Concerning all that he has written and all that he has said, Clive wants people to think this: “He was credible.”
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
One has a right to one’s nausea. Surely.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
“I want to attend drama school!” shouted James, loudly and clearly.
Trent Bendix, Patricia Knows Best.
“Yes, that’s right. I am a revolutionary. How may I help you?”
Tristan Holyoke, A Tree Full of Monkeys.
It’s almost dazzling, said Oliver, how easy it was to convince everyone. That something called “debt” is actually wealth. And that we should want to have more and more of it.
Del Arbogast, The Null Hypothesis and Other Stories.
“Happiness, Edna. It is such a state of being! You almost cannot beat it.”
Burdyce Goode, Philosophy of Vegetables.
“It’s Vic as in Victor,” he said, “and Tim as in Timothy.”
Corliss Archer, Boarding the Crazy Train.
By the post-war years, modernism had become academic. One was invited to matriculate one’s way to the status of cultural outlaw.
Paul Uccelo, The Enigma of the Box.
“Of course, even his best work is anemic,” said Mr. Moone. “Aggressively anemic. That’s what I would call it.”
Chadwick Graves, One Damned Thing After Another.
“There is very little time,” said Matthew calmly. “Almost none, in fact.”
Giles Coxe-Coburn, Belief in Insects.
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