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“Stepfather?" "It means he fucks your mum and isn't really your dad.”
― Adam Scott Huerta, Motive Black: A novel

“The face that was engulfed in sadness just a few moments ago was now having a diabolical glow.”
― Rebecca Harlem, The Pink Cadillac

“Oh, no,�� said Princess Sophie to her favourite rabbit friend, Hopper. “We have to do something. We can’t have Christmas without that special Christmas feeling. What can we do?”
― Mike Martin

“I walked past Malison, up Lower Main to Main and across the road. I didn’t need to look to know he was behind me. I entered Royal Wood, went a short way along a path and waited. It was cool and dim beneath the trees. When Malison entered the Wood, I continued eastward. 
I wanted to place his body in hallowed ground. He was born a Mearan. The least I could do was send him to Loric. The distance between us closed until he was on my heels. He chose to come, I told myself, as if that lessened the crime I planned. He chose what I have to offer.
We were almost to the cemetery before he asked where we were going. I answered with another question. “Do you like living in the High Lord’s kitchens?��
He, of course, replied, “No.��
“Well, we’re going to a better place.��
When we reached the edge of the Wood, I pushed aside a branch to see the Temple of Loric and Calec’s cottage. No smoke was coming from the chimney, and I assumed the old man was yet abed. His pony was grazing in the field of graves. The sun hid behind a bank of clouds.
Malison moved beside me. “It’s a graveyard.��
“Are you afraid of ghosts?�� I asked.
“My father’s a ghost,�� he whispered.
I asked if he wanted to learn how to throw a knife. He said, “Yes,�� as I knew he would.  He untucked his shirt, withdrew the knife he had stolen and gave it to me. It was a thick-bladed, single-edged knife, better suited for dicing celery than slitting a young throat. But it would serve my purpose. That I also knew. I’d spent all night projecting how the morning would unfold and, except for indulging in the tea, it had happened as I had imagined. 
Damut kissed her son farewell. Malison followed me of his own free will. Without fear, he placed the instrument of his death into my hand. We were at the appointed place, at the appointed time. The stolen knife was warm from the heat of his body. I had only to use it. Yet I hesitated, and again prayed for Sythene to show me a different path.
“Aren’t you going to show me?�� Malison prompted, as if to echo my prayer.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“The girl flinched, even lying down. Mary continued through gritted teeth. “Murder can’t be walked away from. Just like you can’t walk away from Viktor. He’ll find you if you run. Richard can’t protect you if Viktor believes you have his babies.”
― Susan Rowland, Murder on Family Grounds

“Some tears of joy couldn’t be stopped, feeling so much love.”
― Raz Mihal, Just Love Her

“Science Fiction, is the last great escape.”
― A.R. Merrydew

“The winged lady was Princess Cat’s friend, a kind fairy who had ensured that the spell would one day be broken by a prince who loved her dearly.”
― Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit & Other Stories

“At first he found it amusing. He coined a law intended to have the humor of a Parkinson’s law that "The number of rational hypotheses
that can explain any given phenomenon is infinite." It pleased him never to run out of hypotheses. Even when his experimental work
seemed dead-end in every conceivable way, he knew that if he just sat down and muddled about it long enough, sure enough, another
hypothesis would come along. And it always did. It was only months after he had coined the law that he began to have some doubts
about the humor or benefits of it.
If true, that law is not a minor flaw in scientific reasoning. The law is completely nihilistic. It is a catastrophic logical disproof of the
general validity of all scientific method!
If the purpose of scientific method is to select from among a multitude of hypotheses, and if the number of hypotheses grows faster
than experimental method can handle, then it is clear that all hypotheses can never be tested. If all hypotheses cannot be tested, then the
results of any experiment are inconclusive and the entire scientific method falls short of its goal of establishing proven knowledge”
― Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintainance

“We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the brood of desire.”
― George Eliot

“At the end of our visit, Fleisher agreed to play something on my piano, a beautiful old 1894 Bechstein concert grand that I had grown up with, my father's piano. Fleisher sat at the piano and carefully, tenderly, stretched each finger in turn, and then, with arms and hands almost flat, he started to play. He played a piano transcription of Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze," as arranged for piano by Egon Petri. Never in its 112 years, I thought, had this piano been played by such a master-I had the feeling that Fleisher has sized up the piano's character and perhaps its idiosyncrasies within seconds, that he had matched his playing to the instrument, to bring out its greatest potential, its particularity. Fleisher seemed to distill the beauty, drop by drop, like an alchemist, into flowing notes of an almost unbearable beauty-and, after this, there was nothing more to be said.”
― Oliver Sacks, Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain

“She could feel the frigid city’s misery flooding the space where her heart used to be.”
― Jana Petken, The Man from Section Five: A Brinley Knight Spy Thriller

“Both pieces are similar in one way:what one could believe, one doubts. Nicoise because one depends upon the moral sense of the filmmaker, The Navidson Record because one depends upon the moral sense of the world.”
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves