#tories

During an especially noisy elementary school assembly I witnessed a common marvel.  Someone spoke,"Once upon a time..." into the mic, and the room hushed.  Such magic never ceases to amaze me. ↗

— Richelle E. Goodrich

#magic #marvels #richelle #richelle-goodrich #stories

You know why love stories have happy endings?” I shake my head. “Because they end too early,” she continues. “They always end right at the kiss. You never have to see all the bullshit that comes later. You know, Life. ↗

— Hank Moody

#life #love-stories #life

I wish I’d paid better attention. I didn’t yet think of time as finite. I didn’t fully appreciate the stories she told me until I became adult, and by then I had to make do with snippets pasted together, a film projected on the back of my mind. ↗

— Jessica Maria Tuccelli

#oral-tradition #stories #time #death

Seth: "I write of love in my novels, write of it well, if my critics and fans are to be believed, but in all of my years at that typewriter, I never found the combination of words that would convey how I felt about you. You were my everything. ↗

— Lissa Bryan

#haunted #hostwriter #paranormal-romance #romance-novels #love

He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true. ↗

— Jake Christie

#love

The sea was my first home...Now that I had nowhere else to go, this was the last place I felt safe. ↗

— Jennifer Silverwood

#mythology-fiction #paranormal-romance #romance-love #sea-stories #love

Stories come alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth. Or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet, yearning for an instrument to bring their muasic into being. They lay dormant, hoping for the chance to emerge. Once someone started to read them, they could begin to change. They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read. They needed it. It was the reason they forced themselves from their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life. ↗

— John Connolly

#change

But no one may know the shape of the tale in which they move. And, perhaps, we do not truly know which sort of beast it is, either. Stories have a way of changing faces. They are unruly things, undisciplined, given to delinquency and the throwing of erasers. This is why we must close them up into thick, solid books, so they cannot get out and cause trouble. ↗

— Catherynne M. Valente

#stories #trouble #change

...writing stories was always a bit like falling in love with a stranger and running off to Marrakech for a long weekend. It didn't have to be successful to be thrilling. ↗

— Ann Patchett

#short-stories #writing #love

If she would just let herself go I would be there to catch her if she fell but she wasn't ready to take that step yet." Ethan Sterling in Private Emotions ↗

— Elize Amornette

#books-romance #elize-amornette #elize-amornette-author #love-story #private-emotions-trilogy