“I stole a picture of a young lady on a bench. I stole a picture of the old bridge at sunset.” We used to talk that way about photography. An honest way.
Cedric Plumm. All Roads Lead.
Rights are tactics.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
In response to the rain, Roger muttered two words only: “Shut up.”
Charles Jeffrey Yett, Writing in Miniature—Volume Three.
Besides thyselfe, Lucinda,
What do I love best?
Silence is all.
Not a squeak! Nor a vowell
Nor consonance shall stand.
Anthony Dudley, “The Widow Weepeth.” (1620)
Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Jacobean Stage.
“Try to picture it this way, Victoria. We are descending into the valley. Perpetually.”
Thaddeus Crewes, The Seven Long Years.
“I’m afraid I can’t give you an alibi, Inspector.”
“How about a few glib sentences, instead?” whispered Lydia, cruelly.
Gwenda Reid, Murder in Retrospect.
“The catastrophe isn’t something to come, Reggie. The catastrophe is the hour-by-hour, day-by-day enactment of this culture.”
Mark Anthony, The Tale of the Mirror.
Denise and Carla were desperate to find out—to fathom—what that snapshot had meant to the old boy.
Harrison Wilmer, The Michaelmas Killer.
At some point that evening, Newburne began to talk about what he called “the beauty of the object.”
Everson Dwight, Theory of Machines, a Novel.
Logic haunts us.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
dennis scharnberg 