…like the boy who peeped
After a birde her neste in the bush….
Anthony Burchfield, Miranda’s Disguise. (1619)
Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Jacobean Stage.
“…he is condemned to be a postmodernist. There is nothing else he can be. It is just that hopeless.”
Jonathan Steed, Down Under.
…there appears to be no limit on the number of ways one can be wrong.
Rollin Mungo, Selected Rants of Mr. Barraclough.
An hundred weeping eyes
shall prove lacking
For thy substantial neede.
Anthony Byrchfield, The Five Golden Dayes. (1590)
Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Elizabethan Stage.
…drive them, sir, as
So many wilde beastes.
Samuel Wyllkins, The Sexton’s Dreame. (1622)
Priscilla Fanning, Fragments From the Jacobean Stage.
Summerly’s ascent to mediocrity hinged on the efforts of several benefactors. Not the least of these was a Mr. William Davy.
Nicholas Crisp, A Suitcase Fell on Her Head.
What was it about Theodor [Adorno] that enabled him always to have the worst ideas in the world?
Octavius Kinder, A Sustainable Unhappiness.
“Your story is a lie, Tom! Actually, it is ridiculous.“
“All stories are ridiculous, Brenda.”
Herbert Fallowes, Inclined to Murder.
“I will write a novel,” declared Jason, “but only if it can be a nineteenth century novel. None of that modern business, full of nastiness and zig-zags.”
Nicholas Crisp, A Suitcase Fell on Her Head.
With exemplary adroitness, Mr. Desmond Davies stepped over and past the corpse of his own integrity.
Victoria Salt, A Compendium of Opening Lines.
