#Fiction

"His right ear still held both studs, and I wondered who had the missing earring. I would have asked, but was afraid he’d tell me Ivy had it."

"Come on, it’s an American tradition. Apple soup? Mom’s homemade chicken pie?' She chuckled in spite of herself, then winced. 'It’s apple pie and Mom’s homemade chicken soup. But you didn’t do badly, for a start."

"There is only one genre in fiction, the genre is called book."

"No. No, I don't believe you'd betray me with her. I don't believe you'd cheat on me. But I'm afraid, and I'm sick in my heart that you might look at her, then at me. And regret."

"Fiction should be a place of lollipops and escape. Real life is depressing enough--I, for one, don't want to read about make believe misery, too."

"Jenks enthusiastically leaned against the counter and opened the box. Bypassing the plastic knife, he broke off about a third of it and took a huge bite. Ivy watched, appalled, and I shrugged. His mouth moving as he hummed, Jenks finished unpacking the sacks. I was half dead, Ivy was whoring herself to keep me safe, but Jenks was okay as long as he had chocolate."

"How do I know what I think until I see what I say?"

"Perhaps it is our obligation to be noble before it is our obligation to be happy."

"The trouble with fiction,"said John Rivers, "is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense."

"Do you think we can be friends?” I asked.He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend."

"As a fiction writer, let me make it up, and let me make it up to you. I’ll pen our love story, if you’ll be my co-author."

"I do not pretend to be able to prove that there is no God. I equally cannot prove that Satan is a fiction. The Christian god may exist; so may the gods of Olympus, or of ancient Egypt, or of Babylon. But no one of these hypotheses is more probable than any other: they lie outside the region of even probable knowledge, and therefore there is no reason to consider any of them."

"Do you know what we call opinion in the absence of evidence? We call it prejudice."

"I dodged behind Mac for cover and refused to take the bait. I glanced at my nonexistent watch. 'Oops, look at the time. Guess I have to be going now. Let's not do this again sometime, okay?'Before I could move, Pritkin was there, jamming the medallion into the skin of my upper arm.'Ow!'He looked at me expectantly. I glared at him. 'That hurt!'What do you see?'A big red mark,"

"He’d used the amulet to read my thoughts again. I pictured smacking him in the face."

"She took refuge on the firm ground of fiction, through which indeed there curled the blue river of truth."

"A woman's got one life: She's got to reach out and grab it with both hands, or it'll pass her by and leave nothing but a smelly old fart in her face."

"That's what fiction is for. It's for getting at the truth when the truth isn't sufficient for the truth."

"This isn't the road home. This is a road littered with questions that will inevitably lead to an answer."

"This is your life – not your parents’, teachers’ or significant other’s. If you ever find yourself on a path that just doesn’t feel safe anymore, you have every right to stop the car, get out – change your shoes and start walking."