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21 " The motorcycle’s headlights cut through the darkness. Ahead the road was nothing but a black hole. She roared toward it. "
― B.J. Daniels , Outlaw's Honor (The Montana Cahills, #2)
22 " Fruit of the Poisonous Tree, The True Story of Murder in a Small Town, begins on a steamy August night with two teenagers, brother and sister, on an evil mission deep in a rural Michigan forest. For one desperate moment headlights appear on the lonely access road. Will they be found out? Thus the story of one of state’s strangest criminal cases unfolds. Girl breaks up with boyfriend. He turns violent. She disappears without a trace. Then state police investigators set out on what at first looks like a fool’s journey. The story is colored by a bizarre Ouija board death prophesy and the roles of two psychics, a former practicing witch and a handsome young artist who is suspected of Satanism. The canny and elusive suspect taunts police and seems always to be one step ahead of them. When a key witness is daunted by uncharacteristic injuries, a mysterious medium tells him he is the victim of black magic practiced by the suspect’s grandmother. And when, after eight years, the suspect finally is brought to trial, he is represented by a Roman Catholic priest. "
― Richard W Carson
23 " God could no longer see the faces of the men, only red and orange hazes. He heard taunting voices in his mind spurring him on, calling him a “pussy,” and old, hairy hands reaching out to grab him. His gripped tightened on the punk’s neck and he cocked his right arm back ready to do some serious damage.“Let him go.”God shook his head at the familiar deep voice.“I said, let him go now!”He felt two strong hands land on his shoulders and heat seeped its way into him from behind.“Put him down, God. Right now before you kill him. Listen to my voice.” Day was up on his tiptoes speaking into his ear. His breath was hot on his neck and it gave him a tingling in his spine. “Cashel, stop,” Day whispered.God put his right arm down and released the man from his grip. He didn’t wait to see the man’s body drop. He spun around and looked into his friend’s eyes, and was relieved when he didn’t see judgment, sorrow, or pity…all he saw was relief and then concern. Day grabbed him and held on to him tightly. His embrace was strong and confident…exactly what God needed to feel right then.“Come on, we gotta get out of here.” Day gripped the back of his arm and moved them quickly out of the alley and into a waiting taxi.“Wait…my truck.”“It’s taken care of.” Day kept him from getting out of the vehicle.“What do you mean?”“I mean you owe me two hundred dollars because that’s what I just paid the bartender to follow us back to my place in your truck.”God spun around and saw his huge truck’s headlights behind them.“You have a stranger driving my truck…my fucking guns are in there, Leo.”“You should’ve thought about that earlier, Cash,” Day growled right back.“If you’re going to lecture me, Leo…fucking save it.” God slid down farther and let his aching head rest on the back of the seat as the cab accelerated onto the highway.“You know me better than that, Cash. I’m not going to lecture you. I’m going to kick your ass,” Day said matter-of-factly and turned to look out the window. Neither one said anything else the rest of the ride. "
― A.E. Via
24 " She awoke knowing what she had been dreaming about. She was a deer in the headlights to his grinning face. In those first moments before she was fully awakened she hadn’t had time to hide her true feelings. He’d read them loud and clear. This was the moment that would start the seductive tango. There was one giant problem. Kayn could not dance her way out of a paper bag. "
― Kim Cormack , Enlightenment
25 " I believe the stars are the headlights of angels driving from heaven to save usto save us...Won't you look at the sky?They're driving from heaven into our eyes. And though final words are so hard to devise, I promise that I'll always remember your pretty eyes. "
26 " I've been talking to myself a lot lately. I don't know what that's about, but my mother was the same way. She hated to make small talk with other people, but get her into a conversation with herself and she was quite the raconteur. She would tell herself a joke and clap her hands together as she let out a laugh; she would murmur to the plants as she watered them, and offer encouragement to the food as she cooked it. Sometimes I would walk into a room and surprise her as she was regaling herself with some delightful story, and I remember how the sound would dry up in her mouth. She stood there, frozen in the headlights of my teenage scorn. "
― Dan Chaon , Stay Awake
27 " Occasionally a car swooshed by in the rain and its headlights would swing round momentarily and illuminate the room-the pool table, snowshoes on the wall and the rowing machine, the armchair in which Henry sat, motionless, a glass in his hand and the cigarette burning low between his fingers. For a moment his face, pale and watchful as a ghost's, would be caught in the headlights and then, very gradually, it would slide back into the dark. "
― Donna Tartt , The Secret History
28 " I know a lot about cars, man. I can look at any car's headlights and tell you exactly which way it's coming. "
29 " I replaced the headlights in my car with strobe lights, so it looks like I'm the only one moving. "