EuroHackie

“You can get some sense of the immaterial quality of clouds by strolling through fog—which is, after all, nothing more than a cloud that lacks the will to fly.”
― Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything

“Just beyond the edge of our property in 1985 a farmer crossing a field found a rare, impossible-to-misconstrue Roman phallic pendant. To me this was, and remains, an amazement: the idea of a man in a toga, standing on what is now the edge of my land, patting himself all over, and realizing with consternation that he has lost his treasured keepsake, which then lay in the soil for seventeen or eighteen centuries - through endless generations of human activity; through the rise of the English language, the birth of the English nation, the development of continuous monarch and all the rest - before finally being picked up by a late-twentieth-century farmer, presumably with a look of consternation of his own.”
― Bill Bryson, At Home: A Short History of Private Life

“Introductions were made. Hands were shaken. Rear ends were seated. As was his custom in such situations, Win remained silent. His eyes slid from one side of the room to the other, taking in everything. He liked to study people for a while before speaking to them, especially in their home environment.”
― Harlan Coben, Fade Away

“It was scary,” she said. “Win was scary.” “He also saved your life.” “Yes.” “It’s what Win does. He’s good at it—the best I’ve ever seen. Everything with him is black and white. He has no moral ambiguities. If you cross the line, there is no reprieve, no mercy, no chance to talk your way out of it. You’re dead. Period. Those men came to harm you. Win wasn’t interested in rehabilitating them. They made their choice. The moment they entered your apartment they were doomed.” “It sounds like the theory of massive retaliation,” she said. “You kill one of ours, we kill ten of yours.” “Colder,” Myron said. “Win’s not interested in teaching a lesson. He sees it as extermination. They’re no more than pestering fleas to him.”
― Harlan Coben, Drop Shot