Where my people at?

...it's well written because you're just born a writer - you feel words, you've a perfect ear for balance, and a very good all-round knowledge of English.

Brockett could compress quite a lot of emotion into an incredibly short space of time...

That was the worst of Jonathan Brockett, he could make you laugh in spite of yourself - when you most disapproved you found yourself laughing.

...his eyes as soft as an Irish morning, and his courage as bright as an Irish sunrise, and his heart as young as the wild, eternally young heart of Ireland.

The discouragement common to all fine writers was upon her, she was hating what she had written.

For surely thus only are fine books written, they must somehow partake of the miracle of blood - the strange and terrible miracle of blood, the giver of life, the purifier, the great final expiation.

Yet as everything comes as grist to the mill of those who are destined from birth to be writers...

...never must human beings be allowed to suspect that a creature fears them. The fear of the one is a spur to the many, for the primitive hunting instinct dies hard - it is better to face a hostile world that to turn one's back for a moment.

Like an ageing and anxious vestal virgin she tended the holy fire of inspiration, feeding the flame with suitable food - good grilled meat, light puddings and much fresh fruit, varied by little painstaking surprises...

Her complexion... had lost the look of wind and sunshine - the open air look...

...the eyes themselves were the eyes of a writer, always a little tired in expression.

...they were city trees, which are always somewhat disheartened.

I'm not crazy about reality, but it's still the only place to get a decent meal.

Overall, she seemed to be going for a sort of mid-'80s postapocalyptic cyberpunk girl-next-door look. And it was working for me, in a big way. In a word: hot.

Angry's one list... Jealous is another. Then there's the biggest list of all... The crazy list... Not to mention the all-of-the-aboves.

I have inside me the winds, the deserts, the oceans, the stars, and everything created in the universe. We were all made by the same hand, and we have the same soul.