Trevor Sule > Trevor's Quotes

“Jack laughed behind him, a mirthless sound from a man who had been on the wrong end of life's ironies too many times.”
― R.D. Ronald, The Elephant Tree

“And that's another thing. What if I were to talk to Tanker, find out if he's happy at the Polonius Room, see if maybe he wants to come back? He was always such a key part of this kitchen."

Rickey pointed a chocolate-smudged finger at Lenny. "Don't you dare. If I decide I want to talk to him, I'll talk to him. I told you, I don't need you handling my business for me."

"I understand," Lenny said, making a mental note to call Tanker.”
― Poppy Z. Brite, Soul Kitchen

“When I started writing
I was a sick teenaged
fuck inside who partly
thought I was the new
Marquis de Sade, a body
doomed to communicate
with Satan who was us-
ing my sickness as his
home away from home,
and there’s your proof.”
― Dennis Cooper

“I used to analyze myself down to the last thread, used to compare myself with others, recalled all the smallest glances, smiles and words of those to whom I’d tried to be frank, interpreted everything in a bad light, laughed viciously at my attempts ‘to be like the rest’ –and suddenly, in the midst of my laughing, I’d give way to sadness, fall into ludicrous despondency and once again start the whole process all over again – in short, I went round and round like a squirrel on a wheel.”
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment

“Files are one thing. People are something else.”
― Stieg Larsson, The Girl Who Played with Fire

“My attorney rubbed his hand across his mustache and the corners of his lips several times, as though the allegation was a piece of cake he’d just eaten that had deposited crumbs all over his mouth.”
― Alissa Nutting, Tampa

“He was looking at her with amused suspicion. There was something between them, and even she had to acknowledge that a tame remark about the weather sounded perverse.”
― Ian McEwan, Atonement

“أحياناً أعتقد أن الموت هو الشيء الوحيد الذي نكن له أي مشاعر. إنه شكلنا الفني، الطريقة الوحيدة التي نستطيع بها أن نعبر عن أن أنفسنا.”
― بول أوستر, في بلاد الأشياء الأخيرة

“For years I’d been awaiting that overriding urge I’d always heard about, the narcotic pining that draws childless women ineluctably to strangers’ strollers in parks. I wanted to be drowned by the hormonal imperative, to wake one day and throw my arms around your neck, reach down for you, and pray that while that black flower bloomed behind my eyes you had just left me with child. (With child: There’s a lovely warm sound to that expression, an archaic but tender acknowledgement that for nine months you have company wherever you go. Pregnant, by contrast, is heavy and bulging and always sounds to my ear like bad news: “I’m pregnant.” I instinctively picture a sixteen-year-old at the dinner table- pale, unwell, with a scoundrel of a boyfriend- forcing herself to blurt out her mother’s deepest fear.) (27)”
― Lionel Shriver, We Need to Talk About Kevin