“I can't kill someone!"
"You hit your brother in the head with a fire extinguisher."
"But that was family! And I didn't kill him.”
“Yes, storms are damaging, but we need them because they clear away the bracken that prevents new flowers from having a chance to grow. And of course we need the sun to shine on those new flowers that without the storm might never have had a chance to bloom.”
“Kayla snatched the ruby-coloured bra he'd dug out from behind his back. "You should know, you're the one who got it off me," she said.”
“...everyone's too busy having a good time to care about anyone else."
"This sucks," Alex said sullenly. "If someone murders you and you get revived and come back to wreak vengeance on your killers, they could at least have the decency to notice you.”
“Yes, I'm sorry you won't be coming with us," Chloe said to Alex. "But please don't worry. I'm certain The Lord has another plan for you." She glanced at me. "For both of you."
"Oh, I can assure you,"said a new, deeply masculine voice from behind me. I turned to see John sitting, tall and dark and disapproving, on the back of his horse, Alastor. "He does."
"Chloe wasn't talking about you," I said to John, leaning my elbows against the rough wood of the dock railing. "She meant the other lord."
John raised a dark eyebrow. "Oh, that one," he said. "My mistake.”
“In everyday life, we’re given a choice. Do the right thing, do nothing, or do the wrong thing. All too often, people choose to do nothing. And that’s all right. It’s easier. Sometimes it’s difficult to know what’s right and what’s wrong. But every so often, a few people choose to go out of their way to do the right thing”
“John lowered the book he'd been reading.
"Im sorry. Were you speaking to me?"
"I know you were listening, " I said in disgust, taking the book from him and tossing it over the side of the bed. "You couldn't possibly have been reading that. You were holding it upside down.”
“Tassels," I said in disgust.
Alex, too, was turned in his seat.
"You guys," he said. "He's still moving."
Disappointed, I said, "Kayla, back up over him.”
“She went to the most expensive private girls' school in Connecticut. All they taught her there was how to fold doilies."
Pointedly ignoring Alex, I said to John, "I'm sure if you show me, I'll catch on."
"Excellent."John's gaze on me was warm. "Then later perhaps you could show me how to fold doilies.”
“Cabrero, kayla said, narrowing her eyes at Alex." If you do that one more time, I will take this book from you and hit you with it till you're dead. Again.”
“Your boyfriend dive into, like, three feet of water. He didn't come up, either.He is probably drowned or turned into a merman. Honestly, I don't know which would be worse. ..”
“Grandma being possessed by a murderous demon from hell makes perfect sense to me,”
“ts very simple. In everyday life, we're given a choice. Do the right thing, do nothing, or do the wrong thing. All too often, people choose to do nothing. And that's all right and what's wrong. Sometimes it's difficult to know what's right and what's wrong. But every so often, a few people choose to go out of their way to do the right thing.”
“Pająk wysnuwa wszystko ze swojego wnętrza. (...) Nie wszyscy pisarze tak robią. Niektórzy są jak mrówki, pozbierają trochę tu, trochę tam, a potem to, czego tak pracowicie naściągali, uważają za swoje dzieło. Krytycy bez obiekcji wierzą, że niemal wszyscy pisarze zaliczają się do tej właśnie kategorii. Chętnie wskazują, że dana książka "zawiera ślady", "czerpie z", "ma dług wdzięczności wobec" pewnych tytułów lub prądów bądź współczesnych, bądź z historii literatury, i to nawet wtedy, gdy rzeczony autor nigdy nie zbliżył się do wspomnianych pozycji. Krytycy jednak przyjmują niemal za pewnik, że wszyscy pisarze są równie uczeni i w równym stopniu pozbawieni fantazji jak oni sami. Wygląda na to, że za aksjomat przyjęto niemożność powstawania jakichkolwiek oryginalnych impulsów, przynajmniej nie jest to możliwe w żadnym małym kraju, a już z pewnością nie w w naszym. Istnieje jednak również trzecia kategoria pisarzy. Ci, którzy korzystali z Pogotowia Autorskiego, byli jak pszczoły. Zlatywali się, żeby zbierać nektar w różanym ogrodzie Pająka, w ten sposób zdobywali surowiec, lecz większość z nich wkładała wiele trudu i wysiłku w jego przerobienie. Przetrawiali zebrany z róż nektar i przetwarzali go na własny miód.”
“She was a lucky woman who had established a happy knack of writing what quite a lot of people wanted to read. Wonderful luck that was, Mrs. Oliver thought to herself.”
“Shyness is shit. It isn’t cute or feminine or appealing. It’s torment, and it’s shit. I”
“not writing is not good but trying to write when you can't is worse.”
“Some prefer the wildness. Some the calm. There's enough of both in the world for everyone to have their choice. And enough time for any to change their mind.”
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