He led her back to the house, the perfume from the acacia clinging to her. The djinn was supposed to live in the scent of the acacia blossom, making themselves visible only to the young in order to entrap them in otherworldly world.
Nadeem AslamThe Witcher had a knife to his throat. He was wallowing in a wooden tub, brimfull with soapsuds, his head thrown agains the slippery rim. The bitter taste of soap lingered in his mouth as the knife, blunt as a doorknob, scraped his Adam's apple painfully and moved towards his chin with a grating sound.
Andrzej SapkowskiTags: fantasy fiction andrzej-sapkowski
Only death can finish the fight, everything else only interrupts the fighting.
Andrzej SapkowskiTags: fantasy fiction andrzej-sapkowski the-witcher
I'm warning you. I'm going to get waxy. D'you see? You're not wanted. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island. Understand? We are going to have fun on this island! So don't try it on, my poor misguided boy, or else---" Simon found he was looking into a vast mouth. There was blackness within, a blackness that spread.
William GoldingTags: fiction
When dancing with a pit bull, it's always best to let him lead.
Michael BarnettTags: inspirational family fiction thriller
Every age is fed on illusions, lest men should renounce life early and the human race come to an end.
Joseph ConradTags: inspirational fantasy fiction
Stories are the wildest things of all, the monster rumbled. Stories chase and bite and hunt.
Patrick NessSome things can be fixed. Some things are just too broken.
Susan VaughtTags: books fiction life-lesson
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 OndaatjeTags: fiction new-orleans jazz
Afghanistan had collapsed and everyone's life now lies broken at different levels within the rubble.
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