fiction

The only wand you'll ever need is a better-feeling thought.

We need to talk," he insisted, opening the door to his jeep that was parked next to my car. I was still holding out hope this would end and I would see his smile soon. "What's wrong?" I retaliated before I go in. "There's something you need to know, something I haven't told you," he said, taking my backpack from me.

Quote from __UTURE GONE_: "_I wonder what actually this hospital is, why I am in it and who I am. I have no time to find out. I die, with my arms stretched towards the spotlights.Then whiteness.My body is still there somewhere_Buried in the extremely bright lights of empty hope".

He's probably somewhere right now eating a Big-N-Tasty. The man has a coffee pot, a microwave, AND a mini refrigerator in his classrooom. If you plan on having a conversation with him, I suggest you do it over the phone. Otherwise, you'll need a motorcycle helmet just to avoid the Snickers shrapnel flying from his mouth!

Atmosphere, not action, is the great desideratum of weird fiction. Indeed, all that a wonder story can ever be is a vivid picture of a certain type of human mood. The moment it tries to be anything else it becomes cheap, puerile, and unconvincing. Prime emphasis should be given to subtle suggestion - imperceptible hints and touches of selective associative detail which express shadings of mood and build up a vague illusion of the strange reality of the unreal. Avoid bald catalogues of incredible happenings which can have no substance or meaning apart from a sustaining cloud of colour and symbolism.

If you find that you're going through hell, keep moving. You will get to the end eventually.

They again kissed each other and fell asleep. The patch of light on the ceiling now seemed to be assuming the shape of a terrified eye, that stared wildly and fixedly upon the pale, slumbering couple who reeked with crime beneath their very sheets, and dreamt they could see a rain of blood falling in big drops, which turned into golden coins as they plashed upon the floor.

The time of my departure is here. Place your hand gently on the soil beside my own, and feel the rumble of the earth beneath. The power of a thousand thousands is coming... evil warriors fighting against the Noble One. Here I stand with Him. Take up your sword and come with me, for the Prince is calling. And if you do not go... who will?

Fiction should always steer clear of political considerations.

I gave you the best of me.

Dying is not a solution.. I want to live with You..!

Listen to me you piece of shit, if you ever give the press information about me, my parents or even breathe a word about me to anyone ever again, I swear to god I will make it my mission to make your life a living hell. And, believe me I__l do it with a smile on my face the whole time. You__e a worthless excuse for a Detective and everyone here knows it. You__e screwed your way to the top and backstabbed Gena to get into your Captain__ good books. Well look around you honey, you__e a real star. No one stopped Gena or me taking you on. I__e currently got you in a hold, where I could snap your neck if I wanted to, and not one person is stepping forward to help you. Yeah, you__e really made it._ - Stephanie Carovella to Sandra Barton

Identity was everything, but it seemed I never had one. (Jessica)

The city was a machine of its own, continuously producing. We were constantly pumped out through its assembly line, in different forms or models. We came hardwired with different stories, dark secrets, vices, and defects. Over time, we fail and come to find our end, but the city continues onwards.

All our ancient history, as one of our wits remarked, is no more than accepted fiction.

I wonder, what kind of life would I have had if it hadn__ been for my mother__ tea-and-cookie parties? Perhaps it__ because of them that I__e never thought of women as my enemies, as territories I have to conquer, but always as allies and friends - which I believe is the reason why they were friendly to me in turn. I__e never met those she-devils you hear about: they must be too busy with those men who look upon women as a fortress they have to attack, lay waste and left in ruins.

It gets kind of zen after awhile, life is a journey, time is a river, the door is ajar.

If the shining sun blinds the eye,it makes sense. But to be blinded by gold and silver!