Literary Fiction Quotes

“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

“On the Acropolis, he’d thought she’d seen too much sun for a woman but in the courtyard, under the moon, her face, neck, and arms were as pale as the moon goddess. Allowing himself to imagine it was the moon goddess leading him upward was a way of climbing to the second story.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Her unexpected outburst rocked Flaminius to his core. Suddenly, she didn't seem so angelic. Her face twisted with rage; veins in her neck throbbed with fury in a scene all too familiar. Her reaction switched him off to her instantly as all his worst fears came to life.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“The softness, warmth and weight of her breast filled his palm. “I’ve imagined this for weeks,” he murmured. Thinking of her out there on the battlefield. In his tent. What more could a woman want? Quite a lot, actually.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“My Aspasia. With her, he’d discovered the sweetness in life . . . and she might like to know that. He’d tell her sometime. But he knew he’d given this lovely woman what she’d wanted most, their son’s name. He leaned over to the child. “So, you’re Little Pericles.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Pericles let a moment pass, then another. The Spartans needed time to set in balance the risks of accepting the offer and the joys of being rich. Not as much time as he’d expected, though.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Why do you have such faith in me, Aurelia?" 
"I've told you a million times that I love you, you make me feel safe and cherished, and you care deeply for our people. Why wouldn't I have faith in you?”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“As Aristocleia raised her cup to toast Xanthippus, her gown slipped from her shoulders, exquisite as Aphrodite’s, and flowed like the water that slid over her naked breasts when she allowed him to watch her bathe. It was wonderful to possess a gem of a woman. It made a man feel beautiful and godlike himself, briefly.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“Legends were mostly bullshit, even his own, but they sometimes could be useful.”
― William Kely McClung, Black Fire

“Whither be the heart of Justice?
            Lo, in stone, child. Lo, in stone.
            Whither be the heart of Justice?
            Lo, tis fast in stone.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“The early women rise before I do. Their lamps splinter the gloom of the kitchens. They chatter in whispers as they brew tea for the cooks. Windows are open to counter the heat of the ovens. Outside, the sky is as black as my soul.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“This world would be a pleasant place if people didn’t inhabit it.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Do you blame Shakespeare for any of it?”
The question is so unlikely, so nonsensical coming from such a sensible man, that I can’t suppress a smile. “I blame him for all of it.”
― M.L. Rio, If We Were Villains

“The seclusion of this ranch house threatened to take her breath away, but she managed to smile. So this is what it’s like to be a country girl.”
― Cricket Rohman, Colorado Takedown

“You are there and to their ears, being a Syrian sounds like you’re unclean, shameful, indecent; it’s like you owe the world an apology for your very existence.”
― Asaad Almohammad, An Ishmael of Syria

“She could see the headlines now.

‘Spinster dies alone in her condo. No one discovered her corpse for three days.’

She had been so preoccupied with work, that she’d neglected to do the grocery shopping and was now regretting it.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“The television set then came after her, chomping its teeth.  Upon reaching the living room, the television succeeded at eating her body bit-by-bit: first the legs, then the body, and finally her flailing arms.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“Chase looked like a drowning man without a life preserver, and by the look in his eyes, he was going under for the third time.

“I knew you would be like the waters of the South Pacific Ocean.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I liken people to different bodies of water,” he quickly explained.

“You what?”

“Each ocean has a different personality,” he said to clarify. “The Pacific Ocean is warmer and inviting, but the color is muddied in places. The Arctic Ocean is cold and very uninviting, one might even say that it is not very appealing, but it’s full of life. Then there is the South Pacific Ocean, warm, inviting, and crystal clear. It has this purity to it. Why, the coloring of the water is some of the brightest blue I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There are even places that you can see thirty meters down.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“Oh, sorry, love. I was just getting out of the shower when I heard this loud commotion in front of my door.” Jake gave her a sloppy grin. “I didn’t realize there was a dress code when coming to the aid of a beautiful neighbor. I’ll keep it in mind for the next time I come running.”
― Diane Merrill Wigginton, A Compromising Position

“Do flyers become archers when you give them a bow? No. They need arrows, too.”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“An Affair With The Media
Being President presupposes a relationship with the media. One does have control over the intimacy of that connection.
My media association might be best represented by the following interview, recently undertaken for this book:
“What do you think of Newstime’s review of your book, Madam President?”
“Newstime’s review? Surely you mean Bill Bologna who works for Newstime?”
“Well, yes.”
“Now, Bill Bologna. What has he published?”
“He’s a critic. He does reviews.”
“Oh, he gets paid for reading what other people have published and then writing what he thinks of their writing?”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“Convincing all nations in the civilized world to agree that any investments into these corporations should be tax-free was not an easy task. Tea with the Queen didn’t quite cut it. Saki with the Japanese Prime Minister was pleasant, but not quite enough. We had to offer major trade concessions to our partner nations to bring them to the negotiating table. In retrospect, it was a small price to pay. The talks earned me the title of “The Great Negotiator.” I didn't mind.”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“After iris-scanning was legally accepted as identity verification for drivers licenses, passports and so much more, anyone could securely log onto the Internet from any computer anywhere via such a scan.
Elections (much less air travel) have never been the same”
― Nancy Omeara, The Most Popular President Who Ever Lived [So Far]

“After the front legs emerged, what looked like a quartered and bloodied cut of steak followed.  This piece of steak had rich and dark fur, wet with the mare’s internal membranes that covered the whole body, but it did not have the look of a horse at all.  And yet from the steak’s center came this pulsating heartbeat, as though its pace-setting qualities tried in vain to pull away or escape from its thoroughbred side.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“At first, she bucked like a wild stag beneath me, and she tried to scream, but the pillow did a good job of muffling her voice.  Before long, the bucking stopped, and my wife’s corpse, blue without oxygen, appeared below me like a hideous phantom.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff.

The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit.

However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth.

So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it’s popcorn reading at best. But you can’t deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night’s Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I’m also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel.

Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you’re pruning yourself so closely that you can’t help but wither and die.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“She likes me.  I can tell.  Problem is, she won’t admit that to the boyfriends she brings over.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“It seemed as though he would never pull free, until he awoke one morning feeling kind of awkward, as though his hands had been lopped off by some Arabian sword during a routine druggie blackout, and in their place, pale and membranous hands that had been fit to his wrists by aliens that took him up while he slept and then brought him back down – all of it in an effort to help him move up to where he belonged in society.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“She is the kind and friendly sort, but I’m an old man at this point, so it would be useless and somewhat illegal if I asked her out.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“Once inside my skull, my doctor added some salt, just to taste.  He also poured some fruit into my skull – an apple, a pear, a few seedless grapes, and a ripe banana.  He then used an electric blender set on its highest speed to create what he had termed ‘a yogurt parfait.’  After he finished blending the ingredients, he beckoned the other doctors and a few of the nurses to sample his new concoction.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction