And I say: "Sweetheart, you gave up your voice for him. That was bound to go badly. Now, how do you want to proceed?" Because there's a choice. There's always a choice. Who do you want to be? You can break this tale, once you've got a sightline on it. That's why they come to me. Because I can open up my files and tell them who they are.
You can turn around in the dark, with the man who wants your heart looming so big, so big over you, and you can give it to him, so bright and red and pure that it destroys him.
Getting what you want has that effect, more often than you think. But that's a dangerous move, the intimate exchange of hearts in the shadows, and sometimes the man in the dark walks off with everything anyway.
If you could narrate yourself I'd be out of a job. I need them to tell me who I am. If I'm a savior in their story, or a devil. If I'm a helpful gude, or temptation in a trenchcoat. No one's ever guessed my name and I fall for them because that's the drill, but losing them is part of the denouement, and I know that better than anyone. It'll make you hard, this bussiness. Hard as glass.
I tell them: you don't have to lie still and wait for someone to tell you how to live.
I tell them: everyone starts out young and brave. It's what you do with that that matters.
Have a drink - it's cheap and sour but it does the job. Much like myself.
He tasted like stolen sunshine.
When Coyote danced in the endzone he looked like everything you ever wanted. Every son, every boyfriend.
He gave us all permission, that was his thing. Cheat, fuck, drink, dance - just do it like you mean it.
I watched. I'm always watching. Who doesn't like to watch? It feels like being God, seeing everything happen far away, and you could stop it if you wanted, but then you couldn't watch anymore.
You could see her whole perfect life rolling on ahead of her like a yellow brick road but you knew she'd include you, if you wanted. If you stuck around this town like she meant to, and let her rule it like she aimed to.
He ran like if he kept running he could escape the last thousand years.
Doesn't this feel like the end of everything and we have to get it while we can?
They would love her abjectly, for no other manner of loving had worth.
It made her feel like her old self again, and who among us can resist a feeling like that? Not many, and a demon hasn't even got a human's meager talent for resisting temptation.
"Are you really a witch?"
"No," said the demon. "A witch is just a girl who knows her mind."
The earth answers when I call it by name. I know its name because we are family.
But still, if it's not working right, that still mean it works, right?
It don't run without desire, kid. Nothing does.
And a life is only so long. It should be spent in as much peace and good eating and good reading as possible and no undue excitement.
Temptation likes best those who think they have a natural immunity, for it may laugh all the harder when they succumb.
A Fairy musy make her own way in the world, for the world will never make way for her.
When you've lost your girl, it doesn't matter where you live. Everywhere is just The Place She Isn't, and that's the front and back of it.
One is always homesick for places where one came to grief.
We can be cruel, if it fun to be cruel, but we are never callous. Never unfeeling.
If there is a crystal dish on the table, a minotaur will seize it up and crush it to pieces in her teeth, weeping all the while, helpless to stop herself. It is her nature.
Now you may call me a coward and I'll have to wear that, but I'm a coward who lived, and that's worth a drink.
He fed Florida to her alligator friends piece by piece. They cried, but they ate her anyway.
The rules look stupid on purpose. That's how folklore works, on a fool's own engine.
It's not that he can't fight, he just doesn't care. Doesn't like the world enough to care.
I love nothing. I wish to break everything.
Contrary to what you may have heard it is possible to sate a trickster. It only takes the whole world.
The world is what it is. And the world likes to gawk.
The problem is they live forever and they can't have kids. That's it, right there. That's the problem. They don't play nice with the American dream. They won't do the monkey-dance. They don't care about what kind of car they drive. They don't care about what's on TV they know for damn sure they're not on TV, so why bother.
She winces as though red could hurt her - which of course it could. Everything could.
She could cut glass with the diamond of her mind.
"If you didn't think you could make it, you'd just kill yourself as soon as you could read the newspaper."
"Well, I would."
Her voice was very soft in the morning, as if she was afraid to wake herself up.
So you don't love him. Why would you look for love with a man? How could a man even understand you? He who gets the cake cannot be friends with the girl who gets the crumbs.
Someday, my girl, either we will all die out and nothing will be left, or things will go back to the old ways and you will have men taking your body and soul apart to label the parts that belong to them. Enjoy this world. Either way, it will be brief.
I will study so hard, so that I know how to please. It will be my only vocation, to be devoted. And if they, the women of Elm Street or Oak Lane or Birch Drive find love with each other when I am gone, I will be happy for them because there is never enough love.
This is a cypher, but everything is a cypher. Everything can be substituted for something else.
Hands in every part of the city, able to seize anything and anyone, hands around every heart, not squeezing yet, but soon.
No one else in the city looks like her. I have seen old pictures of tigers and none are that color. She is a dream we all have at the same time.
When you pass by, the crackle of snow like electricity will raise the hairs on your skin. You will feel awake, as we do. On the verge of something forever.
The wolves have eaten people. Why be coy about it? Not a lot of people. But it's happened. As near as anyone can figure, the first one they ate was a Russian girl named Yelena. They surrounded her and she stood very still, so as not to startle them. Finally, she said: "I'm lonely," because it's weird but you tell the wolves things, sometimes. You can't help it, all these old wounds come open and suddenly you're confessing to a wolf who never says anything back. She said: "I'm lonely," and they ate her in the street.
I keep wondering why. I asked my uncle and he said: son, sometimes you have the world be itself. I asked my mom and she said: Ruben, sometimes I think everything is broken and that's its natural state.
I am enfolded by feathers the color of remembering.
Margaret danced in bare feet, her hair flying, her frothy violet skirt spinning, while Volgnir watched her in a rapture of devotion. She reached out for him, her lover, her world, and he stepped into the circle of light and music.
She twirled me around the grassy lawn, her smell already like snow and distant black pines. Her shoulder was hard and slippery under my hand. It's all right, she laughed. It doesn't hurt. And he's been melting for motnhs. We'll meet halfway.
Full-time cowboy employment is a lot like being a poet. It's a lot of time spent on your lonesome in the dark and most folks don't rightly know what it is you do, but they're sure as shot they could manage it.
The list isn't about naughty and nice. If you think about it, coal is a very useful present. Santa Claus isn't a monster. You can burn that coal and stay warm in the winter. Just because it is black and grimy and it isn't a fantastical electronic intelligent machine with a kung-fu grip and a pre-installed game suite doesn't mean it's not beautiful and warm and formed over millennia in the heart of the earth and very occasionally the difference between life and death. The list is about whether or not you need to figure out the lesson of the coal.
Santa Claus does not judge wishes. He only wants you to be happy. He can't do everything - he is only a construct, not a constant. But he tries his very best to be good at his job, and every year, the sun grows a little stronger after he has passed through the world.
As ever, she felt as though she could never be big enough for even one of the stories that stormed inside her. It would drown her entirely and or burn her up from within and leave no part of her behind.
"But the Young Men are not souls, they are not alive!"
"But you gave them stories and histories, names and marriages. You loved them and gave them breath."
Sleeping with someone famous is strange. It's like sleeping with a person, and also sleeping with a mirror showing that person as everyone else sees them.
You want to make it an instruction. A morality play. But you shouldn't do things like that, if you love someone. It's theft.
The truth is, I loved the Incredible Hulk with a brighter, purer love. I, too, wanted to turn so green and big no one could hurt me. I wanted to get that angry. But when the time came to bust out of my Easter dress and roar I just cried hoping that the villains I knew would melt out of shame.
Hotels are unnatural, he said. Nature is offended by them.
I will lose the Elefsis I am now. It is a good Elefsis. My best yet. I would like to keep it.
Humanity lived many years and ruled the earth, sometimes wisely, sometimes well, but mostly neither.
She was saying: Respect me. Be proud and, if you love me, a little afraid, because love so often looks like fear. We are alike. We are alike.
The little monkey copies the big monkey, and the little monkey survived. We are all family, all the way down.
This is why I don't get to be a unicorn. Those ponies have clotted cream and Chanel No. 5 for blood and they don't burn up like comets with love that tastes like starving to death.
Aceste citate sunt în mare pentru propria mea plăcere, să știu că le am pe toate la un loc. Oricum, cartea nu va avea o recenzie (pentru că nu știu de unde să apuc o colecție de povestiri scurte și poezii), dar este probabil preferata mea de anul acesta, printre atâtea preferate.
Povestirile mele preferate au fost: White Lines on a Green Field, In the Future When All's Well, The Wedding.