661 Quotes by Storm Constantine

The cry of the bells had condensed even further until it sounded like a single, crazed voice clanging out over the city.

He felt as if he’d somehow stepped out of time. Whatever was going on, he was slipping between its events and effects. He was beyond it, outside of it.

Finnigin found himself outside on the street, his vision disturbed by swirling motes of light and shade.

He knew that soon the silence of the mountains would swallow him and the hills of Oubrahani would be nothing more than memories.

The next journey, the next story, he thought.

For hundreds of years, Casmeer’s libido had lain dormant, but now, as if the act of writing had rekindled a forgotten lust, he was moved to inflict his feelings upon his stories. He’d no intention of doing that. Also he felt as if the tales themselves were running away from him. He found it hard to keep them in line.

He felt ashamed of what he had imagined: the plundering of Finnigin’s body, the transformation of Finnigin’s flesh. He was unsure what had prompted him to do it.

In embracing Finnigin, he embraced his own youth. In melding with Finnigin, he became young, more vital.

When he felt sexually excited, Casmeer found with some alarm, that he wanted to harm his characters, his self-children. He wanted to squeeze them, to make them bleed. This, he despised in himself, but then considered that as the stories were fictions, it was acceptable for him to exorcise his feelings through them. He did not have to judge himself for his lewd or wicked thoughts.