Andrew Van Wey > Quotes

“Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth." Pablo Picasso”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“Coincidences might be twins but they’re never triplets.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“But maybe that’s all adults really were, just big kids with more responsibility and a lot of practice covering it up.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“Stacey closed the door behind him and gestured to the conference table. “So how’s Zelda doing?” “Oh, she’s a teenager, so she’s always up to something.” He chuckled, perhaps a little too loud. Stacey smiled. The others did not. “But she’s doing well; thanks for asking,” Mark said, adding, “Yep, everything’s fine.” CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR Zelda was not fine.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“For if there were no schools to take our children away, the insane asylums would be filled with mothers,”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“Why are you still here?” she whispered. Because I made an impossible promise to your mother the night that she died. Because you’d never believe that I saw her. But he said, “Because you’re worth it, kiddo.” They stood there, in the basement of that parking lot, just an uncle and his niece, two humans, both awkward and broken in their own ways.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“And that the world always hurt those with good hearts most of all.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“I like to think we’re the sum total of all those who helped us or hurt us or simply shared our life for a moment.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“It’s kind of cold out.” “Oh it’s freezing, for sure. But that gives you an excuse to borrow some cute guy’s jacket.” It was Cindy’s turn to nod and smile, and she did so, feeling both self-conscious and excited. She had so much to learn from her big sister. She never noticed that June’s knees were shaking.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“An oblong stump of sealed flesh where barnacles and algae clung to her skin, little forests of life growing from death.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“Desi felt her old friend’s breath beside her ear, whispering not to worry. That it would be over soon. That she’d always envied her complexion. That she didn’t need much to make things even, just some of her skin. Their two hearts drummed together now, faster and faster. At first Desi thought the lights were dimming. But it was Oksana’s skin that was glowing, radiating, brighter and brighter, until the very air leaving Desi’s lips was a fast-blackening smoke and her screams became embers.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“Your son, he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, does he?” Dan laughed. “Tommy? No, he believes in sports. Soccer, basketball in the winter, baseball in the spring, video games in between.” “But your daughter does. She has imaginary friends, I’m guessing.” “She’s six. Of course she does.” Tamara bent down by the fireplace and reached her hand over the decorative logs. A second later she pulled away, as if burned by an invisible flame. A good actress indeed, he thought. “So, what, you think she’s being haunted by the ghost of Saint Nick?” he asked. “Did I say that?” “No, but come on. What kind of question is that?” “Remember the tea, Dan? Children, sometimes the elderly, sometimes even people of great faith, they act like conduits. Why? ’Cause they believe. Much easier to pass through a door that’s open than one that’s locked.” “What if someone doesn’t believe?” “There’s always more than one way into a house. And more than one—” Tamara snapped her head back to the foyer. Her eyes scanned the stairs, as if something silent and unseen had just run down them and into the hallway. He felt a chill pass behind him. “The painting,” she said, reaching out an arthritic finger that pointed past Dan, to the door at the end of the hallway. “It’s there, isn’t it?”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“Panic gripped the crowd as loose shadows sprinted this way and that. Within the distant flames, Mark swore he saw something move behind a shattered window. Something that crawled down the wall of a house. Something that—impossibly—had more than four limbs. No. It was just the darkness playing tricks on his eyes. Just his oxygen-starved mind.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“Uncle Mark?” Zelda’s voice, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. “I knew you’d think I was crazy.” His body stiffened and his eyes clamped tight. As the boiling pasta grew soggy, Maya’s words echoed in his thoughts, clearer than he wanted to admit. “The veil festers and widens.” “Ajar… A jar… J’harr.” Because how could you tell someone the improbable? The impossible? Something your entire reality had been built on denying? Trust, he realized.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Tides of Darkness

“This was it, a rain of bullets if they were lucky, and then searing heat. Megan closed her eyes and accepted it. Only Adam remained still, his head bowed as a curious giggle left his lips. Across the room, Oksana stared at him, unblinking. “You… still don’t… get it,” he laughed. Petro took Adam by his hair and hoisted his face. “Something final to add?” “None of you… get it.” Adam’s eyes fluttered at the edge of unconsciousness. Through tears, Megan noticed Adam’s severed finger. Wormlike, it inched its way across the floor. “It wasn’t Megan who brought Oksana back,” he said. “I’ve been inside of her. Which means she’s been inside of me for years.” He sprang to his feet and leapt onto Petro. Despite the handcuffs, the two spilled over backward, tangled and twisting. Megan wasn’t sure what happened first. The gunshots, perhaps. Or the guttural cry from Adam’s throat. Or maybe the ruby fissures that opened down his cheeks as his jaw dislocated and his teeth sank into Petro’s tender face. So many teeth.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“The voice belonged to Marty, who stood at the neighboring fence with a rake. He was a man of indeterminate age somewhere between retirement and death.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“They’re real,” she said again in that hoarse voice. “They can hurt us.” “What are, sweetie? Bad dreams?” She shook her head and pointed a finger at the floor. Somehow Dan knew she wasn’t just pointing at the floor but beyond it, and the only thing he knew that lay beneath the boards of the bedroom floor was the study below. But she wasn’t pointing to the room, he thought. No, she was pointing to something in the room. She leaned in close and whispered, “First they took the old woman. Then they took Ginger. And then the girl with the skin pictures.” “Skin pictures?” “On her back,” Jessica said, and Dan felt his blood run cold. “Who? Who told you that?” “The man with the broken name,” she said as she turned over and hugged Mr. Bun. Then, as if she had answered a simple math question, she whispered, “Goodnight, Daddy.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“Then she found the strength to do one final thing. She screamed. And screamed and screamed and screamed. And as she screamed, the doll-faced girl skipped and clapped her hands and that broken dog with its missing jaw turned in excited little circles as if chasing its tail. Karina felt two things, and then she felt no more. A final violent yank across the floor, away from the door, toward the edge of the room and that painting. And something wet and old swallowing her, body and soul. Then all became darkness and anger, utter and complete and devouring, and she knew nothing else.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“Oksana’s voice chased them, booming down the smoky halls and scratching at their ankles. Every word shook something loose. A floorboard buckled and rose. A painting slid down the wall. Something crunched underfoot and his boot lost traction. Hundreds of snails carpeted the floor. “Do you know what it’s like to have nothing? To be reduced to the barest scrap of existence? To eat desperation? Of course not. You and your friends, you whine about hardships, but you’ve never tasted misery. You’re a tourist to suffering.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“Maybe that’s what immortality is: remembering the tastes of your youth while feeding your children.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“He pitied Bill, of course, and he might have offered some encouragement, some advice, or a ride to his weekly AA meeting, but it seemed Bill was still in denial of his demons. Graham knew his own demons too well. They lived in the pediatric cancer ward.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“In twelve steps, he was at the bottom of the basement, sliding aside folding chairs so he could see Armando’s full splendor. Here it was, twenty-four by thirty-six inches of aged poster behind glass. That floating head, those piercing eyes. Had the painted swirls always held little tentacles and hands at their edges? Had Armando’s face always been so clear you could see every pore?”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“Nice by proximity, but I need a larger sample size. God, Sal… Could you imagine hooking up? He’d probably keep a log and critique it.” “He’d probably wear his scarf.” “That ratty thing swaying around like an old elephant trunk while he’s all naked and thrusting? There’s an image.” She raised her nose and took on Sal’s inflection. “Mmm, yes, missionary, a most rudimentary position. I much prefer the Gutenberg pile driver.” “The Gutenberg pile driver?” Cindy shrugged and held her hand out the window, making little wave motions in the cool air. June felt the laughter building between them. Then she was dabbing her eyes, trying to steer while wiping that mental image from her mind. Perhaps, in another life, that was how her night with Sal was proceeding. No wonder some of the sisters preferred much older guys.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“There it was again, that fixation on his neighbor. As far back as Graham could remember, Louis and Bill had been at each other. Two locals who grew up together, about the same age. Perhaps some high school slight they’d never resolved. Small towns were like that; rivalries festered.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“And then he was under, splashing and thrashing, reaching for anything but finding only pieces of sharp ice. The dark blue abyss tilted him, turned him sideways. He rolled, scratching out desperately. He had never felt such cold. It suffused him. No, this wasn’t how it should end. He was a freshman in college. He had his whole life ahead. He wasn’t supposed to die here, drunk on some February morning, beneath a lake whose name he could hardly pronounce. Some cautionary tale to be spread across campus.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“But every now and then, a diamond was discovered. Megan still dreamed of transforming herself into that diamond. “We’re not saying it’s mandatory,” the chairwoman said, yet her smile said it was. “However, it would help your chances. Dean Henry is more… approachable at such events.” “Just look for the man with a fedora and a martini,” her advisor added. “But wait until he’s on his second or third.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“Art is never finished, only abandoned." Leonardo da Vinci”
― Andrew Van Wey, Forsaken

“His hair was oily, his frame soggy, and he had eyes that made Zelda sad. His name tag read Lloyd.”
― Andrew Van Wey, By the Light of Dead Stars

“That’s the power of memory, he supposes. Every one is unique, carved into neurons and strengthened through emotions and senses. It’s why so many adults never move past the music of their youth.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole

“Four canvases, each a progression from dark abstraction to bold, bright constructions. Her most recently finished painting, an aggressive explosion of images pulled from her dreams. A cindering woman, skin cracked and leaking magma, pressed an open palm against the center of the canvas. Mirroring her on the other side stood a woman of cool blues, her skin liquid, organs formed from seaweed and kelp, a conch shell for a heart.”
― Andrew Van Wey, Head Like a Hole