Best 27 quotes of G. M. T. Schuilling on MyQuotes

Abstract white cirrus clouds streaked across the sky. The cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and disturbed the ones settled on the ground. Anaya couldn’t help but see a metaphor in that.

Abuse could be a slope as slick as ice after a shower of freezing rain.

Anaya inhaled the rich scent of soil, along with the sharp, citric smell of thriving vegetation and the sweetness of fresh dew. Her eyes drifted shut and she pricked up her ears, the gushing sound of the nearby waterfalls enveloping her.

Anaya sensed her opportunity and stole a moment to take in what Emberswick looked like in her teens. Still an engineering town, with a heap of lumber mills to show for it. It had been systematically envisioned and built around lush, small woods and pretty, little parks, spotted with bubbling fountains. A charming place to live, with a pleasant pace of life, and the people were just as engaging.

And so, Anaya's story begins with her last thought. Would I have done this if I had any option but the grave?

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? When life rode on its highs, you wanted it to go on forever. But in the depths of the invariable dives, you’d be happy to be put out of your misery, because whatever awaited beyond this life had to be better than this shit on Earth.

And then they came upon it. It was painted in the most cat-retch shade of beige you ever beheld.

A red carpet and red rope stanchion sets demarcated a runway and seating areas. Silhouettes of prominent action heroes posing on silver and gold LED blocks illuminated the whole area. Black silk covered tables and chairs, with centerpieces of colossal martini glasses containing glowing ice cubes.

As still and clear as glass, the water seemed to exist solely to mirror the sunset. The wind changed course in the sky, causing wave-like ripples up there. The whole world seemed covered in gold, slate, and cloud, very distinct and separate in places, obscure and entangled in others.

But what if, after one small change, her life would become much worse than it was? Or unthinkable disasters result from a single step off her path?

Death can’t be cheated, but there are endless ways that life can be lived.

Despite its ferocious name, or perhaps because of it, it was the head of the pack of six bars in town. The sweet smell of cider and dank cigarette smoke wafted up her nostrils. Better than Lucy’s sweaty armpits at Emberswick Bar & Grill.

Fueled by rage at God, or whoever else came up with the preposterous concept of free will, Anaya turned more corners. My challenges were cruel to the core. With so many choices to make in life, the line was hair-thin between success and failure, having money or being broke, being loved or hated, alive or dead.

Her regularly squared and french-tipped nails were dangerously chipped and jagged, and she touched her platinum hair so often that it had started to look like the kinked bristles of an overused toothbrush.

He was a sharpshooter like that. Bullet straight to the heart.

He was unrelenting, unmerciful, and singularly focused. Nothing stood in his way or hindered his journey. Until his end itself.

His stance, with hands tucked into blue jeans, held nothing casual about it. More than powerful, he seemed menacing, even. He turned to her with an arched brow, like a being from Olympus, curious about a mere mortal’s next move. Currents of fear sped up and down her spine, futilely searching for a place to cower.

How readily we crush our dreams, without even turning over the first stone, so willing to be the victims of circumstance! She felt utterly miserable on behalf of all the teenagers the world over and allowed herself a few minutes more self-pity for the life she’d wasted, and the ones so many more would throw away. Doing as you pleased at this age, without seeking the help and advice of those qualified to give it, equaled marching into a minefield.

If you could go back in time and redo one thing in your life, what would it be?

Karma’s not a bitch. She’s a whore, acting like I’ve stolen her pimp.

Malachite eyes sparkled, pale green in the light of the setting sun.

Regrets, it seems, are easy to realise when you're dying.

She watched him from afar and gave him the time and space to travel the emotional rollercoaster, commencing at stunned, progressing to upset and lurking at angry. Then he brooded and grieved for the end of his life as he knew it.

The stained-glass window on the front door shatters into tiny pieces behind her as it slams shut when he gets to it at last. It sounds like a musical cadence, heightening some eerie psycho movie score.

The vibrant matte amethyst dial made the gleaming hour and minute markers seem to come alive. The long, thick hands were fragile, yet ceaselessly ticking by, like life itself. Countless hours must have been invested in the bezel, meticulously hashed all the way around. The tachymeter claimed prominence as if asserting that distance travelled over time should be of paramount importance. Never had the sheer pace and inevitability of time been better captured in an object.

The words and phrases had so much more gravitas in her adult mind. She felt a sharp pang of guilt as she realized the extent of what she hadn’t been aware of, and how little compassion she’d had as an actual teen.

They gobbled the shrimp dumplings. From the first time they’d seen the sheer size of the meat through the translucent wrapper, they’d taken vows to be regulars. The pork sui mai was the next to be devoured. They savored in silence, except for the slurping of the stir-fried clams in black-bean sauce.