Nice paragraphs
also sentences. just nice writing. fiction, mostly.
Nice paragraphs
The raw April breeze rips through Lucile's hair, snaking it away from her head like the hair of a woman drowned. Her head turns; eyes still searching. He can see her; she can't see him.
A Place of Greater Safety by Hilary Mantel
Happily – unlike André, who no longer sees anyone – I have made friends with some of my pupils and younger colleagues: I like them better than women of my own age. Their curiosity spurs mine into life: they draw me into their future, on the far side of my own grave.
The Woman Destroyed by Simone De Beauvoir
Sam Pink, 99 Poems to Cure Whatever's Wrong with You or Create The Problems You Need
The idea is like grass. It craves light, likes crowds, thrives on crossbreeding, grows better for being stepped on.
The Dispossessed by Ursula Le Guin
Also: “It is of the nature of idea to be communicated: written, spoken, done.”
“You can’t crush ideas by suppressing them. You can only crush them by ignoring them. By refusing to think—refusing to change. And that’s precisely what our society is doing!
[…]
Where does [Sabul] get [power] from? Not from vested authority, there isn’t any. Not from intellectual excellence, he hasn’t any. He gets it from the innate cowardice of the
... See moreKane rubbed his chin. On his way out he carefully inspected the chair with the dint. He frowned over it, wobbled it from side to side. He left, increasing their rent as he did so.
The Giant, O'Brien by Hilary Mantel
Stage fourth. After ten days, he's out of bed, leaning on his arm. He claims kinship with his feet – he knows, intellectually, that they belong to him – and he accepts that he has returned to his true size. Colour is unreliable; the fires burns purple in the heath, and no one will explain why this is so.
The Giant, O'Brien by Hilary Mantel
Alison was a woman who seemed to fill a room, even when she wasn't in it. She was of an unfeasible size, with plump creamy shoulders, rounded calves, thighs and hips that overflowed her chair; she was soft as an Edwardian, opulent as a showgirl, and when she moved you could hear (though she did not wear them) the rustle of plumes and silks. In a
... See moreBeyond Black by Hilary Mantel
She says, there is anyway, innit? It’s bloody blue murder every day here. Her mum says, there you go again, if he takes his belt off to you I’ll not be surprised, I’ll not be the one holding him back, I’ll tell you: and there, thumping her fist on the wooden draining board, her mum is saying what they’ll do, what they’ll do and what they won’t, how
... See moreBeyond Black by Hilary Mantel