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“The migraine held me in its gloomy embrace. I rocked in my bed. I willed the railroad spike to remove itself from my head. I counted sheep. I counted breaths. I counted back from 100. I counted on myself. The pain in my head burned lethal umber and gold, shaped like a dagger and sharp as betrayal. I named it Detective Wasserman. I gave it flesh with my worrying, and I flayed it, inch by glorious inch.”

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Book:A Certain Hunger
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“We, of all the beings that we know of, can think. We can eat, write, build, save. We can predict, estimate, and count. We can preserve food for lifetimes, and in times of crisis, we can find ways to ensure our survival. With each passing generation, our sphere of control of our existence is larger. What if the earth is hit by an asteroid or there is no way to stop global warming? We look to colonize other planets. The fate of our species, in a few years, will not be tied to the fate of the earth. Our home planet must be cared for ... but as we go interplanetary and then interstellar, our control on our lives and the evolution of our species grows. As far as we know, we are the only species that has a say in the development of its future.”

LifeCareEarthExistencePlanetsEvolutionFutureSurvivalHumanCrisisLifetimeSpeciesGlobal WarmingControlLiveThinkWriteSurviveSavePlanetBuildEatExistInterstellarCountPreserveBeingsPredictEstimate
Book:The Things We Don't Know
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“I count everything. Even numbers, odd numbers, multiples of 10. I count the ticks of the clock i count the tocks of the clock I count the lines between the lines on a sheet of paper. I count the broken beats of my heart I count my pulse and my blinks and the number of tries it takes to inhale enough oxygen for my lungs. I stay like this I stand like this I count like this until the feeling stops. Until the tears stop spilling, until my fists stop shaking, until my heart stops aching. There are never enough numbers.”

HeartLinesNumbersTearsBrokenSadPaperBeatsMadFeelingOxygenLungsPulseStopCountTahereh MafiJuliette FerrarsShatter Me SeriesUnravel MeAdam KentBlinksInhal
Book:Unravel Me
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“All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“I can’t help but ask, “Do you know where you are?” She turns to me with a foreboding glare. “Do you?”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“There is a stillness between us, a period of restlessness that ties my stomach in a hangman’s noose. It is this same lack in noise that lives, there! in the darkness of the grave, how it frightens me beyond all things.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“History doesn’t start with a tall building and a card with your name written on it, but jokes do. I think someone is taking us for suckers and is playing a mean game.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“She leaves my side and heads deeper into the apartment singing, “—if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away… a copper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“That’s a stupid name! Whirly-gig is much better, I think. Who in their right mind would point at this thing and say, ‘I’m going to fly in my Model-A1’. People would much rather say, ‘Get in my whirly-gig’. And that’s what you should name it.”

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Author:Nathan Reese Maher
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“Nesta didn't see the lake, or the stones, or the sunlight and green. Her vision blurred, and her eyes stung as if they had been sliced- cleaved open to allow the tears to pass. She made it to the stones before she fell to her knees, so hard the rock bit into her bones. Was she worth being counted? She knew the answer. Had always known it. Cassian whirled toward her, but Nesta didn't see him, either, or hear his words.. Not as she buried her face in her hands and wept.”

Sarah J MaasCryingWorthlessBreaking DownCassianNesta ArcheronNestaA Court Of Silver FlamesCountWept
Book:A ​Court of Silver Flames
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“She didn't remember a time when she hadn't been angry. ... She couldn't quell this relentless, churning anger. Couldn't stop herself from lashing out before she could be wounded. She was no better than a rabid dog. She had been a rabid dog with Amren and Feyre. A beast, exactly like Tamlin. She hadn't even cared that she'd made it down the House stairs at last- did it count, when it was driven by fury? Did she count- was she worth being counted? It was the question that sent everything crumpling inside her.”

AngerAngrySarah J MaasFeyre ArcheronNesta ArcheronNestaTamlinA Court Of Silver FlamesAmrenCount
Book:A ​Court of Silver Flames
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“It’s easy to count other people’s mistakes. Make your own if you can.”

PeopleEasyMistakeQuoteAphorismPeople QuotesAphorismsEgoismOthersSayingEasy WayMakePeople RelationsMake A ChangeCanPeople NatureMaking A Difference In The WorldSelfish PeopleOpinions Of OthersPeople SkillsMistakes We MakeMake An ImpactCountCan TPeople Inspire PeopleMake A ChoiceMistakes Learn LifePeoplesMistakes In PracticeMistakes HumanityOpinions Of PeopleYour OwnMistakes Man MakesQuotes About MistakesIf You CanSayings About MistakesYour Own Making
Book:The New Land
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“The Goth boy stares at me, and I give him a what-are-you-looking-at stare right back. “I’m dead,” he says in a dull monotone. “Pardon me?” Adriana asks, but he keeps staring at me. “You’re dead, too. Look at your veins. They’re blue.” He points at my forearms where dark veins run their lengths. “You’re rotting like me.” I glance to Adriana, hands clasped and praying that she won’t leave me here. Adriana’s stopped crying now and squints at the boy before standing to pull closed the curtain that rings my cot. “Crazy,” she says with an uncertain smile. “You’re not rotting.” . . . ninety-nine, one hundred . “No,” I reply. “But I will if you leave me here.”

PsychologyMental HealthMental IllnessWolvesRottingCountPsychiatric Hospital
Book:Counting Wolves
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