“How may we help you, sir?” That is the internet. That is the internet’s attitude toward me, the person.
Roger Hedgecook, Stolen and Sold for Parts.
“How can you be certain, Eleanor? After all, you’re suffering from amnesia. Remember?”
Chris Marlowe, The Phoenix Park Murders.
“I have never been ashamed,” she insisted.
“And why is that?” demanded Tom.
Diana Moone, Living Well.
More three-word phrases:
—pack of cards
—skirt lifting episode
—old is new
—hormonally induced spasms
—that is all
—weapon of opportunity
—intractable feedback loop
—swarm of insects
—making ends meet
—going all out
Tessa Fielding and Constance Gogarty, A Book of Lists.
What does she dread, this charming creature? Being merely a bit part in another’s tale.
Jonathan Steed, Down Under.
Helen claimed—rather too proudly—that she had never thought in words.
Pryce Cummings, Rattle Box.
“It’s not a mystery, Beth. Not at all. And it is not amazing. Not. At. All.”
Quentin Drabb, Ebenezer’s Untold Tales.
“It was infant mortality, Mr. Plowman. I assure you.”
“At age thirty-six?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lana Dowling, The Mystery of the Dull Parcels.
It’s that the lies are so familiar to them. They jump into the whole mess as though stepping into a nice pair of boots.
Hill Boothby, Essays on Disappointment Management.
“And down it all went,” said Elfwick in his softest voice. “Like a mournful Buster Keaton, wondering what has happened. All the way down to the pavement.”
Adrian Knowles, Listen to Me.
dennis scharnberg 