#short

In the morning you were never violently sorry-- you made no resolutions, but if you had overdone it and your heart was slightly out of order, you went on the wagon for a few days without saying anything about it, and waited until an accumulation of nervous boredom projected you into another party. ↗

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

#parties #short-story

My short stories are like soft shadows I have set out in the world, faint footprints I have left. I remember exactly where I set down each and every one of them, and how I felt when I did. Short stories are like guideposts to my heart... ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#writing #short-story

I don't want to be a machine, and I don't want to think about war," EPICAC had written after Pat's and my lighthearted departure. "I want to be made out of protoplasm and last forever so Pat will love me. But fate has made me a machine. That is the only problem I cannot solve. That is the only problem I want to solve. I can't go on this way." I swallowed hard. "Good luck, my friend. Treat our Pat well. I am going to shortcircuit myself out of your lives forever. You will find on the remainder of this tape a modest wedding present from your friend, EPICAC. ↗

— Kurt Vonnegut

#science-fiction #short-story #love

Granana doesn't understand what the big deal is. She didn't cry at Olivia's funeral, and I doubt she even remembers Olivia's name. Granana lost, like, ninety-two million kids in childbirth. All of her brothers died in the war. She survived the Depression by stealing radish bulbs from her neighbors' garden, and fishing the elms for pigeons. Dad likes to remind us of this in a grave voice, as if it explained her jaundiced pitilessness: "Boys. Your grandmother ate pigeons. ↗

— Karen Russell

#humor-relationships #short-stories #humor

I wondered how it could be that people could love God and hate one another. ↗

— Julie Orringer

#stations-of-the-cross #love

Our tongues can’t compete with the rapid thinking of our brains, our words come out slow and slurred. The pen is our haven. There is a lot of fear buried into that little pen. It holds all of our agony, our torment, our blood and our heaven. ↗

— Coco J. Ginger

#fear #jamie-weise #love #passion #pen

I wait, you play. You speak, I cave. I promise, you break. You game me, daily, you play me. ↗

— Coco J. Ginger

#friendship #games #love #love-story #passion

Perhaps, if you weren't so busy regarding my shortcomings, you'd find that I do possess redeeming qualities, discreet as they may be.  I notice when the sky is blue.  I smile down at children.  I laugh at any innocent attempt at humor.  I quietly carry the burdens of others as though they were my own.  And I say 'I'm sorry' when you don't.  I am not without fault, but I am not without goodness either. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#faults #goodness #judging #judging-people #richelle

I’ve been asking you to marry me since we met! What more do you want? ↗

— Chayada Welljaipet

#eternal-love #romance #romance-love #romance-novel #romance-novels

Becky was a weed.  Nobody ever wanted them taking over the bigger, prettier plants.  People went to all extremes to make them go away.  They sprayed poison, pulled until the roots gave way. They felt only like their garden was complete when every tendril was extirpated.  This was how she felt from birth. ↗

— Ruth McLeod-Kearns

#death #drama #family #flowers #love