410 Quotes About Short-story

A perfect society needs no rulers," they said. "Knowledge and authority ought to be held in common. In order to imagine a new existence, we must free ourselves from the structures of both our failed government and the unjustifiable hegemony of the wasp nests. Hear what you can hear and learn what you can learn while we remain among them. But be ready.

And that’s all magic was: displacement.

Short fiction seems more targeted - hand grenades of ideas, if you will. When they work, they hit, they explode, and you never forget them. Long fiction feels more like atmosphere: it's a lot smokier and less defined.

For me, the short story is not a character sketch, a mouse trap, an epiphany, a slice of suburban life. It is the flowering of a symbol center. It is a poem grafted onto sturdier stock.

It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

On the outside, I 'm a husband and a father to three sons. I end to keep quiet and stay to myself. That way I stay out of trouble as much as possible. Some people say I'm almost too quiet but it's like that saying goes, it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for...

Kneriday'in bakışları zaman geçirmek için amaçsızca etrafta dolanırken birden ortalık aydınlandı. Herkes olduğu yerde dondu, arabalar durdu, nefesler tutuldu. İnsanlar kafalarını yukarı kaldırıp sokağın köşesindeki binaların tepesinde duran devasa ekrana odaklandılar. Oradaydı; herkesin ulaşmaya çalıştığı ve sahip olanların gözü gibi baktığı hazine, bembeyaz bir kurşun kalem şekline bürünmüş, reklamlarda boy gösteriyordu."Zeynep Paftalı, 12

In high school, she’d been the loner fat girl and I’d been the asshole jock. There had always been something between us; we had gotten on so easily. I remember being both confused and upset that when I’d finally experienced that thing everyone called chemistry, it had been with her of all people.

Even if I had convict ancestry, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it. As far as I’m concerned, the real criminals back in those days weren’t twelve-year-old boys nicking a loaf of bread or a pair of socks to ward off hunger and blisters. No, it was those who exploited them; keeping the battler in the gutter while they sat around in their manors, sipping tea and admiring portraits of their toffee-nosed great grandfathers.