Sam Higton

“We’re getting these people ready for a war, Sam. And not the fun kind of war that they make movies about. The bad kind of war. The kind they write poetry about,”
― Chris Farnell, Fermi's Progress 2. Descartesmageddon

“I thought of one of these moments as I sat there waiting for the hawk to eat from my hand. It was a black-and-white photograph my father had taken many years ago of an elderly street-cleaner with a white goatee beard, wrinkled socks and down-at-heel shoes. Crumpled work trousers, work gloves, a woollen beret. The camera is low, on the pavement: Dad must have crouched in the road to take it. The man is bending down, his besom of birch twigs propped against his side. He has taken off one of his gloves, and between the thumb and first finger of his bare right hand he is offering a crumb of bread to a sparrow on the kerbstone. The sparrow is caught mid-hop at exactly the moment it takes the crumb from his fingers. And the expression on the man’s face is suffused with joy. He is wearing the face of an angel.”
― Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk

“The angel of Death who holdeth The bronze Lamp beyond the golden door Hath taken thee into dark Waters”
― Stephen King, 'Salem's Lot

“Well,” she said, “better on a gambler’s back than on a warrior’s arm, I suppose.” Did she look at me then? I think she did. “I doubt much harm will come to it from scolding dogsellers in a starving town.”
― Christopher Buehlman, The Daughters' War