Deann Ashfield > Deann's Quotes

“On the end of my bed. He’s short, round and bald, with a tartan loin cloth, and what looks like a spout on the top of his head,’ Bryony said. ‘You flatter me,’ came the snide male voice. ‘But it’s a valve.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“With Finn, Vic, and Maeve shooting darts at him, Buster thought better of bellyaching and took off down the street with Finn.”
― A.G. Russo, The Cases Nobody Wanted

“At what point does faith become insanity?”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“It was the fundamental bifurcation of the masses of human meat into two starkly opposite classes: the haves and the have-nots. The have-nots had barely anything. The haves had it all. The haves had everything except concern and compassion for the have-nots, who they regarded as little more than cockroaches.”
― John Rachel, Love Connection: Romance in the Land of the Rising Sun

“Nearing the Riefler's big red brick house he could see the yellow light spill out on the galerie Yvonne had insisted her German husband wrap around the house.  There was a tightening in Victor's chest.  It happened to him whenever he got close to the Riefler's house, or church on Sunday- anytime he thought he might catch a glimpse of Celena.”
― Barbara Sontheimer, Victor's Blessing

“Temples are for the gods,” Thucydides said. “No city has the hubris to put her own citizens on a temple.” Phidias promised, “The Athenians will look like gods.”
― Yvonne Korshak, Pericles and Aspasia: A Story of Ancient Greece

“The rules are as treacherous as wolves in the sheep pasture.”
― Rebecca Rosenberg, Madame Pommery, Creator of Brut Champagne

“I sometimes think with Moliere, Mr. Ridge, that ‘there is no folly equal to he who attempts to mend the world.’”
A single, unsuppressed laugh escaped him. “Yes,” he reluctantly replied, “but I cannot but help to attempt it, nonetheless.”
― Leslie K. Simmons, Red Clay, Running Waters

“Suddenly feeling tired, Bonnyman yawned with his eyes closed. When he re-opened them, the changeling stood a few feet in front of him, staring at Bonnyman like it was a meal waiting to be eaten.”
― Frank Lambert, Xyz

“I felt despair. The word’s overused and banalified now, despair, but it’s a serious word, and I’m using it seriously. For me it denotes a simple admixture — a weird yearning for death combined with a crushing sense of my own smallness and futility that presents as a fear of death. It’s maybe close to what people call dread or angst. But it’s not these things, quite. It’s more like wanting to die in order to escape the unbearable feeling of becoming aware that I’m small and weak and selfish and going without any doubt at all to die. It’s wanting to jump overboard.”
― David Foster Wallace, A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

“That’s what I told myself – Well, you’re still alive. I think all of us said the same each morning when we woke up – Well, I’m still alive. But the truth is, we weren’t. What we were – it wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t alive either.”
― Mary Ann Shaffer, The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

“Non avevo mai considerato Marley come un modello da seguire, ma seduto lì a bere la mia birra, pensavo che forse custodiva il segreto di una buona vita. Mai rallentare, mai guardare indietro, vivere ogni giorno con brio giovanile, coraggio, curiosità e giocosità. Se pensi di essere ancora giovane, magari lo sei, indipendentemente da quel che dice il calendario. Non una cattiva filosofia di vita, anche se preferisco sorvolare sulla parte che implicava devastazione di divani e lavanderie.”
― John Grogan, Io & Marley

“There's never enough time to do all the nothing I want.”
― Bill Watterson

“What I need is perspective. The illusion of depth, created by a frame, the arrangement of shapes on a flat surface. Perspective is necessary. Otherwise there are only two dimensions. Otherwise you live with your face squashed up against a wall, everything a huge foreground, of details, close-ups, hairs, the weave of the bedsheet, the molecules of the face. Your own skin like a map, a diagram of futility, criscrossed with tiny roads that lead nowhere. Otherwise you live in the moment. Which is not where I want to be.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“There is a hard law. When an injury is done to us, we never recover until we forgive. ”
― Alan Paton

“Aurelia was just about to take a sip of a mimosa when Mother Guardian snatched the flute away and promptly downed the drink in one gulp. Burping unashamedly, she said, "We can't have the validity of the marriage contracts jeopardized because the bride got rat-assed on her wedding day.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“The minute the door was opened, she wished she had made some excuse not to see them.  Victor was sitting by the bed, and the tender expression on his face as he looked down at his wife and latest child, made something violent and jealous jump in Penelope's heart.  She could have murdered Ethan for shutting the door loudly behind them, interrupting their intimacy.”
― Barbara Sontheimer, Victor's Blessing

“I really like Matilda and that's not a clever book, is it? It's for children. But she's my favourite main character because she comes from an awful family and likes reading, like I do. Those special powers must've made her life a lot easier, though. She wouldn't be working in a pub at thirty-two.”
― Sara Pascoe, Weirdo

“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

“My initial impression of her had been totally wrong. The impression that she was this sweet and stunningly beautiful Vietnamese girl who had survived a difficult time in her life, and was, perhaps, still vulnerable. But, now it was different. She was nothing but a paid whore. It took me a moment to analyze it. Totally against my character, but I realized, if only for a fleeting instant, I wanted to take this whore to bed, even though there would be no spice of pursuit, and it would generate no particular tension between us.”
― Behcet Kaya, Treacherous Estate

“Ano snorted in a very unladylike and elkish way.”
― Lisa Kaniut Cobb, Down in the Valley

“Cognitive robotics can integrate information from pre-operation medical records with real-time operating metrics to guide and enhance the precision of physicians’ instruments. By processing data from genuine surgical experiences, they’re able to provide new and improved insights and techniques. These kinds of improvements can improve patient outcomes and boost trust in AI throughout the surgery. Robotics can lead to a 21% reduction in length of stay.”
― Ronald M. Razmi, AI Doctor: The Rise of Artificial Intelligence in Healthcare - A Guide for Users, Buyers, Builders, and Investors

“Ma and God

God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Use your fork."
God gave us voices--Ma says, "Don't scream."
Ma says eat broccoli, cereal and carrots.
But God gave us tasteys for maple ice cream.

God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Use your hanky."
God gave us puddles--Ma says, "Don't splash."
Ma says, "Be quiet, your father is sleeping."
But God gave us garbage can covers to crash.

God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Put your gloves on."
God gave us raindrops--Ma says, "Don't get wet."
Ma says be careful, and don't get too near to
Thoses strange lovely dogs that God gave us to pet.

God gave us fingers--Ma says, "Go wash 'em."
But God gave us coal bins and nice dirty bodies.
And I ain't too smart, but there's one thing for certain--
Either Ma's wrong or else God is.”
― Shel Silverstein

“Sometimes it’s a sort of indulgence to think the worst of ourselves. We say, ‘Now I have reached the bottom of the pit, now I can fall no further,’ and it is almost a pleasure to wallow in the darkness. The trouble is, it’s not true. There is no end to the evil in ourselves, just as there is no end to the good. It’s a matter of choice. We struggle to climb, or we struggle to fall. The thing is to discover which way we’re going.”
― Daphne du Maurier

“But, if I sample this pleasure so prudently and circumspectly, it will no longer be a pleasure.”
― Stendhal, The Red and the Black

“It was the real loose-sausage-eating, brown-liquor-drinking Southern face of a white athlete turned forty and covered with a smooth well-fed layer of flesh. His neck, which seemed a foot wide, rose up out of a yellow polo shirt and a blue blazer as if it were unit-welded to his trapezius muscles and his shoulders. He was like a single solid slab of meat clear up to his hair, which was a head of hair and a half, a strange silvery blond color, coiffed with bouncy fullness and little flips that screamed $65 male hairdo. Not a single cilium was out of place. Amid the vast smooth meat of his head and neck, his eyes and his mouth seemed terribly tiny, but they were both going all out to register pleasure at the sight of Counselor Roger White, this black man who had arrived at the door at 7:42 on Freaknic Saturday night.”
― Tom Wolfe, A Man in Full

“Nel sole di marzo, mentre era seduto su una catasta di ceppi di faggio che scricchiolavano per il caldo, avvenne che egli pronunciasse per la prima volta la parola «legno». Aveva già visto il legno centinaia di volte, aveva sentito la parola centinaia di volte. La capiva anche, infatti d'inverno era stato mandato fuori spesso a prendere legna. Ma il legno come oggetto non gli era mai sembrato così interessante da darsi la pena di pronunciarne il nome. Ciò avvenne soltanto quel giorno di marzo, mentre era seduto sulla catasta. La catasta era ammucchiata a strati, come una panca, sul lato sud del capannone di Madame Gaillard, sotto un tetto sporgente. I ceppi più alti emanavano un odore dolce di bruciaticcio, dal fondo della catasta saliva un profumo di muschio, e dalla parete d'abete del capannone si diffondeva nel tepore un profumo di resina sbriciolata.
Grenouille era seduto sulla catasta con le gambe allungate, la schiena appoggiata contro la parete del capannone, aveva chiuso gli occhi e non si muoveva. Non vedeva nulla, non sentiva e non provava nulla. Si limitava soltanto ad annusare il profumo del legno che saliva attorno a lui e stagnava sotto il tetto come sotto una cappa. Bevve questo profumo, vi annegò dentro, se ne impregnò fino all'ultimo e al più interno dei pori, divenne legno lui stesso, giacque sulla catasta come un pupazzo di legno, come un Pinocchio, come morto, finché dopo lungo tempo, forse non prima di una mezz’ora, pronunciò a fatica la parola «legno». Come se si fosse riempito di legno fin sopra le orecchie, come se il legno gli arrivasse già fino al collo, come se avesse il ventre, la gola, il naso traboccanti di legno, così vomitò fuori la parola. E questa lo riportò in sé, lo salvò, poco prima che la presenza schiacciante del legno, con il suo profumo, potesse soffocarlo. Si alzò a fatica, scivolò giù dalla catasta, e si allontanò vacillando come su gambe di legno. Per giorni e giorni fu preso totalmente dall'intensa esperienza olfattiva, e quando il ricordo saliva in lui con troppa prepotenza, borbottava fra sé e sé «legno, legno», a mo' di scongiuro.”
― Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

“There was no going back now. Rubber and metal could only take so much. The car could shatter and send its passengers into an elemental distillation of rock, flesh, blood, and ash. Alchemy, thought Mary, grimly. Too much bloody alchemy.”
― Susan Rowland, The Alchemy Fire Murder

“     Illicit flight Alfa Bravo Charlie quickly reached a predetermined altitude and stopped dead. The passengers on board screamed the way people do on fairground rides. The shuttle hesitated momentarily and then shot forward accelerating rapidly to reach a blistering 145,222 miles per hour. They were in a Mach 22 situation. The cries from on-board could not be heard from the ground. Neither did anyone in the great metropolis of Llar witness the bright blue vapour trail the craft left behind in its wake. It was after all overcast and raining heavily.”
― A.R. Merrydew, Our Blue Orange

“The owner of the Post Office was called Maurice. A sixtyish-year-old with a large red nose that was pebble-dashed with broken capillaries, and a smooth bald head with a fuzz of grey hair around the side like the tide mark on a dirty bath. He had a gruff manner, distrusting eyes and a cough like kicked gravel.”
― R.D. Ronald