Olene Mcaffee

“I stopped watching for ridicule, the scorpion's tail hidden in his words. He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?”
― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

“Reason and faith, the Archbishop said, do not of necessity cohere. Reason saith that water will not be transformed to wine. Faith has a contrary answer.”
― Anthony Burgess, A Dead Man in Deptford

“He thought he stood upon an English hillside. Rain was falling; it twisted in the air like grey ghosts. Rain fell upon him and he grew thin as rain. Rain
washed away thought, washed away memory, all the good and the bad. He no longer knew his name. Everything was washed away like mud from a stone. Rain filled him up with thoughts and memories of its own. Silver lines of water covered the hillside, like intricate lace, like the veins of an arm. Forgetting that he was, or ever had been, a man, he became the lines of water. He fell into the earth with the rain.
He thought he lay beneath the earth, beneath England. Long ages passed; cold and rain seeped through him; stones shifted within him. In the Silence and the Dark he grew vast.
He became the earth; he became England. A star looked down on him and spoke to
him.
A stone asked him a question and he answered it in its own language. A river
curled at his side; hills budded beneath his fingers. He opened his mouth and breathed out spring.
He thought he was pressed into a thicket in a dark wood in winter. The trees went on for
Over dark pillars separated by thin, white slices of winter light. He looked
down. Young saplings pierced him through and through; they grew up through his body, through his feet and hands. His eye-lids would no longer close because twigs had grown up through them.”
― Susanna Clarke, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell

“Life is a memory, and then it is nothing.”
― Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing