Dennis Vickers Quotes

#1. Laughter erupted from her belly and shot out her mouth like pigeons through an open cage door, schoolchildren bursting into summer vacation, water from a tapped hydrant.

Dennis Vickers

#2. The physical world exists, but that's only the paint and canvas; that's only the instrument we use to make music; that's only the stage where the play is performed.

Dennis Vickers

#3. If I sneezed, writers' vitals would spew out my nose like bats from a cave mouth, fiery balls from a roman candle, water from an open fire hydrant.

Dennis Vickers

#4. Studied all year and wrote in my journal like a nun works a Rosary, dog with a new bone, bee in his hive's back room.

Dennis Vickers

#5. Stop that!" Ghost Hemingway ordered. "It's like teaching goddamned cats to walk on their back legs." He sighed. "Standing eggs on end in a dining car." He signed again. "Talking to Scotty Fitzgerald sober.

Dennis Vickers

#6. Respect the world and it takes care of you; disrespect her and she kicks your ass.

Dennis Vickers

#7. The flesh of her butt jiggled like water-filled beach balls, oil drops dangling from a soupspoon, oversized Jell-O dessert cups.

Dennis Vickers

#8. Rang in my ears like Easter morning churchbells in Rome, rumble from an unmuffled Harley, fireworks shells exploding over a Fourth-of-July parade.

Dennis Vickers

#9. Karaoke divides humanity into two groups: those who don't want to sing and shouldn't be compelled, and those who do and shouldn't be allowed.

Dennis Vickers

#10. When one speaks of sex with midgets, one must speak French.

Dennis Vickers

#11. Poetry comes out of you like a pot of oatmeal boiling over.

Dennis Vickers

#12. Gleaming like a searchlight, Iowa moon, silver plate.

Dennis Vickers

#13. Faded like morning fog in the rising sun, sports team logo on a cheap T-shirt, ninety-nine dollar paint job on a Chevy.

Dennis Vickers

#14. Polish the young woman's ego like wax on a wood floor, Shinola on shoes, spit on an apple.

Dennis Vickers

#15. Deep ridges crossed his forehead like terraces in a Thai hillside, tucks in a leather cushion, troughs across a bloodhound's jowls.

Dennis Vickers

#16. Truth is a melody composed of lying notes.

Dennis Vickers

#17. Her eyes beamed over the top of the cup like Peterbilt high beams coming over a hillcrest, full moon rising over a mountain lake with its reflected partner, 747 landing lights coming down onto a runway.

Dennis Vickers

#18. Vanished like inhibitions at a bachelorette party.

Dennis Vickers

#19. Carmen blinked and shuddered like someone chewing a lemon ring, enduring a throat culture, challenging a habanero mano-a- mano. "Unbelievable." She spat the word out.

Dennis Vickers

#20. Washed-out like last year's swimsuit.

Dennis Vickers

#21. She smoked like wet underwear on fire, swore like a slow hockey goalie, caroused like a cheerleader on spring break in Cancun, and experienced the people she chose to experience fully, men or women.

Dennis Vickers

#22. Smiled like a homecoming queen, Pit Bull Terrier with a new collar, actress on the Letterman show.

Dennis Vickers

#23. Her hair burst from her head like a fireworks shell erupting, framing her face in spray of red-blond energy.

Dennis Vickers

#24. Wrinkles appeared and disappeared as he squinted his eyes and relaxed them, like someone peering into a strobe light, police car-top beacon, flashing neon beer sign.

Dennis Vickers

#25. The email appeared sometime during the night, like alcohol-induced depression, dreams of old lovers, porn on TV.

Dennis Vickers

#26. She had been skeptical about change since Obama's first presidential campaign, when it seemed everyone was eager to change. She knew then, and has know all along, that most people hate to change though they're happy to see others do it.

Dennis Vickers

#27. Disappeared like fog in a stiff morning breeze, teen revilers when a squad car creeps up the driveway, roaches when the kitchen light comes on.

Dennis Vickers

#28. Her brown eyes flashed like headlamps on a police cruiser, cameras at a Superbowl kickoff, lightning over Frankenstein's
castle.

Dennis Vickers

#29. Breathed like a contestant in a polka marathon, sit-up contest, stationary bike race.

Dennis Vickers

#30. Gasps erupted from his nostrils like grouse from a thicket, schoolboys onto a recess yard, grease spatters from frying bacon.

Dennis Vickers

#31. Fluorescent lights on the ceiling lit up the white Formica top of her desk like an operating table, white-sand beach at high noon, French fries under the heat lamp at McDonald's.

Dennis Vickers

#32. Hung in the air like fart gas in an elevator, insecurity in a prom ballroom, guilt around a police lineup.

Dennis Vickers

#33. Suddenly, she emitted a loud, long fart, like air escaping a beach ball, exhaust pipe of a Model T, tire-inflating hose at the service station, and this without any forewarning borborygmus.

Dennis Vickers

#34. Her mighty eyebrow rose like a kite catching the wind, flock of geese fleeing a shotgun blast, excursion balloon departing carnival grounds.

Dennis Vickers

#35. Change for its own sake doesn't make life more interesting; it only makes it different.

Dennis Vickers

#36. Since these words went into William's fermenting little brain not as word memories, but as circuitry for storing word memories, bricks used to build the kiln for firing bricks, he has no recollection of the rhyme, yet the ideas in it are axioms of his mental geometry.

Dennis Vickers

#37. A surprising number, like options in the cereal aisle, liberal studies graduates working fast food, people who don't know Shakespeare coined the phrase break the ice.

Dennis Vickers

#38. For most of human history people owned other people. Then, only a hundred and fifty years ago, our ancestors figured out that was a bad idea. One day we'll figure out, or our descendants will figure out, that people owning land they don't live on or work is a bad idea too.

Dennis Vickers

#39. Followed like a goat on a halter, hungry dog closing on his just-filled dinner bowl, water-bottle and towel carrier behind the tuba section of a marching band.

Dennis Vickers

#40. Alliteration is not a prostitute to be sold to every sailor who visits the port. This fine lady is a valuable literary diva one should ask to sing her aria only for special occasions.

Dennis Vickers

#41. Could be an amazing product, sell like condoms at a high school prom, donuts at a police convention, sunscreen on a Caribbean crush ship.

Dennis Vickers

#42. Exposed like butt cheeks at a strip club; chicken breasts, fleshy and sallow in the butcher's case; tequila bottle soldiers lined up across the bar's back wall.

Dennis Vickers

#43. Spurting out like formula from a colicky baby's mouth, drops ejected from boiled frosting boiling, preliminary spurts from Old Faithful before the earthquake.

Dennis Vickers

#44. Probing the corners of the room like a caged cat, fly caught in a jar, fart in an elevator.

Dennis Vickers

#45. Snatched away like socks glommed off the sale table at Wal-Mart, dog treat snapped up by an eager German Sheppard, mouse picked off the lawn by a swooping owl.

Dennis Vickers

#46. Abandoned like an empty beer bottle, cigarette butt, worn-out shoe.

Dennis Vickers

#47. She pinched her lips tight together, like someone considering a foul smell, three-legged dog, ugly baby.

Dennis Vickers

#48. Am I an old man who changed into a butterfly, or a butterfly who thinks he was once an old man?

Dennis Vickers

#49. My mind spun like the flywheel on an antique John Deere, merry-go-round during second-grade recess, hard spun roulette wheel.

Dennis Vickers

#50. Squeal like a cheerleader named prom queen, aging retiree placing the game-winning bingo button, frenzied fan finding Johnny Depp in her supermarket.

Dennis Vickers

#51. She looked at the ceiling, eyelashes batting like hummingbird wings.

Dennis Vickers

#52. You're the only you you get in this life! Show a little appreciation!

Dennis Vickers

#53. Ditched like an unwanted cat, worn-out tire, ugly blind date.

Dennis Vickers

#54. Legs pinched together like bread loafs in a shared pan, linebackers in adjacent seats flying coach fare, chubby cats eating from a single dish.

Dennis Vickers

#55. Our stories are phantoms of fleeting moments reflected in mirrors.

Dennis Vickers

#56. Tourists hurried past them on the pedestrian-only street like chickens scampering to the feeder, cars scurrying through a tollgate, Niagara River rushing into the falls.

Dennis Vickers

#57. The bus's wipers slapped out of synch, like poorly rehearsed ballroom dancers, arms of a neophyte swimmer dogpaddling, wobbling grocery-cart wheel and its unencumbered mate.

Dennis Vickers

#58. Thighs spread out on the seat like water balloons, frying eggs, spilled syrup.

Dennis Vickers

#59. He yawned like a black bear coming out of hibernation.

Dennis Vickers

#60. High-pitched squeal like a beauty pageant contestant found best in show, Oprah audience member given a new Chevy, rookie actress surprised with an unlikely Oscar.

Dennis Vickers

#61. Now I felt exposed, on display like a puppy in a pet store window, strip steak in a butcher case, burglar caught in a flashlight beam, in a word, naked.

Dennis Vickers

#62. Panting like a marathon runner at mile twenty, overheated bloodhound, steam engine crawling up the Continental Divide.

Dennis Vickers

#63. Flipped through memories like old copies of National Geographic, pages in a yellowing high-school year book, cable-television channels looking for a baseball game.

Dennis Vickers

#64. Screamed like a manic cheerleader heaping encouragement on her high school's punt returner as he breaks through the first wall of blocks.

Dennis Vickers

#65. Our reality may be fabled, but surely will be fleeting, because when the storyteller looks away, the story collapses. In the end, we vanish like mist in the morning sun.

Dennis Vickers

#66. Your eyes flash like Fourth-of-July sparklers, headlights on a mountain road, sparks in a short-circuited toaster.

Dennis Vickers

#67. Only locks in life are what you think you know, but don't. Accept your ignorance and try something new.

Dennis Vickers

#68. Your mother's chili was onions, hamburger, tomato soup, kidney beans, no chili powder, no peppers. Mexican flags flew at half staff every time she made it.

Dennis Vickers

#69. Like a summer storm, the ferment quickly passed,moving from explosive turmoil to exhausted calm in a few seconds.

Dennis Vickers

#70. No difference making a living with what's between your ears and making one with what's between your legs.

Dennis Vickers

#71. The company's stock dropped like seagull turds on a car hood, panties on prom night, celebrity names during red-carpet coverage.

Dennis Vickers

#72. Whacked away under the desk like hail on a barn roof.

Dennis Vickers

#73. The world of literature is a sacred mirror that shows not the reality around us but the dreams and fears that reality stimulates: It's not where we live, but life itself.

Dennis Vickers

#74. Sweating like a fat woman in a sauna, nun with a tattoo on her tit, overweight jockey.

Dennis Vickers

#75. Divided like boys and girls at a summer camp, egg whites and yolks in grandma's lemon-meringue-pie recipe, dogs and cats in pet heaven.

Dennis Vickers

#76. Do your dreams find their way from your sub-conscious self, the part of your brain that's busy while you sleep, to your conscious self? From your night self to your day self? That's the question." She met William's eyes and held on. "Do you know what you want?

Dennis Vickers