Contemporary Fiction Quotes
Contemporary Fiction Quote of the day
The writing you allude to is a form of dissent, but it's also expressive of the need to evolve beyond what is turgid and stale in contemporary fiction.
Jax Cassidy is a brilliant new voice in contemporary fiction. Full of heat, seduction, and romance, her winning characters are sure to capture your heart and find a place on your keeper shelf.
In high school I was drawn to the study of literature, poetry Shakespeare, contemporary fiction, drama, you name it - I read it.
Aurelie Sheehan's absorbing stories have depth miles beneath their compelling surface. They radiate a wisdom, beauty and originality rare in contemporary fiction.
Most contemporary fiction sucks. It's intellectually dishonest, often morally dishonest. It's cheap and easy. It pretends to be deep but is really quite shallow.
I think the anti-intellectualism of a lot of contemporary fiction is a kind of despairing of literature's ability to be anything more than perfectly bound blog posts or transcribed sitcoms.
Fair enough…No inhaling battery acid, ” I smirk. “We can’t breathe batteryacid, can we?
My eyes refuse to let him leave, but he stands still holding my hand, lingering for as long as possible.
Have you ever believed in something so completely that you were willing to give up everything and everyone in your life to protect it?
... The use of your gift for good is your responsibility. You must decide for yourself.
And I had just kissed my ex-girlfriend, who had cried, while my current girlfriend was in jail. So far, it had not been my best day.
It wasn’t playing both sides of the fence – it was betting against yourself but still playing to win – and it encapsulated everything absurd and paradoxical that I loved about the French.
How can you be kissing at a time like this? Have you no respect for the dead?
... she was a pudding of immaturity and precocious wisdom that had not yet set into a stable mold.
People are complicated. And messy. Seems too convenient that we’d all fit inside some multiple-choice question.
This is love not business or politics. I love someone. How can I replace her with someone else?
Finishing my thoughts aloud meant saying how my dad had passed, and I had failed. How I had smoked joints and lay in bed enabling my hopelessness. I’d been the ugly in my world.
His smile is beautiful. It's the kind of smile that can take away all nervousness and tension in a room, no matter how big. I have no choice but to smile back.
When he spoke of love, it was in the manner of someone who can recite a phrase in a foreign language but has no idea what it means. He only knows that it sounds pretty.
Time had taught him that whether his sins were pardoned or left unforgiven, they would remain committed. Tomorrow he would hopefully choose wiser, with a stronger measure of compassion.
He now realized that right and wrong were intertwined notions. His arms could not differentiate between just and unjust causes. They only knew that they were empty.
I need to make myself strong on the inside instead of what is on the outside. I know all of this, but why can’t I put any of it into action? I guess that’s why I am in this place.
A future as lonely as the surface of the moon and still just the sight of him feels like a homecoming, like a song I used to know but forgot.
Perhaps forgiveness wasn’t a singular event, but a progression, or better, a dance that took some figuring before you could perform the steps.
My definition of an intellectual is someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking of the Lone Ranger" - Billy Connolly
The damage and destruction from the soft brush of pen on paper, a minuscule twitch of muscles at the end of manicured fingers, and people's lives forever altered.
The past is always with us. It echoes through every living moment, giving it depth and meaning beyond itself. Sometimes the past is so powerful, those echoes threaten to overwhelm the present.
I waited for her to nod before pacing while I bit my lip. That hurt, so I switched to biting my finger nail.
The way contemporary literature is emerging, soon we can expect "Item poetry" in novels.
sametimes people don't understand the promises they're making when they make them
It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late.
Nothing felt better to him than the act of waiting for her. As long as he believed it wasn’t in vain, he was able to justify his presence.
Once you break someone’s heart, you are forever its master.
Was she happy? She thought – yes, reasonably so. Then again, what was happiness but the vast terrain between ecstasy and agony? Was this too small an ambition?
And although he recognized that tenderness was not the same as passion, and certainly not equivalent to love, for now it seemed to him a suitable substitute.
Perhaps all love stories no matter how varied are essentially the same.
I took one of my hands in the other, tried to imagine what it would feel like if it was another person's hand holding mine. There have been times where I felt that I might die of loneliness.
Most people surrendered fairy tale hopes in exchange for cookie cutter lives
There have been times I have thought some dreams should never be dreamt, but I would hate a world where that was true.
A writer looks at an issue and asks, 'What if this were to occur? Or what if that was thrown into the mix? What would that look like?