The European political class would gladly flush itself—and everyone else—down the hole, but it cannot quite reach the pull chain.
Rollo Royce, The EU as a Form of Entertainment.
Dinsdale’s mistakes were often honest mistakes. And he seemed to be proud of that, although he sometimes wondered about the meaning of it all.
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
“Chemistry never stops, Alice. Actually, nothing ever stops.”
Trent Bendix, Patricia Knows Best.
Internet: Before this, what did we ever do and call it living?
Nathaniel Bumppo, The Final Word.
You cannot go at poetry directly. Not today. Not anymore.
Logan Nygaard, A Treatise on Amusement.
Until that moment—or so he thought—he had never truly experienced feminine beauty. Now, of course, what to do?
Margaret Eden, Boyish Ineptitude, a Period Novel.
We must see materiality as an odd thing. An exception.
Gilbert Ravening, The Phantom of Mechanical Consistency.
Isolating something by naming it is what we do.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
“Damn you, Farley. You’re either drunk or crazy. Or both!”
“That’s it? Only three alternatives? Charles, old boy, what a narrow world you experience.”
Dickinson Holmes, The Book of Shoes.
Intelligence: a mysterious something that takes place in an armchair.
Nathaniel Bumppo, The Final Word.
