Besides thyselfe, Lucinda,

What do I love best?

Silence is all.

Not a squeak! Nor a vowell

Nor consonance shall stand.

Anthony Dudley, “The Widow Weepeth.” (1620)

Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Jacobean Stage.

“Try to picture it this way, Victoria. We are descending into the valley. Perpetually.”

Thaddeus Crewes, The Seven Long Years.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an alibi, Inspector.”

“How about a few glib sentences, instead?” whispered Lydia, cruelly.

Gwenda Reid, Murder in Retrospect.

dennis scharnberg