“I shall tell you where we are. We're in the most extreme and utter region of the human mind. A dim, subconscious underworld. A radiant abyss where men meet themselves. Hell, Netley. We're in Hell.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“The one place Gods inarguably exist is in our minds where they are real beyond refute, in all their grandeur and monstrosity.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Perhaps this is the purpose of all art, all writing, on the murders, fiction and non-fiction:
Simply to participate.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“I am not man so much as syndrome; as a voice that bellows in the human heart.
I am rain.
I cannot be contained”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Tis Dante I prefer. In his Inferno he suggests the one true path from Hell lies at its very heart...
...and that in order to escape, we must instead go further IN.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Invoke not reason. In the end it is too small a deity.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Murder, other than in the most strict forensic sense, is never soluble. That dark human clot can never melt into a lucid, clear suspension. Our detective fiction tells us otherwise: everything is just meat and cold ballistics. Provide a murderer, a motive and a means, and you have solved the crime. Using this method, the solution to the Second World War is as follows: Hitler. The German economy. Tanks. Thus, for convenience, we reduce the complex events.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Los símbolos tiene poder, Netley... Poder suficiente como para retorcerle el estómago incluso a alguien como tú... O como para relegar a la mitad de este planeta a la esclavitud.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“There never was a Jack the Ripper. Mary Kelly was just an unusually determined suicide. Why don't we leave it there.”
― Alan Moore, quote from From Hell
“Beware a kiss, he told her. Kisses are powerful things. You expose part of your soul.”
― Ruth Frances Long, quote from The Treachery of Beautiful Things
“Ah, yes, this is the way of it, eh? A heathen and his woman?” His face twisted in a sneer as he rolled her sensitive flesh between his finger and thumb, sending shocks of sensation shooting into her belly. “Hunter, the one who rapes and tortures? That is me.” Abandoning her breast, he rocked back on his heels and jerked up her skirt. “This is very good, Blue Eyes. The animal in me likes having you tied.”
With that, he stretched out beside her. Even in her turmoil, Loretta heard an echo in every word he spoke. Looking into his eyes, she knew how deeply her leaving had hurt him.
Propping himself up on an elbow, he planted a hand on her abdomen and lowered his head to brush his lips across her temple. Her belly convulsed as his fingers began a subtle manipulation, charging her senses, making her skin tingle, in a relentless path toward her breasts.
“I will be cruel, yes? And make you weep rivers of tears while I play my games. It will be good, very good.”
His mouth touched hers, teasingly light. His hand cupped her breast. Silhouetted against the moon-silvered sky, he was a black outline, his broad shoulders a threatening wall, his long hair drifting in a silken curtain around her.
Nightmare or dream?
He continued to whisper--saying terrible things, cruel things, taunting her with what was yet to come, living up to all her worst expectations. But his touch was that of a lover, as sweet and magical, as patient and gentle, as the last time they had been together. She knew he had tied her only to prove a point, that no matter what the circumstances, no matter how angry he might become, he would never harm her.
“Oh, Hunter, I’m sorry,” she said on the crest of a sob. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You rip my heart out and it should not hurt?” His teeth closed on her earlobe, nipping lightly, sending shivers over her skin. “You spit upon all that I am, and it should not hurt? You abandon me, you dishonor me, and it should not hurt?”
― Catherine Anderson, quote from Comanche Moon
“Russ decided the best defense was a good offense. "I'm Russell Van Alstyne, Millers Kill chrief of police." He held out his hand. She shook firm, like a guy.
"Clare Fergusson," she said. "I'm the new priest at Saint Alban's. That's the Episcopal Church. At the corner of Elm and Church." there was a faint testiness in her voice. Russ relaxed a fraction. A woman priest. If that didn't beat all.
"I know which it is. There are only four churches in town." He saw the fog creeping along the edges of his glasses again and snatched them off, fishing for a tissue in his pocket. "Can you tell me what happened, um..." What was he supposed to call her? "Mother?"
"I go by Reverend, Chief. Ms. is fine, too."
"Oh. Sorry. I never met a woman priest before."
"We're just like the men priests, except we're willing to pull over and ask directions.”
― Julia Spencer-Fleming, quote from In the Bleak Midwinter
“I do not believe in witches, but if I did, I'd swear you are one.”
― Lynn Austin, quote from Candle in the Darkness
“I can't tell you how much I don't care.”
― Louis L'Amour, quote from The Lonesome Gods
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