heap of rubbish
“We don’t have the words anymore, Molly. Ludicrous means nothing today. Ridiculous doesn’t come close. Clown show means nothing. Circus—nothing.”
Pryce Cummings, Rattle Box.
“We don’t have the words anymore, Molly. Ludicrous means nothing today. Ridiculous doesn’t come close. Clown show means nothing. Circus—nothing.”
Pryce Cummings, Rattle Box.
“His body was found at the foot of Wolf Canyon. Yesterday morning.”
“Well, canyons don’t come any finer than that one, Donna. That I do know.”
Everson Dwight, Theory of Machines, a Novel.
Rule 18. If the ideal is unattainable for you personally, then redefine the ideal as a pathology. And attack it.
Dell Arbogast, The Null Hypothesis and Other Stories.
“Since when,” demanded Lucas, “is being ashamed some kind of virtue? I mean, what the hell?”
Devona Twilly, Shallowness, a Novel.
“I am sure,” said Jack, “that I shall never forget the sound it made when that book landed in the dumpster.”
Diana Moone, Living Well.