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— Sherrilyn Kenyon"The man hates your guts more than Stryker does. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t pull your spine out through your nostrils. (Tory) Nice to have Miss Merry Sunshine back again. Any other Eeyore outlooks you’d like to share? (Acheron)"
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He sat on as the sun's rays came slowly down through the trees, lower and lower, and when the lowest reached a branch not far above him it caught a dewdrop poised upon a leaf. The drop instantly blazed crimson, and a slight movement of his head made it show all the colours of the spectrum with extraordinary purity, from a red almost too deep to be seen through all the others to the ultimate violet and back again.
— Patrick O'Brian
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Why does one begin to write? Because she feels misunderstood, I guess. Because it never comes out clearly enough when she tries to speak. Because she wants to rephrase the world, to take it in and give it back again differently, so that everything is used and nothing is lost. Because it's something to do to pass the time until she is old enough to experience the things she writes about.
— Nicole Krauss
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