Monroe Wapp > Monroe's Quotes

“We give our mistakes too much power. Instead, see a mistake for what it is. It is not the real you… You are more valuable than the opinion others have of you.”
― Gregory Dickow, Soul Cure: How to Heal Your Pain and Discover Your Purpose

“This can only be an urgent call at this late hour.”
― Karl Braungart, Fatal Identity

“Thickly forested regions of Phuoc Tuy including the Rung Sat swamps and farms considered to be controlled by the Vietcong, were regularly sprayed by defoliants including “Agent Orange” using aircraft. This was both an inhumane and unsuccessful strategy which only destroyed enough food to feed 245,000 Vietnamese people for a year resulting in a propaganda gift to the Vietcong. (Ham, 2007). Given that defoliation did not uncover the enemy, who kept on fighting from jungle, caves and tunnels, the whole defoliation programme must be considered a failure. Given also, that birth defects and other health problems associated with defoliants can be directly blamed upon “Agent Orange”, it stands to reason that the allies in the Second Indochina War who sprayed it upon villages and farms can in fact be said to be, “Guilty of War Crimes!”
― Michael G. Kramer, A Gracious Enemy

“The steps leading to the porch looked worn, cracked, and unpainted, ready for a nice hot fire.”
― Gabriel F.W. Koch, Death Leaves a Shadow

“The terrified men did not move. Then Nadia Fedin did something instinctive; she drew her Nagant revolver and fired three short bursts into the head of the nearest soldier. Stepan Ivanovich’s skull burst like a ripe cabbage showering his horrified comrades with viscous brain and bits of bone.”
― KGE Konkel, Who Has Buried the Dead?: From Stalin to Putin … The last great secret of World War Two

“You're not a Quaker, Jeremy. I happen to know you put beer on your cornflakes.”
― Kyle Keyes, Matching Configurations

“When the bell of my flat rings at four o’clock in the afternoon, I don’t expect a policeman to be standing outside. “Sorry to disturb you sir,” he says. “Detective sergeant McCorquodale. It’s about your mother.” Detective sergeant McCorquodale is an enormous lighthouse of a man with the untroubled skin of a baby and not a trace of facial hair; a sort of man-boy who’s overdosed on growth hormones.”
― Michael Tobert, Karna's Wheel

“If you didn't already know, game show talent works fewer days a year than almost every profession, except maybe members of Congress.”
― John Bennardo, Just a Typo: The Cancellation of Celebrity Mo Riverlake

“Once inside my skull, my doctor added some salt, just to taste.  He also poured some fruit into my skull – an apple, a pear, a few seedless grapes, and a ripe banana.  He then used an electric blender set on its highest speed to create what he had termed ‘a yogurt parfait.’  After he finished blending the ingredients, he beckoned the other doctors and a few of the nurses to sample his new concoction.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and The Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“Yet, the work was not complete. Next, citing Bond’s veranda and our subsequent construction of it as an example, Sanjit elaborated on the thought which he had previously teased, but not fully explained: that when a reader reads, the reader constructs a setting and world and is able to view themselves through this world. However, he also added that when we read, we are not only able to see our constructed world, but to evaluate our constructed world. This is how, Sanjit would argue, we influence and better ourselves, even if unintentionally; for by pausing and analyzing our constructions we may be able to identify our assumptions about people, places, or things. And it is in this way that books may be an expressed form of art, not just for the writer, but also for the reader.”
― Colin Phelan, The Local School

“Si certains lieux publics avaient survécu aux répressions du régime, soit c'était pour nous laisser un espace de liberté, soit c'était de l'ignorance.”
― Marjane Satrapi, Persepolis, Volume 1

“Even now, I wonder how much of my life is convinced.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“The power of one is above all things the power to believe in yourself, ofen well beyond any latent ability you may have previously demonstrated. The mind is the athlete, the body is simply the means it uses to run faster or longer, jump higher, shoot straighter, kick better, swim harder, hit further, or box better.”
― Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One

“There was no question now who sat at the right hand of the King. It was the Queen, who walked through the great hall wearing deepest crimson and gold with her head high and a little smile on her lips. She did not flaunt her return to favour. She took it as she had taken her eclipse: as the nature of royal marriage. Now that her star was risen again she walked as proudly as she had ever done when in shadow.”
― Philippa Gregory, The Other Boleyn Girl

“We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.”
― Carl Sagan, Cosmos

“Gossip is like thread wound over a spindle of truth, changing its shape.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

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

“This evening I spied her in the back orchard. I decided to sacrifice one of my better old shirts and carried it out to her. The weather’s been warm of late. Buds on the apple trees are ready to burst. Usually by this time of the year, at that time of day, the back orchard is full of screaming children. Damut’s boys were the only two. They were on the terrace below her, running through the slanted sunlight, chasing each other around tree trunks. She stood above them, like a merlin watching rabbits play.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Snake Street is an area I should avoid. Yet that night I was drawn there as surely as if I had an appointment. 
The Snake House is shabby on the outside to hide the wealth within. Everyone knows of the wealth, but facades, like the park’s wall, must be maintained. A lantern hung from the porch eaves. A sign, written in Utte, read ‘Kinship of the Serpent’. I stared at that sign, at that porch, at the door with its twisted handle, and wondered what the people inside would do if I entered. Would they remember me? Greet me as Kin? Or drive me out and curse me for faking my death?  Worse, would they expect me to redon the life I’ve shed? Staring at that sign, I pissed in the street like the Mearan savage I’ve become.
As I started to leave, I saw a woman sitting in the gutter. Her lamp attracted me. A memsa’s lamp, three tiny flames to signify the Holy Trinity of Faith, Purity, and Knowledge.  The woman wasn’t a memsa. Her young face was bruised and a gash on her throat had bloodied her clothing. Had she not been calmly assessing me, I would have believed the wound to be mortal. I offered her a copper. 
She refused, “I take naught for naught,” and began to remove trinkets from a cloth bag, displaying them for sale.
Her Utte accent had been enough to earn my coin. But to assuage her pride I commented on each of her worthless treasures, fighting the urge to speak Utte. (I spoke Universal with the accent of an upper class Mearan though I wondered if she had seen me wetting the cobblestones like a shameless commoner.) After she had arranged her wares, she looked up at me. “What do you desire, O Noble Born?”
I laughed, certain now that she had seen my act in front of the Snake House and, letting my accent match the coarseness of my dress, I again offered the copper.
 “Nay, Noble One. You must choose.” She lifted a strand of red beads. “These to adorn your lady’s bosom?”
            I shook my head. I wanted her lamp. But to steal the light from this woman ... I couldn’t ask for it. She reached into her bag once more and withdrew a book, leather-bound, the pages gilded on the edges. “Be this worthy of desire, Noble Born?”
 I stood stunned a moment, then touched the crescent stamped into the leather and asked if she’d stolen the book. She denied it. I’ve had the Training; she spoke truth. Yet how could she have come by a book bearing the Royal Seal of the Haesyl Line? I opened it. The pages were blank.
“Take it,” she urged. “Record your deeds for study. Lo, the steps of your life mark the journey of your soul.”
  I told her I couldn’t afford the book, but she smiled as if poverty were a blessing and said, “The price be one copper. Tis a wee price for salvation, Noble One.”
  So I bought this journal. I hide it under my mattress. When I lie awake at night, I feel the journal beneath my back and think of the woman who sold it to me. Damn her. She plagues my soul. I promised to return the next night, but I didn’t. I promised to record my deeds. But I can’t. The price is too high.”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“Got to keep smiling, as me old Pa used to say, however shitty the mess you’re in.”
― Mark Ellis, A Death In Mayfair

“It matters because if you tell us a lie, that undermines everything else you tell us.”
― Mark Ellis, A Death In Mayfair

“I’ve always found it curious how a coffin, if placed upright, resembles a doorway.”
― J.K. Franko, What You Let In

“A story is not only what it says. A story is what it does. It infects. Then it propagates.”
― J.K. Franko, What You Let In

“I had walked through a door he’d simply left open. And I’d done it voluntarily, glass of scotch in hand, thinking I was the one in control.” “The world kept rearranging itself while I wasn’t looking.”
― J.K. Franko, What You Let In

“Blair continued. “The old man only visits me in dreams. Dressed always in black with amber fire as his companion, he is older than the mountains. He is the fire of othium and he comes with an ancient name, Oien. He demands you take your throne and raise his armies. You will rebuild for him the glory of the second age.”
Robert Reid – The Son”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“Apparently it is also called the ‘Staff of Power’? It is an ancient relic that supposedly was found by the Blair clan in Bala and has been a protected by them over the centuries.
Robert Reid – The Son”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“For two years the battles raged across the lands, one side fighting for conquest, the other for freedom. Othium-powered weapons wreaked havoc on defending armies. The red fire was hard to resist, but the white light was stronger. Gradually the tide turned and the freedom fighters regained control of their lands and their cities. The stage was set for the final battle.
The opposing forces met outside the Ackar city of Erbea in 1302 and the forces of good won the day. The alchemist escaped and was about to take his revenge at a wedding ceremony when he was bound by the white light. All that remained was his heart, or maybe his soul, encapsulated in a piece of red rock.
Dewar the Third succeeded his father and the new king promised a time of peace and prosperity. History would call him the Peacemaker.
Now, two hundred years on, a new Emperor seeks to rule the world, while an illegitimate son sets out on a path towards revenge and a thief begins to learn his trade. It is time for the alchemist to return.”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“Valdin softened slightly. “Ramon you have been very well paid for this trip and I am sure that for a little extra gold the crew will not miss their shore leave. My job is done.” With that the huntsman shook Ramon’s hand and left the ship.
Robert Reid – The Son”
― Robert Reid, The Son

“Looking for missing persons in London had become a nightmare since the war started.”
― Mark Ellis, The Embassy Murders

“It was his job to seek out the truth behind her death, regardless.”
― Mark Ellis, The Embassy Murders