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Fiction Novel Quotes

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Fiction Novel Quotes

“Blake smiled while greeting him and turned to introduce me to his friend from Camp Lejeune. Blake made the formal introductions while I studied the two distinguished men. I liked the way they both carried themselves in a dignified manner with confidence, but not too much that they seemed arrogant. I was fascinated by them. Sleek. Forget eye candy. These two are like eye caffeine. I feel energized just looking at them.”

“But Wharton hadn’t published any of her books while she lived in this house. At Land’s End, she had been unknown, an unhappy married woman. She had not yet become the real Edith Wharton. Not yet divorced. Not yet a novelist. Not yet a war correspondent in France. She wonders how terrifying it felt, not to know any of this about herself, to sit out on this big lawn, looking at the sea, feeling like she was at the very end of it all. She wonders what it was that made her realize there was somewhere else to go.”

“I see sarcastic and obscene visions of angels and demons flirting with the souls of men creating horror and deities in surreal worlds, and writing plays for us to perform; while I am being dragged into the darkness. I want to know who is doing all this… I fell back into that lethargic dream of bottomless pits and deserts hanging from the skies.”

“A smile played around Aomame's straight lips. People were focused on her actions. No one was surprised to see her pull a gun out of her bag-- or at least they did not show surprise on their faces. Maybe they didn't believe it was a real gun. 'It is, though,' Aomame told them mentally. Next she turned the gun upward and thrust the muzzle into her mouth. Now it was aimed directly at her cerebrum-- the gray labyrinth where consciousness resided.”

“In ogni paese, a ogni torneo, individui di qualsiasi nazionalità ed etnia uniti dalla medesima ossessione. Gens una sumus: cosi il motto della Federazione internazionale degli scacchi. Siamo una sola famiglia di persone inebriate dal rumore dei pezzi sul legno -- tac! toc! e pronte a ritrovarci qui nonostante le barriere, i muri, l'atomica, tutto quel che fino a un attimo fa sembrava separarci per sempre, e tutto quel che un domani inventeremo per separaci ancora.”

“I have a hunch the world is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.”

“Gunfire doesn’t startle real Texans, particularly those from rural towns. Miranda’s children mastered pistols, shotguns, and rifles like magicians master top hats, rabbits, and playing cards. Texas bravado aside, however, fully automatic gunfire wasn’t kosher. Not even close. Mirandites cowered at the ominous sounds of hoodlums firing M-16s and AK-47s from train cars barreling through the town’s arteries on largely secluded tracks.”

“Once she had believed that connection meant sameness, consensus, harmony. Having everything in common. And now she understood that the opposite was true: that connection was more valuable--more remarkable--for the fact of differences. Friendship didn't require blunting the richness of yourself to find common ground. Sometimes it was that, but it was also appreciating another person, in all their particularity.”

“It had been our dream, Otto's and mine: to give our children the best possible futures. But it was a mistake, believing you could choose for someone else, no matter how well intentioned you might be. And what did we choose, really? We were told what to want: Propaganda was universal. Especially in this country, where the propaganda was that there was none--we were free. But were we? When we were made to value certain lives more than others; when we were made, relentlessly, to want more? What if I had seen through it? What if I had understood that I already had enough?”

“It was the sunlight coming through the window that woke Alex up; mother nature's own alarm clock rudely snapped him back to consciousness. The white light poured in so arrogantly that it was too much for his eyes to handle. Squinting did not seem enough to defend against it and the light slipped between his fingers when he held up his hand in an attempt to shield his eyes.”

“The robbery was as simple, successful, and as stupid as most robberies are. My name is Sam von Hammerstein. I was born on June 5, 1949, and I grew up on an old family farm in NC that had been handed down through the generations. I had no idea that anything interesting would happen in my life until we robbed a store on July 15, 1968. I was 19. Roger and Jerome were both 18. We lived in rural Rutherford County NC, just across the state line from Spartanburg, SC. We were working class, southern teenagers complaining about not having enough money for a trip to the beach. We were not juvenile delinquents, but each of us had some instability in our family lives. We didn’t have real experience with crime, but we had watched robberies on TV, so we figured it would be easy to do. I have heard it said that you can’t “un-ring” a bell but learned that I needed to try to undo my robbery and spent the next several years dodging bullets that might as well have been shot at me that day.”

“I, Pearl Dale, take on the task of Alton and will honor the Treaty of Atlantis as we will hunt those who bring injustice on the water. With all of you, I will plunder the treasures of those who mock the sea! With all of you, I will bring death to those who think they are above us! With all of you, I will make us legends worthy of songs! We will become immortals! What say you!” - Pearl Dale, Mermaid Island #1”

“Truth is, for every galaxy that far surpasses every planet, there is a Hood. In every Hood, there is birthed a remnant of greatness and uniqueness like no other. Against all odds, that remnant shall be a mighty force that changes the game”!”

“I half expected to hear that stupid cackling laugh again, but there was just the fluttering of new leaves blowing in the cooler breeze. The sunken moon sat on the cosmic ledge like a judge sentencing me to doom. In the bright moonlight, I felt the depth of my ineptitude. To throw off my rage at the world, at myself, I picked up a rock and chucked it across the field, and then I went back home.”

“Everyone kept moving along, like no bad thing would ever happen to them; that sort of thing was only on Twitter or the news feeds. They were safe. Nothing would happen to them. Even in the very spot where it had happened, people moved on with their lives. It was either impressive human-spirit stuff or just total, impenetrable ignorance: the belief that death naturally wasn’t a part of their lives.”

“Thomas skillfully crafts a narrative that not only delves into the complexities of Christopher's internal struggles but also unravels the dynamics of his family and friendships. The author presents a nuanced portrayal of a young man caught between the expectations of his family and the skepticism of his friends, adding layers of depth to the central conflict. Cheryl Thomas's writing exudes authenticity and a deep understanding of human nature. Her characters come alive with actual personalities, problems, and relationships, creating a rich and immersive reading experience. The narrative not only explores the struggles of an individual but also touches on broader spiritual themes that add depth to the storytelling. "The Last One" is not just a tale of personal choices but a profound exploration of destiny and the impact of one individual's decisions on the entire human race. As readers journey through this gripping narrative, they are invited to contemplate the profound implications of the choices we make and the redemptive power of divine intervention. In conclusion, Cheryl Thomas's "The Last One" is a masterfully crafted work that combines elements of suspense, spiritual exploration, and dynamic character development. This book is a testament to Thomas's ability to breathe life into her storytelling, making it a must-read for those seeking a thought-provoking and immersive literary experience.”

“I'll call any length of fiction a story, whether it be a novel or a shorter piece, and I'll call anything a story in which specific characters and events influence each other to form a meaningful narrative. I find that most people know what a story is until they sit down to write one. Then they find themselves writing a sketch with an essay woven through it, or an essay with a sketch woven through it, or an editorial with a character in it, or a case history with a moral, or some other mongrel thing. When they realize that they aren't writing stories, they decide that the remedy for this is to learn something that they refer to as "the technique of the short story" or "the technique of the novel." Technique in the minds of many is something rigid, something like a formula that you impose on the material; but in the best stories it is something organic, something that grows out of the material, and this being the case, it is different for every story of any account that has ever been written.”

“I came to, looking as together as one of Phil Spector’s hairdos. I felt like Clark Kent after a hard night on the kryptonite. I opened one eye. The morning sunlight slatted its way through the wooden shutters. The bed was strewn with naked bodies. A one-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering in the breeze, poised as it was, between a groupie’s buttocks. Even more concerning, a five-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering between mine.”

“Their leader looked over at me, his flawless lips in an even line, his nose chiseled to a point like an arrow aimed my way. Raven waves fell away from big eyes exhibiting more alertness in their stare than any animal or human naturally possessed. Despite how defenseless I knew myself to be, I refused to show him fear. Jovani turned back to the four members from his clan. “I won’t need backup, Percival, I have a priceless bargaining chip.” From the way the others eyed my form, I understood it was me he considered his negotiating leverage. I felt somewhat confident that meant I was more valuable alive. “This stinks,” one of the lady vampires complained. “No, Concetta, that’s just the dog.” A perky nose sniffed in my direction as they shared a trill of amusement at my expense. All but Jovani.”