Face of Trespass by Ruth Rendell
-01- London lay under a heavy, almost breathable, humidity…The sky was uniformly pastel grey and it seemed to have fallen to lie on roofs and treetops like a sagging muslin bag.
Fight Club by Chuck Palahnuik
-01- This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.
-02- This was freedom, losing all hope was freedom.
-03- Everything is nothing, and it’s so cool to be Enlightened. Like me.
-04- You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.
The Flanders Panel by Arturo Perez-Reverte
-01- …life is a succession of events that link with each other whether one wants them to or not.
The Forgers by Bradford Morrow
-01- Suffice it to say the poor woman turned on me for a really rotten day and nights, threatened never to see me again. She was, and I state this was a curious sort of admiration, harder on me than the police had been.
-02- Overall, an eccentric, an odd duck. But then antiquarian book fairs are, to mix a metaphor, beehives of odd ducks…
-03- These irreproachable bastions of sinless good, for all their dire efforts to save Meghan from my destructive self, were, I’m relieved to report, hopelessly out of touch with just how close we were.
-04- None of it seemed real. But then the ‘real’ never did much for me, I must admit.
-05- Faulkner is the darling of amateur forgers because he looks so easy to fake, although in fact he’s extremely hard…
-06- …we studies Gaelic together, a language that more than rivaled German for its crazy polysyllabics and unpronounceable pile-ups of consonants…
-07- As the sun rose, the grass that extended to the curtain of the mature slough-boughed pines at the end of our yard changed from dark forest green to the bright emerald unique to this landscape–the very shade of emerald green used by William Morris and other Victorians in their wallpapers, which was mixed with arsenic and produced lethal fumes. Death by William Morris wallpaper, who would have thought it possible?
-08- I read book after book. Novels, histories, poetry, drama, biographies. Every volume that wasn’t deemed off limits in my father’s library, as well as many that were, I devoured like some starveling who lived for his next meal. The last page and paragraph of one book led, often within the same several gestures and minutes, to the first paragraph and page of the next.
-09- …I’m one who can find a metaphor in an empty teapot…
-10- It takes a lot of truth to tell a lie. Truth must surround the pulsing heart of any lie for it to be convincing, believable. A pack of lies, like a house made from a pack of cards, will never remain standing. But a gracefully designed construction built on both visible and underlying truths had every chance of passing muster.
-11- It was rare that my wife ever stayed for long in a black mood. Whenever she was low, I had learned over the years, it was best to leaver her to her own thoughts. She had ways of working through issues that I knew I would never comprehend, nor was it useful to try to push the wave faster toward shore.
-12- …since there was nothing I could logically do about it, I thought it best to conserve my strength by not devoting further energy to the matter.
-13- …irony is its own god…
-14- Regret is for the ruined, the bereft, the fallen, and I was none of those.
-15- A melancholy ache–how else to describe it?–began to seize my neck and shoulders, as if I had been pummeled there with a truncheon wrapped in dampened newspapers, an old-time method corrupt police used when questioning recalcitrant prisoners when they didn’t want any bruises to show on the skin.