Madeleine

“On fine nights when the cold and the drumtaps, and the hooting of the owls, and the moonlight, have got into their wild, woodland blood and made it even wilder, they will dance till daybreak.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

“You and Merrin's mother-have you really been praying for me to die?" "More or less," Mould said. "To be honest, most of the time when she's calling to God, she's riding my dick." "Do you know why He hasn't struck me down?" Ig asked. "Do you know why God hasn't answered your prayers?" "Why?" "Because there is no God. Your prayers are whispers to an empty room." ..."Bullshit." "It's all a lie. There's never been anyone there.”
― Joe Hill, Horns

“Ig had always liked to listen to his father, to watch him while he played. It was almost wrong to say his father played. It often seemed the other way around: that the horn was playing him. The way his cheeks swole out, then caved in as if he were being inhaled into it, the way the golden keys seemed to grab his fingers like little magnets snatching at iron filings, causing them to leap and dance in unexpected, startling fits. The way he shut his eyes and bent his head and twisted back and forth at the hips, as if his torso were in auger, screwing its way deeper and deeper into the centre of his being, pulling the music up from somewhere in the pit of his belly.”
― Joe Hill, Horns

“My whole life is out here-the whole of my life...I'd come here naked, as a boy-straight from that river out there-throw my clothes on the floor and climb into that loft and lie there dreaming in the hay...All those summer days-scouring the banks of the Avon for smooth, round stones-scaring up ducks and foxes-kingfishers-swallows...somebody's dog...Oh, God-I want it back. Throwing stones that never reached the other shore. And the games-the games-the games, and all my friends...”
― Timothy Findley