Explore a collection of the most beloved and motivational quotes and sayings about Plottens. Share these powerful messages with your loved ones on social media platforms such as Facebook, Twitter, or on your personal blog, and inspire the world with their wisdom. We've compiled the Top 100 Plottens Quotes and Sayings from 95 influential authors, including Charles Yu,Ivy Compton-Burnett,Kim Van Alkemade,J.k. Rowling,William Shakespeare, for you to enjoy and share.

Look at that," he said. "How the ink bleeds." He loved the way it looked, to write on a thick pillow of the pad, the way the thicker width of paper underneath was softer and allowed for a more cushiony interface between pen and surface, which meant more time the two would be in contact for any given point, allowing the fiber of the paper to pull, through capillary action, more ink from the pen, more ink, which meant more evenness of ink, a thicker, more even line, a line with character, with solidity. The pad, all those ninety-nine sheets underneath him, the hundred, the even number, ten to the second power, the exponent, the clean block of planes, the space-time, really, represented by that pad, all of the possible drawings, graphs, curves, relationships, all of the answers, questions, mysteries, all of the problems solvable in that space, in those sheets, in those squares. By Charles Yu Ink Pad Meant Underneath Thicker

As regards plots I find real life no help at all. Real life seems to have no plots. By Ivy Compton-Burnett Real Life Plots Find

He walked across the room and flicked a switch. A spotlight turned on, illuminating a laminated poster of a woman on his wall. He took a crayon from his pocket and began drawing on it. I could see smudges from past demonstrations. [. . .] His dashed lines crisscrossed the woman's chest as if he were planning a military maneuver on undulating terrain. By Kim Van Alkemade Switch Walked Room Flicked Woman

Bubotubers," Professor Sprout told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus - ""The what?" said Seamus Finnigan, sounding revolted."Pus, Finnigan, pus," said Professor Sprout. By J.k. Rowling Bubotubers Professor Sprout Pus Finnigan

BOYETA mark! O, mark but that mark! A mark, says my lady!Let the mark have a prick in't, to mete at, if it may be.MARIAWide o' the bow hand! i' faith, your hand is out.COSTARDIndeed, a' must shoot nearer, or he'll ne'er hit the clout.BOYETAn if my hand be out, then belike your hand is in.COSTARDThen will she get the upshoot by cleaving the pin.MARIACome, come, you talk greasily; your lips grow foul.COSTARDShe's too hard for you at pricks, sir: challenge her to bowl.BOYETI fear too much rubbing. Good night, my good owl.Exeunt BOYET and MARIA By William Shakespeare Boyeta Mark Hand Good Maria

I detest the word plot. I never, never think of plot. I think only and solely of character. Give me the characters; I'll tell you a story-maybe a thousand stories. The interaction between and among human beings is the only story worth telling. By Stirling Silliphant Plot Detest Word Character Characters

When I first met my husband, he was sculpting Vilnius out of clay - a sort of Vilnius, anyhow: a map of an imaginary European city based on the Lithuanian capital - to illustrate his second novel. By Elizabeth Mccracken Vilnius European Lithuanian Husband Clay

meinstein n. My son, the genius. By Steven Pinker Meinstein Son Genius

Ludwik Szatera was a passionate lover of nostalgia. He could never come to terms with the eternal passage of men, objects and events. Each moment inexorably turning into the past was to him precious, invaluable, and he witnessed its passing with a sense of inexpressible regret. By Stefan Grabinski Szatera Ludwik Nostalgia Passionate Lover

The plot thickens ... I didn't even know we had a plot on this trip. By Thea Harrison Thickens Plot Trip

Kaz had been impressed with the sketches. "You think like a lockpick," he'd told Wylan. "I do not." "I mean you can see space along three axes." "I'm not a criminal," Wylan protested. Kaz had cast him an almost pitying look. "No, you're a flautist who fell in with bad company. By Leigh Bardugo Sketches Kaz Wylan Impressed Lockpick

Storytelling is as natural as breathing; plotting is the literary version of artificial respiration. By Stephen King Storytelling Breathing Plotting Respiration Natural

Life plots elegantly. By Alice Randall Life Elegantly Plots

It is as if the stuff of which we are made were totally transparent and therefore imperceptible and as if the only appearances of which we can be aware are cracks and planes of fracture in that transparent matrix. Dreams and percepts and stories are perhaps cracks and irregularities in the uniform and timeless matrix. Was this what Plotinus meant by an 'invisible and unchanging beauty which pervades all things'? By Gregory Bateson Transparent Matrix Cracks Stuff Made

Regular maps have few surprises: their contour lines reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear. More precious, though, are the unpublished maps we make ourselves, of our city, our place, our daily world, our life; those maps of our private world we use every day; here I was happy, in that place I left my coat behind after a party, that is where I met my love; I cried there once, I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner once I saw the hills of Fife across the Forth, things of that sort, our personal memories, that make the private tapestry of our lives. By Alexander Mccall Smith Andes Maps Regular Surprises Clear

So you vampires living forever," I said. "You must need lot of hobbies to keep from going completely mad. My grandma swears by knitting. Do you knit, Francis?""I do not," said Francis."Ah," I said. "Do you crochet?" This time he didn't bother to answer. By Justine Larbalestier Forever Vampires Living Francis Francis

The plot thickens. By Arthur Conan Doyle Thickens Plot

We found a table. Nora said: "She's pretty.""If you like them like that."She grinned at me. "You got types?""Only you, darling - lanky brunettes with wicked jaws.""And how about the red-head you wandered off with at Quinns' last night?""That's silly," I said. "She just wanted to show me some French etchings. By Dashiell Hammett Table Found Darling Quinns Nora

Grand Duchess Marie pronounced knitting a wonderful escape from life's problems: 'When the needles slip through the fingers, your imagination takes flight.' - new york times, may 12, 1936 By Barbara Levine Duchess Marie Grand Problems Fingers

We are type designers, punch cutters, wood cutters, type founders, compositors, printers, and book binders from conviction and with passion, not because we are insufficiently talented for other higher things, but because for us the highest things stand in close kinship to those ends By Rudolph Koch Compositors Printers Cutters Designers Punch

The quill swirled and lunged over the page, in a slow but relentless three steps forward, two steps back sort of process and finally came to a full stop in a tiny pool of its own ink. Then, Louis Phelypeaux, First Compte de Pontchartrain, raised the nib, let it hover for an instant, as if gathering his forces, and hurled it backwards along the sentence, tiptoeing over "i's" and slashing through "t's" and "x's" nearly tripping over an umlaut, building speed and confidence while veering through a slalom course of acute and grave accents, pirouetting through cedillas and carving vicious snap-turns through circumflexes. It was like watching the world's greatest fencing master dispatch twenty opponents with a single continuous series of maneuvers. By Neal Stephenson Steps Page Forward Ink Quill

I've been under a lot of stress lately." "You know what I do when I got stress?" Lula said. "I go shoe shopping." "I knit," Connie said. "Get out!" Lula said. "I never knew you knit stuff." "I don't knit stuff," Connie said. "I just knit. By Janet Evanovich Knit Connie Stress Lula Lot

The castled crag of Drachenfels, Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine. By Lord Byron Drachenfels Frowns Rhine Vine Trees

Brian closed the condition book, pressed his fingers to his tired eyes. Like Paddy, he wasn't quite sure he trusted the computer, but he was willing to fiddle with it a bit. Three times a week he spent an hour trying to figure the damn thing out ith the notion that eventually he could use it to generate his charts. Graphics, they called it, he thought, shifting to give the machine a suspicious glare.Timesaving and efficient, if you believed all the hype. Well,tonight he was to damn tired to spend an hour trying to be timesaving and efficient.He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a week. Which had nothing to do with his job, he admitted. And everything to do with his boss's daughter. By Nora Roberts Brian Book Pressed Eyes Closed

Semmelweis reflex. They By Peter Watts Semmelweis Reflex

You have wavered uncertainly between two systems, between drawing and coloring, between the painstaking phlegm, the stiff precision, of the old German masters, and the dazzling ardor, the happy fertility, of the Italian painters. By Honore De Balzac German Italian Systems Coloring Phlegm

From all we have said about plotting in general it should be evident that even in those modern plots in which events happen by laws not immediately visible, as when, for instance, the tattooed man in the circus reveals in the course of a whimsical conversation that he has on his chest a tattoo of the little girl now looking at him, a child he has never before seen, or as when, in Isak Dinesen, a decorous old nun turns abruptly into a monkeythere must be some rational or poetically persuasive basis. By John Gardner Dinesen Isak Visible Instance Basis

I always think plot is what you fall back on if you can't write, to keep things going. By Meg Rosoff Write Plot Fall Back Things

Oh, it's called, em ... ' Kate thinks, 'I can't remember what it's called.''You're the same as me,' Dad says to her. 'You've got CRAFT too.''What's that?''Can't. Remember. A. Fuc- By Cecelia Ahern Called Kate Dad Remember Fuc

Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I used to take a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myself in sketching fancy vignettes representing any scene that happened momentarily to shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of imagination: a glimpse of sea between two rock; the rising moon, and a ship crossing its disc; a group of reeds and water-flags, and a naiad's head, crowned with lotus-flowers, rising out of them; an elf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest, under a wreath of hawthorn bloom. By Charlotte Bronte Rising Provided Pencils Paper Window

Fellow of No Delicacy XIV. The Honest Tradesman XV. Knitting XVI. By Charles Dickens Xiv Delicacy Fellow Xvi Honest

How did society ever function without you, little Sharpies? Your nibs have the precise amount of give to create a line quality with character, yet not so much character as to be smushy. Thank you, little pens. By Douglas Coupland Sharpies Society Function Character Smushy

In the front room, a two-story flutter, love notes from the German Frau's first marriage barely tethered to a structure so it shifted in the wind, one tiny home movie projected on each. A sculpture of marriage, marriage come alive. Lancelot felt tears start to his eyes. It was so exactly right. The Germans saw the gleam, and both of them--like budgerigars on their perch--sidled up and hugged Lancelot around the waist. By Lauren Groff Frau Marriage Room Flutter Love

The captain was amusing. He said that he himself couldn't draw and proved his words by drawing his own house for his prisoner to see. It was just such a house as the babies drew in the kindergarten: a square box with four square windows, a door and two chimneys, each with a neat curl of smoke. "That's best I can do," said the Captain, laughing.Max laughed with him for politeness' sake, though inwardly he was shocked that an important man like the Captain made a fool of himself. "Vater does not draw," he said kindly, "nor does Mutti; but they are both very keen on photography. Perhaps you are good at that?""Not brilliant," said the Captain. By Constance Savery Captain Amusing House Draw Square

These Germans seem an odd race, a mixture of clay and spirit - what with their beer-drinking and smoking, and their slow, stolid ways, you would think them perfectly earth; but ethereal fire is all the while working in them, and bursing out in most unexpected jets of poetry and sentiment, like blossoms on a cactus. By Harriet Beecher Stowe Germans Race Spirit Smoking Slow

Tell me about Raffe."Nothing."okay. Let's practice fighting," I said in an enthusiastic voice as if I'm talking to a little kid. "I could use more lessons."Nothing."Right. Well, I guess I have nothing better to do now than to decorate the teddy bear with ribbons and bows. What do you think of dusky pink?"The room wavers, then morphs. By Susan Ee Nothing Raffe Fighting Kid Practice

The pot that had simmered for fifty years boiled over. Colliers and miners, furnacemen and tram-road labourers were flooding down the valley to the Chartists' rendezvous: men from Dowlais under the Guests, Cyfartha under the Crawshays, Nantyglo under Bailey and a thousand forges and bloomeries in the hills: men of the farming Welsh, the Staffordshire specialists and the labouring Irish were taking to arms. By Alexander Cordell Men Pot Simmered Fifty Years

I'm a pantser. I try to plot. I always try to plot. I end up with a few paragraphs that basically outline the gist of the story.But I never get much beyond that. I get too impatient to write. By Pamela Clare Plot Pantser Write End Paragraphs

plews." Glass paid the captain his full attention. Every citizen of St. Louis knew some version of Drouillard's story, but Glass had never heard a first-person account. "He did that twice, went out and came back with a pack of plews. Last thing he said before he left the third time was, By Michael Punke Plews Glass Louis Drouillard Attention

Poirot was an extraordinary looking little man. He was hardly more than five feet, four inches, but carried himself with great dignity. His head was exactly the shape of an egg, and he always perched it a little on one side. His moustache was very stiff and military. The neatness of his attire was almost incredible. I believe a speck of dust would have caused him more pain than a bullet wound. Yet this quaint dandyfied little man who, I was sorry to see, now limped badly, had been in his time one of the most celebrated members of the Belgian police. As a detective, his flair had been extraordinary, and he had achieved triumphs by unravelling some of the most baffling cases of the day. By Agatha Christie Poirot Man Extraordinary Feet Inches

Goose [pen] bee [wax] and calf [parchment] govern the world.[Lat., Anser, apie, vitellus, populus et regna gubernant.] By James Howell Lat Anser Goose Pen Bee

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,Thy micturitions are to me,As plurdled gabbleblotchits,On a lurgid bee,That mordiously hath blurted out,Its earted jurtles,Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,And living glupules frart and slipulate,Like jowling meated liverslime,Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turling dromes,And hooptiously drangle me,With crinkly bindlewurdles,Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,See if I don't. By Douglas Adams Squealer Freddled Gruntbugglythy Micturitions Meas

The precision of hisskill places his work beyond the tentative and the experimental stage. He is continually searching and exploring both himself and his surroundings. and in this exploration of the realm of places, people and things, contrasts and relationships, Callahan is no respecter of conventional technical formula or code. His delicate sense of pattern is an integral part of his photography and not a thing by itself. By Edward Steichen Stage Places Precision Hisskill Work

row of stitches. By Angie Fox Row Stitches

Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget. Lady licking Prim's cheek. My father's laugh. Peeta's father with the cookies. The colour of Finnick's eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their death count. By Suzanne Collins Handwriting Forget Careful Details Crime

Spenser Reynolds began telling about his next project - an attempt to have suicides coordinate their leaps from bridges on a score of worlds while the All Thing watched - and Tyrena Wingreen-Feif stole all attention by putting her arm around Monsignor Edouard and inviting him to her after-dinner nude swimming party at her floating estate on Mare Infinitus. I By Dan Simmons Infinitus Reynolds Thing Tyrena Monsignor

Keelhaul the poets in the vestry chairs. By Karl Shapiro Keelhaul Chairs Poets Vestry

Lizzing is a combination of laughing and whizzing. By Liz Lizzing Whizzing Combination Laughing

A knife struck the docks between Kell's feet, and he jumped."Lila!" he shouted."Leaving!" she called from the deck. "And bring me back that knife," she added. "It's my favorite one."Kell shook his head, and freed the blade from where it had lodged in the wood. "They're all you favorite. By V.e Schwab Lila Leaving Kell Feet Jumped

Aggle flabble kabble . . . snurp? By Mo Willems Aggle Kabble Snurp Flabble

Snooty high heels. By Jeanne Birdsall Snooty Heels High

As he talked, Aphros drew some wicked-looking metal spikes from his belt. Leo was afraid he had said something wrong, but Aphros pulled some seaweed yarn from his pouch and started knitting. "Go on," he urged. "Don't stop. By Rick Riordan Aphros Talked Belt Drew Wickedlooking

The sketch hunter moves through life as he finds it, not passing negligently the things he loves, but stopping to know them, and to note them down in the shorthand of his sketchbook. By Robert Henri Loves Sketchbook Sketch Hunter Moves

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,O, what a panic's in thy breastie! By Robert Burns Wee Sleekit Cowrin Timrous Beastieo

SABLE- A common knitting acronym that stands for Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy. By Stephanie Pearl-Mcphee Sable Expectancy Stash Acquisition Life

The dinner bell rings, and everyone trots off, Frederick coming in last with his taffy-colored hair and wounded eyes, bootlaces trailing. Werner washes Frederick's mess tin for him; he shares homework answers, shoe polish, sweets from Dr. Hauptmann; they run next to each other during field exercises. A brass pin weighs lightly on each of their lapels; one hundred and fourteen hobnailed boots spark against pebbles on the trail. The castle with its towers and battlements looms below them like some misty vision of foregone glory. Werner's blood gallops through his ventricles, his thoughts on Hauptmann's transceiver, on solder, fuses, batteries, antennas; his boot and Frederick's touch the ground at the exact same moment. By Anthony Doerr Frederick Rings Eyes Bootlaces Trailing

Mark, she now could see, was destined for a life of absolute logic [ ... ], while she, the Etch a Sketcher, thought herself destined for a life of squiggly lines. By Michael Paterniti Mark Life Logic Destined Absolute

Done any exciting sums lately?""I don't just do sums," Miles told her. "There's much more to my life than that.""Is there?" Alicia asked, trying to sound interested."Yes," said Miles. "Sometimes I draw graphs. By Sarah Rees Brennan Sums Miles Exciting Told That

Sully suffers from a stutter,simple syllables will clutter,stalling speeches up on beacheslike a sunken sailboat rudder.Sully strains to say his phrases,sickened by the sounds he raises,strings of thoughts come out in knots,he solves his sentences like mazes.At night, he writes his thoughts insteadand sighs as they steadily rush from his head. By Bo Burnham Thoughts Sully Night Head Suffers

Ink, thinks Jacob, you most fecund of liquids... By David Mitchell Ink Jacob Liquids Fecund

Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius's voice telling a tale. Liam's flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whitsunday and through Midsummer. Salvius is a mockingbird: he can give a fair charade of the rhythmic tones of any wandering bard or any noble of the Royal Court.In this darkness, his eyes catch the light like a cat in the night. By Ned Hayes Salvius Stars Points River Liam

Lansens is a willing storyteller ... As a writer, she desires a particular kind of reader, one who wants above all to be transportedwho might sit at her knee, the hearth. By Noah Richler Lansens Storyteller Writer Reader Knee

Melissa popped open the clattery little Rotring tin. Pencils, putty rubber, scalpel. She sharpened a 3B, letting the curly shavings fall into the wicker bin, then paused for a few seconds, finding a little place of stillness before starting to draw the flowers. Art didn't count at school because it didn't get you into law or banking or medicine. It was just a fluffy thing stuck to the side of Design and Technology, a free A level for kids who could do it, like a second language, but she loved charcoal and really good gouache, she loved rolling sticky black ink on to a lino plate and heaving on the big black arm of the Cope press, the quiet and those big white walls. By Mark Haddon Rotring Melissa Tin Popped Open

At that moment I knew what the plebs were, much more clearly than when, years earlier, she had asked me. The plebs were us. The plebs were that fight for food and wine, that quarrel over who should be served first and better, that dirty floor on which the waiters clattered back and forth, those increasingly vulgar toasts. The plebs were my mother, who had drunk wine and now was leaning against my father's shoulder, while he, serious, laughed, his mouth gaping, at the sexual allusions of the metal dealer. They were all laughing, even Lila, with the expression of one who has a role and will play it to the utmost. By Elena Ferrante Plebs Years Earlier Moment Knew

The Friday Night Knitting Club By Kate Jacobs Club Friday Night Knitting

The deft white-stockinged dance in thick-soledshoes! Denmark's sanctuaried Jews! By Marianne Moore Thicksoledshoes Jews Deft Whitestockinged Dance

...The last name had been entered by Samuel Peters' agile pen with much shading of downward strokes and many extra corkscrew appendages... By Bess Streeter Aldrich Samuel Peters Appendages Entered Agile

Now Simmer blinks on flowery braes, And o'er the chrystal streamlets plays; Come let us spend the lightsome days In the birks of Aberfeldy. By Robert Burns Aberfeldy Simmer Braes Plays Blinks

Everywhere Gage looked, his fingers itched to touch and his brain raced to keep up. A snake coiled beneath his right pec, an eagle took flight over his left. Stars, numbers, and Celtic symbols fought for real estate. Gage would need weeks to explore the storied terrain of Brady's body.Better put in for some vacation time now. By Kate Meader Looked Gage Fingers Itched Touch

Final DispositionOthers divided closets full of mother's things.From the earth, I took her poppies.I wanted those fandango foldsof red and black chiffon she doted on,loving the wild and Moorish music of them,coating her tongue with the thin skinof their crimson petals.Snapping her fingers, flamenco dancer,she'd mock the clack of castanetsin answer to their gypsy cadence.She would crouch toward the flounce of flowers,twirl, stamp her foot, then kick it outas if to lift the ruffles, scarletalong the hemline of her yard.And so, I dug up, soil and all,the thistle-toothed and gray-green clumpsof leaves, the testicle seedpods and hairy stemsboth out of season, to transplant them in my less-exotic garden. There, they bloomher blood's abandon, year after year,roots holding, their poppy heads noddinga carefree, opium-ecstatic, possibly forever sleep. By Jane Glazer Moorish Flamenco Final Earth Fingers

Aglets. Plastic thingies.""Why do you know what those things are called?" "Phineas and Ferb." "You watch cartoons?"Zane laughed hoarsely. "Kind of judgy for someone who can sing the country song from Animaniacs.""Damn you, Tyler! Can't keep a fucking secret! By Abigail Roux Aglets Tyler Phineas Ferb Zane

New kits!" she rasped, eyes shining. Featherwhisker hurried toward the medicine den and nearly ran into Goosefeather, who was wandering out of the fern tunnel. "Watch where you're going!" Featherwhisker snapped. Then he froze. "Sorry!" But Goosefeather just shambled past his apprentice and stopped at the fresh-kill pile. "Leopardfoot's kitting!" Featherwhisker called after him. "I know, I know," Goosefeather muttered distractedly as he began pawing through the pile. Turning each piece of prey with his paw, he leaned down and inspected them closely. By Erin Hunter Featherwhisker Goosefeather Kits Rasped Eyes

N OthI n g can s urPas s the m y SteR y of s tilLnes s By E. E. Cummings Othi Urpas Ster Tillnes

flibbertigibbets - and By Hanya Yanagihara Flibbertigibbets

Her life in ink. By Cecelia Ahern Ink Life

Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon. By Thomas Gray Houris Crebillon Paradisiacal Mahometans Marivaux

The German stared at me, a combination of fatigue and frustration. But I understood. His eyes on the potato said, Emilia, I'm hungry.The dried blood on his shirt said, Emilia, I'm injured.But the way he clutched his pack told me the most. Emilia, don't touch this. By Ruta Sepetys Emilia German Frustration Stared Combination

Big Reg was twice divorced, separated from his third wife, and had two other women with him today. Both women wore navel-revealing tube tops, and neither had the figure for it. The tube tops appeared so tight they squeezed all flesh south, giving both women a gourdlike shape. "You." Hester pointed at the tube top on the right. "Me?" Somehow, despite the word being one syllable, she had managed to crack gum mid-word. "Yes. By Harlan Coben Reg Tube Women Big Divorced

I get fed up with plots that are driven by someone constantly getting information on a computer. By Liam Neeson Computer Fed Plots Driven Constantly

Lachlain: 'And you must be the soothsayer - 'Nix: 'I prefer predeterminationally abled, thank you.' Her hand shot out, ripping a button from his shirt, so fast it was a blur. She'd taken the one closest to his heart, and for a moment her face turned very cold. She'd made a point - she could have gone for his heart.Then she opened her hand and gasped in surprise. 'A button!' She smiled delightedly. 'You can never have enough of these!'Lachlain: 'How did you find this place?'Regin: 'A phone tap, satellite imaging, and a psychic,' she said, then immediately frowned. 'How do YOU find places? By Kresley Cole Nix Lachlain Soothsayer Abled Prefer

Clotilde stammered. "Why didn't you hang yourself? You were just saying that art is eternal. I destroyed your eternal art. Why are you still alive, man?""What's eternal is eternal, but I still have to get my commissions done on time," said Vasya. "What did you think?"Vasya was just an everyday hack sculptor of average talent. And Clothilde was reading too much Schiller. By Ilya Ilf Eternal Clotilde Stammered Vasya Art

Squeej? What kind of name was that for a pilot? By Jack Mcdevitt Squeej Pilot Kind

Garrett!" Nick's handcuffs clanked when he moved. "The laces on those boots, the plastic thingies have modified handcuff keys on them." "The aglets?" Zane asked. He squirmed around, trying to loosen the ropes enough so he could see his shoes. "The what?" Nick asked, sounding an odd combination of desperate and exasperated. "Aglets. Plastic thingies." "Why do you know what those things are called?" "Phineas and Ferb. By Anonymous Garrett Aglets Nick Asked Plastic

Concurring hands divideflax for damaskthat when bleached by Irish weatherhas the silvered chamois-leatherwater-tightness of askin. By Marianne Moore Irish Concurring Silvered Askin Hands

Squamous. He did not need to look it up. He knew. They By Neil Gaiman Squamous Knew

Peter," Ashley asked softly, "Do you know what that was?""Of course," Peter said, much affronted. "A thimble.""No," said Ashley, staring, "That was a kiss.""Didn't it strike you as a little different from other thimbles you've had in the past?"Peter looked shifty. "Well, yes.""Ha!""It was my first thimble with tongue." Peter told her with dignity. By Sarah Rees Brennan Peter Ashley Softly Affronted Asked

Jack had wondered how geometers could be so inventive as to produce so many types and families of curves. Later he had come to perceive that of curves there was no end, and the true miracle was that poets, or writers, or whoever it was that was in charge of devising new words, could keep pace with those hectic geometers, and slap names on all the whorls and snarls in the pages of the Doctor's geometry-books. By Neal Stephenson Jack Curves Geometers Wondered Inventive

I don't know what the word is in Austrian. By Barack Obama Austrian Word

Yesterday I heard some of the castle servants talking about a funeral for one of the stable lads. He went skating last week on the pond in the village, but the ice was not thick enough and he drowned. I like to skate on the ice,too, Papa, have my own pair of bone skates. I could drown crossing the Channel as Uncle Robert fears ... or I could drown back in Angers, if I was unlucky like that stable lad." Geoffrey's mouth twitched. "God help me," he said, "I've sired a lawyer! By Sharon Kay Penman Yesterday Heard Castle Servants Talking

They are doodlehums." "Doodlehums?""Antisocial individuals, intentional circumventors of statutes.""Oh, hoodlums. Yes I guessed that much on my own. What can you tell me about them?""Morton Zeemeister," he said, indulges in many such activities. He is the heavy one with the pale fur. Normally, he remains away far from the scene of his hoodling, employing agents to execute it for him. The other, Jamie Buckler, is one such. He has hoodled well for Zeemeister over the years and was recently promoted by him to guard his body. By Roger Zelazny Doodlehums Antisocial Zeemeister Hoodlums Morton

Teflon Panty Club By Sherrilyn Kenyon Club Panty Teflon

Colhoes!" He jerked away and rolled off her and to his feet. She scuttled back, skirts tangling in her boots as she jumped up, leaping to avoid puppies. The man's shadowed eyes swung to her, anger sparking in them in the dim light. Blood dripped between his fingers clamped over his mouth. "I hope I bit it off," she said, unwisely. He dropped his hand and his lower lip was still intact, though bleeding down his chin. "Damn it, woman. I only kissed you." "While you had me trapped beneath you." "Yes, well, obviously that was a mistake." -Vitor & Ravenna By Katharine Ashe Colhoes Feet Vitor Ravenna Damn

The ignorant Looker-on can't imagine what the Limner means by those seemingly rude Lines and Scrawls, which he intends for the Rudiments of a Picture, and the Figures of Mathematick Operation are Nonsense, and Dashes at a Venture, to one uninstructed in Mechanicks. We are in the Dark to one another's Purposes and Intendments; and there are a thousand Intrigues in our little Matters, which will not presently confess their Design, even to sagacious Inquisitors By Joseph Glanvill Scrawls Picture Nonsense Venture Mechanicks

X.I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried - "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!" XI.I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. XII.And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. By John Keats Pale Belle Dame Merci Hath

Feet gauge the pliable tracts of snowy hoodlumAmidst the pacing sobs of our night skyI watch you go, I watch them comeWithin the life span of an iridescent sigh;I watch the tracks bereft of a human hand,I watch them trite in thy laconic land,I watch them silent from where I stand,I watch them marking a bloodied rand,I watch the tracks bereft of a human hand,I watch them silent from where I stand. By Ashfaq Saraf Watch Tracks Bereft Human Handi

Iris neatened up the rows of mugs. A newish collection caught her eye. "Is this supposed to be Snow White and the seven dwarfs?" "I think so. Though Snow White looks like she melted a little bit." "So did the little guys. Look, here's Sleazy. And Dumpy." She began to line them up. "And Dumpier." Iris pulled By Nancy Warren Mugs Snow White Neatened Rows

Mont Blanc confronted us, dazzling, immense, cut sharp out of the bue sky; more prosterous than the most baroque wedding cake, more convincing than the best photograph. It fairly took my breath away. It made me want to laugh. By Christopher Isherwood Dazzling Immense Blanc Mont Cut

Christ Bleeding," Makin said, staring into the valley below us. "How ... " "Topology," I said. "It's a kind of magic. By Mark Lawrence Bleeding Makin Christ Staring Topology

Pustular berk with the charisma of a plimsole By Julian Barnes Pustular Plimsole Berk Charisma

Plotting is like sex. Plotting is about desire and satisfaction, anticipation and release. You have to arouse your reader's desire to know what happens, to unravel the mystery, to see good triumph. You have to sustain it, keep it warm, feed it, just a little bit, not too much at a time, as your story goes on. That's called suspense. It can bring desire to a frenzy, in which case you are in a good position to bring off a wonderful climax. By Colin Greenland Plotting Desire Sex Good Bring