Literary Fiction Quotes

“Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.”
― Bernie Mcgill, The Butterfly Cabinet

“You are there and to their ears, being a Syrian sounds like you’re unclean, shameful, indecent; it’s like you owe the world an apology for your very existence.”
― Asaad Almohammad, An Ishmael of Syria

“The television set then came after her, chomping its teeth.  Upon reaching the living room, the television succeeded at eating her body bit-by-bit: first the legs, then the body, and finally her flailing arms.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“The blind faith in some half-assed conspiracy theories lines up with the logic of having to believe in something with no questions asked. It gives us peace and comfort. As simple as I was, I found that resorting to this absolute nonsense was the root of all our problems. It was a road of willingly-learned helplessness, for no action could make a difference, thereby no action was needed.”
― Asaad Almohammad, An Ishmael of Syria

“Legends were mostly bullshit, even his own, but they sometimes could be useful.”
― William Kely McClung, Black Fire

“After the front legs emerged, what looked like a quartered and bloodied cut of steak followed.  This piece of steak had rich and dark fur, wet with the mare’s internal membranes that covered the whole body, but it did not have the look of a horse at all.  And yet from the steak’s center came this pulsating heartbeat, as though its pace-setting qualities tried in vain to pull away or escape from its thoroughbred side.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“At first, she bucked like a wild stag beneath me, and she tried to scream, but the pillow did a good job of muffling her voice.  Before long, the bucking stopped, and my wife’s corpse, blue without oxygen, appeared below me like a hideous phantom.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“The orderly brandished a hunting knife from a sheath at his waist and sliced open the prisoner’s throat with it.  Warm blood cascaded out of the prisoner’s throat, some of it spraying the captain’s uniform.  The orderly waited for the prisoner to bleed to death before cutting the head clean off.  Within a few minutes, the muscle that the prisoner built on his body was carved out and thrown on the grill.  After the meat cooled, the orderly put the human steaks in front of the captain for dinner.  As the captain ate each buttery piece, he couldn’t help but compliment the orderly for a job well-done.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“She likes me.  I can tell.  Problem is, she won’t admit that to the boyfriends she brings over.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“It seemed as though he would never pull free, until he awoke one morning feeling kind of awkward, as though his hands had been lopped off by some Arabian sword during a routine druggie blackout, and in their place, pale and membranous hands that had been fit to his wrists by aliens that took him up while he slept and then brought him back down – all of it in an effort to help him move up to where he belonged in society.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“She is the kind and friendly sort, but I’m an old man at this point, so it would be useless and somewhat illegal if I asked her out.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“Once inside my skull, my doctor added some salt, just to taste.  He also poured some fruit into my skull – an apple, a pear, a few seedless grapes, and a ripe banana.  He then used an electric blender set on its highest speed to create what he had termed ‘a yogurt parfait.’  After he finished blending the ingredients, he beckoned the other doctors and a few of the nurses to sample his new concoction.”
― Harvey Havel, The Odd and the Strange: A Collection of Very Short Fiction

“The problem with a lot of people who read only literary fiction is that they assume fantasy is just books about orcs and goblins and dragons and wizards and bullshit. And to be fair, a lot of fantasy is about that stuff.

The problem with people in fantasy is they believe that literary fiction is just stories about a guy drinking tea and staring out the window at the rain while he thinks about his mother. And the truth is a lot of literary fiction is just that. Like, kind of pointless, angsty, emo, masturbatory bullshit.

However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth.

So, is there a lot of fantasy that is raw shit out there? Absolutely, absolutely, it’s popcorn reading at best. But you can’t deny that a lot of lit fic is also shit. 85% of everything in the world is shit. We judge by the best. And there is some truly excellent fantasy out there. For example, Midsummer Night’s Dream; Hamlet with the ghost; Macbeth, ghosts and witches; I’m also fond of the Odyessey; Most of the Pentateuch in the Old Testament, Gargantua and Pantagruel.

Honestly, fantasy existed before lit fic, and if you deny those roots you’re pruning yourself so closely that you can’t help but wither and die.”
― Patrick Rothfuss

“Wouldn’t the joys of life lose all colour, if life was eternal?”
― Constantina Maud, Hydranos

“Good writing is good writing. In many ways, it’s the audience and their expectations that define a genre. A reader of literary fiction expects the writing to illuminate the human condition, some aspect of our world and our role in it. A reader of genre fiction likes that, too, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of the story.”
― Rosemary Clement-Moore

“Yes, the essence of every love is a child, and it makes no difference at all whether it has ever actually been conceived or born. In the algebra of love a child is the symbol of the magical sum of two beings.”
― Milan Kundera, Immortality

“All I want is to sleep--to dream. Life is better in dreams.”
― Christina Westover, Poisoning Sylvie

“I know he says it’s a mind upload problem,” said Aideen. “But we won’t know that for sure until we get there. And maybe not even then if he restricts our access to the outside world of 2253.”
― Steven Decker, Time Chain

“Being Indian has never been about returning to the land. The land is everywhere or nowhere.”
― Tommy Orange, There There

“One by one, slow, quiet, with little more than a whispered end, Sofia snuffed the remaining candles. For every prayer she had that was never answered, she extinguished another light, another’s prayer, determined to take it back, to take them all back. ”
― Douglas Weissman, Life Between Seconds

“I’d heard the expression about living in glass houses, but I never expected to actually be doing that.”
― Steven Decker, Child of Another Kind

“True siblings are bound together by far more essential things than blood, while more times than many blood isn't thicker than water.”
― Constantina Maud, Hydranos

“Catching the wrong Fish is unrewarding.”
― Tom Baldwin, Macom Farm

“Quiero esperar en silencio la séptima ola. Si, aquí cuentan la historia indómita de la séptima ola. Las primeras seis son previsibles y equilibradas. Se condicionan unas a otras, no deparan sorpresas. Mantienen la continuidad. Pero, !cuidado con la séptima ola¡ La séptima es imprevisible. Durante mucho tiempo pasa inadvertida, participa en el monótono proceso, se adapta a sus predecesoras. Pero a veces estalla. Siempre ella, siempre la séptima. Porque es despreocupada, inocente, rebelde, barre con todo, lo cambia todo. Para ella no existe el antes, solo el ahora. Y después todo es distinto. ¿Mejor o peor? Eso solo pueden decirlo quienes estuvieron arrastrados por ella, quienes tuvieron el coraje de enfrentarla, de dejarse cautivar...”
― Daniel Glattauer, Cada siete olas

“There was a different smell in the hall. I knew it well enough. Festering death is pungent, but that says nothing about how bad it smells. It saturates the air you breathe with a sickening sweetness that makes you feel like retching until that sweetness is a faded memory. It is an entity that does not belong inside your body.”
― Eli Wilde, Orchard of Skeletons

“How ridiculous were the attentions the weak paid one another in the shadow of the strong!”
― V.S. Naipaul, A House for Mr Biswas

“After everything is said and done, a memory remains a treacherous thing…How long does one cling on to the people they’ve lost? How long could I have remembered my grandfather? How long had it been since I forgotten him and my mind began harbouring other things?”
― Kanza Javed, Ashes, Wine and Dust

“The Dire Wolf killed the Jakes,” he said.
“Who’s this Dire Wolf?” I asked. Figured he was talking about someone he knew.
He spoke in a whisper, almost reverently. “The Dire Wolf is the curse of the Downstream People, the Arkansa. He is an evil spirit of the Quapaw.”
I sighed and shook my head, knowing how these old Indians liked to throw in a bunch of mythical tribal mumbo-jumbo and superstition to deflect blame from someone they knew. “Well, you know where I can find this Dire Wolf fella?” I asked.
“He cannot be found,” the old man said.
“Really. You have reason to believe he’s taken off to other parts?”
He said nothing for a full quarter minute, his black eyes intently on mine, searching. I could see contempt in them and a sadness. Made me nervous.
“No,” old Long Walker answered at last. “He has not departed. Now that he has awakened, he will kill again.”
― Phil Truman, Dire Wolf of the Quapaw: a Jubal Smoak Mystery

“…Here we come close to one of the definitions of literary fiction. Even the best kind of popular novel just comes straight at you; you have no conversation with a popular novel. Whereas you do have a conversation (you have an intense argument) with [literary fiction].”
― Martin Amis, Experience: A Memoir

“The deep bowl of frozen air that lay still across the land promised to make the clear night colder than the day. Through the warm glow of the dining room window, we could see Standback and a woman taking their meal. A servant came in to say something to him, and he looked out the window at our approach in the remaining daylight. Standback met us on the porch as we walked our horses up.”
― Phil Truman, Dire Wolf of the Quapaw: a Jubal Smoak Mystery