It was as I lay on the cellar floor, feeling the blood on my back become sticky and cold, that the angel first spoke to me. She filled the air with the scent of metal and surrounded me with a circle of blue flame, and I was frightened.
“Don’t be afraid,” she told me. “I have come to speak to you, and through you. At the command of the god-machine you shall hear my words and know them to be true.” Her voice was like the notes of a flute and their vibrations calmed my fear. And that was how I learned the secret history of the world.
Rick Chillot, “Voice of the Angel”, The God-Machine Anthology [Amazon, DriveThruFiction]
Oh no! I’m all right. One must speak sometimes, one can’t spend one’s life grinning like a Cheshire cat, and pretending one thinks everything perfect.
Florence Farr, The Dancing Faun
Listen, you! We expect nothing from you…we have burnt our hope as far as you are concerned…we want to speak to the ones who are prepared to stop eating their food. Misery is your food… scum-filth party politics is your food…when will you look down and see what is on the end of your fork – the naked lunch? We give up, you little people, your tenacity, your insistence on little wretched miseries amazes us. Stop reading this now. Because it is highly unlikely that you are one of those able to understand us.
Desirous of leaving the powers of fancy at liberty to expatiate through the boundless realms of invention, and thence of creating more interesting situations, he wished to conduct the mortal agents of his drama according to the rules of probability; in short, to make them think, speak and act, as it might be supposed mere men and women would do in extraordinary positions.
Horace Walpole, The Castle of Otranto [Amazon, Bookshop, Internet Archive]
For King, the condition of truth was to allow suffering to speak; for him, justice was what love looks like in public.
Martin Luther King Jr, The Radical King
“So we have a madman in a Battle Mek demanding to speak to a fictional trademark?”
“This isn’t going to end well, Sandra.”
Kneel Downe, The Copper Cascade: A Virulent ChapBook