J.C.

“Outside, the colonel was cheering, delighted by his first encounter with warfare, Inside, two Monuments Men bent over a four-hundered-year-old painting [by Peter Breughel the Elder] in the faint light of a newly arrived lamp. The first was kneeling on the ground, studying its surface like an archeologist in an Egyptian tomb or a medic with a wounded man. The second hunched behind him, concentrating on his notes. The soldiers, tired and dirty, huddled around them like the shepherds at the manger, staring silently at a painting of expressive faces and peasant villagers and at the two adult men in soldiers' garb fussing over every square centimeter of its surface.”
― Robert M Edsel, The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History

“Jack, you can't go to school, you promised Francis you'd be on his bag tomorrow [for the 1913 US Open] Eddie whispered harshly.
'I know I did -'
'You can't do that to him, he's counting on you.'
'They caught me fair and square, Eddie, what am I supposed to do?'
'You're supposed to live up to your promises.'
'I can't do it, Eddie,' said Jack. 'Francis'll catch on with somebody else, you'll see. He'll be all right.'

Eddie remained unconvinced, but nothing he said could change Jack's mind. Before he went to bed, Eddie changed the bandage on his foot; there was a fair amount of blood soaked into it. He examined the wound and decided it would stand up to what he was about to put it through. It would have to. As he lay there restlessly trying to sleep that night, Eddie Lowery, tough and tenacious beyond his size and years [10 years old], had already made up his mind that it didn't matter what his brother decided to do.

Both Lowery brothers weren't going to let down Francis Ouimet.”
― Mark Frost, The Greatest Game Ever Played

“An hour past dawn, the Charger came down the hill, followed by a boxy Jeep with oversize tires and a Chevy half-ton truck.

'That's them,' said Ornazian

'The New Klansmen.'

'More like wannabe Nazis.'

'What's the difference?'

'Their playbook is Mein Kampf. They carved the number fourteen into the Weitzmans' dining-room table.'

'And that means what?'

'Fourteen words. The white-nationalist slogan. I am a coward and a loser and I blame my failure on other people.'

Ward counted on his fingers. 'That's fifteen words.'

'See? These guys could fuck up a wet dream. Let's go to their house.”
― George P. Pelecanos, The Man Who Came Uptown

“He told me he's seeing someone. When this prompted no response, he added: Apparently she's thirty-six. She's separated from her husband

From the living room, a cackle of laughter. And her voice saying: You never told me your brother was such a legend.”
― Sally Rooney, Intermezzo