dennis scharnberg

Big lies eat little lies.

Terence Theodore, Proverbs for a New Era.

I will put it lightly:  Ours is not a golden age of literature.

Clifford O. Mounce, A Portable Darkness.

Theodore’s gift, his one true talent, was that of obscuring the truth.

Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.

“Tell me one thing, Toby,” demanded Gettings.  “Who follows advice?  Who ever did?”

Priscilla Onkers, All About Edward.

“Kathleen, you are uninteresting.  I am sorry, of course, but it needed saying.  I realize that, since you are an artist, it must come as a shock.”

Trent Bendix, Grieving for Margaret.

“I’m the one on the outside,” said  Mr. Baldrick.  “I am the one begging my Creator to assure me that I actually dwell in 13th century Bavaria and that I am just having a particularly long nightmare (and that I will wake soon).”

Mark Anthony,  The Tale of the Mirror.

We cannot examine everything closely.

Enos Slaughter, Speaking Out of the Ground.

To do:  Turn A into not-A, but keep referring to it as A.

Hilbert Kaasa, The Fabian Way.

“[Ouspensky] came to regard the light that passed through his window as an object, a solid object.”  Sometimes Benton’s enigmatic assertions made sense.  An awkward, stubborn sense.

Giles Coxe-Coburn, Belief in Insects.

It is words sure, my lord, that leadeth us to miserie.

William Davy, “Anna Livia’s Demise.”  (1620)

Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Jacobean Stage.