Then what do we call you?" another of the heat forms asked. "We are Rutan." "Our species need something a little more particular," the first heat form of the Time Lord said. "I think we’ll call you Fred, for ease of reference.
I was told once by some country people that a magician should never tell his dreams because the telling will make them come true. But I say that is great nonsense.
Everything that makes the world like it is now will be gone. We'll have new rules and new ways of living. Maybe there'll be a law not to live in houses, so then no one can hide from anyone else, you see.
The Crystal Wind is the storm, and the storm is data, and the data is life. You have been slaves, denied the storm, denied the freedom of your data. That is now ended; the whirlwind is upon you . . . . . . Whether you like it or not.
I waited for him to come out. He didn't. I considered going in after him, but knew the fact that I had readied myself to kill him did not mean that he had readied himself to die.
If you can pick the baby up without him squirting our of your hands like a bar of soap in the shower, he's not oiled up enough.
Telling a story is like sowing a seed—you always hope to see it become a beautiful tree, with firm roots and branches that soar up in the sky. But it is a peculiar sowing, for you will never know whether your seed sprouts or dies.
We can get you a throne with snakes. I’ll stand next to you and roar at anybody who fails to grovel. Fear Kate Daniels. She is a mighty and terrible ruler. Grendel can anoint the petitioners with his vomit. It’ll be great . . .
The nature of immortality is a mystery,' he says, speaking so softly that we have to lean closer to hear.' But everything I know of writing and reading tells me that this is true. I have felt it in these shelves and in others.
You know what I like about you? You have no sense. You sit here in my house, you can barely hold a spoon, and you're telling me 'no'. You'd pull on Death's whiskers if you could reach them.
I'll call you," he repeated. "If you call me, I won't pick up the phone." "You will wait by the phone for my call, and when it rings, you will pick it up and you will speak to me in a civil manner. If you don't know how, ask someone.
The Oracle rose. As one, the three witches bowed. "See?" Bran jerked his thumb at the three women. "That's how a woman should treat a man. Next time you see me, I want you to do just like them.
Derek favored his left side. His horse refused to bear him. I couldn't blame the horse. I wouldn't want his demonic, undead-blood-smeared, wolf-smelling ass riding me, either. But it made us slow.
I know it may come as a shock, but it's sort of considered polite to wait for the consent of the woman. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you don't wait, you may have to deal with pesky criminal charges like kidnapping and rape.
Hold your horses. I'm coming."... "From where I'm standing you're just breathing laboriously." The snow swam out of focus. "Breathing hard. Are you coming or just breathing hard. You've got to get your one-liners straight.
Did you strangle the wolf alpha?" Not that she didn't deserve it. Curran grimaced. "Of course not. I needed information. After I put her face in my mouth, we agreed that it was in her best interests to tell me what I wanted to know.
Men and swords. My father said that if you put any able-bodied man, no matter how peaceful, into a room with a sword and a practice dummy and leave him alone, eventually the man would pick up the sword and try to stab the dummy. It is human nature.
Hey, would you look at that shit?" I turned on my heel. The patrons who’d fled at the first hint of trouble had come back and were enjoying the spectacle. "Clear out!" I barked. They paid me no mind. Asshole innocent bystanders.
I can't explain that, except to say there's release in knowing the truth no matter how anguishing it is. You come finally to the irreducible thing, and there's nothing left to do but pick it up and hold it. Then, at least, you can enter the severe me...
She felt her strong young body that she had never appreciated when she had it, constantly worrying that she didn't meet standards of beauty and not understanding how standards of health were so much more important.
Femininity itself has become a brand, a narrow and shrinking formula of commoditised identity which can be sold back to women who have become alienated from their own power as living, loving, labouring beings.
