Kelli

“The world changed,” Howard said to his glass. “Broke in a way. I see things, read things, watch things, and I think … I don’t understand that. The inanity, the vulgarity, the cruelty.” He turned to look at me. “Is it just me, getting older?” “I think something has changed.” “Something fundamental, perhaps. And so we retreat. Sure, we do our jobs, provide for our families. But then we seek cover. I subscribe to a channel on YouTube called Relaxing Mowing. It’s speeded-up footage of people mowing their lawns, trimming their hedges. The world made clean and perfect. They put classical music over it. If someone described that to me five years ago, I would say that person was insane. Now, I love it. I watch these in bed at night. I watch videos of Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse dancing. The elegance and grace. Where has that gone? Now we have twerking.”
― John Kenney, I See You've Called in Dead

“Indeed, it would become known far and wide as the Yellow House. When the sun shone it dazzled like a golden beacon, and even on the grayest of days it glowed through the mist like magic.”
― Patricia Falvey, The Yellow House

“God—or whoever is in charge of this planet—got drunk on the job one day and decided to give me the gift of writing. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can set that gift on a high shelf so it won’t get dinged up and nobody can make fun of me for playing with it.' He smiled until the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were deep enough to hide state secrets. 'Or I can have fun with it and play with the gift I was given until the engine burns out and the wheels come off. I decided to play. I suggest you do the same, young man. Go paint or draw or collage or whatever you want to do. Come back when there's smoke coming off the canvas. And for God's sake, go have some fun. Please?”
― Meg Shaffer, The Wishing Game

“Aye, Slieve Gullion has seen a lot of sad stories in her time,” Da said, “but she keeps all her anger locked up in that volcano at her heart. She’s beautiful on the outside but troubled deep down.” He sighed. “Just like Ireland.”
― Patricia Falvey, The Yellow House