'The sea has many voices. The voice this man is listening for is the voice of his mother. He lifts his head, turns his face to the chill air that moves across the gulf, and tastes the sharp salt on his lip. The sea surface bellies and glistens, a lustrous sliver blue- a membrane stretched to a fine transparency where once, for nice changes of the moon, he had hung curled in a dream of pre-existence and was rocked and comforted.'-David Malouf, Ransom
- -James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room
3.'Like most people I lived a long time with my mother and father. My father liked to watch the wrestling, my mother liked to wrestle; it didn’t matter what. She was in the white corner and that was that. She hung out the largest sheets on the windiest days. She wanted the Mormons to knock on the door. At election time in a Labour mill town she put a picture of the Conservative candidate in the window.'
- Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
- Mark Z. Danielwski, House of Leaves