“No, Jack. She said that her employees “expressed anger” about it. And what the hell does that mean? Were they angry, or what?”
Bertram Worcester, The Smiling Killer.
Wasn’t it LW who claimed that logic was “like humming a tune”?
Nigel Swoone, Old Theories of Time.
It’s quibbling to say that there is no “modernism” left in contemporary art. There is, in fact, nothing left in contemporary art.
Crispin Trove, The Viewer As Pest.
be leaf
Andrew Tertullian, Pandora’s Ponderous Puns.
At one point in the interview, Carson admitted that the central method of his con was to demand ten thousand dollars but be willing to settle for five.
Nicholas Crisp, Unfit for Murder.
“The notion that reality is an idea, Eleanor. That was a doorway to never-ending misery.”
Will Bestwyck, Letters From Mr. Palindrome.
“No, sir, he was not quite smiling. But it was close. It was very close to that. Nearly smiling, I’d say.”
Carla Marks, The Murder Matter.
In a culture of image, even the most frivolous delusions merit our serious attention.
Clifford O. Mounce, A Portable Darkness.
Sowing seed in a barren field. That is the fate of the serious writer today. This also applies to the artists—although, in their case, failure to obtain “growth” is the only sure sign of success.
Hunter Hogarth, Raised by Wolves.
A bridge was made of rubber. Those who crossed it bounced a bit. End of tale. Sorry.
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
dennis scharnberg 