“I don't want to see another church; the smell of the places makes me sick. Stale incense, old sweat, and lies...
"In the Hills, the Cities”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“There was a memory and a promise of blood in the air.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Kaufman almost smiled at the perfection of its horror. He felt an offer of insanity tickling the base of his skull, tempting him into oblivion, promising a blank indifference to the world.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“He was to be their page, their book, the vessel for their autobiographies. A book of blood. A book made of blood. A book written in blood.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Kaufman calculated the risks of his situation: the mathematics of panic.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Especially politics; that was the best trough to wallow in. You could get your snout, eyes, head and front hooves in that mess of muck and have a fine old time splashing around. It was an inexhaustible subject to devour, a swill with a little of everything in it, because everything, according to Judd, was political.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Minds weren't pictures at an exhibition, all numbered, and hung in order of influence, one marked "Cunning," the next, "Impressionable." They were scrawls; they were sprawling splashes of graffiti, unpredictable, unconfinable.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Es war ekelerregend, es war sauberste Arbeit, und es verwirrte zutiefst.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Si el amor se alimenta de música, seguid tocando"
(Shakepeare)”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“There was no harm done; and what would a Resurrection be without a few laughs?”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“The carcass closest to him was the remains of the pimply youth he'd seen in Car One. The body hung upside-down, swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the train, in unison with its three fellows; an obscene danse macabre. Its arms dangled loosely from the shoulder joints, into which gashes an inch or two deep had been made, so the bodies would hang more neatly.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Lo tocó como nunca antes se había atrevido a hacerlo, acariciando su cuerpo con la punta de los dedos muy, muy suavemente, recorriendo la piel levantada como una mujer ciega leyendo braille.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“...es mejor estar preparados para lo peor y es de sabios aprender a caminar antes de perder el aliento.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“Logic is the last refuge of a coward.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
“He was to be used to record their testaments. He was to be their page, their book, the vessel for their autobiographies. A book of blood. A book made of blood. A book written in blood. She thought of the grimoires that had been made of dead human skin: she'd seen them, touched them. She thought of the tattoos she'd seen: freak show exhibits some of them, others just shirtless laborers in the street with a message to their mothers pricked across their backs. It was not unknown, to write a book of blood.”
― Clive Barker, quote from Books of Blood: Volume One
Clive Barker
Born place: in Liverpool, The United Kingdom
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“Fearlessness in those without power is maddening to those who have it.”
― Tobias Wolff, quote from This Boy's Life
“Is there a bird among them, dear boy?” Charity asked innocently, peering not at the things on the desk, but at his face, noting the muscle beginning to twitch at Ian’s tense jaw.
“No.”
“Then they must be in the schoolroom! Of course,” she said cheerfully, “that’s it. How like me, Hortense would say, to have made such a silly mistake.”
Ian dragged his eyes from the proof that his grandfather had been keeping track of him almost from the day of his birth-certainly from the day when he was able to leave the cottage on his own two legs-to her face and said mockingly, “Hortense isn’t very perceptive. I would say you are as wily as a fox.”
She gave him a little knowing smile and pressed her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell her, will you? She does so enjoy thinking she is the clever one.”
“How did he manage to have these drawn?” Ian asked, stopping her as she turned away.
“A woman in the village near your home drew many of them. Later he hired an artist when he knew you were going to be somewhere at a specific time. I’ll just leave you here where it’s nice and quiet.” She was leaving him, Ian knew, to look through the items on the desk. For a long moment he hesitated, and then he slowly sat down in the chair, looking over the confidential reports on himself. They were all written by one Mr. Edgard Norwich, and as Ian began scanning the thick stack of pages, his anger at his grandfather for this outrageous invasion of his privacy slowly became amusement. For one thing, nearly every letter from the investigator began with phrases that made it clear the duke had chastised him for not reporting in enough detail. The top letter began,
I apologize, Your Grace, for my unintentional laxness in failing to mention that indeed Mr. Thornton enjoys an occasional cheroot…
The next one opened with,
I did not realize, Your Grace, that you would wish to know how fast his horse ran in the race-in addition to knowing that he won.
From the creases and holds in the hundreds of reports it was obvious to Ian that they’d been handled and read repeatedly, and it was equally obvious from some of the investigator’s casual comments that his grandfather had apparently expressed his personal pride to him:
You will be pleased to know, Your Grace, that young Ian is a fine whip, just as you expected…
I quite agree with you, as do many others, that Mr. Thornton is undoubtedly a genius…
I assure you, Your Grace, that your concern over that duel is unfounded. It was a flesh wound in the arm, nothing more.
Ian flipped through them at random, unaware that the barricade he’d erected against his grandfather was beginning to crack very slightly.
“Your Grace,” the investigator had written in a rare fit of exasperation when Ian was eleven,
“the suggestion that I should be able to find a physician who might secretly look at young Ian’s sore throat is beyond all bounds of reason. Even if I could find one who was willing to pretend to be a lost traveler, I really cannot see how he could contrive to have a peek at the boy’s throat without causing suspicion!”
The minutes became an hour, and Ian’s disbelief increased as he scanned the entire history of his life, from his achievements to his peccadilloes. His gambling gains and losses appeared regularly; each ship he added to his fleet had been described, and sketches forwarded separately; his financial progress had been reported in minute and glowing detail.”
― Judith McNaught, quote from Almost Heaven
“I have no time for babbling foolishness.”
“Don’t be so hasty,” said Victor. “There’s always time for babbling.”
― Eoin Colfer, quote from Airman
“Music (is) woven into the fabric of the corporeal world.”
― Kate Mosse, quote from Sepulchre
“[Beneatha Younger:]... He said everybody ought to learn how to sit down and hate each other with good Chrisitan fellowship.
[excerpt from Act II, Scene 3]”
― Lorraine Hansberry, quote from A Raisin in the Sun
Aspho Fields
The Son
Star Cursed
Sorta Like a Rock St...
Railsea
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