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Literary Fiction Quotes

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Literary Fiction Quotes

“The Dire Wolf killed the Jakes,” he said. “Who’s this Dire Wolf?” I asked. Figured he was talking about someone he knew. He spoke in a whisper, almost reverently. “The Dire Wolf is the curse of the Downstream People, the Arkansa. He is an evil spirit of the Quapaw.” I sighed and shook my head, knowing how these old Indians liked to throw in a bunch of mythical tribal mumbo-jumbo and superstition to deflect blame from someone they knew. “Well, you know where I can find this Dire Wolf fella?” I asked. “He cannot be found,” the old man said. “Really. You have reason to believe he’s taken off to other parts?” He said nothing for a full quarter minute, his black eyes intently on mine, searching. I could see contempt in them and a sadness. Made me nervous. “No,” old Long Walker answered at last. “He has not departed. Now that he has awakened, he will kill again.”

FictionDramaMurderLiterary FictionMythical CreaturesMythicalWestern MysteryIndian LoreMythical MonstersUs Marshall
Book:Dire Wolf of the Quapaw: a Jubal Smoak Mystery
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“After a long while, the giant forest turned into a clearing. Up ahead, a large waterfall rushed into a giant pool. Rippling curls tumbled down the rocks, and the sunlight shone through the spray and made a rainbow in the mist. It was magic to see a rainbow close enough to touch and I reached out my hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?” I said. “Immaculate,” said Mama. “It’s the Valley of the Tears,” I said with a smile. “A place where even the mountains cry”.”

MagicLiterary FictionMagical RealismMothers And DaughtersSaved SoulsTears QuotesMountain QuotesBritish ColumbiaWaterfallCrying Quotes
Book:Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit
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“Perhaps their unhappiness is merely a continuance of the endless, ancient stories of sadness, the same kind that has preyed upon centuries of minds - lost fortunes, failures, unrequited love, disconnection, undeserved illness, nameless pain of any kind. There is nothing new about wanting to hang a veil between sadness and sober conscience.”

Literary FictionWomen S Fiction Novel
Book:Dropseed: The Story of Three Sad Women
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“It’s a peculiar thing...that the true origin of one’s desire to create, the initial kindling of inspiration, that first generative seed, is always more or less unknown. The source of one’s creativity seems to evade a clear-cut understanding. No clear analysis can be made. It’s too subjective, too multifaceted. An artist can recount their reasons for what might have given them the idea to paint, sing, or write about this thing or that, but it remains a mystery how one person can experience the strange, inexplicable wave that leads to an idea, and then is pushed further by an impulse to pick up a tool and give birth to that idea, while another person, simply, cannot.”

Inspirational QuotesLiterary FictionArtistryCreativity QuotesArtists QuotesArtists LifeArtist QuotesCreativity And MotivationalWomen S Fiction Novel
Book:Dropseed: The Story of Three Sad Women
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“Allir í hringnum höfðu hátt um sig og gripu hver fram í fyrir öðrum. Hitalampi brann í loftinu fyrir ofan þau. Lilja fékk sér sopa af bjórnum og þegar hún setti hann aftur á borðið, fann hún að hávaðinn og skarkalinn á reykingasvæðinu fjaraði smátt og smátt út þar til herbergið varð fullkomlega hljóðlaust. Allt stöðvaðist. Fólk hætti að hreyfast; varð líkara útklipptum pappamyndum af sjálfu sér. Hún fann hitalampann brenna á hnakkanum og leit á strákinn sem sat við hliðina á henni og sá birtuna streyma á andlitið á honum. Haka hans lyftist upp í sömu andrá og hljóðið skall aftur á. Einhver kveikti sér í sígarettu. Kolla lyfti bjór að vörum sér og saup. Mannfólkið varð aftur raunverulegt. „Ég ætla á klósstið,“ kallaði Kolla í eyrað á Lilju og stuggaði við henni. Rödd hennar skar rönd í hávaðann. Þær stóðu upp í sömu andrá og glas skall í gólfið og molnaði. Hlátrasköll brutust út á borðinu á móti þeim. Kolla ýtti við öxlinni á Lilju og þær stauluðust út um dyrnar á reykingasvæðinu og aftur inn á barinn.”

LiteratureAlcoholismLiterary FictionBarNightlifeIcelandicBókmenntir
Book:Sara og Dagný og ég
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“Ást mín á Arnóri hefur engan stað til að fara á núna. Stundum vildi ég að ég gæti fangað hana, lokað hana inni, en þá veit ég að ég myndi ég sakna hennar. Núna streymir hún bara frá mér í allar áttir hvenær sem er – kemur stundum út í tárum, stundum í brosi. Ég vildi að Arnór gæti séð mig núna. Ég held hann yrði stoltur. Hann sá eitthvað í mér sem enginn annar sá. Eitthvað sem fékk hann til að brosa í hvert skipti sem hann sá mig. Og ég bíð stundum eftir því að sjá hann birtast í dyragættinni heima hjá mér, eða úti einhvers staðar, á bar eða eitthvað, og brosa þessu breiða brosi sínu. Ég sver það er það fallegasta sem ég hef séð.”

Short StoryLiterary FictionIcelandBarShort Story CollectionIcelandicBókmenntir
Book:Sara og Dagný og ég
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“שמש בן ערביים הטילה אור זהוב על בית הקפה ברחוב הירקון, משתקפת בכלי הזכוכית על השולחנות. ריח הים הפך חריף יותר אחר הצהריים, אולי בשל הבריזה שחלפה אל פני המים. אדים חמימים ספוגי מלח הפיצו ניחוח היולי משרה שלווה, מי בראשית שמכים בחוף הזה ונסוגים מימים ימימה, זוחלים אל החול החם ואז נמלכים בדעתם ומחליקים אחורנית.”

Literary FictionIsraeli LiteratureHebrew Literature
Book:Intimate Solitude: A Novel
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“I’ll tell you now: this America of ours—it’s not the country me and my kind grew up in. It’s not the America these new people come to find neither. And, seems to me, this unknown country no longer cares for what either of us got to offer. The handful of folks who’ve figured out what they want, well, they grab it from the rest of us without askin’. What has happened to America, can anyone tell me? (Return to India)”

Literary FictionShort StoriesSouth Asian LiteratureSouth Asian Writer
Book:Each of Us Killers
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“When baking bread, a process happens called “oven spring.” The high heat of the oven releases the water from the dough as steam and yeast help release carbon dioxide from the sugars. The steam and carbon dioxide cause rapid expansion in the loaf’s volume. I think, sometimes, of what happened that night with Charlie as a kind of oven spring for my life. (Life Spring)”

IndiaLiterary FictionShort StoriesSouth Asian LiteratureSouth Asian Writer
Book:Each of Us Killers
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