Augustine Hockersmith

“But this is my fucking life! My mom died and some reporter wanted a story.” I heaved for air. “And all I cared about was playing in some game. Like that was what mattered. She was dying, and I was mad. I’m still fucking pissed. Criminals survive every day. Murderers and rapists and lunatics. But not her.”
“Life, in all the years I’ve been living it, son, doesn’t make a lick of sense where that’s concerned.”
― J. Rose Black, Chasing Headlines

“Which is the greater sin? To care too much? Or too little?”
― K. Ritz, Sheever's Journal, Diary of a Poison Master

“They were like a vision, they had slipped into eternity, a zone beyond time. There and not there, a presence unseen but felt, like stars in the daytime sky.”
― Justin Cronin, The Twelve

“George's son had done his work so thoroughly that he was considered too good a workman to live, and was, in fact, taken and tragically shot at twelve o'clock that same day—another instance of the untoward fate which so often attends dogs and other philosophers who follow out a train of reasoning to its logical conclusion, and attempt perfectly consistent conduct in a world made up so largely of compromise.”
― Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd