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“We rode through the suburbs, the ticking of our gears the only sound. I'd rarely been out this late, and never without my parents. Everything lay in a wrap of shadows. I felt an ownership of the night, and perhaps a whole world that didn't exist in daytime.
We cut down a path tapering through the woods. The forest was alive with movement...”
― The Saturday Night Ghost Club
We cut down a path tapering through the woods. The forest was alive with movement...”
― The Saturday Night Ghost Club
“Do you think you will keep your life, or anything else you love? But no. Your needs are all met. But not as the world giveth. You see the needs of your own spirit met whenever you have asked, and you have learned that the outrageous guarantee holds. You see the creatures die, and you know you will die. And one day it occurs to you that you must not need life.”
― Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
― Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
“She rode down the sidewalk, turned toward the shadow side of the street and melted into darkness. I didn't know it then, but after that night, I'd see less and less of Dove. She began to dabble with things best left undabbled with.”
― The Saturday Night Ghost Club
― The Saturday Night Ghost Club
“The game he loved, that America loved, had passed him by, left him enamored more of its past than of its present or future. It had grown younger as he grew older.”
― Stealing Games: How John McGraw Transformed Baseball with the 1911 New York Giants
― Stealing Games: How John McGraw Transformed Baseball with the 1911 New York Giants
“Now the twin leaves of the seedling chestnut oak on the Carvin's cover path have dried, dropped, and blown; the acorn itself is shrunk and sere. But the sheath of the stem holds water and the white root still delicately sucks, porous and permeable, mute. The death of the self of which the great writers speak is no violent act. It is merely the joining of the great rock heart of the earth in its roll. It is merely the slow cessation of the will's sprints and the intellect's chatter: it is waiting like a hollow bell with stilled tongue. Fuge, tace, quiesce. The waiting itself is the thing.”
― Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
― Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Matt’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Matt’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
2,651 books
|
39 friends
415 books
|
44 friends
196 books
|
159 friends
218 books
|
65 friends
12 books
|
70 friends
60 books
|
176 friends
3 books
|
29 friends
2 books
|
8 friends
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