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Literary Quotes

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Literary Quotes

“I had a separate meeting with Directors Montgomery and Black. We discussed terrorists infiltrating the country. As you know, there are ten scientists from the Middle East taking part in the biotechnology project. I don’t want to take any chances about one or more of them being part of a terrorist group. We don’t need this lab center and people incinerated.”

DesireFictionDramaSuspicionLiteraryHuntedSuspense ThrillerFavoritesIllicit
Book:Fatal Identity
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“She imagined all the mothers of the unnamed children, imagined the ad cut from the paper, a mother writing her child’s name at the bottom of the list to add their child to the names of those who would return home, those beautiful children who would never be forgotten, as if their child’s name needed to be on the list to be remembered—to have been disappeared.”

PainImaginationFictionFamilyFantasyAdventureDramaDepressionLiterary
Author:Douglas Weissman
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“Do you want to live your entire life with me, but very far from here? It's in the mountains, in Switzerland, there's a certain place there... Don't worry, I'll never abandon you and I won't put you into a madhouse. I'll have enough money to live without begging. You will have a servant, you won't have to do any work. Everything you can possibly want will be provided for you. You will pray, go where you like and do what you like. I won't touch you. I won't leave the place and go anywhere my whole life either. If you want, I won't speak to you my whole life; if you want, you can tell me your stories every evening, as you used to in the corners of those rooms in Petersburg. I'll read books to you, if you wish. But in exchange for all this, it will be an entire life spent in one place, and a gloomy place at that. Do you want to? Can you make up your mind to do it? You won't regret it, and torment me with tears and curses?”

SacrificeEmotionalRomanticLongingDevotionPsychologicalIsolationIntrospectionCompanionshipLiterary
Author:Fyodor Dostoevsky
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“Now I did not say to you that I don't believe at all!' he finally shouted. 'I'm letting you know, purely and simply, that I'm an unhappy, boring book and nothing more, for the time being, for the time being. But let my name perish! You're what ... we're discussing, not me... I am a man without talent, and all I can do is spill my blood and nothing more, like any man without talent. Let my blood perish as well!”

PhilosophySufferingBeliefEmotionalDespairMortalityExistentialIntrospectionLiterarySelf Identity
Book:Demons
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“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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“{Letter from Fawcett to the great Robert Ingersoll, 1894} I do so wish, that, in all these big questions, literary men would take you more for a guide than they do, or seem to do. You have, of course, an immense constituency; but your love of letters and your deeply poetic spirit render you worthy of a far greater reverence and respect from writers than it seems to me that you receive. I want the brilliancy of your thought to penetrate our literature profoundly and permanently. But of course that will come. The younger generation of writers cannot escape you any more than the air they breath. You will, indeed, be the air they breath, -- and hence, in many cases, if not all, their inspiration. Especially should the poets love you and sit at your feet. If you die before you see the change, I believe that those who now love you and survive you will see how much of the mere pietistic rubbish in modern poetry has been gradually yet surely swept away by the mighty besom of your fearless and noble intellect.”

LoveInspirationPoetryHonorRespectLettersPraiseIntellectFearlessPoeticAdmirationLiteraryIngersollRobert G IngersollRobert IngersollRobert Green IngersollMightyBrilliancy
Author:Edgar Fawcett
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“Though I am sometimes reluctant to admit it, there really is something 'timeless' in the Tyndale/King James synthesis. For generations, it provided a common stock of references and allusions, rivalled only by Shakespeare in this respect. It resounded in the minds and memories of literate people, as well as of those who acquired it only by listening. From the stricken beach of Dunkirk in 1940, faced with a devil’s choice between annihilation and surrender, a British officer sent a cable back home. It contained the three words 'but if not…' All of those who received it were at once aware of what it signified. In the Book of Daniel, the Babylonian tyrant Nebuchadnezzar tells the three Jewish heretics Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego that, if they refuse to bow to his sacred idol, they will be flung into a 'burning fiery furnace.' They made him an answer: 'If it be so, our god whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thy hand, o King. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.' A culture that does not possess this common store of image and allegory will be a perilously thin one. To seek restlessly to update it or make it 'relevant' is to miss the point, like yearning for a hip-hop Shakespeare. 'Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward,' says the Book of Job. Want to try to improve that for Twitter?”

ReligionChristianityBibleLiteraryKing James Bible
Author:Christopher Hitchens
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“Someone once told me, ‘The brightest smiles bring us the greatest of joys. The loudest laughter is like a grand orchestra, and the most beautiful faces are covered in makeup, because we are okay, and everything is fine. The brightest smile is like a bandage, it looks okay, but inside the wound still festers, asking to be cut off. They say laughter is the best medicine. And the mask is our way of making ourselves look more beautiful, to reduce our flaws and hide our scars. When the smiles fade away and the bandage is ripped off; when the laughter is silenced and the music stops, when the makeup is washed away, and our mask fades, we find that we were never truly okay.”

TruthMusicLaughterSmileMaskFantasy FictionLiterarySmile Quotes
Book:The Holy Grail War: The Hedgehog
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“Tears, glistening like crystals under the dazzle of bright lights, appeared on her almost lifeless eyes – eyes that have not yet dried up, despite the copious amount that had flowed through them over the years. When life gives you certain experiences, it creates in you a volcano of unending grief. All that you wish is for this volcano to erupt once, so violently and uncontrollably that it would eventually turn into an island of tranquillity amidst the unhappy seas of your heart. But in a world that loves to shackle even your tears, these dormant volcanoes erupt only in spurts, forcing from their depths an uncontrollable flow of molten lava, or at times milder geyser springs, in the rare silences of your private space.”

PainGriefTearsLiterary
Book:I Killed the Golden Goose : A COLLECTION OF THOUGHTS, THOUGHTLESSNESS, SILENCES, POEMS & SOME ‘SHOT’ STORIES
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“As the sun continued to rise, the tune became more intoxicating, lulling me into a completely relaxed state. I allowed my mind to drift, imagining I was walking through a pretty meadow full of roses. In my mind’s eye, I held a rose flower in my hands and sniffed at it, my eyes shining with pure happiness. In my dreamy state, the air smelled of roses, warming my spirit and coaxing me to stop and rest. Lying back in the grass, I stretched my arms up to the sky, inviting the sun to join me. Warm tingles rippled across my skin and eased the pressure in my head. I was light, drifting through the breeze and letting the wind take me somewhere untouched and soothing.”

HappinessMusicMysterySafeRosesLiteraryChildhood MemoryBeauty Of NatureDay DreamingFlute
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
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“The wax of my single tallow candle has melted considerably and only a tiny spark of life remains in its fire. As I sit at this desk, its flailing light bewitches me. My hands are clutched tightly together, trying to summon my energy to regain my composure. Inside my heart, a deep sadness resides, creeping its way through my body. Lowering my hands to my womb, I feel a great sense of hollow emptiness. Once there sat a precious life, wrestling its way inside my being and sparking my heart with love and hope.”

GriefMysteryLonelinessLetterLiteraryEpistolaryEmpressFading LightLove And HopeFemale Sadness
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
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“The Emperor likes to keep an eye on all mail sent from the palace and so he does not approve of the use of envelopes. So I have learned how to employ the ancient art of letter locking: delicately folding and slitting sections of the letter and gluing them down with adhesive where necessary. I feel a lightness of life to know that my words in this letter are sealed away and will only be revealed to you.”

MysteryLonelinessSecretsLetterLiteraryEpistolaryEmpressAncient Letter ArtLetter Locking
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
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“Every day he wakes up to a grey world. The smell of damp earth seeps through the cracks and corners of the log cabin, windows frosted with the condensation. There are ancient apple trees with sprawling, gnarled roots outside, streams trickling down the mountain all around the home, and a decomposing body buried deep in the woods where the coywolves won’t get to it. Welcome to the holler.”

SadLiteraryComing Of Age NovelAppalachian Fiction
Book:Wolves In The Holler
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“He grimaced and went after her. “I’m not a trainer. Just spent a lot of time working out.” “Misspent youth, clearly.” She held the door open, standing just outside. “My application to princess school was rejected.” Callan exited the building and fell into step alongside her. “Working out was how I coped.” Sunlight peeked out from behind striped clouds and lit the early-morning sky. Autumn weather chilled the perspiration on his skin. “Such a shame.” Meridian glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. “What is?” “That you didn’t go to princess school. Could have learned some manners.” Her blue-green eyes sparked in the sunlight. And her mouth . . . Her lips set in some smart-looking, lopsided grin, with a small dimple. I should definitely kiss that look off her face. “Overrated. Inefficient. And I look terrible in a tiara.”

LoveRomanceFriendshipFictionSatireNew AdultLiterarySteamyHumorous FictionHumorous American Fiction
Book:Losing My Breath
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“Father reaches out to touch my scarf. “Your mother’s scarf,” he says softly. “She loved this so very much, you know. I remember her creative streak, how she refused to use the strong dye colours that we usually use for silk design. Instead, she preferred a shade of white, which would not sell as successfully in trade. She loved this scarf, the way it sat humbly around her neck and gave her senses of comfort and peace as she held you tight. You would often beg to wear it, Aisha.” I stroke the scarf subconsciously. A memory flashes in my mind of my mother’s shaking hands as she shaped spun silk into this beautiful scarf. My gentle mother, who coughed violently and shook, plagued she was with an illness that had deteriorated her immensely. I spent every moment I could with her, my heart knowing that each might be my last. “Beautiful Aisha, wear this scarf with your love,” said my mother one morning as she tied it around my neck. I stared at her, my lips wobbling as tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’ll wear it, always loving you, Mother,” I replied. My mother nodded, her eyes also filling with tears as she realised that I understood how little time we had left together.”

LoveFamilyMysterySilkLiteraryEpistolaryMother Daughter BondSilk TradeHeritage Silk Scarf
Book:Adira and the Dark Horse
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“If Audrey sensed what he was contemplating, her silence did not let on. He turned from the window and found her looking at him with a flawless poker face. It may have been attentiveness and curiosity to hear what he would say next, or perhaps she was expecting from him what women throughout the ages, often against their better judgment, had expected of men.”

FictionNovelContemporaryNew York CityAmazonLiteraryAfrican American FictionWomen S IssuesDiverse CharactersRoy L Pickering JrUpmarket Commercial FictionKindle Scout Nominee
Book:Matters of Convenience
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“...the locale did not make him think of her, nor did most things. He felt no negativity about the time they had spent together, but simply did not dwell on it much. She had been a seat filler, memorable as the smiling face of a beautiful girl in the window of a passing train, inspiring a fleeting moment of joy and promise, immediately forgotten with the opening of that day’s newspaper.”

FictionNovelContemporaryAfrican AmericanNew York CityMainstreamAmazonLiteraryPocWomen S IssuesDiverse CharactersRoy L Pickering JrUpmarket Commercial FictionKindle Scout
Book:Matters of Convenience
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“Life was a swirl of mysteries, each one waiting to be plucked up and explored, but not necessarily solved. As the weight of responsibility bore down on a person, it could feel like a long list of chores leading up to the final one - figuring out how to die with dignity. But Quincy’s interpretation of his surroundings seemed a truer representation of life’s meaning, or rather, the lack of meaning other than to dazzle and delight and befuddle from cradle to grave.”

FictionNovelContemporaryAfrican AmericanNew York CityMainstreamAmazonLiteraryPocWomen S IssuesDiverse CharactersRoy L Pickering JrUpmarket Commercial FictionKindle Scout
Author:Roy L. Pickering Jr.
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“Was happiness (which was perhaps achieved not by getting what you wanted, but rather, by obtaining what you didn’t know you wished for until it was in hand) a hologram that would continually change appearance with the slightest shift of perspective? Or maybe happiness by definition was a temporary state of being recognizable only in hindsight. It was impossible to catch what always managed to be overrun and end up in the rear view mirror.”

FictionNovelContemporaryAfrican AmericanNew York CityMainstreamAmazonLiteraryPocWomen S IssuesDiverse CharactersRoy L Pickering JrUpmarket Commercial FictionKindle Scout
Book:Matters of Convenience
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