#thor

The police called it choking, but I called it a two-handed neck hug. That’s how I knew she really loved me. 
 ↗

— Jarod Kintz

#attempted-murder #authorities #choke #choking #crime

You see, unlike most writers today, I do not use a computer. I write the old-fashioned way: on the walls of caves. ↗

— Cuthbert Soup

#caves #computer #funny #old-fashioned #writer

But there is a higher law than the Constitution, which regulates our authority over the domain, and devotes it to the same noble purposes. ↗

— William H. Seward

#constitution #devotes #domain #higher #law

We live, all of us, in sprung rhythm. Even in cities, folk stir without knowing it to the surge in the blood that is the surge and urgency of season. In being born, we have taken seisin of the natural world, and as ever, it is the land which owns us, not we, the land. Even in the countryside, we dwell suspended between the rhythms of earth and season, weather and sky, and those imposed by metropolitan clocks, at home and abroad. When does the year begin? No; ask rather, When does it not? For us – all of us – as much as for Mr Eliot, midwinter spring is its own season; for all of us, if we but see it, our world is as full of time-coulisses as was Thomas Mann’s. Countrymen know this, with the instinct they share with their beasts. Writers want to know it also, and to articulate what the countryman knows and cannot, perhaps, express to those who sense but do not know, immured in sad conurbations, rootless amidst Betjeman’s frightful vision of soot and stone, worker’s flats and communal canteens, where it is the boast of pride that a man doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet. As both countryman and writer, I have a curious relationship to time. ↗

— G.M.W. Wemyss

#country-life #countryside #sir-john-betjeman #time #village-life

I have peanut M&M's up there." "Not my style" "Raisinets." "Feh." "Sam Adams." Thor narrowed his eyes. "Cold?" "Downright icy." Thor crossed his arms over his chest and told him self he was not pouting like a five-year-old. "I want Milk Duds. ↗

— J.R. Ward

#lassiter #thor #humor

Because nobody but a reader ever became a writer. ↗

— Richard Peck

#inspirational #inspirational

Powerful to alleviate, to delay, to camouflage, though money is, in the end it lets us down. ↗

— Caryll Houselander

#money #money

Someone described a writer's world as tormented, and I had to laugh.  A tormented writer?  I personally wouldn't have put those two words together.   Emotions have the power to torment a soul, yes, I agree to that.  But writers, through the formation of our characters, delve so often into the depths of a vast range of emotions that we earn the advantage.  For we've examined every little thrumming, fracture, spark, pang, and darkening of the heart to a point that we understand and appreciate the necessity and strength of emotions as well as the cause and effects manipulating them.   We understand.   We can imagine.   We sympathize.   Our knowledge is power over the torment of emotional ignorance.   I would suggest that those truly tormented are the readers of our works because those poor souls shall never know with such clarity and sentiment all the tiny little details that make our characters breath, move, and live before our very eyes.   Perhaps, if torment does lurk among writers, it comes simply through knowing more about an imagined friend than can ever be adequately expressed in words. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#richelle #richelle-goodrich #torment #writing #imagination

There is a brilliant novel in all of us. Some imagine it…others live it. Authors dwell in an auspicious life by having the ability to fuse the two. ↗

— Carl Henegan

#imagination #life #novel #imagination

In a society... so madly in love with oxymoron's... ask yourself this... ...when was the last time you ever bought anything for free? ↗

— Non Nomen

#social #the-unwords #unauthor #inspirational