Sindre Haugsgjerd Quotes & Sayings

If there's another writer, like Ross McDonald or Raymond Chandler, and all they're writing are mysteries, they won't be accepted," he said. "And that's problematic. A lot of so-called literary novels are just not very good. They're not well-written, they're not well-thought-out. They have pyrotechnics of intelligence.
"On the other hand, some of the best writers and speculative ideas are in science-fiction. The science-fiction genre is completely, completely segregated. And these people are writing good stuff. They're writing about where you're going, which means they're talking about where you are. — Walter Mosley

I lost an arm on my last trip home. My left arm. — Octavia E. Butler

When we appear to be "more a loser than a victor" on the Path it is easy to lose sight of the fact that we are growing spiritually. — Tom Payne

I fold back the sheet, get carefully up, on silent bare feet, in my nightgown, go to the window, like a child, I want to see. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow. The sky is clear but hard to make out, because of the searchlight; but yes, in the obscured sky a moon does float, newly, a wishing moon, a sliver of ancient rock, a goddess, a wink. The moon is a stone and the sky is full of deadly hardware, but oh God, how beautiful anyway. I want Luke here so badly. I want to be held and told my name. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. I repeat my former name, remind myself of what I once could do, how others saw me. I — Margaret Atwood

What shepherd feeds his sheep with his own blood? But Christ feeds us with His own Blood and in all things unites us to Himself. — Saint John Chrysostom

Levi opened his smile up completely.
"Oh, put that away," Cath said with distaste. "I don't want you to get charm all over my sister-what if we can't get it out? — Rainbow Rowell

The beauty is in finding, not in what you find ; that is just an excuse. — Rajneesh

Failure is, in a sense, the highway to success ... — John Keats

Every small town has at least one house the children whisper about; the type of house that has always been abandoned; where the once pristine white paint has faded to a grimy gray; where the windows are boarded, and the lawn never grows; where children hold their breath and close their eyes as they pass by. A house that sounds like it contains an army of whispering spirits when the wind whistles through the nearby trees.

In the town of Blackwood, that house could be found on Creep Street. It had stood there as long as he could remember. — The Blood Brothers