of the wooden trusses. The Minotaur likes this portal, both ingress and egress, a breach in the terribly human construct of time.”

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Book:The Minotaur Takes His Own Sweet Time
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“Sometimes Iris experienced her emotions like shifts in lighting and the man across from her glowed, golden and warm, like someone holding a giant buttercup under his chin. His dark eyes creased at the corners as he met her gaze smiling, with a bottom lip so ripe it made Iris bite hers just for looking. Longish black hair that fell soft around a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, the sparkle of stubble making it look like it already had.”

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