Caddy

“It is perfectly okay to write garbage--as long as you edit brilliantly.”
― C. J. Cherryh

“Jack was led out of the dark room into the strong light, and as they guided him up the steps he could see nothing for the glare. 'Your head here sir, if you please,' said the sheriff's man in a low, nervous, conciliating voice, 'and your hands just here.'

   The man was slowly fumbling with the bolt, hinge and staple, and as Jack stood there with his hands in the lower half-rounds, his sight cleared: he saw that the broad street was filled with silent, attentive men, some in long togs, some in shore-going rig, some in plain frocks, but all perfectly recognizable as seamen. And officers, by the dozen, by the score: midshipmen and officers. Babbington was there, immediately in front of the pillory, facing him with his hat off, and Pullings, Stephen of course, Mowett, Dundas . . . He nodded to them, with almost no change in his iron expression, and his eye moved on: Parker, Rowan, Williamson, Hervey . . . and men from long, long ago, men he could scarcely name, lieutenants and commanders putting their promotion at risk, midshipmen and master's mates their commissions, warrant-officers their advancement.

   'The head a trifle forward, if you please, sir,' murmured the sheriff's man, and the upper half of the wooden frame came down, imprisoning his defenceless face. He heard the click of the bolt and then in the dead silence a strong voice cry 'Off hats'. With one movement hundreds of broad-brimmed tarpaulin-covered hats flew off and the cheering began, the fierce full-throated cheering he had so often heard in battle.”
― Patrick O'Brian, The Reverse of the Medal

“That dog is a wolf, is he not?'

'Aye, well, mostly.'

A small flash of hazel told him not to quibble.

'And yet he is thy boon companion, a creature of rare courage and affection, and altogether a worthy being?;

'Oh, aye,' he said with more confidence. 'He is."

She gave him an even look.

'Thee is a wolf, too, and I know it. But thee is my wolf, and best thee know that.'

He'd started to burn when she spoke, an ignition swift and fierce as the lighting of one of his cousin's matches. He put out his hand, palm forward, to her, still cautious lest she too, burst into flame.

'What I said to ye, before . . . that I kent ye loved me-'

She stepped forward and pressed her palm to his, her small, cool fingers linking tight.

'What I say to thee now is that I do love thee. And if thee hunts at night, thee will come home.'

Under the sycamore, the dog yawned and laid his muzzle on his paws.

'And sleep at they feet,' Ian whispered, and gathered her in with his one good arm, both of them blazing bright as day.”
― Diana Gabaldon, An Echo in the Bone

“Q: The Witness is reminded that she may be held in contempt.
A: The feeling is mutual.”
― Steven Brust, Iorich