“Let’s try this,” grumbled Williams. “Let’s take away their alcoholic beverages. All of it. For ten months. And then let’s find out how happy they are. All of them.”
Allison Cowling, Night of the Detective.
“I feel good.” “I feel special.” “I feel good about myself.” “I want to grow as a person.” Realistically, how long does the society last whose citizens are preoccupied with such matters?
Gilbert Parkening, How the Moon Doth Sway.
The task of our rhetoric is to smother the truth (truth that we all recognize).
Stefan Jannings, Prolegomena to Any Future.
Alicia was outspoken about her deep respect for certain forms of wildlife.
Priscilla Onkers, All About Edward.
I foresee a compounding multiplication of novelists and novels. I predict an awful hypertrophy.
Titus Musgrave, The Enigma of the Box.
To sustain an interest in modernism, one must be shallow. (Read Henry Miller? Fine. But study Henry Miller?)
Logan Nygaard, A Treatise on Amusement.
What we mean by “the Past”: a series of moral mistakes that we will now correct. But might that be a moral mistake?
Alistair Danning, An Anecdotal History of Radicalism.
“Actually, Constance, it is fascinating to find out about myself through your words.”
Rubina Malcolm, The Black Box.
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Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
Everett’s memories stood as a form of punishment. The way it should be.
Ruth Ledgerwood, Death By Logic.
dennis scharnberg 