Funny how authors that spend their time in fantasy land, especially the highly creative ones, end up sharing a peek at their insides, despite the effort to hide behind the heaping pulp.
Here are two instances I recently ran across by author Laurell K. Hamilton.
Blood Noir – page 295
An interesting take on sorrow:
“People talk of sorrow as if it is soft, a thing of water and tears. But true sorrow is not soft. True sorrow is a thing of fire, and rock. It burns your heart, crushes your soul under the weight of mountains. It destroys, and even if you keep breathing, keep going, you die. The person you were moments ago dies, dies in the sound of screaming metal and the impact of one bad driver. Gone. Everything solid, everything real, is gone. It doesn’t come back. The world is forever fractured, so that you walk on the crust of an earth where you can always feel the heat under you, the press of lava, that is so hot it can burn flesh, melt bone, and the very air is poisonous. To survive, you swallow the heat. To keep from falling through and dying for real, you swallow all that hate. You push it down inside you, into that fresh grave that is all that is left of what you thought the world would be.”
The Harlequin, page 383
A definition of love I hadn’t heard put quite this way before.
“…but love isn’t the absence of pain, it’s a hand to hold while you’re going through it.”
I look forward to sliding through the next few books in her Anita Blake series….
