Lies can be expensive to maintain, Alexa. And I’m sure we haven’t seen one percent of the price that the lies in this case ultimately will exact.
I had a funny feeling as I saw the house disappear, as though I had written a poem and it was very good and I had lost it and would never remember it again.
If you would feel comfortable going around to someone's house at the end of a long day saying, "I'm just going to take my bra off," you know you are intimate friends.
I want to read so I can read the Koran read the signs in the street know the number of the bus I'm supposed to take when I one day leave this house.
Before they knew it, Ormsby Island would become a paranormal attraction like Waverly Hills or Houghton Mansion or the Whaley House. The place would be crawling with people anxious to catch a ghost on camera or audio.
The air in the room was so cold, the exposed flesh of his face felt like ice. "I'll be the first person to get frostbite in a house sleeping several feet from a roaring fire.
Don't leave a piece of jewelry at his house so you can go back and get it later; he may be with his real girlfriend.
Of course, English is a very powerful language, a colonizer's language and a gift to a writer. English has destroyed and sucked up the languages of other cultures - its cruelty is its vitality.
The spirits of the dead are not among us to entertain us... Assuming the revenants you encounter have simply signed up to play haunted house for the amusement of the living is just plain ignorant.
I've noticed that houses take on the personality of the people who live in them. I'm not sure how it happens, but they become alive in some way, as if they have their own spirit.
You know, some things don't matter that much...Like the color of a house. How big is that in the overall scheme of life? But lifting a person's heart - now, matters.
Even after she was gone, he passed her place each day: something white in a high window - not a face, but the white belly of a pigeon beating its wings against the pane in the boarded-up house.
May Allah bless you." Or had she said: "May Allah burn you?" He was not sure which: the two Arabic words sounded so much alike.
Fictions are merely frozen dreams, linked images with some semblance of structure. They are not to be trusted, no more than the people who create them.
Once in a while, I smell Clive on my skin and it stops my day. It's a train crossing; I wait to pass. Eventually the lights stop flashing, the barriers lift. I keep moving.
That was one of the troubles with the Istiqlal, with all politics: you talked about people as though they were not really people, as though they were only things, numbers, animals, perhaps, but not really people.
Not all the ravages caused by our merciless age are tangible ones. The subtler forms of destruction, those involving only the human spirit, are the most to be dreaded.
Everything people forget about ends up there one day, they said. Toys, tables, whole houses. And people end up there too. They get forgotten as well.
Easy, man." He slowly turned and his dark eyes narrowed. "Don't mess up your house. Or my face. You like us both. We'll deal with how to handle this as soon as you calm down.
It's been six months since she died. But Ove still inspects the whole house twice a day to feel the radiators and check that she hasn't sneakily turned up the heating.
Sometimes you can lock the doors and close the blinds, but the monsters are still there inside your house, sleeping and breathing and just waiting to wake up and terrorize you all over again.
