Category: Quotations Page 8 of 30

The Friday 56 for 4/21/23: The Deal Goes Down by Larry Beinhart

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 of:
The Deal Goes Down

The Deal Goes Down by Larry Beinhart

Trees fight for life. If you climb to the high, rocky places, where the soil’s been stripped by the beating of the winds, day and night, you’ll see the pines hanging on, their roots crawling into the splits between the stones and wrapping tight around them, like the crew of a ghost sailing ship, desperately clinging forever to the lines as they ride through an eternal storm. .

This love of life that we go on about, how precious it is and such, is just a mechanism. Spiders and flies, blades of grass, and bacteria have it. Any form of life that doesn’t have it gets wiped out. Ipso facto, it’s built in, like spark plugs in an internal combustion engine. We spend endless hours wondering if our life will be short or long, good or bad, worthwhile or worthless, then death comes, and we have no idea at all.

The Friday 56 for 4/13/23: Ozark Dogs by Eli Cranor

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 (and 57) of:
Ozark Dogs

Ozark Dogs by Eli Cranor

Evail loved his big brother, a bond that went even deeper than blood. In a way, Rudnick was the start of everything all those nights in the field, the kits’ calls playing out scared and lonely. It was just like the hunting. Rudnick had simply asked if Evail would do it, and then he did. Again and again. For a while, the brothers went hunting almost every night. It was the summer before Rudnick’s senior year in high school. Evail on the cusp of sixteen.

And then Rudnick was gone, Evail went to prison, and everything changed. The darkness shifted and the calls howled from the inside out. When Evail returned, he took to the field alone, no longer using the recordings, opting instead for the darkness, working along the tree lines and stalking his prey. He wore the hides of the creatures he’d taken. A mass of fur and bone death-still in the shadows, Evail crouching, waiting, the gun barrel blue in the night. Coyotes were loyal and thick as thieves. When one went down, the others came running. It wasn’t until there was a pile of blood-warm bodies that the big boy would finally come sauntering up from the shadows. The alpha. Rudnick had always been the alpha. He wasn’t anything anymore.

The Friday 56 for 4/7/23: The Raven Thief by Gigi Pandian

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 of:
The Raven Thief

The Raven Thief by Gigi Pandian

“I think she means,” said Sanjay, “that the killer could have run away, and now they’re getting farther away.”

“We all know that’s not what happened,” Kumiko said. then muted her phone so the 9-1-1 dispatcher wouldn’t hear what she said next. “This wasn’t an outsider. It was one of us.”

For the next seven seconds, the only sound in the room was the breathing of its stressed-out occupants.

Highlights from March: Lines Worth Repeating

Highlights from the Month
I clearly read a lot of ARCs this month, most of what I can quote from here are audiobooks. There’s a theme about books and reading, which is nice, there hasn’t been one for a while, however accidental those themes are, I like when I can find one.
The Bandit Queens

The Bandit Queens by Parini Shroff

Wasn’t sanity like beauty, in the eye of the beholder?


Darkness, Take My Hand

Darkness, Take My Hand by Dennis Lehane

Don’t knock voyeurism. American culture wouldn’t exist without it.

We walked off the bridge and headed east along the river path. It was early evening and the air was the color of scotch and the trees had a burnished glow, the smoky dark gold of the sky contrasted starkly with the explosion of cherry reds, lime greens, and bright yellows in the canopies of leaves stretched above us.


You Took the Last Bus Home

You Took the Last Bus Home by Brian Bilston

Yeah, no. If I started I wouldn’t be able to stop.


Justice Calling

Justice Calling by Annie Bellet

A girl needs options. To me, video games are like shoes. But with more pixels and a plot.
“We could always nerd the guy to death, I suppose,” Levi said.

“Ooh, yeah, new torture technique. We’ll make him watch nothing but Highlander II and Star Trek V!”

Levi hit the brakes and executed the quickest three- point turn I ever want to experience ever, or make that never, again.


Miss Percy's Pocket Guide (to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons)

Miss Percy’s Pocket Guide (to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons) by Quenby Olson

(Diana’s husband, the sort who lived behind a newspaper or a book or any sort of reading wall that was meant to deter people from approaching in an oh- look- he’s- reading- I’ll- not- bother- him sort of way. This, of course, did not always work, as some people [re: Diana] took the presence of reading material to mean that the person reading was obviously bored and most likely pining away for the company of others [i.e., Diana when she was in need of a receptacle for her general complaints about life and motherhood] and would certainly have no compunction against setting aside their book with eagerness to listen.)

With a sigh that carried a lifetime’s weight of disrespect and disregard and several other words beginning with a similar prefix, Mildred picked up the last of her drooping toast and pushed her chair back from the table.

Mornings were never welcome. Mildred understood their place in the world; everything must have a beginning of some sort, and things like days and weeks and years and even time could not be exempt from that. But mornings weighed on her like a burden, like a trial to be endured before she could arrive at the legitimate part of the day, with the sun fully risen and the birds already digesting their ill-gotten worms.

“So.” Mr. Wiggan looked at her. But, oh, the amount of words, the pages of description and venting of thoughts and feelings and sympathies in that single syllable.

She didn’t much care for many of the books in the study. Neither her sister nor her brother-in-law were great readers, and so the volumes stored there served more as accessories to the room rather than how Mildred believed a personal library should exist: as pieces of the curator’s character, bound and shelved but available to be read again and again, like memories brought out and pored over until they were rounded down as smooth as pebbles.

Did one read books while travelling? Of course people read books while traveling. Books had no boundaries, no sense of home or place. They were the entire world, printed in a form one could slip into one’s pocket (Well, if the pockets were large enough, which they generally were not. Mildred made a pact with herself then and there to make certain that every future gown and apron she sewed for herself came complete with at least two pockets large enough and sturdy enough to carry most medium-sized volumes.)

The sound that issued from Mr. Simonon’s throat was not something that could easily be transcribed into written English. (German, no doubt, would have a word in its lexicon capable of expressing the particular kind of pain he was experiencing. But as Mr. Simonon was not familiar with that specific branch of Teutonic languages, his unintelligible and agonized warbling would have to suffice.)

Now that Mildred was sufficiently fed and rested after her exhaustion the previous day, her own anxiety took that as a sign that it should make a return, as if it feared she might be lonely without it.


The Green Ember

The Green Ember by S.D. Smith

Growing up is terribly wonderful. But often it’s also wonderfully terrible.

He believed he had always tried to achieve peace and was sad that he so often had to find it at the end of his sword.


Death at Paradise Palms

Death at Paradise Palms by Steph Broadribb

No one shouts to say Lizzie shouldn’t be there. They barely glance at her. That’s the benefit of being in your sixties – you’re seen as unthreatening and assumed to be doing what you’re meant to where you’re meant to be doing it. As she’s recently started to discover, assumptions like that make it so much easier to break the rules.


Golden Son

Golden Son by Pierce Bron

Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s where you find light when all grows dark.

I would not have raised you to be a great man. There is no peace for great men. I would have had you be a decent one. I would have given you the quiet strength to grow old with the woman you love.

Friendships take minutes to make, moments to break, years to repair.

He always thinks because I’m reading, I’m not doing anything. There is no greater plague to an introvert than the extroverted.


Please Return to the Lands of Luxury

Please Return to the Lands of Luxury by Jon Tilton

“Books don’t just have stories on the inside.” Chloe smiled. “Some wear is beautiful. It shows the journey to this very moment.”


Adult Assembly Required

Adult Assembly Required by Abbi Wasman

When the body experiences a sudden shock, it actually freezes for one twenty-fifth of a second and then deploys intense psychological curiosity, mobilizing every neuron and nerve, every sense, every possible input to work out exactly what just happened. In a microsecond or two the brain gathers the intel, sorts it, analyzes it, cross-references it, and is ready to issue directions for what to do next. It’s a miracle, really, and while it might not definitively prove the existence of God, it certainly deserves an enthusiastic round of applause.

As always, the food made everything better. Dogs and good food, universal improvers.

“I expected adult life to be long stretches of mastery, occasionally interrupted by a steep learning curve of chaos and excitement. But I learned recently it’s the other way around.” She looked at Laura and shrugged. “But what can you do?”

Laura narrowed her eyes, “You’re very philosophical.”

Nina looked around for the waitress. “Nah. I’m clutching at straws like you. I’m simply older and more resigned to it.”

“To what?”

“To life.”

“You’re resigned to life?”

“Better than resigning from it.”

(Image by DaModernDaVinci from Pixabay)

The Friday 56 for 3/31/23: Hacked by Duncan MacMaster

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

I’ve been reading a lot of ARCs lately, so nothing I can quote from, but MacMaster talking about editing book 3 in this series got me thinking about it. Ergo…

from Page 56 of:
Hacked

Hacked by Duncan MacMaster

“Let’s change the subject.”

“Well,” she said, “the rumours about you being kidnappig have really given interest in your books a big shot in the arm.”

“At least it was good for something,” I said.

I ordered breakfast, Geetha told me she already ate, so I only ordered for myself. I ordered big, waffles and Sausages with real maple syrup, coffee, and orange juice. I normally didn’t eat this big in the morning, but kidnappings really worked up an appetite.

The Friday 56 for 3/24/23: Please Return to the Lands of Luxury by Jon Tilton

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 of:
Please Return to the Lands of Luxury

Please Return to the Lands of Luxury by Jon Tilton

Jane sighed and cradled the doll in her arms. As she studied the closest group of homes, the tag brushed against her hand. Her heart skipped a beat. Of course—even though she couldn’t read, she knew what the words ‘Spring Blossom Way’ looked like. She grabbed the tag and compared its letters to the ones on the sign. A few matched, but nothing exact.

Jane hurried down the street, stopping at each intersection until she found a match. A warmness swept through her, as if the letters had jumped off the sign and given her a hug.

EXCERPT from The Haunted Lost Rose by C.L. Bauer: Interrogation

The Haunted Lost Rose Banner

from The Haunted Lost Rose by C.L.Bauer

I survived the lengthy interrogation, supposedly a statement about the murder, but it was certainly a questioning of the “gotcha” format. They even made me go downtown to walk through the building almost like a “perp walk”, meet with a Detective Marino, and flee out of the building feeling frazzled and befuddled, and every other word that describes sheer hell.

Along the way, my legal representation was greeted by many who missed him in court. We ran into many of his old friends. Dad was definitely in his element. Then we ran into Paddy. My own brother pretended to not even notice me. Dad and he talked briefly in the hallway, and I slumped against a wall as I perfected my talent of invisibility. Over the years, I’d become very good at blending in and going unnoticed. During the lunch after Conor’s death, no one saw me sitting in the corner for over an hour. I liked being the wallflower; attention only made me aware of my flaws and insecurities.

My voice was weak and wavering after thirty minutes of time-sensitive questions. Finally, my father tapped his hand on the table in front of us.

“Detective, let’s make this easy for you. Tom and Charlotte O’Donohue were the man’s realtors. Charlotte clearly had a meeting set up with Mr. Martin that morning. There is proof she called her brother on her way there. It was beginning to snow. Mr. Martin’s car was parked in the lot before her arrival. The door was locked. She went in and discovered the man’s body. What more do you want?”

The detective coolly searched through the file folder in front of him. “What about the rose he gave you?”

“No, the rose was on the mantle when I arrived. He didn’t give me a rose.”

“Did he ever give you flowers?”


Interested in the rest? Go grab your copy of The Haunted Lost Rose by C.L. Bauer now at https://mybook.to/HauntedLostRose or https://books2read.com/u/3Joj5E/!


Psst Promotions
Let's Talk Promotions
My thanks to Psst…Promotions for the invitation to participate in this Book Tour and the materials they provided.

The Friday 56 for 3/17/23: Backpacking through Bedlam by Seanan McGuire

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 of:
Backpacking through Bedlam

Backpacking through Bedlam by Seanan McGuire

Sitting down to dinner inside a giant termite mound, and other sentences I’ve never considered before.

The patriarch turned out to be a smiling man roughly Thomas’s apparent age, with paler spots than most of the others, and who went by the unprepossessing name of “Kenneth.” That was almost reassuring. Real-life cult leaders don’t usually call themselves “Bloodfang the Consumer,” but they also aren’t generally content to go around being named “Kenneth.”

Highlights from February: Lines Worth Repeating

Highlights from the Month
One thing I’ve learned lately is that if I don’t get this done right away at the beginning of the month, it slips away from me. Good to know, I guess, eh? On with these lines from my February reads…
The Hero Interviews

The Hero Interviews by Andi Ewington

It’s worth noting that ‘success’ in the adventuring business is usually measured by whether you’re still breathing after completing an adventure. Those who aren’t successful typically wind up dead.

“My father taught me that you always get out of life what you put into it. If you’re only paying a Dwarf in crumbs, then you’re only going to end up with a pissed- off Dwarf who is still hungry.”

Balstaff: … I just hoped someone would come to my rescue before I froze to death— or worse.”

Me: “What’s worse than freezing to death?”

Balstaff: “Being eaten alive by hungry Snow Wolves.”

Danger is just death’s distant cousin once removed— many an adventurer has fallen foul of it.”


Bad Memory

Bad Memory by Jim Cliff

“Discretion is my middle name,” I said. “It’s a shame it doesn’t fit on my business cards.”

The dealer button moved around to me and I picked up the cards and gave them a shuffle. The six of us fitted around Scott’s kitchen table so long as everyone breathed in and nobody minded the odd elbow in the ribs.

Her glasses were designer – I could tell because the designer’s name was discreetly embossed on the frame. Her suit didn’t have any names on it, but I figured clothes designers were just more humble

“You’re lucky you caught me in a good mood. I just got a hole in one on the 17th. What is it?”

I resisted the urge to say ‘it’s when the ball goes in the hole on the first hit, but that’s not important right now’ and asked my question.


The Silk Empress

The Silk Empress by Josepf Matulich

“So, that’s what air pirates really look like.” They resembled none of the flamboyant descriptions of the penny dreadfuls he’d grown up on. He’d expected striped pants, velvet coats, and satin sashes. This group looked the type to rob pig herds on the way to Newcastle.

His mother would have approved of his lack of possessions, a sign of spiritual freedom. He tried to feel in his heart the way she did, but he would have still have preferred to have had a few more books.

He hurt. His right leg felt to be filled with blades and broken glass. One of his arms ached to the bones from shoulder to fingertips; he couldn’t feel or move the other. A slow catalogue of all his injuries actually made him chuckle. I should be happy to hurt so much, he thought. You don’t feel anything when you’re dead.

With the long guns they carried, seven of them could shoot Algie as he engaged the eighth. He had been shot once already this year, and he’d like to keep it that way at least until Christmas.


Magpie Murders

Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz

Alan Conway’s home was a couple of Framlingham and it would’ve been almost impossible to find without Sat-Nav. I’ve lived my whole life in a city roads actually go somewhere, because frankly they can’t afford not to.

You’d have thought that after twenty years editing Murder Mysteries I’d have noticed when I found myself in the middle of one.

It had all come to me at Paddington Station. The extraordinary moment that all of them must have felt–Poirot, Holmes, Whimsey, Marple, Morse–but which their authors had never fully explained. What was it like for them? A slow process, like constructing a jigsaw? Or did it come in a rush, one last turn in a toy kaleidoscope, when all the colors and shapes tumbled and twisted into each other forming a recognizable image?


Finley Donovan Jumps the Gun

Finley Donovan Jumps the Gun by Elle Cosimano

My phone vibrated again as I reached for the keyboard.

Vero: I hope you remembered gloves….

I dug my mittens from the pockets of my coat and drew them on, wishing I’d been prepared with something a little more Temperance Brennan and less Bernie Sanders.


A Man Named Doll

A Man Named Doll by Jonathan Ames

“A child’s portion of Don Julio,” I said.

I always order alcohol that way–stole it from an old mentor, a cop long dead. But he used it for food because he had diverticulitis. I use it for alcohol because I’m Irish. But that’s not entirely ture. I’m also half Jewish. On my mother’s side. I’m half Jew, half Mick, all ish.

We both stared at the little hip of ice on his desk, at $289,000 worth of sparkling carbon. Which up close, under a microscope, looked like a palace.

It was bumper to bumper, thousands of cars jammed together, going nowhere and somewhere, reaching speeds as high as five miles per hour, ten if we were lucky; and even with the recent rain, the white smog, which we live in all the time, was especially thick,and you would never know that just a few miles to the east the whole valley basin was ringed by beautiful mountains, the San Gabirels.

But they were obscured by the white filth, and it’s old news, of course, but we are forced in this modern life, to always hold two ideas in our mind at once: one, the natural world is beautiful, and two, we are destroying it.


The Foundling, the Heist, and the Volcano

The Foundling, the Heist, and the Volcano by K.R.R. Lockhaven

“Why did you bury the treasure?” Azure asked.

Wakeman looked to her with an extremely confused expression. Even Mr. Threepbrush, who was usually over- the- top respectful, looked at her like she had just said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“Uh… cause that’s what one does with treasure.” Wakeman couldn’t keep the condescension from his voice.

“Aye, Captain,” Mr. Threepbrush added, “what other choice did he have?”


Red Rising

Red Rising by Pierce Brown

Steel is power. Money is power. But of all the things in all the worlds, words are power.

I learn more when I make mistakes, so long as they don’t kill me.


Pocket Apocalypse

Pocket Apocalypse by Seanan McGuire

Airplanes: essentially buses that fly, and hence have the potential to drop out of the sky at any moment, spreading your insides—which will no doubt become your outsides sometime during the collision—across whatever you happen to have been flying over. Since we were flying mostly over ocean, I was sure the sharks would appreciate our sacrifice.

“Family matters more than anything else in this world, Family doesn’t have to love you. Family doesn’t even have to like you. But when you need them, family has to have your back.”


Broken

Broken by Don Winslow

Behavior that was cute when you were in your twenties becomes aggravating in your thirties, pathetic in your forties and tragic in your fifties.

“father” and “mother” are verbs before they’re nouns.

(Image by DaModernDaVinci from Pixabay)

The Friday 56 for 3/10/23: Miss Percy’s Pocket Guide (to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons by Quenby Olson

The Friday 56This is a weekly bloghop hosted by Freda’s Voice.

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

from Page 56 of:
Miss Percy's Pocket Guide (to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons)

Miss Percy’s Pocket Guide (to the Care and Feeding of British Dragons) by Quenby Olson

Carefully, he looked through the pages, paused at one in particular, and handed it across to her.

“Is that a…?” She tilted it towards the light streaming through the windows. “It looks like a bird?” (In her defense, the sketch—a curious amalgam of skeleton and tendons and muscle rendered in a mixture of pencil and ink—was not well done. Her Great Uncle Forthright may have had a talent for collecting interesting things and living a hearty life for an extraordinary number of years, but his drawings—while technically correct, for the most part—bore a childlike quality to them that made portions of them difficult to decipher.)

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