Top 450 Joe Hill Quotes (2025 Update)
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451. “Thoughts flashed by, like cards glimpsed as the dealer shuffles the deck.”

— Joe Hill

452. “The road will make me better. The road always does.”

— Joe Hill

453. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be kicked in the nuts as soon as they try to get back up.”

— Joe Hill

454. “Then something explodes behind her eyelids into a radial green fan, dazzling her with pain. Her neck aches, her abdomen. The pain moves lower. It feels as if an umbrella were opening below her navel. Menstrual cramps, she thinks. Seconds later, as with a soldering iron, an acute and narrowly focused heat climbs her spine.”

— Joe Hill

455. “A book of stories isn’t a novel and can’t have the simple narrative drive of a novel. I think it should still try to have a feeling of progression, of connectedness. It’s like a road trip. You’re staying in a different inn every night:.”

— Joe Hill

456. “They glowed in the darkness, all of them: pale shining wisps with rings of light where their eyes belonged, as if they were the dead – ghosts risen from their graves – not Gilbert Cline. Harper felt their grief as a slow current of cold water, and herself as a leaf revolving upon it. As.”

— Joe Hill

457. “Most people took no more notice of the profoundly deaf than they did of their own shadows. They.”

— Joe Hill

458. “She was being erased a little at a time by a cancer that fed not on her flesh but on her inner life, on her private store of happiness.”

— Joe Hill

459. “Do you spend a lot of nights keeping the fire department in hysterics with creative acts of arson?” “Everyone needs a hobby,” he said. Then.”

— Joe Hill

460. “If you drive to the end of Little Harbor Road, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, it will take you to the ocean, but you won’t find the sandy lane to Camp Wyndham. I made the place up. Many other features of the area, however, are much as I presented them: South Street Cemetery, South Mill Pond, the Piscataqua Bridge. Here and there I have changed features to suit the needs of the story.”

— Joe Hill

461. “It was, I imagine, how bees feel. Not like an individual at all, but like one humming note in a whole world of perfect, useful music.”

— Joe Hill

462. “Left one for you, kiddo, he imagined the fat man telling him. Marshall’s skull grinned with small, sharp, slanting teeth. Might come in handy. You never know. In another couple days, when you’re too weak to stand, it might be just what the doctor ordered. Swallow one as needed for pain and call me never.”

— Joe Hill

463. “The enthusiasm, the swell of sweet courage he heard in her voice, filled him with Seattle-grunge levels of despair.”

— Joe Hill

464. “We’ll have to take it slow from here on out,” the Fireman said. He had that one wrong.”

— Joe Hill

465. “Written in faded blue letters, ornate, almost Gothic, across Gil’s chest, were two lines: It is impossible to go through life without trust: that is to be imprisoned in the worst cell of all, oneself. – G. Greene.”

— Joe Hill

466. “Thank you, Maggie. For everything. For trying to warn me. For helping me. I’d give anything to take back the way I acted when I saw you in Haverhill. I was scared of you. That’s not an excuse. There isn’t any excuse. There’s a lot of things I wish I could redo. You can’t imagine. I wish there was something I could do to show you how sorry I am. Something I could give you besides words.”

— Joe Hill

467. “Maybe she had found everything the world had to offer her: a notion very like despair.”

— Joe Hill

468. “I hope you didn’t burn up, British Isles! Where would the world be without your epic contributions to culture: Duran Duran, Idris Elba, and Love Actually? Drop me an e-mail, England, let me know you’re still hanging in there!”

— Joe Hill

469. “Little novels aren’t leisurely, meandering journeys. They’re drag races. You put the pedal to the floor and run your narrative right off the edge of the cliff.”

— Joe Hill

470. “You want to be able to read such stories in just one or two sittings. You want them to feel like a hand on your throat.”

— Joe Hill

471. “Neither disclosed these private discomforts. Each wanted the other to have the illusion that they might pause, anywhere, at any moment, and make love. And while both thought this was highly unlikely – not in this heat, not at this hour – the possibility kept bubbling up, every place they touched. This was the only true protection they’d brought with them as they walked deeper into the blue-gold Mojave.”

— Joe Hill

472. “The thing I’m hung up on is the idea of seeing something real. I don’t think most people feel half the things they pretend to feel.”

— Joe Hill

473. “He had despised that Mary with her idiot smile, symbol of a story that meant nothing, servant of a God who no good to anyone.”

— Joe Hill

474. “Harper’s face was buried in Mr. Truffle’s fur and with each inhalation she smelled the last nine months of his secret cat life: must, dust, grave dirt, basements and tall grass, beach and drainpipe, Dumpster and dandelions. The.”

— Joe Hill

475. “Still, she shoved herself to her feet, because she needed to do what she could, whether it made a difference or not.”

— Joe Hill

476. “The air was rank, and on my left, in a broad green meadow, arranged neatly in pairs, were dead lions and dead walruses and dead gazelles. It was like some horrible parade leading towards a cruel parody of Noah’s ark, a ship for everything that was gone and never coming back, everything that would not be saved.”

— Joe Hill

477. “Lady Gaga or Amanda Palmer or something. Some cute lunatic with a piano.”

— Joe Hill

478. “American productivity would, I believe, nearly double if everyone were free to work pantsless.”

— Joe Hill

479. “If ghosts have a color, then they are the color of an August thunderstorm getting ready to break.”

— Joe Hill