Boris > Boris's Quotes

“The truth has a way of coming out of the closet.”
― March Lions, The Last Sunset

“What’s “ague?”‘ Raya asked.
‘Malaria.’ Oscar said.
‘Oh, great.’
‘Hey, you want plague? They got that too.’ Raya ignored
the cat.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Inseparable as sibs—strained as a couple.”
― Andri E. Elia, Borealis: A Worldmaker of Yand Novel

“Looking over the Ethan's bowed head, amidst the tangled forest of Wilderness littered with the bodies of men dead and dying, Victor saw the serene image of his mother.  She smiled at her son, her unbound black hair blowing wildly in the breeze.  She reached a hand out towards him, and this time, he went with her.”
― Barbara Sontheimer, Victor's Blessing

“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

“Anika nodded, reflecting on her situation as the sirens grew louder. She had some time, but cops, hurricanes, and jealous women weren’t the party favors she’d expected for her homecoming parade.”
― Chad Boudreaux, Homecoming Queen

“They did go on so, don't you think, those Victorian poets, they took themselves so horribly seriously," he said, pushing the lift button, summoning it from the depths.
As it creaked up, Blackadder said, "That's not the worst thing a human being can do, take himself seriously.”
― A. S. Byatt

“And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly”
― Munro Leaf, The Story of Ferdinand

“Turn your pain into purpose.”
― Nelou Keramati

“It's a party. A big Dog Party.”
― P.D. Eastman

“It was a night so beautiful that your soul seemed hardly able to bear the prison of the body.”
― W. Somerset Maugham, The Moon and Sixpence

“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

“He says it was tourists being careless, where I see a fiendishly clever murder attempt.”
“Mr. McCarthy, you’d better explain.”
“Patrick, please. You’ll be tempted to laugh. It was a banana skin.”
― Susan Rowland, Murder on Family Grounds

“Gratitude is the great multiplier.”
― Rhonda Byrne, The Power

“A man is truly a man when he wins the love of a good woman, earns her respect, and keeps her trust. Until you can do that, you're not a man.”
― Gregory David Roberts, Shantaram

“Who or what are you? Besides insufferably rude?”
― Garth Nix, Lirael

“Nothing frustrates me more than someone who reads something of mine or anyone else's and says, angrily, 'I don't buy it.' Why are they angry? Good writing does not succeed or fail on the strength of its ability to persuade. It succeeds or fails on the strength of its ability to engage you, to make you think, to give you a glimpse into someone else's head—even if in the end you conclude that someone else's head is not a place you'd really like to be.”
― Malcolm Gladwell, What the Dog Saw and Other Adventures

“There's one way to find out if a man is honest: ask him; if he says yes, you know he's crooked.”
― Mark Twain

“إن أخرست الحقيقة ودفنتها تحت الأرض فسوف تَنْمو وتُنبِت”
― إميل زولا