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Literary Fiction Quotes

Browse 431 quotes about Literary Fiction.

Literary Fiction Quotes

“After I’ve preached the last sermon I’ll ever deliver, I sit in my Audi with my dad’s Bible in one hand and a Glock 17 in the other, contemplating how to get away with a robbery. Soon this gun will make me money, send me to prison or kill me. My life is now that simple.”

“Undoubtedly, you are overwrought from re-wroughting hand-wrought iron out right. But I think in time you will iron things out for yourself. Stay holstered and strapped to your side. It is said, ‘when genius matures it goes into hixibn’–“hiding.” You will know of this wisdom one day. --Thomas Kannon Sword Master, The Lady and the Samurai”

“Short story collections are the literary equivalent of canapés, tapas and mezze in the world of gastronomy: Delightful assortments of tasty morsels to whet the reader's appetite.”

“Last night I dreamt Moses and I were rowing underwater. We could breathe and talk to one another. We rowed past schools of fish and sea anemones and Moses named them for me.” —Jules Finn”

“You must realize from your studies, Miss Feng, with the complexity of our MEG society, algorithms have become indispensable for analysis and decision making in our data-saturated environment. Digitization creates information beyond the processing capacity of Human intelligence, yet provides a stable mental environment powered by a set of logical rules. That is how we keep order in Toronto MEG.” “Excuse me, Mr. Zhang,” Ke Hui said, somewhat uncomfortably, “but the invisibility of algorithmic systems and the obscurity of their operations hint at a society where algorithms do not reflect the public interest. Issues involving ethics and values I mean, from my reading of MEG history, challenge the assumptions of the neutrality of algorithmic systems. Would this not undermine democratic governance through reliance on technocratic resolutions?”

“La marea comienza a descender. Los árboles afirman nuevamente sus raíces en la tierra. Las olas de sangre que golpeaban mis costados se apaciguan y mi corazón echa anclas, semejante a un barco cuyas velas se deslizan, cayendo suavemente sobre el puente inmaculado. El juego ha concluido. Es hora de ir a tomar el té”

“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.”

“It is never too late to be what you might have been. — George Eliot The biggest single problem in communication is the illusion that it has taken place. — George Bernard Shaw”

“What had those vile creatures unleashed in me? What beast had they awakened? I think I vowed to kill the beast and bury it so deep in the abyss it would never again rear its ugly head. Part of me did make this promise. The other part embraced an unfolding of life’s inextinguishable flames and the mind’s unspoken bondage. As far as reinforcing the strength of my mind’s resolve, I supposed my body was a useless entity. Rather, it was this fancy thing I lived in—a mausoleum that beckoned the living, promising gratification, refuge, solace, peace, even immortality. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t mine. I realized then, it had never belonged to me. I could control what happened to it only if people were merciful. Watching Valentin was not merciful. It was a torturous joy.”

“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 Weight of Falling Leaves Winter swept onto my doorstep quite easily,
Like it overtook every part of my heart,
The moment you left my autumn to fall. So I kept things as you left them – frozen,
Showing no sign of any emotion or feeling,
Like the leaves that wither and die in the ice. Never fulfilling the purpose for which they fell,
Yet crumbling under shoes heavier than the burden
The tree gave them by letting them go. They long to be carried away by the wind or the elements,
Not trapped forever in this frozen expanse of white,
Beneath starry skies that gaze upon each December night. I can no longer bear to look upon them,
So I set them free with a kiss to keep;
Filled with the fire of your lips, finally redeemed –
See how they gleam with beauty, long before spring.”

“Slowly the night’s grasp yielded to the onslaught of the coming day. The darkness faded leaving pockets of thick shadow cast by the steady rising of the orange sliver on the horizon. Even these strongholds of the night were unable to stand in the face of such an overwhelming adversary, and shortly I was left in the shining light of morning.”

“The blind faith in some half-assed conspiracy theories lines up with the logic of having to believe in something with no questions asked. It gives us peace and comfort. As simple as I was, I found that resorting to this absolute nonsense was the root of all our problems. It was a road of willingly-learned helplessness, for no action could make a difference, thereby no action was needed.”

“In light of my distanced telescopic exposure to the mayhem, I refused to plagiarise others’ personal tragedies as my own. There is an authorship in misery that costs more than empathy. Often I’d found myself dumbstruck in failed attempts to simulate that particular unfamiliar dolour. After all, no one takes pleasure in being possessed by a wailing father collecting the decapitated head of his innocent six year old. Even on the hinge of a willing attempt at full empathy with those cursed with such catastrophes, one had to have a superhuman emotional powers. I could not, in any way, claim the ability to relate to those who have been forced to swallow the never-ending bitter and poisonous pills of our inherited misfortune. Yet that excruciating pain in my chest seemed to elicit a state of agony in me, even from far behind the telescope. It could have been my tribal gene amplified by the ripple effect of the falling, moving in me what was left of my humanity.”

“In the mantra of shared hatred and placing the blame on Israel, our cowardice to face the barbarity of our heads of states was replaced with a divine purpose. Contemplating the manifestation of the eradication of hatred I often concluded, the entirety of the Middle East’s theocracies and dictatorships would be replaced by total anarchy. We would be left with nothing, as our brotherhood of hatred was the only bond known to us. Enculturated in the malarkey of that demagoguery, forces beyond our control and comprehension seem to deceive us into a less harmful and satisfactory logic as opposed to placing some blame on ourselves and thus, having to act to reverse that state of affairs.”

“I have to stress that my duties towards victims of all sorts, be it helping, taking their side, or caring, ends the moment their status becomes a bargaining chip. The moment the victim becomes a righteous sufferer. For in my short time on this planet, history and on-going affairs are full of those competing in victimhood.”

“Exciting News! BookLife Reviews, a division of Publishers Weekly, has given TORN its “Editor’s Pick” designation, a high honor given to independently published books that are deemed to be of outstanding quality by their editorial team! Their review said, in part, “This ambitious, vividly detailed, sometimes dense novel demonstrates that Snodgrass knows his patch of America like Faulkner knew Yoknapatawpha or Donald Harrington knew Stay More.”