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Literary Fiction Quotes

Browse 431 quotes about Literary Fiction.

Literary Fiction Quotes

“Evil should not be, Detective Vera. Truly never can be. But in defining it as such, an inherent human bond with negativity confirms its very existence. Its mere acknowledgement cancels its credibility. Evil is nothing—the lack of anything of substance— made concrete as a balance to everything else. Evil is not, yet it is a part of each human, because humans welcome its participation in their lives. They speak of it in anger or disgust, fear or even wonder— the most appropriate response— giving it a stronger foundation with every passing thought it distorts. Though within their pliable minds, they welcome it with the glee of the ignorant, nurturing the unthinkable, thinking the unimaginable, imagining the most horrid, abysmal designs, embellishing them with an insidious veracity until evil is as substantial a reality as their next breath. I strive for something else, beyond evil’s claustrophobic clutches. I strive to transcend evil by becoming pure nothing. I strive as my followers strived.” He paused, his ideology a cancer, spreading… “I am, yet I strive to not be. Do you understand, comrade?” His tone suggested fellowship, disciples of the same obscene religion. ...”

EvilHorrorWeirdLiterary FictionHorror FictionLiteraryDetective FictionWeird Fiction
Book:Autumn in the Abyss
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“Silence is multifunctional. It can be an attitude, an answer, a warning, a way to avoid a fight, a sedative, and a secret keeper. Silence is the mute heart, the lonely ache, the hidden feeling, the guilty conscience, the disappointment, the shame, the private victory. Silence is “sorry,” “don’t leave,” “help,” “forgive me,” “miss you,” “love you,” and “shut up.” Silence can carry messages more eloquent than the best public speaker. It’s a language no one but its users can hear.”

LoveSilenceHuman NatureLonelinessIdentityEmotionsLiterary FictionSelf ReflectionInner VoiceWomen S Fiction
Book:When Silence Shatters: A Collection of Short Stories
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“اسی تشکیک نے اسے انسانوں کی فطرت کے بارے میں بھی گہرے خیالات میں مبتلا کر دیا۔ وہ سوچتا کہ انسان بھیڑ بکریوں کی مانند ہیں، بے اختیار اور بے بس، جن کی باگ ڈور زندگی کے بے رحم ہاتھوں میں ہے۔ یہ زندگی، ایک سنگدل چرواہے کی طرح، انسان کو اس کی خواہشات اور مرضی کے برخلاف ایک نہ ختم ہونے والے سفر کی جانب ہانکتی ہے۔ وہ زندگی کو ایک ایسا نظام سمجھنے لگا تھا جہاں ہر شے ایک قوت کے ماتحت ہے، اور ہر کوشش محض ایک فریب کی بازگشت۔”

PhilosophyHuman NatureMeaning Of LifeExistentialismSkepticismLiterary FictionPhilosophical FictionFate Vs Free WillLife ReflectionsPsychological Reflection
Book:The First Snowfall Of Winter: Love’s Eternal Light Amidst the Ruins of Despair
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“Any family could have lived in that room, filling the shelves with bought or borrowed books that eventually overflowed to the short glass coffee table. Porcelain ballerinas and clowns, cartoonish and threatening in their amplified emotions, must have been gifts from doting great-aunts. Three living succulents—I touched them, to check for falsity and perpetual longevity—were equally spaced in front of a thick copy of Elizabeth Bishop’s collected works. My family could not have lived in that room; I could not have lived in that room.”

HomeHouseFamilyLiterary Fiction
Book:A Good Happy Girl
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“I looked back at the boy and his father. The man was holding him close now, his arms wrapped tightly around him as if to shield him from the cold. Their laughter echoed down the street–bright and fleeting, and full of something I hadn’t felt in years. I wondered if that boy would grow up to feel the same sting of disappointment I did, if his father would one day become a stranger too.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“It wasn't the first time I had relied on her in our strange, undefined 'relationship.' Late-night texts, spontaneous meet-ups, testing boundaries—most of the time, she did bite. But this? This felt different. It wasn't just curiosity or intrigue anymore. I wasn't just waiting to see how far I could push her. I needed her. I wanted her in a way I couldn't fully explain, in a way that went far beyond anything I'd felt before.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“The rest of the evening unfolded in a gentle, unspoken rhythm. We didn’t rush through anything. We didn’t need to. There was comfort in the quiet moments between us. I didn’t feel the need to fill the space with words, and neither did she. I didn’t have to be anywhere or do anything right now. For once, I was just... here. And that was enough. The world outside continued to spin, I let myself sink into the moment, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and for once, I didn’t have to wonder if I was doing the right thing. I just had to believe it.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“I deliberate on whether the morning would bring a golden sun, melting the thick snow at the foot of the house, turning ice to rivulets down the stone steps. Or if winter would keep its hold, the chill climbing steadily up the windows, pressing cold fingers against the glass, trying to find its way inside. I wondered if the frost would cling to the dubstep or if it had already settled within.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“I love you."The words slipped from my lips into the cold air—small, fragile, real. Her breath hitched, the first real reaction I'd received from her all evening. My heart hammered in my chest, as I waited. Half of me was hoping she'd say it back, but the other half was terrified that I had said it too soon. Perhaps I had—perhaps I had ruined something. But there was no doubt in my mind. If there was one thing I was certain of in this world, it was that I loved her. Completely. Undeniably.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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“You always hear that crap about "kill them with kindness." Fuck that. Honestly, genuinely, truly—fuck that. As long as you let shitty people get away with shitty things, nothing ever changes. Why should I let them insult and degrade me and still grace them with my pearly whites? Why should we let ourselves get worn down by human garbage? It doesn't work that way. It can't. It mustn't.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalExistentialismLiterary FictionPolitcs
Author:Sasha Harding
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“The world is a joke, really—a sick, repetitive joke we all pretend to laugh at while it grinds us down. If this is the one we get, why do we spend it like this? School devours the first two decades of your life, conditioning you to sit and follow orders. Then comes work—a relentless grind that strips away what little freedom you thought you had. Want a house? A holiday? The illusion of comfort? You'll need more hours, more overtime, more bending over backwards for people who don't know your name. And if you're lucky, you'll retire at 65, when your body's too tired and your soul too drained to do anything with the time you've finally bought. By 75, if you even make it that far, you'll be a burden. Some poor nurse or relative will be wiping your arse while they try to keep their own heads above water.”

LifePhilosophyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary FictionPoltics
Author:Sasha Harding
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“It was in times like these I wondered if dying could be a peaceful thing. I'd been cooped up the last few days, struggling with the flu—or at least, that was what I thought it was. My nose felt like a delicate piece of china, one sneeze away from shattering me completely. My throat? Violated. And not in a way that could be mistaken for pleasurable.”

PhilosophyLossGriefFamilyRelationshipEmotionalIsolationExistentialismLiterary Fiction
Author:Sasha Harding
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