#detect

There is no mystery to happiness. Unhappy men are all alike. Some wound they suffered long ago, some wish denied, some blow to pride, some kindling spark of love put out by scorn -- or worse, indifference -- cleaves to them, or they to it, and so they live each day within a shroud of yesterdays. The happy man dies not look back. He doesn't look ahead. He lives in the present. ↗

— Jed Rubenfeld

#detective-stories #love

It's been a while since I've had sex. I figured it was just like riding a bike, the only difference is that after a while, the bike doesn't turn you over and ride you. ↗

— Beatrice Stark Girl Detective

#beatrice-stark #bike #bikes #detective #girl

Nick laughed and pet the Wangdoodle on the head. “Esperto, you silly boy,” he said to the Wangdoodle. “Usually, Esperto only transforms when I’m in danger,” Nick said to Elphaba. “But whenever he’s around Dymons, he loves to play along. Their transformations are to Esperto what a ball of yarn is to a kitten.” Esperto gave out a strange squeaking growl, which Elphaba figured was the Wangdoodle version of a purr. “What the hell is a Wangdoodle?” Elphaba whispered. “I haven’t a clue,” Nick laughed. ↗

— Abramelin Keldor

#paranormal #love

The dentist swiveled on his heels and disappeared, leaving me there to massage my jaw back into feeling after its brief, masochistic marriage to the top of my wooden desk. ↗

— Jonathan Lethem

#sci-fi #marriage

It is a pity he did not write in pencil. As you have no doubt frequently observed, the impression usually goes through -- a fact which has dissolved many a happy marriage. ↗

— Arthur Conan Doyle

#divorce #evidence #infidelity #marriage #pencils

We would never call inexplicable little insights 'hunches,' for fear of drawing the universe's attention. But they happened, and you knew you had been in the proximity of one that had come through if you saw a detective kiss his or her fingers and touch his or her chest where a pendant to Warsha, patron saint of inexplicable inspirations, would, theoretically, hang. ↗

— China Miéville

#hunches #inspiration #saints #inspirational

Shouldering the duffel bag with the Marine Corps bulldog, Old Man knocked Jan's photo off the bed table. He turned to stone staring down at the photo. His face then splintered into hurt. Tears seeped into his eyes. He grappled for the nearest bedpost and slumped forward on extended arms. His shoulders jerked and head sagged a little while his heart broke. Old Man cried the mute cry of men of his generation. ↗

— Ed Lynskey

#noir #private-detective #suspense #thriller #men

There were men in their fifties, men who take a stab at fitness, men who try. They may not look young, but they still look viable. Lammers wasn't one of those. Lammers was one of those crack-in-the-ass guys ten months pregnant with a beer baby. ↗

— Lily Gardner

#female-detective #mystery #noir-fiction #men

CONCERNED BUT NOT CONSUMED! ↗

— Ron Sanders

#christ #christian #christian-living #detective #fruits-of-the-spirit

What description of clouds and sunsets was to the old novelist, description of scientific apparatus and methods is to the modern Scientific Detective writer. ↗

— Hugo Gernsback

#clouds #description #detective #methods #modern