- tender is the flesh, agustin bazterrica
- "when he stood up and saw her, he didn't feel anything in particular. just another nurse. but then she began to talk and he paid attention. that voice...he saw infinite lights surrounding them and felt that her voice could lift him up. that her voice was a way out of the world." (p. 46-47)
- "he thinks of leo's tiny feet in his hands right after he was born." (p. 83)
- the deep, nick cutter
- "'but if you love someone, you love them in all their states, don't you? sickness and health.'" (p. 25)
- "'but clayton doesn't need me. he doesn't need anyone. he never has.' except for those nights when the sleep terrors descended on him, he thought. the nights when you'd climb into bed with him until he settled down." (p. 58)
- "it happened that very night. luke fell madly in love with abby jeffries. all parts of her, even the parts that remained unknown to him then. in time he'd come to love her chipped canine tooth, her snaggletooth as she called it, which she never bothered to get capped under the belief that a face without flaws was a face lacking character. he loved her habit of squeaking after she sneezed. he loved the way her skin sparkled after sex. he loved everything about her, indiscriminately." (p. 72)
- "a feeling of unreality washed over him. this couldn't be happening. it was like waking up to find out your arm was missing – you went to bed, slept well, and when you woke up, it was gone. there was no pain, no scar. only a smooth expanse of skin over the nub and an empty space where the limb once lay. it was that kind of nightmarish inconceivability he was facing. he couldn't cope with it. luke could live without his arm. both arms. both legs. his tongue and ears and nose. he'd forfeit them all gladly just to have zach back." (p. 117)
- pet sematary, stephen king
- "'ain't moving a bitch?' 'it is,' louis agreed, and then for a time they were silent. the silence was a comfortable one, as if they had known each other for years. this was a feeling about which louis had read in books, but which he had never experienced until now." (p. 15)
- "it was quiet with the sounds of sleep. ellie appeared not to have moved at all, and gage was still in his crib, sleeping in typical gage fashion, spread-eagled on his back, a bottle within easy reach. louis paused there looking in at his son, his heart abruptly filling with a love for the boy so strong that it seemed almost dangerous." (p. 18)
- little heaven, nick cutter
- "he wanted to hold minny's hand while they walked – sometimes she refused, finding it babyish, but cort's bottom lip would tremble as his eyes brimmed behind his thick glasses. he adored his big sister and was hurt when she denied him these small kindnesses. so she would take his hand, which was often sticky and moist the way only small boys' hands can be." (p. 70-71)
- remarkably bright creatures, shelby van pelt
- "a decade older than daphne, aunt jeanne never married or had children of her own. she always called cameron the blessing she never expected to have." (p. 34)
- "humans sometimes say my heart skipped a beat to convey surprise, shock, terror. this confused me at first because my organ heart skips beats, many of them, every time i swim. but when the cleaning woman fell from the stool, i was not swimming. and yet it stuttered. i hope she heals, and not only because of the mess on the glass." (p. 136)
- "the table creaks as the woman lowers herself. cameron rushes over, clasping her elbow and guiding her back to the ground." (p. 173)
- we need to talk about kevin, lionel shriver
- "in fact, now that we're parted i wish i had overcome my own bashfulness and had told you more often how falling in love with you was the most astonishing thing that ever happened to me. not just the falling, either, the trite and finite part, but being in love." (p. 20)
- "but i was yours and i didn't resent it and i wanted you to make that claim: 'eeeeee-VAH!' always the emphasis on the second syllable, and there were some evenings i could hardly answer because my throat had closed with a rising lump. i would have to stop slicing apples for a crumble at the counter because a film had formed over my eyes and the kitchen had gone all liquid and wobbly and if i kept on slicing i would cut myself... i never, ever took you for granted." (p. 21)
- "i often have a nagging sensation of waiting for something. i don't mean that classic business of waiting for your life to begin, like some chump on the starting line who hasn't heard the gun. no, it's waiting for something in particular, for a knock on the door, and the sensation can grow quite insistent. tonight it's returned in force. half an ear cocked, something in me, all night, every night, is waiting for you to come home." (p. 46)
- "i gulped a glass of sauvignon blanc; it tasted like pickle juice. this was wine without you. the moussaka, its dry, dead hulk: this was food without you. our loft, rich with the international booty of baskets and carvings, took on the tacky, cluttered aspect of an import outlet: this was our home without you. objects have never seemed so inert, so pugnaciously incompensatory." (p. 48)
- the troop, nick cutter
- "at least they got to do it together. max and eef were best friends. they'd been so for years informally, but a few months ago they'd cemented it: they'd both notched a shallow cut in their thumbs with ephraim's swiss army knife, pressed them together, and solemnly intoned: forever friends. they were one better than bf's – they were ff's." (p. 37)
- revival, stephen king
- "at first i didn't recognize the distinguished gray-haired man at the living room end of the table, and i certainly didn't know the dark-haired hunk of handsome sitting next to him. then the professor-emeritus type caught sight of me and rose to his feet, his face lighting up, and i realized it was my brother con. 'JAMIE!' he shouted, and buttonhooked around the table, almost knocking annabelle out of her chair. he grabbed me in a bearhug and covered my face with kisses. i laughed and pounded him on the back. then terry was there was well, grabbing both of us, and the three brothers did a kind of clumsy mitzvah tantz, making the floor shake. i saw that con was crying, and i felt a little bit like crying myself." (p. 282)
- "'hi, uncle jamie. here's your grand-niece. she's one tomorrow, and she's getting a new tooth to celebrate.' 'she's beautiful. can i hold her?' dawn smiled shyly at the stranger she'd last seen when she was in braces. 'you can try, but she usually bawls her head off when it's someone she doesn't know.' i took the baby, ready to hand her back the second the yowls started. only they didn't. cara lynne examined me, reached out a hand, and tweaked my nose. then she laughed. my family cheered and applauded. the baby looked around, startled, then looked back at me with what i could have sworn were my mother's eyes. and laughed again." (p. 283-284)
- "every time dawn brought cara lynne near, the little girl held her arms out to me. i ended up toting her around for most of the afternoon, and she finally fell asleep on my shoulder. seeing this, her dad relieved me of my burden. 'i'm amazed,' he said as he laid her on a blanket in the shade of the backyard's biggest tree. 'she never takes to folks like that.' 'i'm flattered,' i said, and kissed the sleeping baby's teething-flushed cheek." (p. 285)
- "i held cara lynne on my lap, feeding her tiny bits of things. when it was time for me to go and i handed her back to dawn, the baby held her arms out to me. 'no, honey,' i said, kissing that incredibly smooth forehead. 'i have to go.' she only had a dozen words or so – one of them was now my name – but i've read that their understanding is much greater, and she knew what i was telling her. the little face wrinkled up, she held her arms out again, and tears filled those blue eyes that were the same shade as my mother's and my dead sister's. 'go quick,' con said, 'or you'll have to adopt her.' so i went. back to my rental car, back to portland jetport, back to denver international, back to nederland. but i kept thinking of those chubby outstretched arms, and those tear-filled morton blue eyes. she was just a year old, but she had wanted me to stay longer. that's how you know you're home, i think, no matter how far you've gone from it or how long you've been in some other place. home is where they want you to stay longer." (p. 293-294)
- just like home, sarah gailey
- "vera's father kisses her goodnight and pulls the covers all the way up to her chin. it's not how she likes to sleep – she prefers her arms on top of the covers – but she likes it when her father tucks her in, and she knows he won't keep doing it for much longer, so she doesn't move until after he's turned off her light and shut her door." (p. 40)
- "vera makes eye contact with her father to try to let him know that of course she isn't upset at him for caring about her, that she can't see why she would ever be upset about that. he gives her the tiny don't-worry half-smile that he saves just for her, for the times when ice starts forming around her mother's words. she collapses into him then, finally dropping her math book, almost knocking her father over. but his arms are strong and he wraps her up tight, and she lets all her fear bleed out through the porch at her feet. 'it's okay, vee,' he whispers into her hair. 'everything's all right.' he does not push her away; he rests his hand on top of her head and lets her cling to him like a younger version of herself would." (p. 90-91)
- "this was a little piece of her father. a little piece of a family that had loved vera. a piece that had cared about her so much that he had to write down, had to put pen to paper and memorialize that his daughter was good. she was good." (p. 109)
- the grip of it, jac jemc
- "i squeeze james's hand and he squeezes back because we have this way of feeling the same about the unexpected, and i know, like me, he is excited about the secret passages, this being one of the places where we are seamed together, just one instance where we twist in the same spot, mirroring each other and meshing at once." (p. 6)
- "months before, julie and i sat in our apartment in the city. we sprawled on the couch. she rested her feet across my lap. i gripped her bare kneecap. i watched a baseball game with the sound turned off. julie read. she shifted her leg away and i startled at the reminder that we'd been touching. we fit together effortlessly." (p. 8)
- "'did you get wasted and fall down again?' she asks, smiling into my hair, knowing i've pulled myself together since college, and i can't help but laugh, because even if connie is not my best friend, she's exactly who i want in this bathroom with me. she's all i've got in this tiny new town and she's still hugging me, but i'm trying to break free to put my shirt back on and she won't let go and it's some kind of joke i don't get, and that's why i love her, because she can make me laugh in a nonsense way." (p. 35-36)
- "'i appoint you head of our landscaping.' 'if you insist,' i say. i think of how i will transform the empty plot of dirt at the back of the yard into a raised vegetable garden. i will ask what julie wants to eat and grow it for her." (p. 39)
- "we are both silent, but his is an assured silence, a silence of faith that says, whatever it is, we'll figure it out, but for now i will care for you." (p. 46)
- the ancestor, danielle trussoni
- "i looked at my husband, happier than i had seen him in years, and i felt a rush of gratitude that we were together. no matter what happened – bad news, good news, tragedy, or good fortune – i could get through it as long as we could talk about it over dinner." (p. 49)
- "'i didn't listen. i loved you anyway, bert. with everything that's happened, i've always loved you anyway.'" (p. 53)
- "i felt a wave of love and gratitude wash over me. even though i had caused him so much trouble, he hadn't forgotten about me. he had been worried. he had called enzo. there was one person in the world who had been looking for me." (p. 160)
- "we sat together, me and aki and ciba, in the warmth of the fire. it was our first meal together, and while i did not understand it fully then, i felt the significance of our meeting deep in my heart: with the three of us together, a perfect configuration had been put in place, a triangle that would form the foundation of my life thereafter." (p. 301)
- "i recognized the jug – its pattern was the same as dolores's china in the salon, the bavarian farm scene with roosters painted in french blue, a gift from vita, like so much else. it was a small thing, but seeing this familiar object, this human object, calmed me. i drank the water, my hands trembling. ciba was clearly worried and gestured for me to drink more. in the face of her kindness i began to cry. ciba squatted down onto the fur, the weight of her stomach ready to topple her. she took my head between her hands and looked at me, her large brown eyes warm and reassuring. she wiped the tears from my cheeks and spoke to me. i didn't know what she said, but her voice was soft, maternal, and while she was younger than me, i was comforted in a way i had not felt since my mother died." (p. 305)
- hell house, richard matheson
- "she looked up, tears brimming in her eyes. 'i'm not asking for forgiveness. just try not to hate me too much. i need you, lionel. i love you. and i don't know what's happening to me.' she could hardly speak now. 'i just don't know what's happening to me.' 'my dear.' despite the pain, barrett sat up and put his arms around her, pressing his cheek to hers. 'it's all right, all right. it will all pass after we've left this house.' he turned his face to kiss her hair. 'i love you, too. but then, you've always known that, haven't you?'" (p. 190)
- shutter island, dennis lehane
- "he tightened the knot in his tie. it was one of those loud floral ties that had been going out of style for about a year, but he wore it because she had given it to him, slipped it over his eyes one birthday as he sat in the living room. pressed her lips to his adam's apple. a warm hand on the side of his cheek. the smell of an orange on her tongue. sliding into his lap, removing the tie, teddy keeping his eyes closed. just to smell her. to imagine her. to create her in his mind and hold her there." (p. 13)
- "chuck smiled in such a way that teddy suspected they were already tuning in to each other's rhythms, learning how to fuck with each other." (p. 17)
- "those eyes, teddy thought. even frozen in time, they howled. you wanted to climb inside the picture and say, 'no, no, no. it's okay, it's okay. sssh.' you wanted to hold her until the shakes stopped, tell her that everything would be all right." (p. 39)
- "teddy wondered, and not for the first time, not by a long shot, if this was the day that missing her would finally be too much for him. if he could turn back the years to that morning of the fire and replace her body with his own, he would. that was a given. that had always been a given. but as the years passed, he missed her more, not less, and his need for her became a cut that would not scar over, would not ever stop leaking. i held her, he wanted to say to chuck and trey and bibby. i held her as bing crosby crooned from the kitchen radio and i could smell her and the apartment on buttonwood and the lake where we stayed that summer and her lips grazed my knuckles. i held her. this world can't give me that. this world can only give me reminders of what i don't have, can never have, didn't have for long enough. we were supposed to grow old together, dolores. have kids. take walks under old trees. i wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into your flesh and know when each and every one of them appeared. die together. not this. not this. i held her, he wanted to say, and if i knew for certain that all it would take to hold her again would be to die, then i couldn't raise the gun to my head fast enough." (p. 80-81)
- "'she died in a fire. i miss her like you... if i was underwater, i wouldn't miss oxygen that much.'" (p. 168)
- "'sometimes,' cawley said quietly, 'i make it a whole three hours without thinking of her. sometimes i go whole weeks without remembering her smell, that look she'd give me when she knew we'd find time to be alone on a given night, her hair – the way she played with it when she was reading. sometimes...' cawley stubbed out his cigarette. 'wherever her soul went – if there was a portal, say, under her body and it opened up as she died and that's where she went? i'd go back to paris tomorrow if i knew that portal would open, and i'd climb in after her.'" (p. 168-169)
- "'dolores,' he said, 'she tossed in her sleep a lot, and her hand, seven times out of ten, i'm not kidding, would flop right into my face. over my mouth and nose. just whack and there it was. i'd remove it, you know? sometimes pretty roughly. i'm having a nice sleep and, bang, now i'm awake. thanks, honey. sometimes, though, i'd leave it there. kiss it, smell it, what have you. breathe her in. if i could have that hand back over my face, doc? i'd sell the world.'" (p. 169)
- "was he suicidal? he supposed he was. he couldn't remember a day since dolores's death when he hadn't thought of joining her, and it sometimes went further than that. sometimes he felt as if continuing to live was an act of cowardice. what was the point of buying groceries, of filling the chrysler tank, of shaving, putting on socks. standing in yet another line, picking a tie, ironing a shirt, washing his face, combing his hair, cashing a check, renewing his license, reading the paper, taking a piss, eating – alone, always alone – going to a movie, buying a record, paying bills, shaving again, washing again, sleeping again, waking up again... if none of it brought him closer to her?" (p. 175-176)
- between two fires, christopher buehlman
- "i'm not carrying anything worth robbing. the girl looked up at him, her hair more gold than flaxen now that it was dry, now that the sun shone on it. yes you are." (p. 33)
- "'how do you know all this?' mother, she wrote, and a smile broke so gently on her face that thomas bit his tongue viciously to keep from weeping for his own." (p. 45)
- "overcome with emotion at her kindness and her plain, handsome face, the girl kissed her hand. the wife stroked her hair. the girl suddenly felt the hurt in the woman, how it mirrored her own hurt. one had lost a daughter, the other a mother. each saw a flicker of the dead one. it was bitter but very sweet and good. annette took her head into her bosom, tentatively at first, but then with great emotion, and cried down into her hair." (p. 125)
jan 1 2024 ∞
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