Elina Rohner

“Great. Abducted by aliens. She’d never live this one down. She wondered if they would dissect her. Maybe grab a steak of the tender parts and cook her up. Any sex stuff was too weird and horrible to think about, though it had been awhile. What the hell did she know? Brad Pitt. Surely, he wasn’t entirely human. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”
― William Kely McClung, LOOP

“My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident (picnic, lightning) when I was three, and, save for a pocket of warmth in the darkest past, nothing of her subsists within the hollows and dells of memory, over which, if you can still stand my style (I am writing under observation), the sun of my infancy had set: surely, you all know those redolent remnants of day suspended, with the midges, about some hedge in bloom or suddenly entered and traversed by the rambler, at the bottom of a hill, in the summer dusk; a furry warmth, golden midges.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

“What could be more lovely than writing a book about something you love?”
― Mark Helprin, In Sunlight and in Shadow

“He faced the terror of that second ocean, the largest a man can face. He looked up at the tiny shores of other worlds and its great expanse. He was afraid of it, of the deepness despite the starry fields.”
― Daniel Cuervonegro, Sins of the Maker