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Kindle Notes & Highlights
“The intensity of a madman and the subtlety of a poet.”
Sounds like John Connolly to me!
couldn’t continue with the rest of the book until the prologue was perfect, which is the stuff of madness.
Her ink black hair, through which strands of gray wove like moonlight on dark water,
I felt like I was trying to grip smoke,
a face so caked with cosmetics that the floor of the Amazon jungle probably saw more natural light,
His thin mustache curled in distaste like a black worm,
the walkway over the Brooklyn Bridge
I loved that bridge. Even as a young child - we crossed it all the time - I loved it. When I got a little older, the sheer beauty of the architecture itself awed me. I remember, as a teen, sitting on a bench overlooking the Hudson; I was drawing, maybe attempting to sketch the bridge. I wanted to study art. Maybe at NYU. Dreams never realised....
This bunch couldn’t find the ground if they fell over.”
It sent candy wrappers cartwheeling across the street and set soft drink cans tolling like bells. A discarded newspaper skimmed the sidewalk with a sound like the whisperings of a dead lover.
An old couch stood in one
corner of the kitchen, its springs flowering through the rotting cushions.
like a corpse that had exhumed itself to sue the undertaker.
Gray was seeping through his hair from silver pools over his ears.
Most American houses aren’t built that way, they just put ’em up whatever way suits ’em, throw a stick in the air and see where it lands.
The voice was old and dark as the ebony keys on an ancient piano
the candlelight reflecting on their heavy jewelry and dancing around the table like golden moths.
