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Howl: An Antholog...
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  (page 69 of 310)
""And yet the pediatrician was quite calm. After examining Wystan and asking as series of questions, she said 'Yes, I'd say this sounds like lycanthropy. He's definitely on the spectrum.'"

from Shannon Robinson's "Origin Story""
2 hours, 25 min ago

 
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William Gibson
“Singaporeans seemed generally quite loathe to discuss these more intimate policies of government with a curious foreign visitor who was more than twice as tall as the average human, and who sweated slowly but continuously, like and aged cheese.”
William Gibson, Distrust That Particular Flavor

“...early medieval Ireland sounds like a somewhat crazed Wisconsin, in which every dairy farm is an armed camp at perpetual war with its neighbors, and every farmer claims he is a king.”
David Willis McCullough, Wars of the Irish Kings: A Thousand Years of Struggle, from the Age of Myth through the Reign of Queen Elizabeth I

George Garrett
“All malice, real and imagined, Ralegh's and the KIng's, will die upon the instant stroke of an axe. Be buried with him. His faith, then? Whatever remains will be parted. Some will go with the head and some with the headless body. Let them look for each other on Judgment Day. Perhaps on that day, in the haste of it, the bodies of traitors will have to settle for heads other than their own. Some inevitable mismatching of villians and rogues will take place. And one fine bony fellow will spy his skull upon another's body. Then another. And then maybe we shall be witness to the brawl and battle of the bones...”
George Garrett, Death of the Fox: A Novel of Elizabeth and Ralegh

Antonia Fraser
“Darnley, who, like Banquo's ghost, seemed to play a much more effective part in Scottish politics once he was dead than when he was alive.”
Antonia Fraser, Mary Queen of Scots

William Gibson
“[Slitscan's audience] is best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It's covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, Laney, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”
William Gibson, Idoru

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