“So you’ve decided to come down here, slumming.”
The Ancient Ones by David Brin
“On a hill high above the city of Cusco, Peru, Marcela Salas Calcina, a master weaver of ceremonial textiles from the remote village of Q’eros, and her husband Lorenzo, a shaman, make the vertical warp by passing a ball of yarn back and forth as each one wraps the thread on their end of the loom, staked into the ground by four posts.”
With Her Own Hands: Women Weaving Their Stories, by Nicole Nehrig.
“They show you how to make bombs on the internet. If you know where to look.”
The Impossible Fortune by Richard Osman. Latest in the Thursday Murder Club series.
“‘They made a silly mistake, though,’ the Professor of History said, and his smile, as Dixon watched, gradually sank beneath the surface of his features at the memory.”
Lucky Jim, by Kingsley Amis
“It would be reasonable to assume that anything living deep inside Earth’s crust, far away from the reach of sunlight, would be a leftover from the surface world, marooned and condemned to die.”
Intraterrestrials: Discovering the Strangest Life on Earth, by Karen G. Lloyd
Betty Rodman was in torment.
A Christmas Railway Mystery, by Edward Marston
The girl was surprisingly beautiful in the moonlight.
The Red Winter by Cameron Sullivan
A flicker of weak light skittered over the stone floor, followed by the soft scrape of steps and the whispered whoosh, whoosh of mist-dampened wool.
Murder on Black Swan Lane, by Andrea Penrose
“Basit Deniau’s greatest architectural triumph is the house he died in.”
Rose/House by Arkady Martine
A thick mist had crept in from the river.
Murder at Half Moon Gate, by Andrea Penrose
“(we) the ones made of nebula & who have traveled from far, far, far away from (here) worked on the space shuttle ship to the best of our natural ability, but lucile still had a slow yellow limp & systemic pain in her motherboard.”
Here in the (Middle) of Nowhere, by Anastacia-Renee’
“There are three sides to every story: yours…mine…and the truth.”
The Kid Stays in the Picture, by Robert Evans.
“‘Honestly,’ muttered Lucius Claudius, his nose buried in a scroll, ‘if you go by these accounts in the Daily Acts, you’d think Sertorius was a naughty schoolboy, and his rebellion in Spain a harmless prank.’”
Crime Through Time III, edited by Sharan Newman (Note that this is a collection of historical mysteries, and the above quote is from “The Consul’s Wife” by Steven Saylor.)
“Many writers have their idiosyncratic gastronomic preferences.”
Curiosities of Literature: A Feast for Book Lovers, by John Sutherland.
There’s a flock of shadows under the old oak.
Coram House by Bailey Seybolt
Sir Pierre Morliax, Chevalier of the Angevin Empire, Knight of the Golden Leopard, and secretary-in-private to my Lord, the Count D’Evreux, pushed back the lace at his cuff for a look at his wrist watch-three minutes of seven.
Lord Darcy by Randall Garrett. From the first story, The Eyes Have It
From where Bill Buchanan sat with his back resting against the rough breccia, he could see the side of Whiteside’s head, about three feet away.
The Fallen Man, by Tony Hillerman
Deputy Sheriff Teddy Bai had been leaning on the doorframe looking out at the night about three minutes or so before he became aware that Cap Stoner was watching him.
Hunting Badger, by Tony Hillerman
“To some it’s a stage.”
– The Proving Ground, by Michael Connelly
“At 19.00 hours, ship’s time, I made my way to the launching bay.”
Solaris, by Stanislaw Lem
“Like much of my life until that sixteenth year, it was a sunny day.”
Knots in My Yo-yo String: The Autobiography of a Kid, by Jerry Spinelli
“Halloo?”
Murder at Queen’s Landing. by Andrea Penrose
When the cat came through the little trapdoor at the bottom of the screen it made a clack-clack sound.
Skinwalkers, by Tony Hillerman
“It was the last letter in Irene Redfield’s little pile of morning mail.”
Passing, by Nella Larsen
“Our species, Homo sapiens, spent most of its evolutionary history without the horse.”
Horses: A 4,000-Year Genetic Journey Across the World, by Ludovic Orlando, translated by Teresa Lavender Fagan.
The moon had risen just above the cliff behind her.
A Thief of Time, by Tony Hillerman