They all seemed hungry, happy, and healthy enough in their buzzing–oh the days were hot, and the noise of bees filled the air that was dusty with pollen and sun haze, and there were tiny black flies stuck to one another crowded by the creek and a creek stink rising from the deep pool under the willow tree where a wheat sack of new kittens had been drowned, and their tiny terrible struggling had shot like an electric current through the confusion of muddy water and up the arm of the person who had tied the stone around the mouth of the sack and thrust it into the water; and the culprit had not been able to brush away the current; it penetrated her body and made her heart beat with fear and pity. I was the culprit. Janet Frame
Some Similar Quotes
  1. And there is my payment the rubies in your cheeks. Are you properly scandalized by your wicked behavior? If you were Catholic, you'd singe the ears of the priest you confessed to. Do you remember making me swear to repeat all those naughty actions agian,... - Jeaniene Frost
  2. He f**ks even better than he looks”, I settled on saying. Several heads turned. I didn’t care; I was pissed. “And that beautiful face is going to be clamped between my legs as soon as we get home, don’t you worry. - Jeaniene Frost
  3. You're not a woman, " he said finally. "You're the Grim Reaper with red hair! - Jeaniene Frost
  4. Bones has always been smart, " I muttered. "His intelligence was just camouflaged under a mountain of p**sy." Cat - Jeaniene Frost
  5. Don't care for her tongue, do you? How strange. I find it one of my favorite parts. Bones to Gregor - Jeaniene Frost
More Quotes By Janet Frame
  1. So we went to bed, assaulted by sleep that fumed at us from medicine glasses, or was wielded from small sweet-coated tablets -- dainty bricks of dream wrapped in the silk stockings of oblivion.
  2. Writing a novel is not merely going on a shopping expedition across the border to an unreal land: it is hours and years spent in the factories, the streets, the cathedrals of the imagination.
  3. All writers--all beings--are exiles as a matter of course. The certainty about living is that it is a succession of expulsions of whatever carries the life force... All writers are exiles wherever they live and their work is a lifelong journey towards the lost land..
  4. ...there must be an inviolate place where the choices and decisions, however imperfect, are the writer's own, where the decision must be as individual and solitary as birth or death.
  5. Timmy, who made a daring escape, also made a mistake of paying the taxi driver with a check made out of toilet paper.
Related Topics