Best 281 quotes in «short story quotes» category

i’m super, it’s like my favourite meal and a birthday blowjob from Christina Hendricks in here.

I’m supposed to feel like it’s such a great apartment, but I don’t. It’s the right price, there are no bugs and it’s got a great view, but it’s the lair of Satan...--Nil Caveat

I’m warning you because you’re young and vulnerable. He’s a dirty, lying, conniving piece of shit and he’s dangerous.” Gottfried Baumauer.

I need to master the art of talking to her before I can even contemplate anything else.

In her hand was a necklace with a small oval pendant, a half of a locket engraved with one of the same symbols from the mirror frame—what Quinn saw as rolling waves. ~ "The Mirror

In high school, she’d been the loner fat girl and I’d been the asshole jock. There had always been something between us; we had gotten on so easily. I remember being both confused and upset that when I’d finally experienced that thing everyone called chemistry, it had been with her of all people.

Inside a wool jacket the man had made a pocket for the treasure and from time to time he would jiggle the pocket, just to make sure that it was still there. And when on the train he rode to work he would jiggle it there also, but he would disguise his jiggling of the treasure on the train by devising a distraction. For example, the man would pretend to be profoundly interested in something outside the train, such as the little girl who seemed to be jumping high up on a trampoline, just high enough so that she could spy the man on the train, and in this way he really did become quite interested in what occurred outside the train, although he would still jiggle the treasure, if only out of habit. Also on the train he'd do a crossword puzzle and check his watch by rolling up his sleeve; when he did so he almost fell asleep. Antoine often felt his life to be more tedious with this treasure, because in order not to be overly noticed he had deemed it wise to fall into as much a routine as possible and do everything as casually as possible, and so, as a consequence, despite the fact that he hated his wife and daughter, he didn't leave them, he came home to them every night and he ate the creamed chicken that his wife would prepare for him, he would accept the large, fleshy hand that would push him around while he sat around in his house in an attempt to read or watch the weather, he took out the trash, he got up on time every morning and took a quick, cold shower, he shaved, he accepted the cold eggs and orange juice and coffee, he picked the newspaper off the patio and took it inside with him to read her the top headlines, and of course he went to the job.

Inside the room there sat a rocker, which she sat on, and which had rocked her while she sipped the beer, because in spite of herself she had become so giddy to have so quickly relieved her heart that she allowed herself to lean backwards while in the rocker, which had made it possible for the rocker to rock her, although it was not her intention to be so rocked. Also there stood an ironing board with a still hot iron on it that was burning a yellow shift, and there was, among several items that were not as noticeable to the woman, and yet were noticeable enough to at least bear mention, a fake man. "I hope you don't mind me asking," said the woman who lived in the room, but then while in her chair she nodded off.

In some mystical way, Lenny seemed to ennoble work more than anyone I had ever met" Also in "Stories and Scripts:an Anthology

In all nature there seemed to be a feeling of hopelessness and pain. The earth, like a ruined woman sitting alone in a dark room and trying not to think of the past, was brooding over memories of spring and summer and apathetically waiting for the inevitable winter. Wherever one looked, on all sides, nature seemed like a dark, infinitely deep, cold pit from which neither Kirilov nor Abogin nor the red half-moon could escape....

I said say my name, daughter, or I’ll slit your throat before cutting my children from your womb.

I once read a story by this guy named Harlan Ellison ending: That night it rained, everywhere in the known universe. I was never too sure what the ending meant in terms of Ellison's story, but anyone who sits alone in a motel room for hours, watching the rain wash the world away, begins to understand. Knows what it feels like.

I saw sunrises fade and burn among fleets of sparks. The moon blossomed like a lily carved of bone... The Death of the Astronaut, page 390.

It’s amazing how much easier it is to bake a cake when you’ve got an eternity to get it right.

In the beginning we start with roses. The king’s flower right? Only they wilt in less than a day, especially when exposed to the elements. But Carnations? Oh, what a beautiful flower. They come in every color. True, some are painted, but that doesn’t mean they are less beautiful, and they never wilt.

It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

I told you. I’ve been watching.” She twirled, her arms outstretched. “Watching, watching, watching.

It’s late and most of the clerks are at home in their beds, dreaming of swimming in pools filled with real money.

It's the only light we've got in all this darkness

It's the first instance where I believe that it might actually be wrong, the first time I feel like a bit of a creep.

It's unexpectedly painful to have become a pronoun.

It takes both sides to build a bridge.

It was 911 calling me. If you can believe it. Them calling me.

I’ve never been a believer in fate. I like to think I’m in control, that my life hasn’t been plotted out ahead of time. Sometimes all it takes is one wild thought, one brave decision to change everything. This must be one of those times.

It rubs against me, dipping between my hot lips and makes me whimper with yearning. You remove it dramatically and raise it up, out of my eye line, although I imagine that you are inspecting it. “Yes, definitely a slut, aren’t you?” “Yes, sir.” I reply instantly. My voice sounds needy – already.

I wait, you play. You speak, I cave. I promise, you break. You game me, daily, you play me.

I will not die on Totem Lake.

Just how good are you?” He kissed her. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.

I want to feel like I'm making a difference in this world. And I want some time for living rather than just working. Life is for living, isn't it? It can't be all just for working

Lending my voice to a dedicated readership is a match made in heaven.

Let us be vulgar and have some fun, let us invite the President.

Like a driver who has lost control of his vechicle, I was bracing for the impending crash." From: "My Worst Valentine's Day.Ever: a Short Story

Light has a voice?” Sarucha inquired, amazed.

Lim Oh Kee kills himself in the early hours on the 12th day of December, 1921. His last meal is rice and nothing.

Man, that kind of little honeybee just buzzes from flower to flower." "Maybe, but honey is sweet, you know?

Maxwell D. Kalist is a receiving teller at a city bank, Orwell and Finch, where he runs an efficient department of twenty two clerks and twelve junior clerks. He carries a leather-bound vade mecum everywhere with him – a handbook of the most widely contravened banking rules. He works humourlessly (on the surface of it) in a private, perfectly square office on the third floor of a restored grain exchange midway along the Eastern flank of Květniv’s busy, modern central plaza. Behind his oblong slate desk and black leather swivel chair is an intimidating, three-storey wall made almost entirely of bevelled, glare-reducing grey glass in art-deco style; one hundred and thirty six rectangles of gleam stacked together in a dangerously heavy collage.

Men circle like bees around honey, buzzing to communicate their sexual despair.

Isn’t it funny that if God were to reveal and explain Himself, the majority of the world would necessarily be disappointed?

Mike,” she said in her most seductive voice. “You know and I know that I want to get laid tonight. It’s been too long since I’ve been with a man. I’m interested in one room in this apartment and one room only.

Misery comes to miser; joy comes to wiser. (A Very Hot Cup of Tea, Empathy) Juvenile invites, youth tries, adult applies, and the old man dies. (A Straw Man, Empathy) In everyone, there lives a superhero. (The Medicine Man, Empathy) Faith is the strongest word in any dictionary. (The Wisdom Beard, Empathy) I’ve entered into your feelings; it’s your turn now. (Empathy)

Junk?” Gram gasped. “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure, you know.” “Yeah, well, maybe it’s time to let another man have it, you think?” he teased. ~ "The Mirror

Mrs Davidson was saying she didn't know how they'd have got through the journey if it hadn't been for us," said Mrs Macphail, as she neatly brushed out her transformation. "She said we were really the only people on the ship they cared to know." "I shouldn't have thought a missionary was such a big bug that he could afford to put on frills." "It's not frills. I quite understand what she means. It wouldn't have been very nice for the Davidsons to have to mix with all that rough lot in the smoking-room." "The founder of their religion wasn't so exclusive," said Dr Macphail with a chuckle. William Somersert Maugham, "Rain

Mungkin seharusnya aku menulis buku motivasi saja, mengutip ucapan para tokoh besar dunia dan meramunya dengan sedikit kisah perjuanganku menggapai mimpi. Pasar pembaca seperti itu tampaknya lebih luas—ada terlalu banyak orang yang sebentar-sebentar harus disuapi dengan petuah-petuah untuk memulai hari mereka. Mereka akan dengan rakus membeli dan melahap setiap buku-bukuku. Kelaparan mereka akan mengisi penuh pundi-pundiku. Akan tetapi tanganku terasa kaku setiap aku hendak memulai. Bagaimana aku bisa menulis dan menjadi inspirasi buat banyak orang bila aku sendiri merasa hidupku membosankan—dan hidup dalam rasa frustrasi berkepanjangan?

My decision to become a teacher suddenly seemed even more appropriate. Life had just become that much more unpredictably precarious and ill-suited to long-term planning, and it felt that much more necessary to spread love and knowledge to those who would one day have to manage this messy and painful world of ours" Also in Zack Love's "Stories and Scripts: an Anthology

My daughter Himani is very simple, sober and fun loving. She is modern with traditional values. Currently working with an MNC based at Delhi. We don’t believe in dowry. Looking for only serious proposals” ये पढ़ते हुए मेरी नज़र “fun loving” पर अटकी और We don’t believe in dowry पढ़कर बहुत ही अच्छा लगा। मैंने “express interest” accept कर लिया । अगले ही मिनट वो बंदी कोने वाले chat box में दिखने लगी ।

Most of the girls I've met since moving here have failed to ignite any modicum of enduring interest. Of course, I've dated; I'm seventeen years old and as horny as the next guy.

My father says you're to steal me away. Is that true?" Her lovely blue eyes flashed with mischief. "Your father said that?" Rubbing the back of his neck, Declan met her eyes. "And what did you say about it?" She dropped her bold gaze. "I told him that nothing so exciting ever happens around here.

Mama has such cleverly timed headaches I wonder if she has any at all.

My name is Patricia Lauren Bordeaux, and I, like my creator before me, am a very lonely vampire.

My Nana Westbrook, true as a saint’s prayer, always used to say the Devil was a woman thought up by the Good Lord Himself to test a man’s mettle and drag him down to Hell if he came up short and, Lordy, I sure as hell kept my granny’s wise words to heart, God rest her soul, never once dipping my stick in a place where it might get snapped.