D Fens Quotes

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Fenestra was silent for a while, and Morrigan thought she’d fallen asleep standing up. Then she felt something warm, wet, and sandpapery lick the entire right side of her face. She sniffled again, and Fen’s big gray head rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “Thanks, Fen,” Morrigan said quietly. She heard Fenestra padding softly to the door. “Fen?” “Mmm?” “Your saliva smells like sardines.” “Yeah, well. I’m a cat.” “Now my face smells like sardines.” “I don’t care. I’m a cat.” “Night, Fen.
Jessica Townsend (Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow (Nevermoor, #1))
A southwest blow on ye and blister you all o'er!' 'The red plague rid you!' 'Toads, beetles, bats, light on you!' 'As wicked dew as e'er my mother brushed with raven's feather from unwholesome fen drop on you.' 'Strange stuff' 'Thou jesting monkey thou' 'Apes with foreheads villainous low' 'Pied ninny' 'Blind mole...' -The Caliban Curses
Gary D. Schmidt (The Wednesday Wars)
To explain this Matter, and to wind up Time so that I am returned to my present State: Beside my Church at Limehouse there had antiently been a great Fen or Morass which had been a burying-place of Saxon times, with Graves lined with chalk-stones and beneath them earlier Tombs. Here my work men have found Urns and Ivory Pins once fasten'd to wooden Shrouds, and beside them Ashes and Skulls. This was indeed a massive Necropolis but it has Power still withinne it, for the ancient Dead emit a certain Material Vertue that will come to inhere in the Fabrick of this new Edifice. By day my House of Lime will catch and intangle all those who come near to it; by Night it will be one vast Mound of Shaddowe and Mistinesse, the effect of many Ages before History. And yet I had hot and present Work on hand, for I was in want of the Sacrifice to consecrate this Place: the Observations of Mirabilis upon the Rites, which I explained further back, are pertinent to this Matter; but this onely by the way.
Peter Ackroyd (Hawksmoor)
They were late and shook off their coats hurriedly. This was complicated for the older man by the necessity first of taking off his professorial gown, and then of putting it back on again once his coat was off, then of stuffing his hat in his coat pocket, then of wondering where he’d put his scarf, and then of realizing that he hadn’t brought it, then of fishing in his coat pocket for his handkerchief, then of fishing in his other coat pocket for his spectacles, and finally of finding them quite unexpectedly wrapped in his scarf, which it turned out he had brought after all but hadn’t been wearing despite the damp and bitter wind blowing in like a witch’s breath from across the fens. He
Douglas Adams (Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency Box Set: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency and The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul)
In Coriolanus, the title character describes himself as “like to a lonely dragon, that his fen makes fear’d and talk’d of more than seen.” That’s the first time lonely appeared in print.
Jillian Keenan (Sex with Shakespeare: Here's Much to Do with Pain, but More with Love)
Winter Landscape, with Rocks Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone, plunges headlong into that black pond where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind which hungers to haul the white reflection down. The austere sun descends above the fen, an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look longer on this landscape of chagrin; feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook, brooding as the winter night comes on. Last summer's reeds are all engraved in ice as is your image in my eye; dry frost glazes the window of my hurt; what solace can be struck from rock to make heart's waste grow green again? Who'd walk in this bleak place? Sylvia Plath was one of the first and best of the modern confessional poets. She won a Pulitzer Prize posthumously for her Collected Poems after committing suicide at the age of 31, something she seemed to have been predicting in her writing and practicing for in real life.
Sylvia Plath
If you're all grown up, as you insist, then you're old enough to recognize heat between a man and a woman. And it's there between us. I'm not a saint, Saskia. I'm not one of your respectful human boys. If you ask me, I'm not going to be a gentleman." "Sainted bloody earth." She'd finally found her tongue. Her cheeks still blushed pink, but her eyes were furious. "How is that no woman has killed you before now?
M.J. Scott (Iron Kin (The Half-Light City, #3))
It occurred to her to drive to Grand Rapids and buy some actual wine. It occurred to her to drive back to the house without buying anything at all. But then where would she be? A weariness set in as she stood and vacillated: a premonition that none of the possible impending outcomes would bring enough relief or pleasure to justify her current heart-racing wretchedness. She saw, in other words, what it meant to have become a deeply unhappy person. And yet the autobiographer now envies and pities the younger Patty standing there in the Fen City Co-op innocently believing that she'd reached the bottom: that, one way or another, the crisis would be resolved in the next five days. A chubby teenage girl at the cash register had taken an interest in her paralysis. Patty gave her a lunatic smile and went and got a plastic-wrapped chicken and five ugly potatoes and some humble, limp leeks. The only thing worse than inhabiting her anxiety undrunk, she decided, would be to be drunk and still inhabiting it.
Jonathan Franzen (Freedom)
I'm the bad guy?!
Bill Foster
Then Dougie elbowed his way to the fireside. “You risked your own fool neck to save mine, Morgan. If no’ for you, I’d be dead or rottin’ on a prison barge. I owe you my life, and I’ll ne’er forget it. When I heard you might be alive, I . . .” The big man’s voice quavered, and his words died away. Morgan felt an answering tightness in his chest. “’Tis glad I am to see you wi’ two strong legs, Dougie.” “Sing it for him, Dougie!” “Aye, sing it!” “Sing him ‘The Ballad of Morgan MacKinnon’!” Morgan looked at Connor, then up at Dougie again. “’The Ballad of Morgan MacKinnon’? You wrote a song about me?” Dougie looked chagrined. “Aye.” “A passin’ fair tune it is.” Connor grinned. “He sang it and played his fiddle at your wake.” Then Dougie started to sing, his words telling of the night strike on the pier at Ticonderoga and how Morgan had braved a hail of lead balls to carry a wounded friend to safety before dying a hero’s death. “ ‘Tis far tae Ticonderoga, ‘tis far through forest and fen, but ‘tis there you’ll find Morgan MacKinnon, bidin’ untae the end.’ ” His voice cracking with emotion, Dougie sang the last notes, then cleared his throat. “It sounds better wi’ my fiddle.” Morgan found it hard to speak. “I am honored more than I can say. Thank you, Dougie. But I recall it a bit differently. I told you that you stank, and you called me daft and told me I ran like a lass.” Dougie kicked at the dirt, regret on his face. “I didna mean it.” Morgan grinned. “I did.
Pamela Clare (Untamed (MacKinnon's Rangers, #2))
I’d gone from living alone in New York as a lowly shoe clerk to becoming a shieldmaiden with a family to come home to. It didn’t get much better than that.
Amanda Carlson (Freed (Phoebe Meadows, #2))
The initiate, a boy of no more than twelve, was wailing and a group of older boys were holding him down on a log while a few men cut into him, making hundreds of small slits on his back and shoulders. They dropped a citrus mixture into each wound so that the skin would puff up and the scars would be raised and textured to look like crocodile skin. His blood had soaked the log in dark striations. When they were done they painted him with oil and turmeric and smeared him with white clay and carried him off weeping and half conscious into seclusion until he healed. Fen and I walked down to the beach. I’d seen dozens
Lily King (Euphoria)
Stretching his legs toward the fire, Ranulf massaged his aching knee and watched the children as they ate their fill, probably for the first time in their lives. IT was Wednesday fast day, but he'd made a conscious decision to violate the prohibition against eating flesh; he could always do penance once he got back to his own world. Now it seemed more important to feed Simon and Jennet the best meal he could, and the innkeeper had served up heaping portions of salted pork, a thick pottage of peas and beans, and hot, flat cakes of newly baked bread, marked with Christ's Cross. To Ranulf, it was poor fare, and he ended up sharing most of it with Loth. But Simon and Jennet savored every mouthful, scorning spoons and scooping the food up with their fingers, as if expecting to have their trenchers snatched away at any moment. And Ranulf learned more than night about hunger and need than in all of his twenty-five years. What would become of them? How could they hope to reach Cantebrigge? And if by God's Grace, they somehow did, what if this uncle of their was not there? They'd never seen the man, knew only what their father had told them, that soon after Simon's birth, a peddler had brought them a message from Jonas, saying he'd settled in Cantebrigge. That confirmed Ranulf's suspicions: two brothers fleeing serfdom, one hiding out in the Fens, the other taking the bolder way, for an escaped villein could claim his freedom if he lived in a chartered borough for a year and a day. It was a pitiful family history, an unwanted glimpse into a world almost as alien to Ranulf as Cathay. But like it or not, he was caught up now in this hopeless odyssey of Abel the eelman's children. In an unusually morose and pessimistic mood, he wondered how many Simons and Jennets would be lost to the furies unleashed by Geoffrey the Mandeville's rebellion.
Sharon Kay Penman (When Christ and His Saints Slept (Plantagenets #1; Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, #1))
Nikki bit her tongue and decided that if anyone ever wanted to murder the chief, she’d probably go find them a suitable weapon.
Joy Ellis (Shadow Over the Fens (DI Nikki Galena #2))
So frankly, Patrick,’ Nikki gave him a knowing smile, ‘it’s either early onset dementia or you’re lying. And I know which one I’d bet on.
Joy Ellis (Hidden on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #11))
She’d read somewhere that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
Joy Ellis (Shadow Over the Fens (DI Nikki Galena #2))
When she’d had attacks in the past, and there had been quite a few just after Emily’s death, they had always been immediately followed by a period of black depression. It didn’t last long, but during that time she felt unnaturally aggressive and was best left alone. Today was different. She just felt sick, tired and vulnerable.
Joy Ellis (Crime on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #1))
Those lightning fast moves were not right. And those later comments about being a squaddie? No squaddie she’d ever met had that kind of reflexes. And they were always proud of their regiment, far more so than their place in the police force. That was why they were often disliked, because their allegiance was always, first and foremost, the army. And Joseph wasn’t like that at all.
Joy Ellis (Crime on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #1))
now ringing the superintendent at the field command post, and praying that she was in time. * * * Heart beating like a jack hammer, Nikki eased her way along the rough red-brick wall of the old dental block. Ahead of her, and moving fast, but with a light-footed, almost delicate precision, were Joseph, Dave, Vinnie and the two marksmen. Nikki knew that her solo performance was not only hazardous, it was critical to saving Snipe’s hostages. Even so, she’d never felt so well protected. If anyone could defuse the situation safely, she believed that it was Joseph. As she watched, they disappeared beneath the heavy plastic. She saw in her mind’s eye the turning of the key that they had obtained
Joy Ellis (Hunted on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #3))
Very nice!’ said Nikki. ‘That really enabled you to indulge in your pastime on a grand scale, didn’t it?’ When Kris spoke, his voice was cold and his words clipped. ‘Oh sure, it’s very nice. But frankly, Inspector, I’d rather have my father back. Now, are we done?
Joy Ellis (Crime on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #1))
Do you wish they’d leave Your bedroom door ajar So you’d see a golden crack Shine from afar? Do you wish a fairy’d come And light a fairy light, To glimmer and to shine for you All through the night? See, from heaven shine the stars, Silent, steadfast, true; God is caring all the time,
Joy Ellis (Captive on the Fens (DI Nikki Galena, #6))
Grendel was the name of this woe-walker, Unlucky, fucked by Fate. He'd been living rough for years, ruling the wild: the mere, the fen, and the fastness, his kingdom. His creation was cursed under the line of Cain, the kin-killer. The Lord, long ago, had taken Abel's side. Though none of that was Grendel's doing, he'd descended from bloodstains.
Maria Dahvana Headley (Beowulf)
once upon a time, every vowel was an ‘e,’ so there! thes wes et the begenneng of teme & nebedy noticed et yet. en fect et wes fen. when peeple ferfet te heve fen they mede these ether vewels, so whet the feck? e dent de et. we ceedl’ve getten by weth jest ‘e’s ceedn’t we? The roblem wes the ‘e’s were blut net green, i felt. er were they green net blee? whech wes et? well we ever knew? who ceres? e’m cenfesed by the blee leghts. they weren’t lettle. theegh. & E wes green. e dednt de et. bet whe ded et? whe mede the letters celers fer ell the synesthetes en the werld? we blend eer senses tegether en eer bebyheed & seme remeens, semtemes ets celers letteres, semetimes shepes & seends, ether temes ether steff. ef yee hed e gerl, yee’d meke the nersery penk. maybe. e dent knew. E es green, net blee. thes es my fenel enswer. ferever green er blee. which es et? cen yee tell? ef e tern the blee leghts en, well e see the blee leghts en elways? e’m sere semebedy’s dene thes beferes
Bernadette Mayer (Milkweed Smithereens)
If a path ain’t got no heart, you must not follow it, not for any reason—but if it does got heart, then you’d best oblige yourself. On account of doin’ good ain’t got no end. Like a pebble thrown in a pond, one kind act ripples outward in all directions. It affects others—for the betterment. How far the ripple may travel—no one can rightly say.
C.A. Tedeschi (Fen and the Every Path)
Aye,” Richard grumbled, “but it ruins the eeling, and there’ll be not so many birds. We live well enough now, with no drainage done, a goose to the table whenever we wish, eels and pike for the eating or the market, and our patches of crop land no tax gatherer can find. If the fens be drained, strangers will come in. Wild and lawless they say we be, and that we stink of our fens, but we are free men and better it is to remain so. “Once the gentry ken how rich is the land they’ll have it from us by hook or crook, or they’ll come on with their laws to interfere with the hunting, the digging of peat, or the cutting of thatch. They’d have us bound out to labor on their farms instead of us living free.
Louis L'Amour (The Sacketts Volume One 5-Book Bundle: Sackett's Land, To the Far Blue Mountains, The Warrior's Path, Jubal Sackett, Ride the River)