Warren the 13th tiptoed across the roof of the Warren Hotel, and the old slate tiles clattered like bones. A crisp autumn wind snapped at his back, threatening to knock him off balance, but he kept going. A fall from the top of an eight-story building was the least of his worries. He had a chimney to repair.
Sammy Pipps isn’t simply clever. He can lift up the edges of the world and peek beneath. He has a gift I’ll never understand. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I was following a phantom in my mind, whose shadowy form had taken shape at last. Her features were blurred, her coloring indistinct, the setting of her eyes and the texture of her hair was still uncertain, still to be revealed. She had beauty that endured, and a smile that was not forgotten. Somewhere her voice still lingered, and the memory of her words.
You know, one of the hardest things to admit is that we weren’t loved when we needed it most. It’s a terrible feeling, the pain of not being loved.
We weren’t ourselves when we fell in love, and when we became ourselves – surprise! – we were poison. We complete each other in the nastiest, ugliest possible way.
Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. I have known so many sick women all my life. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions. Men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip. Women get consumed.
Hello dear readers! A while ago, I mentioned I had a mystery binge in January, which started with reading The Turn of the Key by Ruth Ware. After that I read all of her novels, and then naturally I started reading other mystery authors, because I forgot how awesome thrillers are?
Watching is like nature photography: You don’t interfere with the wildlife.
Hello bookworms! Recently I realized I’ve read several graphic novels and comics in the past few months which I haven’t reviewed. None of these really amount to a full, separate review, so I’ve decided to do mini reviews for these! These are mostly ARC’s, and I think you can still request some of these on Netgalley if you’re interested!
No wonder men did not want women to wear bloomers. What could women accomplish if they did not have to continually mind their skirts, keep them from dragging in the mud or getting trampled on the steps of an omnibus? If they had pockets! With pockets, women could conquer the world!
Hill House, not sane stood by itself against its hills holding darkness within. It had stood so for a hundred years before my family moved in and might stand a hundred more. Within, walls stood upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm. Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House. And whatever walked there walked alone
You have written of these ‘’companions’’ as you call them. You say you were afraid of them. But do you know what really scares us? It is not things that go bump – or even hiss- in the night. Our fears are much closer than that. We are afraid of the things inside us.
It was a power play, a signal of ubiquity. I am both nowhere and everywhere. You may not think you have something in common with your neighbor, but you do: me. I’m the barely spotted presence, the dark-haired, blond-haired, stocky, slight, seen from the back, glimpsed in half-light thread that will continue to connect you even as you fail to look out for each other.
All our land was enriched with my treasures buried in it, thickly inhabited just below the surface with my marbles and my teeth and my colored stones, all perhaps turned to jewels by now, held together under the ground in a powerful taut web which never loosened, but held fast to guard us.
Their memories crowd the edges of my mind, the weight of them almost too much to bear. I want everything they want. I feel their aches and am made timid by their fears. I’m no longer a man, I’m a chorus.