Janice was ready to report—in full detail—just exactly what she wanted, to all present, whether those individuals had an interest in the matter or not.
Stacie Knotts, Crazy Days.
“What do you mean there’s been a slip-up? Who slipped up? And how?”
James Finial, The Misadventures of Caroline.
At least this much is the case, that each entry challenges the reader to come up with something as good.
Jason Starling, Scale in Literature.
weak end
Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
“Yes, I did rob a bank,” Robert admitted in that matter-of-fact voice. “And, yes, I did think that it was a bad thing to do. But I didn’t know. I mean, not for sure. I simply couldn’t know.”
Crosby Fields, A Reasonable Amount of Trouble.
With the landscape—or cityscape—as with genre scenes or even still life, the art historian can find his narratives, his anecdotes, his connections to worldly life, his “iconography”. But portraits operate on a more elemental level—and portraiture closes off that easy access to the world. Portraits—like the icons—stand alone.
Adrian Driscoll, Art Versus Words.
“It works, Janet. It does work. Okay. Okay. It gives the illusion that it works.”
Stoke Twombly, The Tragedians.
“Handwriting is how I think,” said Jack, with a shrug.
Hollis Beddoes, Counting the Magpies.
The [Marxist] establishes himself as the one who defines terms. Indeed, that is his first definition.
Desmond Urquhart, The Unsocial Sciences.
dennis scharnberg 