Two minds with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.
~ Jasper Fforde
If the real world were a book, it would never find a publisher. Overlong, detailed to the point of distraction-and ultimately, without a major resolution.
Whereas story is processed in the mind in a straightforward manner, poetry bypasses rational thought and goes straight to the limbic system and lights it up like a brushfire. It's the crack cocaine of the literary world.
If it weren't for greed, intolerance, hate, passion and murder, you would have no works of art, no great buildings, no medical science, no Mozart, no Van Gough, no Muppets and no Louis Armstrong.
Dead. Never been that before. Not even once.
Her majesty is one verb short of a sentence.
I would so hate to be a first-person character! Always on your guard, always having people read your thoughts!
Mr. McGregor's a nasty piece of work, isn't he? Quite the Darth Vader of children's literature.
Death doesn't care about personalities - he's more interested in meeting quotas.
Literary detection and firearms don't really go hand in hand, pen mighter than the sword and so forth.
For every expert there is an equal and opposite expert.
the Real-World was a sprawling mess of a book in need of a good editor.
I shouldn't believe anything I say, if I were you-and that includes what I just told you.
I didn't set out to discover a truth. I was actually sent to the Outer Fringes to conduct a chair census and learn some humility. But the truth inevitably found me, as important truths often do, like a lost thought in need of a mind.
Bowden Cable is the sort of honest and dependable operative that is the backbone of SpecOps. They never win commendations or medalsand the public has no knowledge of them at all. They are all worth ten of people like me.
Okay, this is the wisdom. First, time spent on reconnaissanse is never wasted. Second, almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon. And finally, there is no problem on Earth that can't be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.
Death, I had discovered long ago, was available in varying flavors, and none of them particularly palatable.
Religion isn't the cause of wars, it's the excuse.
How about this,' I said. 'We modify our plans with regard to ongoing facts as they become known to us, then remodify them as the situation unfolds. 'You mean make it all up as we go along?' asked Perkins.'Right.
Take no heed of her.... She reads a lot of books.
Books may look like nothing more than words on a page, but they are actually an infinitely complex imaginotransference technology that translates odd, inky squiggles into pictures inside your head.
Governments and fashions come and go but Jane Eyre is for all time.
Vanity's contribution to Fiction in general was an abundance of cheap labour and the occasional blockbuster, which was accepted into Fiction with an apologetic 'gosh, don't know how that happened'.
Pretend to be mad and talk a lot. Then — and this is the important bit — do nothing at all until you absolutely have to and then make sure everyone dies.
When she turned I could see her face was plain and outwardly unremarkable, yet possessing of a bearing that showed inner strength and resolve. I stared at her intently with a mixture of feelings. I had realised not long ago that I was no beauty, and even at the age of nine had seen how the more attractive children gained favour more easily. But here in that young woman I could see how those principles could be inverted. I felt myself stand more upright and clench my jaw in subconscious mimicry of her pose
After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer - perhaps more.
Without unscrambled eggs, there was no time travel, no more depredation of the Now, and we could look to a brighter future of long-term thought--and more reading.
History has rewritten itself so many times I'm not really sure how it was to begin with -- it's a bit like trying to guess the original color of a wall when it's been repainted eight times.
Now and again. Good residency is about having the power to ask someone to do something, but not necessarily exercising it.
Literature is claimed to be a mirror of the world,” I said, “but the Outlanders are fooling themselves. The BookWorld is as orderly as people in the RealWorld *hope* their own world to be—it isn’t a mirror, it’s an aspiration.
So you're going to have to ask yourselves on simple question: Which one of us is speaking now?
I'm sure it's not all hot buttered crumpets out there in the breathing world of asphalt and heartbeats.
The very possibility of death focuses the mind wonderfully.
Fiction wouldn't be much fun without its fair share of scoundrels, and they have to live somewhere.
Humans like stories. Humans need stories. Stories are good. Stories work. Story clarifies and captures the essence of the human spirit. Story, in all its forms—of life, of love, of knowledge—has traced the upward surge of mankind. And story, you mark my words, will be with the last human to draw breath.
Chromatacia…society…ruled by a colortocracy…social hierarchy based upon one's limited color perception, society is dominated by color. In this world, you are what you can see.
Those that can be troubled to muse upon the meaning of life are general disappointed when they figure it out.
That's the thing about destiny: It can't be predicted, and it's usually pretty odd.
And we kissed again. It was a warm, indescribably lovely feeling. But it was more than just physical. It was a dialogue between two young people with high ideals and a Big Plan. It was about belonging, secrets, partnership, commitment.
Before, I suspected I might not amount to anything, and now I now I won't, so at least it takes away the wearisome burden of delusive hope
