Category: Quotations Page 18 of 31

This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

RULES:
Grab a book, any book.
Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
Find a snippet, short and sweet.
Post it

from 56% of:

The Jackals by Adam Shaw

As soon as I step out the front door, I exhale. The chilly downtown air hits me all at once, and I’m forced to recognize the beads of sweat resting in my hairline, the moistness of Rob’s post-workout filth on my shirt, the goosebumps traveling up and down my arms. I quit my job. Apparently, I’m moving.

“Jack!”

Beth is smiling. Her pale skin shines against the red brick of the wall behind her. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing the same red flannel she wore the day I got back to Lafayette. A couple golden strands cling to it near her right shoulder, but she either doesn’t notice them or doesn’t care. It only takes her eyes a couple seconds to notice the box of belongings under my arm, though, the bat signal of a corporate walk of shame, and her smile disappears.

This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

RULES:
Grab a book, any book.
Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
Find a snippet, short and sweet.
Post it.

from Page 56% of:

Bloodlines by Peter Hartog

“What the f*** are you doing, Holliday?” Deacon hollered from the kitchen.

He leaned against one of the tables with arms folded across his chest.

“It’s what we police-types like to call ‘looking for clues,’” I retorted, irritated by the question. “Shake down the premises, go through his sock drawer, locate the virtual workstation, and mine it for information. You should try it sometime.”

“I get that,” he replied amiably. “But I doubt a vampire’s gonna hide its secrets inside an office, do you?”

This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

RULES:
Grab a book, any book.
Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
Find a snippet, short and sweet.
Post it.

from Page 56 of:

A Dream About Lightning Bugs: A Life of Music and Cheap Lessons by Ben Folds

A few years ago, I volunteered to be a substitute teacher for my kids’ seventh-grade music class. Just for a day. That’s all I had to do. I knew most of the kids in the class anyway. It should have been a breeze.

It wasn’t.

If I didn’t fully appreciate the public school music teachers of my youth before 11 a.m. that day, by noon I damn well did. As I stood before the class, a lifetime of experience performing in front of people went straight out the window. The forty-five-minute affair was absolutely exhausting. Kids, 1—Folds, 0. Animals, every one of them! I am no music teacher and I bow to each and every man and woman who is. I especially bow to the ones who can see that these children are not animals and recognize which ones could use a push, or a hand, like I did when I was younger.

This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

RULES:
Grab a book, any book.
Turn to Page 56 or 56% on your ereader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
Find a snippet, short and sweet.
Post it

from Page 56 of:

Grave Reservations by Cherie Priest

“You’re really going out on a limb here, aren’t you?” she asked.

He shook his head and gazed balefully at the clippings. “This case has never made any sense, and we’ve never had any real leads, Something about it just … stuck in my craw, as they say.”

“Who says that?”

“My late wife’s family, in North Carolina. They have a wide selection of colorful expressions in circulation out there.” He used his index finger to move a few of the paper scraps around. “Consensus is that the murders were part of an interrupted robbery … but that explanation never felt right. This isn’t that kind of hotel, you know what I mean? We’re in the wrong part of town for a cheap shakedown, and this isn’t the kind of place that a tech CEO would choose for legitimate business activities.”

The restaurant manager sauntered by with a plate of pungent chicken wings and a lifted eyebrow.

“No offense,” Grady called over his shoulder.