“Pay attention, Audrey. If you wish to enjoy blackmail, you simply must find yourself on the right end of it.”
Kiefer Sythe, The Detective Club.
After his paltry supper of leaf and twig, that cold steak-and-kidney pie in the pantry exerted an irresistible force of attraction upon old Gus.
Ralston Dowd, A Spot of Bother.
It’s not that poor Elizabeth believes her own lies. She simply refuses to inspect them.
Diana Moone, Living Well.
“Martens was a man of many talents. I remember his vocal impression of Gertrude Stein. I mean, we were all so amused! It truly was almost impressive.”
Gwen Tunder, Vile Porridge.
“Banks are oppressive institutions, Beverly. They ought to be robbed. And robbed often.”
Timothy Waldo, The Important Things.
“I have knelt on one knee, and I can’t get up,” Nancy whimpered into the emergency device.
P. F. Pillby, A Fleet of Scows.
For Jacoby, hip hop was a cultural elixir, however improbable that might seem to be. “It rescues us all,” he said, “from a grim vortex of meaninglessness.”
Charles Jeffrey Yett, Writing in Miniature—Vol. Three.
Apology: a guilty plea.
Nathaniel Bumppo, The Final Word.
Happiness is a nonsensical notion.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
“A poet roused is a terrible thing, sir. You take it from me!”
Trenton Childe, Rob Riddle and His Friends. (1792)
