Quotes from Chet Williamson

What was the point of having a dishwasher if you had to wash the stupid dishes first? When she grew up, she'd have a robot to do all the housework for her.

What have you done to him? Where is he?" The Voivode leaned forward, stared the pasha directly in the eyes, and smiled sweetly. "I put him in the stew. All I had to serve you for meat was that delicious pig, and I did not wish to offend your religious sensitivities.

I've got to clean it." "You'll prob'ly find everything you need right over there by that sign that says, 'Godliness.' The cleanin' stuff's right next to it.

The phones were ringing off the hook, and the sweetness in Allan Vasey's voice was almost purely a matter of routine. Had to be nice to the customers, man. At all costs. You had to keep them happy. In fact, just this morning, he'd pinned a bogus memo up over the dispatch desk: it said BE POLITE, OR WE'LL KILL YOU. Signed, The Management. At least two of the people who came into the office weren't sure that it was a joke.

October 31st dawned damp and cold, but by nine in the morning the misty rain had dissipated, and blue sky broke through. By eleven the sun had dried the leaves to crisp colors, and the world smelled of apples and burning wood smoke and candles and pumpkin innards.

Lucas had guessed correctly that there was no danger of anyone hijacking a flight from Oakland to Tucson International, anyway. That would take a real nut.

Fozzetto was sheathed in an ebony jumpsuit with a weightlifter cut in the front. Bands of holographic foil twined around his thighs and wound down to the tops of his silver space boots. He teetered on at least six inches of platform heel; maybe Kiss had had a garage sale.

Yeah, you're being paranoid all right, pal, Brad concluded, but a little paranoia never hurt anyone. Like that dude said, it ain't paranoia if the bastards really are watchin'.

Rise to the challenge, he told himself. You can do it. Because you have to. Inwardly Kesselring sighed. He had always thought people who espoused the wonders of positive thinking were deluding themselves.

You'll have a faithful Indian companion. Girl Friday. Whatever you want. I'll even launder my own irreclaimable socks. You've already told me I'm a terrific conversationalist, and I'm a person you know who's not dead. Think carefully before you turn down an offer like this.

Good thing he changed it," Jerry mused. "Who could take a vampire named Will Walwoi seriously?" "Jerry … !" "Will Walwoi, Prince of Darkness! Curse of Will Walwoi! Will Walwoi Meets the Wolfman! Abbott and Costello Meet Will Walwoi!" Jerry began to laugh. "Can you imagine Bela Lugosi saying, 'Good eeevening. I am Will Walwoi!

I think I'll pull through. And if I don't…do me a favor and bury me in the forest. That's romantic. Funerals are a maximum pain in the ass.

Hundreds of them, Susie thought. Easily hundreds. In a family where the telephone bill was a monthly argument, how could such a wealth of socks possibly have accumulated? she wondered idly. How, with so many permutations, were there so few mates? One of the burning issues of our time, she thought self-derisively.

He was as blank, and white as the walls, which was just fine with him. Maybe if they'd given him some vodka and weed, his head would have straightened out. He had said that to the shrink – one of them, at least – but if he remembered correctly, it hadn't gone over very well.

The reasons he could not continue with a book were usually the same: he would reach a particularly vivid image or a passage that threatened to pull him into another reality, and it frightened him, sometimes even into terror.

She reached up over Jesus' ecstatic, smug, "I-can-walk-on-water-and-you-can't" face and yanked the door open.

The power of blood, Charlie thought, and there was no small degree of pride in the thought. No matter what else you do in this life, no matter where you go, what you profess to believe, you can't escape the power of blood.

We can venture forth into the great primordial stone swamp." "Interesting return address." She puckered up her face. "Better than writing Washington, D.C., on your letters.

Allison was a born conformer, a person who believed in doing the "right thing," being responsible, not making too many waves.

History teaches that evil at its most exalted is merely a wretched excess of good.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, it thought, savoring the brute constancy of humans and their achievements, no matter how far through the ages they slithered. It was over 800 years old, and didn't look a day over seventy-five.

His father's funeral was a memory of darkness and mourning. He remembered sitting between his mother and his Uncle Keith on the bench in the church. They'd brought in the preacher from Friendly, California, Reverend Forbes; a skinny, stick of a man with wavy hair and wild eyes. He'd glared at them from the front of the church as if they'd all been caught masturbating in a closet, not like a man of God who was troubled over the loss of a fallen comrade.

All this huggermugger, macho intimidating shit is wearing me out. I'm gonna make myself a promise not to kill anything for a week.

And history teaches that what a culture can't assimilate it destroys