B.R. Spangler > Quotes

“Miracles aren't always a grand happening like the kind I learned about in Sunday school. Sometimes they're as small as giving someone a break.”
― Brian Spangler, An Order of Coffee and Tears

“Miracles aren’t always a grand happening, like the kind I learned about in Sunday school. Sometimes they’re as small as giving someone a break.”
― Brian Spangler, An Order of Coffee and Tears

“With the past behind me, I stay in today, since that is all we really have, anyway.”
― Brian Spangler, An Order of Coffee and Tears

“A flock of birds flew in unison like a team of ballet dancers, taking turns in suicide dives—their gray-and-white feathered bodies tightening into the shape of arrows as they disappeared headfirst into the ocean, surfacing a moment later with fish filling their orange bills.”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“Three other boats were strung up against the shore like horses outside of a saloon, their bridle lines slung over a wooden hitching rail. A”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“over”
― B.R. Spangler, Their Resting Place

“He realized then that his eyes might already be open: but blind to what was happening to him, and around him.”
― Brian Spangler, Blinded By Sight

“But more than any other question, how far along were her contractions? I did my best to get her comfortable, not that it mattered. She was completely out, every ounce of her was dead weight. I took her wrist, searching for a pulse again. I found the faintest rhythm and shifted to place my hand on her belly, hoping to feel the baby move, hoping the child was still alive. I wondered about a miscarriage, my focus on the blood, the amount of it, the concentration around”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“as Jericho faced the fisherman.”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“long, it’d”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“sticking like thick tar. Her legs were frozen too, locked in the same muddy shackles.”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“with granite of black, gray, and ash white. Jericho explained how all the municipal buildings were built from the same quarry stone, including the courthouse, township building and the walls lining the morgue. It wasn’t the sightseeing that delayed my exit though. In the rich corridors next to the courthouse, we ran into District Attorney Ashtole and Mayor Jonathon Miller, their voices an echo, greeting me with arms extended and questions on their lips. “I’ve already heard so much about you,” the mayor said, his barrel chest filling like a machine as he sucked in air. The man stood a half-foot over me, and though he smiled, his face was fixed in a scowl, his bushy eyebrows stuck in a permanent slant. His shoulders were wide like a football player’s and his hands were like clubs. I wasn’t normally intimidated but he had a presence, and I suddenly found myself feeling nervous. “It’s nice to meet you,” I answered, my hand disappearing in his. Ashtole stood at his side, dwarfed, nearly hidden. “What’s the progress?” the district attorney asked, his voice annoyingly sharp, like the bark of an ankle-high dog. “Three bodies. We need something to tell the press. Heck, the timing is awful.” “Daniel,” the mayor said in a foreboding tone.”
― B.R. Spangler, Taken from Home

“There are miracles, and there’s no knowing when one is going to occur.”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“The memory of our girls was woven into our hearts and our souls, love and pain stitched together and locked forever.”
― B.R. Spangler, The Crying House

“Age is a fickle bitch, and there is just no staying out of its way.”
― Brian Spangler, Killing Katie

“Make the roots good and strong—then they’ll survive anything.”
― Brian Spangler, Killing Katie

“Somewhere in her journey, Paige Kotes had become a notorious murderer. A serial killer popular in the news, and with a level of notoriety like Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer.”
― B.R. Spangler, Saltwater Graves

“gratitude”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go

“hanging over the lip of the passenger seat. For the briefest of moments, I froze, the sight of my girl entering the strange car seeming freakishly unreal. My run became a dive, my body in flight, arms stretching, leaping in desperation. It was enough to grab hold of my girl’s foot, wrapping my fingers”
― B.R. Spangler, Where Lost Girls Go