“New York always brings out the serial killer in me. It’s a great city to kill in. The best. You've got something like fifteen million people living cheek by jowl, and most of them couldn't give a damn about anyone else. No one wants to get involved. No one cares.”
―
Stephen Leather,
The Basement
“Jack Nightingale: "So I'm a hero?"Supt. Chalmers: "No, Nightingale, you're an arsehole. But I can't arrest you for that.” ― Stephen Leather, Midnight
“I opened the door of the Mercedes and got in. Man, that smell. It’s leather, but not just leather. You know how, in Monopoly, there’s a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card? When you’re rich enough to afford a car that smells like Mr. Sharpton’s gray Mercedes, you must have a Get-Out-of-Everything-Free card.” ― Stephen King, Everything's Eventual: 14 Dark Tales
“Baltimore's slogan was 'The City that Reads', but like the rest of its one million or so inhabitants Lori knew that was a pipedream; the city had one of the lowest literacy rates in the country, and along with illiteracy went a lack of morals.” ― Stephen Leather, The Birthday Girl
“And please, whatever you do, don’t tell us that what we do, either in love or lust, is unnatural. For one thing if what you mean by that is that animals don’t do it, then you are quite simply in factual error.There are plenty of activities or qualities we could list that are most certainly unnatural if you are so mad as to think that humans are not part of nature, or so dull-witted as to believe that ‘natural’ means ‘all natures but human nature’: mercy, for example, is un¬natural, an altruistic, non-selfish care and love for other species is unnatural; charity is unnatural, justice is unnatural, virtue is unnatural, indeed — and this surely is the point — the idea of virtue is unnatural, within such a foolish, useless meaning of the word ‘natural’. Animals, poor things, eat in order to survive: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have Abbey Crunch biscuits, Armagnac, selle d’agneau, tortilla chips, sauce béarnaise, Vimto, hot buttered crumpets, Chateau Margaux, ginger-snaps, risotto nero and peanut-butter sandwiches — these things have nothing to do with survival and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old greed. Animals, poor things, copulate in order to reproduce: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have kinky boots, wank-mags, leather thongs, peep-shows, statuettes by Degas, bedshows, Tom of Finland, escort agencies and the Journals of Anaïs Nin — these things have nothing to do with reproduction and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old lust. We humans have opened up a wide choice of literal and metaphorical haute cuisine and junk food in many areas of our lives, and as a punishment, for daring to eat the fruit of every tree in the garden, we were expelled from the Eden the animals still inhabit and we were sent away with the two great Jewish afflictions to bear as our penance: indigestion and guilt.” ― Stephen Fry, Moab Is My Washpot
“It was 1977. Bob Marley was in a foreign studio, recovering from an assassin’s ambush and singing: “Many more will have to suffer. Many more will have to die. Don’t ask me why.” Bantu Stephen Biko was shackled, naked and comatose in the back of a South African police Land Rover. The Baader-Meinhof gang lay in suicide pools in a German prison. The Khmer Rouge filled their killing fields. The Weather Underground and the Young Lords Party crawled toward the final stages of violent implosion. In London, as in New York City, capitalism’s crisis left entire blocks and buildings abandoned, and the sudden appearance of pierced, mohawked, leather-jacketed punks on Kings Road set off paroxysms of hysteria. History behaved as if reset to year zero. In the Bronx, Herc’s time was passing. But the new culture that had arisen around him had captured the imagination of a new breed of youths in the Bronx. Herc had stripped down and let go of everything, save the most powerful basic elements—the rhythm, the motion, the voice, the name. In doing so, he summoned up a spirit that had been there at Congo Square and in Harlem and on Wareika Hill. The new culture seemed to whirl backward and forward—a loop of history, history as loop—calling and responding, leaping, spinning, renewing.” ― Jeff Chang, Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation
“Below the waterbag were his guns,finely weighted to his hand. The two belts crisscrossed above his crotch. The holsters were oiled too deeply for even this Philistine sun to crack. The stocks of the guns were sandalwood, yellow and finely grained. The holsters were tied down withraw hide cord, and they swung heavily against his hips. The brass casings of the cartridges looped into the gun belts twinkled and flashed and heliographed in the sun. The leather made subtlecreaking noises. The guns themselves made no noise.” ― Stephen King, The Gunslinger
“Jack stood by his shoulder, very much aware of the scent of Ullman’s cologne. All my men wear English Leather or they wear nothing at all came into his mind for no reason at all, and he had to clamp his tongue between his teeth to keep in a bray of laughter.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“Why is my mother texting me about how hot you are?""Weird. Think it has anything to do with the fact I just went to the bookstore in nothing but a patent leather trench coat?"Charlie replies with a screenshot of some texts between him and his mom. "Cottage guest is very pretty", Sally writes, then separately, "No ring."Charlie replied: "Oh? Thinking of leaving Dad?"She ignored his comment and instead said, "Tall. You always liked tall girls.""What are you talking about" Charlie wrote back, no question mark. "Remember your homecoming date? Lilac Walter-Hixton? She was practically a giant""That was the eighth-grade formal" he said "it was before my growth spurt.""Well this girl's very pretty and tall but not too tall.""Tall but not TOO tall," I tell Charlie, "can also be added to my headstone. He says "I'll make a note."I say, "She told me you would bring wood over to the cottage for me."He says "Please swear to me you didn't make a 'too late for that' joke.” ― Emily Henry, Book Lovers
“Her face is seamed with a million wrinkles like the map of a state where the geography hasn’t settled down—rivers and canyons along her brown leather cheeks, ridges below the knob of her chin, the sinuous raised drumlin of bone at the base of her forehead, the caves of her eyes.” ― Stephen King, The Stand
“In his faded tartan bathrobe and brown leather slippers with the rundown heels, his hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks, he looked to her like an absurd twentieth-century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way. (jesus” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“He was standing motionless in front of the closed elevator door. In his faded tartan bathrobe and brown leather slippers with the rundown heels, his hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks, he looked to her like an absurd twentieth-century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“She dreamed of going into the dining room and finding a woman bound with chains to the long Ethan Allen table there. The woman was naked except for a black leather hood that covered the top half of her face. I don’t know that woman, that woman is a stranger to me, she thought in her dream, and then from beneath the hood Petra said: ‘Mama, is that you?” ― Stephen King
“Arab terrorist, international hitman, it's all a bit Andy McNab, isn't it?” ― Stephen Leather, Dead Men
“The couple had been parking out here and were found in the boyfriend’s 1959 Mercury.The Merc had real leather seats and a large chrome hood ornament.The occupants had been found in the back seat.Also in the front seat, the trunk, and the glove compartment.” ― Stephen King, Skeleton Crew: featuring The Mist
“leather” ― Stephen King, Full Dark, No Stars
“He put on his underwear and shuffled back to the bedroom, standing in the doorway for a moment and looking at the woman who had brought him home last night. Arms and legs splayed, everything show ing. Last night she had looked like the goddess of the Western world in her thigh-high leather skirt and cork sandals, her cropped top and hoop earrings. This morning he saw the sagging white dough of a growing boozegut, and the second chin starting to appear under the first.” ― Stephen King, Doctor Sleep
“Rig inspected it close-up, amazed with its size and thickness. The blade itself was as tall as he. Tightly wrapped around the hilt was a jet black leather. The end of the hilt was wrought into a half rounded octagonal piece of steel, slotted for the leather to weave through. The sword possessed a steel crossguard, shaped artistically to flare out on either side. These bore runic symbols. A black oxidized etching ran along the guard and branched off symmetrically on either side. The flanged ends of the cross guards were worked around the etching, embellishing it with pleasant angles.” ― Stephen Blumberg, The Eldritch Tome: Volume I
“Remember the six Ps. Perfect Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance.” ― Stephen Leather, Killing Time: Serial Killers Never Retire - They Just Go On Hiatus
“Jack Nightingale: "So I'm a hero?"Supt. Chalmers: "No, Nightingale, you're an arsehole. But I can't arrest you for that.” ― Stephen Leather, Midnight
“I opened the door of the Mercedes and got in. Man, that smell. It’s leather, but not just leather. You know how, in Monopoly, there’s a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card? When you’re rich enough to afford a car that smells like Mr. Sharpton’s gray Mercedes, you must have a Get-Out-of-Everything-Free card.” ― Stephen King, Everything's Eventual: 14 Dark Tales
“Baltimore's slogan was 'The City that Reads', but like the rest of its one million or so inhabitants Lori knew that was a pipedream; the city had one of the lowest literacy rates in the country, and along with illiteracy went a lack of morals.” ― Stephen Leather, The Birthday Girl
“And please, whatever you do, don’t tell us that what we do, either in love or lust, is unnatural. For one thing if what you mean by that is that animals don’t do it, then you are quite simply in factual error.There are plenty of activities or qualities we could list that are most certainly unnatural if you are so mad as to think that humans are not part of nature, or so dull-witted as to believe that ‘natural’ means ‘all natures but human nature’: mercy, for example, is un¬natural, an altruistic, non-selfish care and love for other species is unnatural; charity is unnatural, justice is unnatural, virtue is unnatural, indeed — and this surely is the point — the idea of virtue is unnatural, within such a foolish, useless meaning of the word ‘natural’. Animals, poor things, eat in order to survive: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have Abbey Crunch biscuits, Armagnac, selle d’agneau, tortilla chips, sauce béarnaise, Vimto, hot buttered crumpets, Chateau Margaux, ginger-snaps, risotto nero and peanut-butter sandwiches — these things have nothing to do with survival and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old greed. Animals, poor things, copulate in order to reproduce: we, lucky things, do that too, but we also have kinky boots, wank-mags, leather thongs, peep-shows, statuettes by Degas, bedshows, Tom of Finland, escort agencies and the Journals of Anaïs Nin — these things have nothing to do with reproduction and everything to do with pleasure, connoisseurship and plain old lust. We humans have opened up a wide choice of literal and metaphorical haute cuisine and junk food in many areas of our lives, and as a punishment, for daring to eat the fruit of every tree in the garden, we were expelled from the Eden the animals still inhabit and we were sent away with the two great Jewish afflictions to bear as our penance: indigestion and guilt.” ― Stephen Fry, Moab Is My Washpot
“It was 1977. Bob Marley was in a foreign studio, recovering from an assassin’s ambush and singing: “Many more will have to suffer. Many more will have to die. Don’t ask me why.” Bantu Stephen Biko was shackled, naked and comatose in the back of a South African police Land Rover. The Baader-Meinhof gang lay in suicide pools in a German prison. The Khmer Rouge filled their killing fields. The Weather Underground and the Young Lords Party crawled toward the final stages of violent implosion. In London, as in New York City, capitalism’s crisis left entire blocks and buildings abandoned, and the sudden appearance of pierced, mohawked, leather-jacketed punks on Kings Road set off paroxysms of hysteria. History behaved as if reset to year zero. In the Bronx, Herc’s time was passing. But the new culture that had arisen around him had captured the imagination of a new breed of youths in the Bronx. Herc had stripped down and let go of everything, save the most powerful basic elements—the rhythm, the motion, the voice, the name. In doing so, he summoned up a spirit that had been there at Congo Square and in Harlem and on Wareika Hill. The new culture seemed to whirl backward and forward—a loop of history, history as loop—calling and responding, leaping, spinning, renewing.” ― Jeff Chang, Can't Stop Won't Stop: A History of the Hip-Hop Generation
“Below the waterbag were his guns,finely weighted to his hand. The two belts crisscrossed above his crotch. The holsters were oiled too deeply for even this Philistine sun to crack. The stocks of the guns were sandalwood, yellow and finely grained. The holsters were tied down withraw hide cord, and they swung heavily against his hips. The brass casings of the cartridges looped into the gun belts twinkled and flashed and heliographed in the sun. The leather made subtlecreaking noises. The guns themselves made no noise.” ― Stephen King, The Gunslinger
“Jack stood by his shoulder, very much aware of the scent of Ullman’s cologne. All my men wear English Leather or they wear nothing at all came into his mind for no reason at all, and he had to clamp his tongue between his teeth to keep in a bray of laughter.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“Why is my mother texting me about how hot you are?""Weird. Think it has anything to do with the fact I just went to the bookstore in nothing but a patent leather trench coat?"Charlie replies with a screenshot of some texts between him and his mom. "Cottage guest is very pretty", Sally writes, then separately, "No ring."Charlie replied: "Oh? Thinking of leaving Dad?"She ignored his comment and instead said, "Tall. You always liked tall girls.""What are you talking about" Charlie wrote back, no question mark. "Remember your homecoming date? Lilac Walter-Hixton? She was practically a giant""That was the eighth-grade formal" he said "it was before my growth spurt.""Well this girl's very pretty and tall but not too tall.""Tall but not TOO tall," I tell Charlie, "can also be added to my headstone. He says "I'll make a note."I say, "She told me you would bring wood over to the cottage for me."He says "Please swear to me you didn't make a 'too late for that' joke.” ― Emily Henry, Book Lovers
“Her face is seamed with a million wrinkles like the map of a state where the geography hasn’t settled down—rivers and canyons along her brown leather cheeks, ridges below the knob of her chin, the sinuous raised drumlin of bone at the base of her forehead, the caves of her eyes.” ― Stephen King, The Stand
“In his faded tartan bathrobe and brown leather slippers with the rundown heels, his hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks, he looked to her like an absurd twentieth-century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way. (jesus” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“He was standing motionless in front of the closed elevator door. In his faded tartan bathrobe and brown leather slippers with the rundown heels, his hair all in sleep corkscrews and Alfalfa cowlicks, he looked to her like an absurd twentieth-century Hamlet, an indecisive figure so mesmerized by onrushing tragedy that he was helpless to divert its course or alter it in any way.” ― Stephen King, The Shining
“She dreamed of going into the dining room and finding a woman bound with chains to the long Ethan Allen table there. The woman was naked except for a black leather hood that covered the top half of her face. I don’t know that woman, that woman is a stranger to me, she thought in her dream, and then from beneath the hood Petra said: ‘Mama, is that you?” ― Stephen King
“Arab terrorist, international hitman, it's all a bit Andy McNab, isn't it?” ― Stephen Leather, Dead Men
“The couple had been parking out here and were found in the boyfriend’s 1959 Mercury.The Merc had real leather seats and a large chrome hood ornament.The occupants had been found in the back seat.Also in the front seat, the trunk, and the glove compartment.” ― Stephen King, Skeleton Crew: featuring The Mist
“leather” ― Stephen King, Full Dark, No Stars
“He put on his underwear and shuffled back to the bedroom, standing in the doorway for a moment and looking at the woman who had brought him home last night. Arms and legs splayed, everything show ing. Last night she had looked like the goddess of the Western world in her thigh-high leather skirt and cork sandals, her cropped top and hoop earrings. This morning he saw the sagging white dough of a growing boozegut, and the second chin starting to appear under the first.” ― Stephen King, Doctor Sleep
“Rig inspected it close-up, amazed with its size and thickness. The blade itself was as tall as he. Tightly wrapped around the hilt was a jet black leather. The end of the hilt was wrought into a half rounded octagonal piece of steel, slotted for the leather to weave through. The sword possessed a steel crossguard, shaped artistically to flare out on either side. These bore runic symbols. A black oxidized etching ran along the guard and branched off symmetrically on either side. The flanged ends of the cross guards were worked around the etching, embellishing it with pleasant angles.” ― Stephen Blumberg, The Eldritch Tome: Volume I
“Remember the six Ps. Perfect Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance.” ― Stephen Leather, Killing Time: Serial Killers Never Retire - They Just Go On Hiatus
