#fiction

There was no control except the "mood of his power... and it is for this reason it is good you never heard him play someplace where the weather for instance could change the next series of notes-- then you should never have heard him at all. He was never recorded. He stayed away while others moved into wax history, electronic history, those who said later that Boldon broke the path. It was just as important to watch him stretch and wheel around the last notes or to watch nerves jumping under the sweat of his head. ↗

— Michael Ondaatje

#jazz #new-orleans #change

This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof. ↗

— Neil Gaiman

#certain #characters #doubts #excepting #existence

Gerisik angan dan deru lembut laju harapan. Waktu itu adalah menit-menit akhir menjelang malam di Bukit Angin. Daun-daun berwarna-warni dalam berbagai wujud melayang ke langit dan berkumpul mengelilingi puncak pusaran angin. Di sana, di balik awan, beradalah studio Sang Pelukis. ↗

— Fredrik Nael

#fantasy-fiction #hope #indonesian #short-story #dreams

Never give up. Dare to Dream. Dare to believe. ↗

— Stacey T. Hunt

#author #awesome #believe #books #dare

William slapped him on the shoulder, sending Sex into rapturous convulsions. “Before we do this, I’ve got one question for you. And you can’t lie. This is too important.” A bit sick to his stomach at what such a debaucher could want to know, Paris cast his attention to the black-haired, blue-eyed he-devil. “Ask.” “Are you going to suggest I kiss you for good luck or strength or whatever it is your sex demon needs?” That earned the warrior a two-fingered salute. “So that’s a no?” William asked. Paris worked his jaw. “Here, let me help you off the cliff to the drawbridge.” With no more warning, he shoved William over the ledge. He thought he heard a fading, “ So not cool,” from the bastard as he fell…fell… Splat. ↗

— Gena Showalter

#humor #humor

It is said the sesta is one of the only gifts the Europeans brought to South America, but I imagine the Brazilians could have figured out how to sleep in the afternoon without having to endure centuries of murder and enslavement. ↗

— Ann Patchett

#imagination

I can't stop thinking about dying the way humans do it. Imagine! If at any moment, you could just stop existing. How different everything would be.." They don't stop existing Lenia said...They have souls that live forever. Even knowing that, they fight so hard to stay alive. I think it's so beautiful. Imagine: being that fragile, that permanent. ↗

— Carolyn Turgeon

#beauty

I look at the human sciences as poetic sciences in which there is no objectivity, and I see film as not being objective, and cinema verite as a cinema of lies that depends on the art of telling yourself lies. If you’re a good storyteller then the lie is more true than reality, and if you’re a bad one, the truth is worse than a half lie. ↗

— Jean Rouch

#fiction #lies #reality #truth #art

A man [Joyce] whose earliest stories appeared next to the manure prices in the Irish Homestead knew that columns of prose, like columns of shit, could both recultivate the earth. ↗

— Declan Kiberd

#james-joyce #joyce #literature #ulysses #art

Because at bottom, I'm interested in fear, and in courage and cowardice and these are easier to get at through fiction, where you can enter people's heads. ↗

— Kevin Patterson

#bottom #courage #cowardice #easier #enter