Some nights, when the wind is up and the power flickers and fails, she tells the child stories, as if this thread of words might be enough to bind them together, to bear them through all that is to come, like a boat, or a leviathan.
The frail old man wakes screaming, tangled in an American flag—the same one that draped the coffin of his slain son, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy, three days after his November 22, 1963, assassination.
Once upon a time there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person . . . That’s me, by the way.
Tina, the receptionist, smiles as the automatic glass doors close behind me. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Sullivan. Lovely weather we’re having.’
There’s a good-looking man standing on the pavement outside the window.
If there's one piece of advice I can give you for your first day at a new school, it's this: avoid sliming your entire classroom.
Bett Quinlan had a weekly ritual. Every Wednesday morning – the day the local newspaper she edited was published – she would walk up one side of the main street of the town of Clare and then down the other.
Atticus Van Tasticus sank deep into his hammock chair as the rhythmic creak and groan of The Grandnan rocked him somewhere near sleep.
The City was built on a sharp mountain that jutted improbably from the sea, and the sea kept trying to claim it back.
A smart man once told me to be careful around gifts, as they’re often more complicated than they first appear.
You have to wonder what goes through the mind of a man like Micah Mortimer.
This incredible story was related by Lance Corporal Sidney Reed, who was a prisoner of the Nazis during the Second World War at Lamsdorf, Stalag VIIIB / 344, in Poland, and at the labour camp E166 at Saubsdorf quarry, Czechoslovakia.
– a whirling mass of vapors is unhinged, shooting through outer space for an infinity until it collides with an ellipsis which does not let go, and after another infinity, the vapors boil into fire clouds...
Death? Seen him. Loads of times. Average height. Brownish hair. Couldn’t tell you what colour his eyes are but I can tell you he’s nothing special to look at.
I have told Eileen to get rid of all the mirrors. I used to like them but I certainly don’t now. Mirrors are too honest. There is only so much truth a woman can take.
When I close my eyes we’re all still alive and it becomes obvious then what the gods want from us.
