Jeff Jones

“The baby was no longer on the verge of death; no longer would the sweet, easy tears of mourning melt it away as if it were a simple jelly. The baby continued to live, and it was oppressing Bird, even beginning to attack him. Swaddled in skin as red as shrimp which gleamed with the luster of scar tissue, the baby was beginning ferociously to live, dragging its anchor of a heavy lump. A vegetable existence? Maybe so; a deadly cactus.”
― Kenzaburō Ōe, A Personal Matter

“It transformed and sharpened everything she saw, smelled, felt. She could hear the ping of water moving through the pipes and smell metal in the river and hear rodents scuttle along the foundation. Her flesh felt as if it had been freshly slathered over her body this morning. She bet if she tried to guess the thread count of these sheets she’d come close, and her blood raced through her veins like a train moving across a desert at night.”
― Dennis Lehane, Since We Fell

“There is a fine article in the current Reader’s Digest with the title, “There are No Atheists in Foxholes.”
― Kurt Vonnegut Jr., Mother Night

“Evening was deepening, and the fever of early summer, like the temperature of a dead giant, had dropped completely from the covering air.”
― Kenzaburō Ōe, A Personal Matter