søndag 29. september 2013

At the top I allowed myself exactly one minute to rest - lying on my back, panting and sweating, counting the sixty seconds with metronomic severity. I was running with blood but my head was clear, my thinking tight as a drum. 

Fra side 167 i spenningsromanen Pig Island av Mo Hayder.

lørdag 28. september 2013

While the sun crossed the zenith and the shadows of the trees on the cliffs moved like the hands on a clock, 

Fra side 66 i spenningsboken Pig Island av Mo Hayder.

fredag 27. september 2013

It's the mid-eighties. Liverpool's the unemployment capital of Europe, and my cousin Finn is the closest thing to a God I know. He's a charm bird, totally does not look like my cousin with his blond, mosh-pit hair and ratty nose. The Kurt Cobain of Toxteth. He's the first in our family to get into university and he comes home summer holidays to Self-pity City talking like a Londoner. He tells us all about university and the birds he's shagged. He's going to be a journalist, travel the world. Everyone hates him. Me - I think I can see the sun shine when he bends over. 

Fra side 32 i spennings boken Pig Island av Mo Hayder.