short-stories

The wheel turns for all, caro Chase. It__ the karma effect,_ Giulia cried, aping Ilenia. She could have never imagined that her words would become prophetic so soon.

Paoletta turned to him with a dark face. Chase had never seen her look so foreboding.__ou__ better watch out, Chase. He__ passed over to the evil side.

On the Writing Process:"When in doubt, take it out.,

I heaved into being, came out of the stone, the bricks, and other elements, and took form. (Dark City Lights)

The main thing about aliens is that they are alien. They feel no responsibility for fulfilling any of your expectations. (Dark City Lights)

To do is to be _ AristotleTo be or not to be _ ShakespeareTo be is to do _ Jean-Paul SartreDo be do be do _ Frank Sinatra

It was one of those situations I often find myself in while traveling. Something's said by a stranger I've been randomly thrown into contact with, and I want to say, "Listen. I'm with you on most of this, but before we continue, I need to know who you voted for in the last election.

An optimist and a gentleman, I like that in my men.

All his senses screamed in warning, the very air reeking of forbidden magic, but duty call him forward.

It would be one hell of an addition to someone's scrapbook. (Dark City Lights)

Quote from __nexpected Tales from the Ends of the Earth_: __his is that old well known man, for who I understood that one morning he puts the pistol in his mouth and put the trigger. He is dead right here. But he would never die in that dream. And I will never stop ask myself why I woke up, and how exactly has finished __his is that old well known man, for who I understood that one morning he puts the pistol in his mouth and put the trigger. He is dead right here. But he would never die in that dream. And I will never stop ask myself why I woke up, and how exactly has finished the strange feast_.

One day or one night__etween my days and nights, what difference can there be?__ dreamed that there was a grain of sand on the floor of my cell. Unconcerned, I went back to sleep; I dreamed that I woke up and there were two grains of sand. Again I slept; I dreamed that now there were three. Thus the grains of sand multiplied, little by little, until they filled the cell and I was dying beneath that hemisphere of sand. I realized that I was dreaming; with a vast effort I woke myself. But waking up was useless__ was suffocated by the countless sand. Someone said to me:You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies within another, and so on, to infinity, which is the number of the grains of sand. The path that you are to take is endless, and you will die before you have truly awakened.I felt lost. The sand crushed my mouth, but I cried out: I cannot be killed by sand that I dream __or is there any such thing as a dream within a dream._ Jorge Luis Borges, The Writing of the God

I have this uncanny knack of falling for the most irrelevant men,my love story would be comprising of short stories.

Why is it so hard? It's hard because it matters, I think.

She resents the chipped paint of the table and the dingy closet they call a dressing room. (Dark City Lights)

If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, 'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions. (Dark City Lights)

If I'd learned nothing else in my twenty-seven years on this planet, I'd learned that when someone gives you something totally unexpected and undeserved, you don't ask questions.

No. No_ No!_ the fear ebbed my voice, cut through me like a knife. I ran, bare feet slipping and sliding over the floorboards. I turned the corner and headed for the backdoor.Run. Run. I must run.As soon as I reached the backdoor in the kitchen, pulling the barn door from the hinges, I felt his gaze upon me. Cinders and kindling crunched at my feet; what had once been my lovely mahogany kitchen furniture was now little more than firewood. My crockery and china splintered in shards and as I turned to face him, I felt them dig into my skin, cut me with every shiver that bolted through my frame.__ou wanted Hemlock House. You have, Hemlock House._ His voice was dark, cruel and yet hauntingly light. As if cooing, whispering to a newborn. He was lounging against the countertop as if waiting for breakfast, as if waiting for something so meaningless.