Yesterday Down At The Canal Quotes

I'm so damned literary
and at the same time the waters rushing past remind
me of nothing
I'm so damn empty ~ Frank O'Hara

Okay, listen up, dudes. We have to book. Yesterday, when I find you guys are, like, AWOL? I, like, freak. Yelling at everybody–where are they, why did you let them leave–the hotel people are, like, whaaaa? Anyway, I pack up all your stuff, figuring I may never see the place again, and down in the lobby I find my man Arif. I'm, like, help me, and he takes all of our stuff to this launch–and then we're halfway across the sea when Arif gets this radio message, and he's all excited, but I don't know what he's saying until he's, like, 'POLICE!' in English. And we see these cop cars and somebody's getting a big old boat, so we're, like, sayonara, only in Indonesian, and we tool out into this boat-traffic jam to try to loose them, and I'm hearing these radio reports that are half English–there's been a fire and somebody's dead, yada yada, and I'm totally wigging out–Why did you do that? Why did you and your sister leave me in a hotel without even a note? ~ Peter Lerangis

Um, I think I left my handkerchief on the table," Jane said. "I'll just run down and fetch it. There's no need to wait for me--you go on to bed."
Lisette stopped to stare at her in bewilderment. "Your handkerchief will be perfectly fine where it is. A footman will find it and give it to you in the morning."
"No, I dare not leave it or I'll forget about it in the confusion of our departure." She was already turning to descend the stairs. "And it's my favorite."
Jane didn't stop to see if Lisette believed that nonsense. She just hastened down, trying to figure out how to get Dom alone.
Fortunately, just as she approached the dining room, she heard the duke say from inside, "Sorry to be a wet blanket, old chap, but I shall turn in, too. Lisette and I don't usually rise as early as we did this morning."
"So I've noticed." Then Dom added hastily, "Not that it matters, mind you. Everyone has his own habits."
"Yes, that's true." The duke's puzzled tone showed he was unaware of what his wife had said yesterday about his "habits."
"Don't forget that we must leave as early tomorrow as possible."
"Of course."
"I'm hoping Tristan will have arrived by then, but if not, we'll press on without him."
"Certainly," Max said, rather stiffly now. He probably wasn't used to being ordered about by anyone, even his brother-in-law. "Well, good night, then."
Hearing footsteps approaching, Jane darted quickly into an alcove and waited with heart p ~ Sabrina Jeffries

I buy the stale popcorn, or at least try (because Bernie, in his words, won't have it) and we go through and sit down, near where I watched from yesterday.
He's given us a ticket each.
'Coool Hand Luke: 7pm.'
'Has your cool got three Os?' Audrey enquires.
I look down at it, amused. It has and it seems perfect for this night. ~ Markus Zusak

I've looked over what I wrote yesterday and I see it wasn't as clear as it should be. It's perfectly clear for any of us, I mean. But who knows? Maybe you unknown people who'll get my notes when the INTEGRAL brings them - maybe you've read the great book of civilization only up to the page our ancestors reached about 900 years ago. Maybe you don't even know the basics - like the Table of Hours, Personal Hours, Maternal Norm, Green Wall, Benefactor. It feels funny to me, and at the same time it's very hard to talk about all this. It's just as if a writer of the twentieth century, for instance, had to explain in his novel what he meant by "jacket" or "apartment" or "wife." Still, if his novel was translated for savages, there's no way he could write "jacket" without putting in a note.
...
But what of that? After man's tail fell off, it was probably some little while before he learned to shoo away the flies without a tail. I don't doubt that during that first time he probably missed his tail. But now - can you even imagine yourself with a tail? Or: Can you imagine yourself walking down the street naked - without your "jacket"? (Maybe you still run around in "jackets.") Well, it's the same here: I can't imagine a city that isn't girdled about with a Green Wall. I can't imagine a life that isn't clad in the numerical robes of the Table. ~ Yevgeny Zamyatin

His light blue shuma and silver torque did nothing to hide the mass of cuts, scrapes, and purple bruises that covered his body and made his iridescent tattoos practically glow by contrast. He had a dark bruise under one eye that ran all the way down to the ulumi-lia tattoo on his cheekbone, and another on his jaw.

"This?" He gestured to his battered frame. "Ono, moa halea.I was invited to partake in a wrestling match yesterday afternoon."

"A wrestling match with whom? Kukuna the Stone God?"

His grin flashed, then faltered as the gesture tugged at his split lip. "It was a very intense match. And you have been reading the legends of my people. You are curious about Calberna. This is good."

She grimaced. "Don't jump to conclusions. I read most of those legends before I met you so I could teach the children at the school about Calberna." Then, because curiosity got the best of her, she asked, "So which one of Wynter's men beat you to a pulp?"

His brows rose. "I am unpulped."

"Not from where I'm standing. Or are you saying the other fellow looks worse?"

He cocked his head to one side, as if considering, then gave that charming half grin again and said, "About the same. We declared it equal contest."

"Who did you leave unpulped then?"

"It is of no concern. We had our match. We tested each other's skill and resolve, and came away with a new understanding of each other." ~ C.L. Wilson

Mmmm, I said after the waiter left, and Augustus smiled crookedly as he stared down the canal while I stared up it. We had plenty to look at, so the silence didn't feel awkward really, but I wanted everything to be perfect. It was perfect, I guess, but it felt like someone had tried to stage the Amsterdam of my imagination, which made it hard to forget that this dinner, like the trip itself, was a cancer perk. I just wanted us to be talking and joking comfortably, like we were on the couch together back home, but some tension underlay everything. ~ John Green

Although people call love a capricious and unaccountable emotion that arises like an illness, nonetheless it has its own laws and reasons, like everything else. If these laws have been little studied so far, that is because a person struck down by love is in no condition to observe with a scholar's eye as the impression steals into his soul and shackles his emotions like a dream, as first his eyes go blind, at which moment his pulse and then his heart begin beating harder, all of a sudden there arises as of yesterday an undying devotion, the desire to sacrifice oneself; one's I gradually vanishes and crosses over into him or her; the mind becomes wither unusually dull or unusually sharp; the will surrenders to the will of another; and the head bows, the knees shake and the tears and fever come. ~ Ivan Goncharov

I am struck by what a tawdry magician's trick Time is after all. I am sixty-six years old. Viewed from your coign of vantage - facing toward the future - sixty-six years is a great deal of time. It is all of the experience of your life more than three times over. But, viewed from my coign of vantage - facing toward the past - this sixty-six years was the fluttering down of a cherry petal. I feel that my life was a picture hastily sketched but never filled in . . . for lack of time. Only yesterday - but more than fifty years ago - I walked along this river with my father. I can remember how big and strong his hand felt to my small fingers. Fifty years. But all the insignificant, busy things - the terribly important, now forgotten things that cluttered the intervening time collapse and fall away from my memory. And I remember another yesterday when my daughter was a little girl. We walked along here. At this very moment, the nerves in my hand remember the feeling of her chubby fingers clinging to one of mine. ~ Trevanian

You, Beloved, who are all the gardens I have ever gazed at, longing. An open window in a country house
, and you almost stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon,
you had just walked down them and vanished. And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening ... ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

He rushed past the usual fragments of painful memories – his mother smiling down at him, her face illuminated by the sunlight rippling off the Venetian Grand Canal; his sister Bianca laughing as she pulled him across the Mall in Washington, D.C., her green floppy hat shading her eyes and the splash of freckles across her nose. He saw Percy Jackson on a snowy cliff outside Westover Hall, shielding Nico and Bianca from the manticore as Nico clutched a Mythomagic figurine and whispered, I'm scared. He saw Minos, his old ghostly mentor, leading him through the Labyrinth. Minos's smile was cold and cruel. Don't worry, son of Hades. You will have your revenge. ~ Rick Riordan

On a sleepy morning that I keep waking up to pull my necktie tight
And when I pass through my classroom door
I can start walking with my chest puffed out just a little
The wind blows through such ordinary days

I realized I heard it
I realized I felt it
Now in my chest that started to tremble
I realized it was coming already
I saw off
The millions of stars that were disappearing
I waved my hand
Saying, "Good for you"

I look down at the corner of the hallway in middle of cleaning
I think it's a strange thing
Even though the time inside of me has stopped
It feels like I'm living through different days
Dust falls and accumulates like snow

I realized you're waiting
I realized you're calling
Now in this time that started to tremble
I realized I found it
My lost memories recalled
My story
Of eternity
It's ending

I started running before I knew it
My hand was being pulled along by you
Yesterday was far away, tomorrow was right ahead
That natural fact made my heart dance

I realized I heard it
I realized I felt it
Now in my chest that started to tremble
I realized it was coming already
A new sun overcame thousands of mornings

I realized you're waiting
I realized you're calling
My soul is trembling
I realized I found it
I saw off
The day that's able to disappe ~ Lia

Yesterday I wrote the majority of a song called 'Burn the Nightclub Down' which was about kind of driving into Cleveland full of dread at the prospect of playing at this night club and actually just the night before I had called my girlfriend whose birthday it was. And it's her birthday and here I am on the road in some hellhole in Ann Arbor in Michigan. ~ Rhett Miller

You were happy last night. This morning is a different story."

"You think I have a hangover. I don't. Well a little headache, but not much. Just let this be a warning to you if you keep me from sleeping again tonight."

"I kept you from sleeping? I kept you from sleeping?" he repeated incredulously. "You are the same woman who shook me out of a sound sleep at two a.m. yesterday morning, aren't you?"

"I didn't shake you. I kind of bounced on you, but I didn't shake you."

"Bounced," he repeated.

"You had a hard-on. I couldn't let it go to waste, could I?"

"You could have woke me up before you started not to let it go to waste."

"Look," she said exasperated, "If you don't want used, don't lie on your back with it sticking up like that. If that isn't an invitation, I don't know what is."

"I was asleep. It does that on its own." It was doing it on its own right know, as a matter of fact. It poked her in the stomach.

She looked down... and smiled. It was a smile that made his testicles draw up in fear.

With a sniff, she turned her back on him and ignored him as she finished showering.

"Hey!" he said, to get her attention. Alarm was in his tone. "You aren't going to let this one go to waste are you? ~ Linda Howard

Elizabeth ran her finger along the windowsill, gathering dust. The view was almost exactly the same as from her own bedroom, only a few degrees shifted. She could still see the Rosens' place, with its red door and folding shutters, and the Martinez house, with its porch swing and the dog bowl. She'd heard once that what made you a real New Yorker was when you could remember back three laters -- the place on the corner that had been a bakery and then a barbershop before it was a cell-phone store, or the restaurant that had been Italian, then Mexican, then Cuban. The city was a palimpsest, a Mod Podged pileup or old signage and other people's failures. Newcomers saw only what was in front of them, but people who had been there long enough were always looking at two or three other places simultaneously. The IRT, Canal Jeans, the Limelight. So much of the city she'd fallen in love with was gone, but then again, that's how it worked. It was your job to remember. At least the bridges were still there. Some things were too heavy to take down. ~ Emma Straub

I'm trying to embroider." Hyacinth held up her handiwork
as proof.
"You're trying to avoid - " Her mother stopped, blinking.
"I say, why does that flower have an ear?"
"It's not an ear." Hyacinth looked down. "And it's not a
flower."
"Wasn't it a flower yesterday?"
"I have a very creative mind," Hyacinth ground out,
giving the blasted flower another ear.
"That," Violet said, "has never been in any doubt."
Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. "It's a
tabby cat," she announced. "I just need to give it a tail. ~ Julia Quinn

At first there was no highway code for the canals and rules were soon needed to control the boats especially on the busy industrial sections. When one horse drawn boat passed another, someone had to give way and allow their towing rope to fall to the bottom of the canal to enable the other boat to pass over it. Rules were drawn up as to which type of boat or cargo had precedence but often it came down to who shouted the loudest. ~ Stan Yorke

I look down at our knees, slightly touching. Jeans against jeans. Does she notice the heat transferring from her body to mine? Does she even realize what she's doing to me? I know, I know. I'm not a virgin and the slightest touch of a girl's knee is driving me insane. I don't even know what I'm feeling for Maggie, I just know that I'm feeling It's something I've tried to avoid and deny until yesterday, when I held her in my arms while her tears spilled onto my shirt. God, our knees touching isn't enough. I need more. She's knotting her fingers together on her lap as if she doesn't know what to do with them. I want to touch her, but what if she pulls away like before? ~ Simone Elkeles

We gather here today," said Robert, reaching out his arms expansively, "to honor my son, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, who has single-handedly destroyed the forces of the Endarkened and who defeated in battle the son of Valentine Morgenstern. Alec saved the life of our third son, Max. Along with his parabatai, Jace Herondale, I am proud to say that my son is one of the greatest warriors I have ever known." He turned and smiled at Alec and Magnus. "It takes more than a strong arm to make a great warrior," he went on. "It takes a great mind and a great heart. My son has both. He is strong in courage, and strong in love. Which is why I also wanted to share our other good news with you. As of yesterday, my son became engaged to be married to his partner, Magnus Bane - "
A chorus of cheers broke out. Magnus accepted them with a modest wave of his fork. Alec slid down in his chair, his cheeks burning. Jace looked at him meditatively.
"Congratulations," he said. "I kind of feel like I missed an opportunity."
"W-what?" Alec stammered.
Jace shrugged. "I always knew you had a crush on me, and I kind of had a crush on you, too. I thought you should know."
"What?" Alec said again.
Clary sat up straight. "You know," she said, "do you think there's any chance that you two could ..." She gestured between Jace and Alec. "It would be kind of hot."
"No," Magnus said. "I am a very jealous warlock."
"We're parabatai," Alec said, regaining his voice. "The Cla ~ Cassandra Clare

What is it about the relationship of a mother that can heal or hurt us? Her womb is the first landscape we inhabit. It is here we learn to respond - to move, to listen, to be nourished and grow. In her body we grow to be human as our tails disappear and our gills turn to lungs. Our maternal environment is perfectly safe - dark, warm, and wet. It is a residency inside the Feminine.
When we outgrow our mother's body, our cramps become her own. We move. She labors. Our body turns upside down in hers as we journey through the birth canal. She pushes in pain. We emerge, a head. She pushes one more time, and we slide out like a fish. Slapped on the back by the doctor, we breath. The umbilical cord is cut - not at our request. Separation is immediate. A mother reclaims her body, for her own life. Not ours. Minutes old, our first death is our own birth. ~ Terry Tempest Williams

He could swear he did not look back, could not - by any optical chance, or in any prism - have seen her physically as he walked away; and yet, with dreadful distinction, he retained forever a composite picture of her standing where he left her. The picture - which penetrated him, through an eye in the back of his head, through his vitreous spinal canal, and could never be lived down, never - consisted of a selection and blend of such random images and expressions of hers that had affected him with a pang of intolerable remorse at various moments in the past. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

All that weeping makes me want to slap her," he complained, "and I can scarce sleep for her sobbing." You would weep as well if you had a son and lost him, Sam almost said. He could not blame Gilly for her grief. Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. Once he asked Maester Aemon that very question, when Gilly was down at the canal fetching water for them. "When you raised him up to be the lord commander," the old man answered. ~ George R R Martin

Completely confused as to who the real criminals were in this case, the jury had voted to wash their hands of everybody and they let him off. That had been the meaning of the conversation I'd had with him that afternoon, but I hadn't understood what was happening at all. There were many moments in the Vine like that one - where you might think today was yesterday, and yesterday was tomorrow, and so on. Because we all believed we were tragic, and we drank. We had that helpless, destined feeling. We would die with handcuffs on. We would be put a stop to, and it wouldn't be our fault. So we imagined. And yet we were always being found innocent for ridiculous reasons.

...We bought heroin with the money and split the heroin down the middle. Then he went looking for his girlfriend, and I went looking for mine, knowing that when there were drugs around, she surrendered. But I was in a bad condition - drunk, and having missed a night's sleep. As soon as the stuff entered my system, I passed out. Two hours went by without my noticing. I felt I'd only blinked my eyes, but when I opened them my girlfriend and a Mexican neighbor were working on me, doing everything they could to bring me back. The Mexican was saying, "There, he's coming around now."

We lived in a tiny, dirty apartment. When I realized how long I'd been out and how close I'd come to leaving it forever, our little home seemed to glitter like cheap jewelry. I was overjoyed not to be dead. Generally th ~ Denis Johnson

Porridge is our soup, our grits, our sustenance, so it's pretty much the go-to for breakfast. For the first time, I ate with a bunch of other Taiwanese-Chinese kids my age who knew what the hell they were doing. Even at Chinese school, there were always kids that brought hamburgers, shunned chopsticks, or didn't get down with the funky shit. They were like faux-bootleg-Canal Street Chinamen.
That was one of the things that really annoyed me about growing up Chinese in the States. Even if you wanted to roll with Chinese/Taiwanese kids, there were barely any around and the ones that were around had lost their culture and identity. They barely spoke Chinese, resented Chinese food, and if we got picked on by white people on the basketball court, everyone just looked out for themselves. It wasn't that I wanted people to carry around little red books to affirm their "Chinese-ness," but I just wanted to know there were other people that wanted this community to live on in America. There was on kid who wouldn't eat the thousand-year-old eggs at breakfast and all the other kids started roasting him.
"If you don't get down with the nasty shit, you're not Chinese!"
I was down with the mob, but something left me unsettled. One thing ABCs love to do is compete on "Chinese-ness," i.e., who will eat the most chicken feet, pig intestines, and have the highest SAT scores. I scored high in chick feet, sneaker game, and pirated good, but relatively low on the SAT. I had made Na ~ Eddie Huang

Matthias nodded to the fisherman and Rotty winked back at him, giving a brief tug on the beard of his disguise. He poled the boat rapidly down the canal.

As they approached Zentsbridge, Matthias caught sight of the huge bottleboat parked beneath it. It was wide enough that the hulls scraped as Rotty tried to pass. The bottle man and Rotty broke into a heated argument, and Nina let loose another wail, long and loud enough that Matthias wondered if she was trying to compete with the plague siren.

"Perhaps some deep breathing?" the medik suggested from the railing.

Matthias gave Nina the barest warning glance. They could fake a pregnancy. They couldn't fake an actual birth. At least he didn't think they could. He wouldn't put anything past Kaz at this point. ~ Leigh Bardugo

I know that everyone in this room, Bernie Fain included, thinks I'm some kind of a nut with my so-called fixation on this vampire thing. OK, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he only thinks he is. But there are things here that can't be explained away by so-called common sense. Not even Bernie's report can explain some of them.

'I was at the hospital yesterday.' I looked directly at Butcher. 'Your own people fired maybe fifty or sixty rounds at him, some at point-blank range. How come this man never even slowed down? How come a man seventy years old can outrun police cars for more than fifteen blocks? How come when he gets clubbed on the head he doesn't bleed like other people? Look at these photos! There's a gash on his forehead... and whatever is trickling down from the cut is clear... it isn't blood.

'How come three great, big, burly hospital orderlies weighing an estimated total of nearly seven-hundred fifty pounds couldn't bring one, skinny one-hundred sixty pound man to his knees? How come an ex-boxer, a light-heavyweight not long out of the ring, couldn't even faze him with his best punch, a right hook that should have broken his jaw?

'Face it. Whether it's science, witchcraft or black magic, this character has got something going for him you don't know anything about. He doesn't seem to feel pain. Or get winded. And he doesn't seem to be very frightened by guns, or discouraged by your efforts to trap him.

'Look at these photos! Look ~ Jeff Rice

Pausing for a moment, as I routinely do when crossing one of these bridges, I gazed not down into the dark waters of the canal, but upwards into the night sky. It was those stars, I knew that now. Certain of them had been promised specific parts of my body. In the darkest hours of the night, when one is unusually sensitive to such things, I could - and still can, just barely - feel the force of these stars tugging away at various points, eager for the moment of my death when each of them might carry off that part of me which is theirs by right. Of course a child would misinterpret this experience. And how often I have found that every superstition has its basis in truth. ~ Thomas Ligotti

for my father, 1922-1944

Your face did not rot
like the others--the co-pilot,
for example, I saw him

yesterday. His face is corn-
mush: his wife and daughter,
the poor ignorant people, stare

as if he will compose soon.
He was more wronged than Job.
But your face did not rot

like the others--it grew dark,
and hard like ebony;
the features progressed in their

distinction. If I could cajole
you to come back for an evening,
down from your compulsive

orbiting, I would touch you,
read your face as Dallas,
your hoodlum gunner, now,

with the blistered eyes, reads
his braille editions. I would
touch your face as a disinterested

scholar touches an original page.
However frightening, I would
discover you, and I would not

turn you in; I would not make
you face your wife, or Dallas,
or the co-pilot, Jim. You

could return to your crazy
orbiting, and I would not try
to fully understand what

it means to you. All I know
is this: when I see you,
as I have seen you at least

once every year of my life,
spin across the wilds of the sky
like a tiny, African god,

I feel dead. I feel as if I were
the residue of a stranger's life,
that I should pursue you.

My head cocked toward the sky,
I can ~ James Tate

But that's not what I'm trying to tell you," Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. "What I'm trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms - it's strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven."

Hyacinth's breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she'd never asked.

"But you didn't," Violet continued. "You looked rather like me. And then - oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday - you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice."

"Twice?" Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important.

"Twice." Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. "I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, 'I know exactly what I'm doing.' "

A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth's lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise.

"And then you let out a wail," Violet said, shaking her head. "My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled."

Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother co ~ Julia Quinn

Jay showed up after school with a bouquet of flowers and an armful of DVDs, although Violet couldn't have cared less about either . . . he was all she wanted. She couldn't help the electric thrill of excitement she felt when he came strolling in, grinning at her foolishly as if he hadn't seen her in weeks rather than hours. He scooped her up from the couch and dropped her onto his lap as he sat down where she had been just a moment before. He was careful to arrange her ankle on a neatly stacked pile of pillows beside him.
He stubbornly refused to hide his affection for her, and if Violet hadn't known better she would have sword that he was going out of his way to make her self-conscious in her own home. Fortunately her parents were giving them some space for the time being, and they were left by themselves most of the time.
"Did you miss me?" he asked arrogantly as he gently brushed his lips over hers, not bothering to wait for an answer.
She smiled while she kissed him back, loving the topsy-turvy feeling that her stomach always got when he was so close to her. She wound her arms around his neck, forgetting that she was in the middle of the family room and not hidden away in the privacy of her bedroom.
He pulled away from her, suddenly serious. "You know, we didn't get much time alone yesterday. And I didn't get a chance to tell you . . ."
Violet was mesmerized by the thick timbre of his deep voice. She barely heard his words but rather concentrated ~ Kimberly Derting

Yesterday you were riding on my shoulders," he murmured. "The house was full of noise. Clomping up and down the steps,doors slamming. Scattered toys. I don't know how many times I stepped on one of those damned little cars of Brady's/"
Turning back, he ran a hand over her hair. "I miss that.I miss all of you."
"Daddy." In one fluid movement she rose and slid her arms around him.
"It's the way it's supposed to work. Three of you off at college, Brendon moving around to get a handle on the busines of things.It's what he wants. And you, building your own.But..I miss the crowd of you."
"I promise to slam the door the very first chance I get."
"That might help."
"Sentimental softie.I love that about you."
"Lucky for me. ~ Nora Roberts

It's all Irish politics."
Hal looked at me sharply and shook a finger in my face. "That's bloody dangerous, getting involved in that. You be careful."
I gaped at Hal. "I can't believe you just said that to me."
"What?" Hal protested, shrugging his shoulders and looking aggrieved.
"I called to ask Gunnar for help with the Bacchants yesterday and he shut me down. No well-wishing, no pleas to be careful, nothing. So now we're dealing with the aftermath of what happens when I try to go it alone, , and you tell me to be careful about Irish politics?"
"Well, I know precisely where Gunnar's coming from. It's not our job to keep the magical peace."
"Neither is it mine."
~ Kevin Hearne

Footnote 164: "I finally hooked up with Ashley. I went over to her place yesterday morning. Early. She lives in Venice. Her eyebrows look like flakes of sunlight. Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground. And for the life of me I didn't know who she was or where we met... We sat down and I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask her who she was, where we'd met, been before, but she just smiled and held my hand as we lay down on the hammock and started to swing above all those dead leaves... Before I left she told me our story: where we met - Texas - kissed, but never made love and this had confused and haunted her and she had needed it before she got married which was in four months to a man she loved who made a living manufacturing TNT exclusively for a highway construction firm up in Colorado where he frequently went on business trips and where one night, drunk, angry and disappointed he had invited a hooker back to his motel room and so on and who cared and what was I doing here anyway?... I was still hurting, abandoned, drank three glasses of bourbon and fumed on some weed, then came here, thinking of voices, real and imagined, of ghosts, my ghost, of her, at long last, in this idiotic footnote, when she gently pushed me out her door and I said quietly 'Ashley' causing her to stop pushing me and ask 'yes?' her eyes bright with something she saw that I could never see though what she saw was me, and me not caring now at least knowing the truth and telling her the truth: 'I've ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

I listen to money singing, it's like looking down from long French windows at a provincial town. The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad in the evening sun. It is intensely sad ... ~ Philip Larkin

Imagine a pantomime directed by Quentin Tarantino, where villains are booed, heroes are blood-stained, the body-count is high, the entertainment pulsating, the language filthy and the audience screamed behind you' as tackles hurtled in like boulders crashing down a mountain-side. Such was the epic drama that gripped the Emirates yesterday. A derby crammed with sound, fury and significance ended with everyone grasping for breath, with Arsenal regaining the high ground of the Premier League ... This was the Premier League at its raw, mistake-filled, mesmerising best. Utterly compelling. ~ Henry Winter