There was a muffled pop, the sound of a small pumpkin exploding in a microwave oven.
That’s super. I like you, Lloyd. You were always the best of them. Best damned barkeep between Barre and Portland, Maine. Portland, Oregon, for that matter.
Old trees want to hurt you. It doesn’t matter if you’re snowshoeing, cross-country skiing, or just taking a walk in the woods. Old trees want to hurt you, and I think they’d kill you if they could.
In a place that promised alchemy but dealt more in perfume than potion, was it any wonder that wonder had run out?
Nor was that strange; everyone knows that, for such an unforgiving thing, time is uniquely malleable.
There was a big old St. Bernard went rabid downstate a couple of years ago and killed four people.
Consider this only pointless ritual if it eases you and cools you to do so. Like church.
Books can be objects of great value. That value is created in different ways. Sometimes just the author’s signature is enough to do it. Sometimes – as in this case – it’s a misprint. Sometimes it’s a first print-run – a first edition – that’s extremely small.
Probably not true, but remember this: someone really did design the Titanic and then label it unsinkable. For.
For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness?
On the subject of Carrie White, we’re all relatively uninformed.
My own favorite Bierce bon mot: “War is God’s way of teaching Americans geography.
The devil can quote scripture.
Off to California in that tired old VW with the disintegrating fuel pump like a family of dustbowl Okies?
Those aren’t doors, and they’re not opening. Those are crypts, Richie. They’re cracking open and the vampires you thought were dead are all flying out again.
He put a bullet through the forehead of the starving idiot face.
And when It woke It would call them back, yes, back, because fear was fertile, its child was rage, and rage cried for revenge.
Human nature has no bottom. It is as deep and mysterious as the mind of God.
There was a grove of cottonwoods clustered around an old water pump. Their leaves danced and rustled, their shadows racing along across the ground in the moonlight.
Go to church and listen to your stories about Jesus walking on water, but if I saw a guy doing that I’d scream and scream and scream. Because it wouldn’t look like a miracle to me. It would look like an offense.