Latoria Vaught

“Oh sure, and you know who listens to them? Pansy, overeducated know-it-alls, and you know who listens to them? Nobody! Who’s going to care about some PBS-NPR fringe minority that’s out of touch with the mainstream? The more those elitist eggheads shouted “The Dead Are Walking,” the more most real Americans tuned them out.


So, let me see if I understand your position.


The administration’s position.


The administration’s position, which is that you gave this problem the amount of attention that you thought it deserved.


Right.


Given that at any time, government always has a lot on its plate, and especially at this time because another public scare was the last thing the American people wanted.


Yep.


So you figured that the threat was small enough to be “managed” by both the Alpha teams abroad and some additional law enforcement training at home.


You got it.


Even though you’d received warnings to the contrary, that it could never just be woven into the fabric of public life and that it actually was a global catastrophe in the making.


[Mister Carlson pauses, shoots me an angry look, then heaves a shovelful of “fuel” into his cart.]


Grow up.”
― Max Brooks, World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

“Now I gazed out of my office window. Slowly the world was changing from old-gold to the deep purple which, in the words of that dreamy song Mum was fond of humming, bathes garden walls under the twinkle of starlight.”
― Michael Wyndham Thomas, The Erkeley Shadows

“She's just one of the plethora of women you rotate through your bed." Lily looked scared out of her mind as the queen changed direction and stalked her. "I will not allow you to besmirch the Esca name with your filthy plot to steal the prince.”
― Therisa Peimer, Taming Flame

“The jagged mountains were pure blue in the dawn and everywhere birds twittered and the sun when it rose caught the moon in the west so that they lay opposed to each other across the earth, the sun whitehot and the moon a pale replica, as if they were the ends of a common bore beyond whose terminals burned worlds past all reckoning.”
― Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian, or, the Evening Redness in the West