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“But Arthur dislikes me to talk to him, and is visibly annoyed by his commonest acts of politeness; not that my husband has any unworthy suspicions of me—or of his friend either, as I believe—but he dislikes me to have any pleasure but in himself, any shadow of homage or kindness but such as he chooses to vouchsafe: he knows he is my sun, but when he chooses to withhold his light, he would have my sky to be all darkness; he cannot bear that I should have a moon to mitigate the deprivation. This is unjust; and I am sometimes tempted to teaze him accordingly; but I won’t yield to the temptation: if he should carry his trifling with my feelings too far, I shall find some other means of checking him.”
― Anne Brontë, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

“The sunset bled into the edges of the village. Smoke curled out of the cottage chimney like a crooked finger.”
― Sara Pascoe, Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

“Before and behind me, nothing but infernal things were made and sold, and I endured inbetween, infernally.”
― Gary Clemenceau, Banker's Holiday: A Novel of Fiscal Irregularity

“She’s a cop’s wife. She understands what her husband does for a living,” the priest said.”
― A.G. Russo, The Cases Nobody Wanted