Ms. Smartarse > Recent Status Updates

"Oh, everyone was thoroughly drenched. I myself couldn't even decide wether I was sweaty or muddy," said Hatsue, as she lifted the camera. "But my face said it all."

You check the books for what somebody *used* to know. You check with the Scholar for what somebody knows now.

"So, what's a girl gotta do to get a sack of those [cinnamon] rolls?" she asked
"Didn't I just buy you dessert?"
"Thing about gnomes, we got the metabolism of hummingbirds," said Gallina, with a huge grin.

She was smiling, and for the first time, the building, the city, this place... felt like hers. A place she'd still be tomorrow, the week after, next season, next year...
Home.

"Kerstin, I don't mean to pry, but is it possible that your Bernd is trying to out-ride his mid-life crisis?"
Counter question: is it possible that you're trying to drown yours in milk foam?"
"Touché"

I promise never to write another bad word about you or your coffee shop. I will send a coworker to do so, should it ever come to that.

"Weren't you the one who always said that we might as well stay [in Munich], rather than travel to Lake Garda, as we'd only meet neighbours and acquaintances there?"
"Yes, I did say that. And it looks like I was wrong. You're the first acquaintance I've met here in the past year and a half."

This is the universe telling me that if it was hard to acquire, it should also be hard to read. But I'm not giving up! 😼

... soooo, I bought the Japanese edition by mistake. 😅

I hope my instincts are wrong.

Your psyche has achieved something brilliant, in order to protect you and to bury the horrible truth deep inside you. That's what kept you alive.
That's what let you keep on going. But your life was only a lie.

Famous last words, eh? 🤨



Right panel:
I can already promise you now, that you'll have an interesting experience. You won't be in any danger. If you're looking for some excitement go to the movies.

Left panel:
I see...

"Well, comissario, some people trust a barista more than a man from the Polizia."
"You aren't one anymore."
"Indeed. I live in the present, comissario."

"All right. But after that, I act."
"Understood. At seven. I hate to throw you out, but there is an illiterate on his way, fearing my undivided attention."

Ah, British friendship. Tolerance as long as everyone knows knows his place; but God forbid your subjects should declare themselves your equals.

'It's the scholarship boy. Some creeping toady from a gramnar school, at Anselm's. I call it a disgrace!'
'Quite right. It's an outrage. Here you are, Lewis, ready to drink champagne and smash up other people's property, and instead you find yourself forced into company with an intelligent and hard-working scholar. At Oxford, of all places! They'll be asking you to read books next.'

"So you..." I pulled my shirt tails together. "You weren't sent from Heaven to save the city, after all! You're freelance rebels! Anarchist angels!"
"Lilith's a right comedian even when she's about to die!"

"We came to the city to find Lilith."
"You found her," I held my arms out. "Today I've been called 'little girl' and 'hot ma', but I don't think any of it really fit me. Lilith is at least accurate, so: give it to me."

Look, this is a borderline breach of Rule 6 - a fortunate accident - but every detective needs a bit of luck. Narrative suspense is built by stacking the odds against the gumshoe, but every now and then, just like in real life, the dominos topple in their favour.

And so, right then, I decided to help him. Not because I thought he was innocent, and not because he was guilty. But because of what everyone had been telling me since we arrived.
YOU DID THIS.

I wanted to say something... something insulting and hurtful that wouldn't just make him blush, but outright catch fire. In the end I could only manage: "Bedmate?! Wasn't there a more old-fashioned, dusty and ridiculous word you could use for us supposedly... having sex?!"

"You're a demon hunter, girl," I whispered to myself. "Even with chattering teeth and the heart hammering in your mouth you're still a demon hunter, so giddy up!"

This time Finn realized that Sanja was fooling him. "And what do they look like?"
"Oh, a demon kingdom is full of Maths teachers. They scratch the black board with long fingernails!", Sanja breathed darkely. "And they want you to calculate everything in your head. Everything! Mwahahaha!"

"The gist of it is this: let us know if you see any funny business (...) Any funny sign..."
"Do you mean: human-funny, demon-funny, or just... what-the-fuck-is-this-funny?"

Initially [the demon] was outright terrified of me, as it thought I'd be driving it out at the first opportunity. It later realised that I would not harm it, lest I wanted to attract the attention of the Beast. We eventually settled on a silent and steady hatred, but we kept it three steps apart.

You did not kill the fish only to keep alive and to sell for food, he thought. You killed him for pride and because you are a fisherman. You loved him when he was alive and you loved him after. If you love him, it is not a sin to kill him. Or is it more?

Imagine if each day a man must try to kill the moon, he thought. The moon runs away. But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky, he thought.

Friendship, I have said, is born at the moment when one man says to another 'What? You too? I thought that no one but myself...' But the common taste or vision or point of view which is thus discovered need not always be a nice one. From such a moment art, or philosophy, or an advance in religion or morals might well takes rise: but why not also torture, cannibalism, or human sacrifice

We may give our human loves the unconditional allegiance which we owe only to God. Then they become gods: then they become demons. Then they will destroy us, and also destroy themselves. For natural loves that are allowed to become gods do not remain loves. They are still called so, but can become in fact complicated forms of hatred.

William Wilson - *