Johnetta Ashaf > Johnetta's Quotes

“Charley threw Cindy on the bed and pulled a switchblade knife. He pressed the release button and a five-inch blade flipped open. “One word to anybody and your ugly dog gets his throat cut!”
― Shafter Bailey, Cindy Divine: The Little Girl Who Frightened Kings

“He thrust his shoulders back and spoke in a whisper that sounded like the hiss of a snake.
‘Yes, the very battle between good and evil, played out even in the lowliest of lives like yours. Witches killing dogs because they did not get their favourite drink.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Just like the myth of the people’s or popular capitalism, which was propagated since the mid1950s in the countries to the west of Berlin Wall, to the east and the north of it, since the same time it was introduced the myth of the people’s or popular socialism. But the suggestion is always the same. Under any “people’s” power—from people’s capitalism to people’s socialism—the greatest illusion suggested to the oppressed classes is that the people are sovereign, i.e., that all the people dominate over themselves. In this respect, even John Kenneth Galbraith makes Marxist conclusions, which even in the Internet epoch have the same power: “Young people are suggested that in a democracy the entire power belongs to the people!” (“The Anatomy of Power”)
Yet, old people know that this is not true!”
― Todor Bombov, Socialism Is Dead! Long Live Socialism!: The Marx Code-Socialism with a Human Face

“This faulty light fitting at the front door with the dangerously flickering bulb looks rather festive. Who says I don't do Christmas?”
― R.D. Ronald

“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

“Whether you are on day one of being a Christian or day fifteen thousand, you should always have a teachable heart before God.”
― Kathryn Krick, The Secret of the Anointing: Accessing the Power of God to Walk in Miracles

“Andy Warhol. Nothing is more bourgeois than to be afraid to look bourgeois”
― Tom Wolfe, The Painted Word

“Wisst ihr, meine kleinen Freunde, von der Ewigkeit her gesehen nimmt es sich oftmals ganz anders aus als im Rech der Zeit. Da sieht man, dass es eigentlich letzten Endes immer dem Guten dienen muss. Es ist sozusagen ein Widerspruch in sich selbst. Immer strebt es nach der Macht über das Gute, aber es kann ja ohne das Gute nicht sein und würde es je die vollständige Macht erlangen, so müsste es gerade das zerstören, worüber es Macht zu haben begehrt. Darum, meine Lieben, kann es nur dauern, solange es unvollständig ist. Wäre es ganz, dann würde es sich selbst aufheben, Darum hat es eben keinen Platz in der Ewigkeit. Ewig ist nur das Gute, denn es enthält sich selbst ohne Widerspruch..."

"He!" schrie Jakob Krakel und zupfte mit dem Schnabel heftig an dem goldenen Mantel. "Nix für ungut, Euer Merkwürden - Verzeihung, Hochwürden wollt ich sagen - aber das is' im Augenblick alles ziemlich Wurscht, mit Verlaub. Bis Sie mit Ihrer Füllosophie fertig sind, is' es nämlich für alleszu spät.”
― Michael Ende, Wunschpunsch - Spannende Zauberabenteuer

“Very few people do this any more. It's too risky. First of all, it's a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It's much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“There's a reason why she left them, Lauren," he says. His voice is deep, and it rumbles. "What's your name?"

"Um..." I don't know why I hesitate. But "Beatrice" just doesn't sound right anymore.

"Think about it," he says, a faint smile curling his lips. " You don't get to pick again."

A new place, a new name. I can be remade here.

"Tris," I say firmly.”
― Veronica Roth, Divergent

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Help me. Please, help me. If you really exist, you skinny jew bastard, help me kill myself.”
― Hubert Selby Jr., Waiting Period

“I like on the table,
when we're speaking,
the light of a bottle
of intelligent wine.”
― Pablo Neruda