And what does this self-consciousness want to do? It wants to infest everything. Every little thing.
Christopher Allyn, Militant Vulgarity.
“It’s bad enough, Godfrey, that we are ignorant. Just try to imagine how awful it would be if we actually did know something.”
Silas Burbage, The Adventurous Half-Life of Buddy Boyo.
Pickwick, Ian
Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
…this prim basket of lies
doth transcende your licentious honestie.
Thomas Faraday, The Maiden’s Complainte. (1586)
Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Elizabethan Stage.
The first time I heard polyphony [in Munich], it was like an “event” had taken place—as though something had happened to me.
Regina Whiting, Lost in the Tangle.
If the likes of Peggy Guggenheim could endorse it—with enthusiasm—then it could possess no substance.
Clinton Arbogast, The Saints of Painting.
The sophisticated class today is unique in being absolutely unashamed of its ridiculousness.
Hill Boothby, Essays on Disappointment Management.
Maintaining the important lies is so much more valued than a humdrum honesty.
P. J. Cahoon, The History of Crime.
“Remember, Elizabeth, that the official story is just a story.“
Beatrice Landers, The Case of the Missing Detective.
“As an editor,” chirped Jeremy, “my job is to make the writing even worse.”
Burdyce Goode, Wonderful With Dogs.
dennis scharnberg 