“He didn’t know. And he couldn’t know, could he? And if he couldn’t know, perhaps he shouldn’t know? And if he shouldn’t know, he wouldn’t know? Would he? Could he? Should he?” There was almost a philosophy to Colleen’s frantic questions. Almost.
Grayling Scott, An Inventory of Characters.
Credo: The only true happiness is built upon the spasmodic sensations of the reproductive organs.
Jackson Currothers III, The View from the Cauldron.
All facts are merely theories. Except, of course, for the fact just asserted.
Amanda Willcoxen, ed., The Literary and Philosophical Fragments of Gregory James Sallust.
A concept is a form of self-consciousness. It removes us from the old excitement (in the world). Now we are confined to that excitement that comes from the concept (e.g., the notion that words can “reverberate”).
Pamela Hrothgar, No Stone Unturned.
“This is the way I laugh now,” Robert said, confidently, after emitting an awful screeching noise.
Charles Jeffrey Yett, Writing in Miniature—Vol. Three.
“Thinking is what I didn’t do,” said Donald, boasting a bit to himself (and to the others). “And I am good at not doing it.”
Stephanie Biggers, Cat Farming in Nigeria.
Todd was contemplating the ever-expanding culture of “nice.” “But what if the culture of nice is just a curtain?” he wondered. “And behind this curtain is nothing? Nothing at all?”
Gladys Huizinga, Hard-Luck Dennis.
The sill is an encrustation of white drips. Deposits of no particular intent. A painting. A narrow painting. I once heard the expression “bird lime.”
Eugene Bavinger, The Turpentine Blues.
The [elite] are those who have found a way to cloak their own desperation in finer textiles.
Titus Musgrave, Carthago Delenda Est.
“I need to be punished for the mistake that I made. Otherwise I won’t learn from my error. And learning is what I am all about.” Again, Colin was searching for the right thing to say.
Darko Rivenbark, Snapshots.
