ancientreader

“Because he would leave. Oliver felt sure of that. You couldn’t plant a tumbleweed and expect it to yield grapes, no matter how perfect the terroir. The summer was slithering away and in a month or so it would be time for harvest. Then fall would turn the fields to fire and when the leaves fell they would travel halfway around the world to cold, pearly-gray Paris. And then what?”
― Jess Whitecroft, The James Dean Vintage

“These two distinct crimes, with their different emphases on the individual and the group, grew side by side, yet over time genocide emerged in the eyes of many as the crime of crimes, a hierarchy that left a suggestion that the killing of large numbers of people as individuals was somehow less terrible.”
― Philippe Sands, East West Street: On the Origins of "Genocide" and "Crimes Against Humanity"

“Fine,” Will said. “I promise. I promise I’ll just bugger off whenever it seems like the easy way out for me, and leave you in this hundred-room hellhole with your family rubbing cheese-graters on your nerve endings. Is that what you want to hear?” “I detect a note of sarcasm.”
― K.J. Charles, Subtle Blood

“Okay. How much do you need?”
“Couple of hundred. Three…”
“Three hundred?”
“You’re a fucking surgeon, Simon.”
“Junior orthopaedic surgeon,” he said. “It’s going to be a while before I’m pulling down consultant level cash. And even then I’d make more money if I’d become a footballer.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said. “I’ve seen you play football. You were always running away from the ball.”
“That’s because it was a heavy, leather projectile travelling rapidly towards my face.”
“Yes, but you were the goalkeeper.”
― Jess Whitecroft, Less Than Three