";,-,…+… > ";,-,…+…'s Quotes

“That’s your first helping,” his father responded.”
― John Burley, The Absence of Mercy

“You’ve been going hard ever since it happened. Why don’t you take some time to properly mourn her, find a way to get your life back?” “How do I do that, Kim? The sonofabitch who killed her is still walking free. How am I just supposed to move on?” “I don’t know.” Kim’s gaze went to her desk. She swallowed hard, like she was choking down rocks. “But you need to get your act together, or I’m”
― Stacy Green, Tin God

“leg in an amputee. Over the centuries, medical treatment had become quite adept at fixing parts of the body that were broken: a shattered bone, or even a shattered mind;”
― John Burley, The Absence of Mercy

“A13/ He jumps off a cliff believing he is boarding a boat skippered by his dead wife. A14/ They are both in the air force. A15/ So that she will have a reason to visit him again.   Back to Contents”
― Kathryn Cope, Study Guide for Book Clubs: The Light Between Oceans

“needed mothering. Grief and distance bound the wound, perfecting the bond”
― M.L. Stedman, The Light Between Oceans

“Akward, like when a mad aunt starts up about Jesus at the dinner table. As Septimus showed him to the door, the sergeant replaced his hat and said quietly, “A cruel piece of mischief-making, looks like. I reckon it’s about time to bury the hatchet against Fritz. All a filthy business, but there’s no need for pranks like this. I’d keep it under your hat, the note. Don’t want to encourage copycats.” He shook hands with Septimus and made his way up the long, gum-lined drive. Back in his study, Septimus put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Come on, girlie, chin up. Mustn’t let this get the better of you.”
― M.L. Stedman

“There, all gone, Luce.” And the little girl continued to open and squint shut her eyes. “All gone,” she said eventually. Then, “More ’tato!” and the hunt began again. Inside, Isabel swept the floor in every room, gathering the sandy dust into piles in the corner, ready to gather up. Returning from a quick inspection of the bread in the oven, she found a trail leading all through the cottage, thanks to Lucy’s attempts with the dustpan.”
― M.L. Stedman, The Light Between Oceans

“Greta Wickham. He used to say if only Nora and Greta were here now, we wouldn’t be in this mess, even when there was no mess at all.” “Oh, he talked very warmly about you,” Peggy interjected, “and William Junior and Thomas had nothing but good words to say about Maurice Webster when he was teaching them. I remember one day Thomas had a temperature and we all wanted him to stay in bed and he wouldn’t, oh no he wouldn’t, because he had a double commerce class with Mr. Webster that he could not miss. You know they wanted Thomas to stay in Dublin when he qualified. Oh, he got offers with very good prospects! We told him he should consider”
― Colm Tóibín, Nora Webster

“I’m fine.” Will put his hand on Amanda’s foot again. He could feel a steady pulse near her ankle. He’d worked for this woman most of his career but still knew very little about her. She lived in a condo in the heart of Buckhead. She had been on the job longer than he had been alive, which put her age in the mid-sixties. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in the shape of a football helmet and wore pantyhose with starched blue jeans. She had a sharp tongue, more degrees than a college professor, and she knew that his name was Wilbur even though he’d had it legally changed when he entered college and every piece of paper the GBI had on file listed his legal name as William Trent.”
― Karin Slaughter, Criminal

“Netta’s dead.” Chapter 23 The ride to town was a horrid déjà vu. Bea Dot had not ridden through Pineview since the day she arrived, the day she met Will. Now she was returning, this time seated next to Thaddeus Taylor in his truck. And this time, instead of transporting a trunk of clothes, they carried more solemn cargo. For days she’d longed to see Will”
― Nancy Brandon, Dunaway's Crossing

“Off the bridge the route was two hundred twenty straight miles on I-80 to the California/Nevada border. Through the flats of Sacramento, the tourist town of Auburn, and up into the Tahoe National Forest, passing to the north of Lake Tahoe itself, and then Reno was just across the state border. Roarke had driven the route a million times on ski trips with his family, fighting with his older brother in the back seat.”
― Alexandra Sokoloff, Blood Moon

“and Ashbury, looking up at a stopped clock atop one of the buildings, forever fixed at 4:20. She turns toward the next street . . . and sees a For Rent sign. The street address is 420. She shoulders her bag and walks toward it. The manager of 420 is a going-on-elderly Indian man with hazy eyes who has not the slightest interest in her; he is off on some distant plane of his own and will never be able to describe her even if he ever feels a desire to. He shows her”
― Alexandra Sokoloff, Blood Moon

“He didn’t even attempt to guess at what that delusion might be. He knew at the heart of it there was nothing poetic or metaphorical about it. The core motivation for all serial killers was the same: they got sexual release from rape, torture, pain, and murder. There was no other “why.” Trying to wrap it up in some elaborate psychological package was less than useless. Aloud he continued, “Also it’s notable”
― Alexandra Sokoloff, Blood Moon

“That was the trouble with being too highly born, Finbarr considered. The gods paid too much attention to you. It was ever thus in the Celtic world. Ravens would fly over the house to announce the death of a clan chief, swans would desert the lake. A king’s bad judgement could affect the weather. And if you were a prince, the druids made prophesies about you from before the day you were born; and after that, there was no escape.”
― Edward Rutherfurd, The Princes of Ireland

“The great festival of Lughnasa was held at Carmun once every three years. The site of Carmun was eerie. In a land of wild forest and bog, it was an open grassy space that stretched, green and empty, halfway to the horizon. Lying some distance west of the point where, if you were following it upstream, the Liffey’s course began to retreat eastwards on the way to its source in the Wicklow Mountains, the place was absolutely flat, except for some mounds in which ancestral chiefs were buried. The festival lasted a week. There were areas reserved for food and livestock markets, and another where fine clothes were sold; but the most important quarter was where a large racetrack was laid out on the bare turf.”
― Edward Rutherfurd, The Princes of Ireland

“In less than a month it would be the magical feast of Samhain. Some years this took place at the great ceremonial centre of Tara; other years it was held at other places. At Samhain the excess livestock would be slaughtered, the rest put out on the wasteland and later brought into pens, while the High King and his followers set off on their winter rounds. Until then, however, it was a slow and peaceful time. The harvest was in, the weather still warm. It should, for the High King, have been a time of contentment.”
― Edward Rutherfurd, The Princes of Ireland

“In recent decades, Ireland in general and Dublin in particular, have been very fortunate in the quality of the historical attention they have received. During the extensive research required to write this book, I have been privileged to work with some of Ireland’s most distinguished scholars, who have generously shared their knowledge with me and corrected my texts. Their kind contributions are mentioned in the Acknowledgements. Thanks to the scholarly work of the last quarter century, there has been a reevaluation of certain aspects of Ireland’s history; and as a result, the story that follows may contain a number of surprises for many readers. I have provided a few additional notes in the Afterword at the end of this volume for those curious to know more.”
― Edward Rutherfurd, The Princes of Ireland

“screen T.V. A comfortable and well-stocked family room, including a wet bar with a locked liquor cabinet and a closet with door standing open, shelves packed with tennis rackets and snowshoes and ice skates. All the accoutrements of a well-off, athletic family in a room now tainted with the overwhelming presence of death. The father was slumped in a club chair in front of the television with a rifle at his feet and a bloody cavern where his head had been. Blood and brains sprayed the carpet beneath him. At first glimpse just about anyone would see it as a suicide. “Basement is concrete block,” Epps said. “Family probably never heard the shot.” “The gun his?” Roarke asked, and heard the edge in his voice. “From the cabinet upstairs. Guy is a sportsman,” Aceves answered.”
― Alexandra Sokoloff, Blood Moon

“pain and his head explode with bright lights. “Let me tell you something, lad. You’re going to keep your mouth shut. If you breathe a word of this to your ma, you won’t live out the day. I need to think, do you understand? Now go to bed before I give you another hand.”
― James D. Shipman, Going Home

“First Edition: January 2018 In honor of Martin Nils “Marty” Richert, my uncle and a retired Air Force colonel.  A kind and humble man, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery during the rescue of a Marine pilot in the Vietnam War.  Marty later served with distinction in Berlin, Germany before the Berlin Wall came down.  He regularly traveled into the former East Germany and has told me many fascinating tales that captivate me to this day.  I credit Marty for planting the initial seeds of my love and fascination for Germany.  He’s a great man. Never was anything great achieved without danger.
​-Niccolo Machiavelli PART ONE The Call CHAPTER”
― Chuck Driskell, Final Mission: Zion - A World War 2 Thriller