ancientreader

“Sometimes,’ croaked Margaret in a voice bent ragged from two days’ crying, ‘when God sees a particularly pretty flower, He’ll take it up from Earth, and put it in his own garden.’ Margaret held me in the sort of tight, worried grip usually reserved for heaving lambs up a ladder. As she clenched my hand and told me God had specially marked my mother for death, a tear-damp thumb traced small circles on my temple. She stroked my hair. It was nice to think that Mammy was so well-liked by God, since she was a massive fan. She went to all his gigs – Mass, prayer groups, marriage guidance meetings; and had all the action figures – small Infant of Prague statuettes, much larger Infant of Prague statuettes, little blue plastic flasks of holy water in the shape of God’s own Mammy herself.”
― Séamas O'Reilly, Did Ye Hear Mammy Died?

“Fine,” Will said. “I promise. I promise I’ll just bugger off whenever it seems like the easy way out for me, and leave you in this hundred-room hellhole with your family rubbing cheese-graters on your nerve endings. Is that what you want to hear?” “I detect a note of sarcasm.”
― K.J. Charles, Subtle Blood

“Okay. How much do you need?”
“Couple of hundred. Three…”
“Three hundred?”
“You’re a fucking surgeon, Simon.”
“Junior orthopaedic surgeon,” he said. “It’s going to be a while before I’m pulling down consultant level cash. And even then I’d make more money if I’d become a footballer.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said. “I’ve seen you play football. You were always running away from the ball.”
“That’s because it was a heavy, leather projectile travelling rapidly towards my face.”
“Yes, but you were the goalkeeper.”
― Jess Whitecroft, Less Than Three

“Good lord, Henry. You’re almost as strange a creature as me. Perhaps stranger, because you look so wholesome and brown and bonny, like a pretty ploughboy. Whereas nobody could ever mistake me for anything but what I am.” “And what are you?” “I’m a thief,” said Jem. “And a whore. A molly. A mary-anne. That’s what they used to call us back in London, us boys who dressed as girls and called one another sister.”
― Jess Whitecroft, Reckless