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Quote by Seanan McGuire

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An Artificial Night

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Seanan McGuire

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“And as Sean climbs into bed and closes his eyes, Mother comes, riding astride a lion the size of a house, blowing a clarion from a horn made out of a hollowed-out elephant's tusk. Her eyes have a faint crimson glow from the lasers that are mounted behind her irises, ready to fire at will. 'I touched a prince's chest today and made his heart stop,' she says. 'I'll do it again if I have to: they'll see what happens if anyone gets in my way. Good night, my son. Remember that I will always keep you safe; that I am always everywhere and always here.' 'Good night, Mom,' Sean says, and falls asleep. And Mother recedes, wise and beautiful and strong, a genius and a hero, a punisher of thieves and a slayer of wicked men, to watch over her son in all her different versions.”

BeautifulMotherSadVersionsAfterlifeBittersweetEndingProtectorGuardian AngelMother And SonDexter PalmerVersion ControlLast Lines
Book:Version Control
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“Callan sucked in a breath. As a sniper, he’d been trained by the Marines to know and recognize moments. Moments when all the training—his focused mind, muscle memory, weapon knowledge . . . When all the preparation—target reconnaissance, angle of attack, position scouting . . . When all the setup—hidden amid the terrain, barrel aimed, trajectory known . . . When everything came together in one crucial moment—when the sniper squeezed the trigger and took his shot.”

LoveRomanceRelationshipDramaAdversitySuspensePtsdAdult RomanceSteamy Romcom
Book:Losing My Breath
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“Gannets I am watching the white gannets blaze down into the water with the power of blunt spears and a stunning accuracy-- even though the sea is riled and boiling and gray with fog and the fish are nowhere to be seen, they fall, they explode into the water like white gloves, then they vanish, then they climb out again, from the cliff of the wave, like white flowers-- and still I think that nothing in this world moves but as a positive power-- even the fish, finning down into the current or collapsing in the red purse of the beak, are only interrupted from their own pursuit of whatever it is that fills their bellies-- and I say: life is real, and pain is real, but death is an imposter, and if I could be what once I was, like the wolf or the bear standing on the cold shore, I would still see it-- how the fish simply escape, this time, or how they slide down into a black fire for a moment, then rise from the water inseparable from the gannets' wings.”

Poetry
Book:New and Selected Poems, Volume One
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