November 3, 2019. I had fun with a female. I got high. I enjoyed exciting food, and wine in stemware. I watched a charming French film. I guess that’s all. [Possibly fiction.]
Reginald Boyington, Dear Dreadful Diary.
It’s as though the theory has the primacy, and the physical reality has no choice but to follow along.
Nigel Swoone, Old Theories of Time.
LEAR: What makes living possible?
FOOL: Insurance.
Jason Starling, ed., Adventures in Narrative Parsimony.
“Damn it, George, I demand to know what that thing is. And why you have hung it on the wall!”
“It is expression, Elisabeth. It’s called expression.”
Park V. Kessler, Nearly Happy.
All things are impossible.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
His answer was that it is impossible to explain. That you simply have to “see” it—or “grasp” it—immediately. That if you could do this, your question would vanish quietly.
Porter Oakes, The Alabaster Box.
Unlike the other boys of College House, Edward’s goal in life was to be unemployable.
Chase Tipton, Enjoying Prison Pizza.
That morning, Jamison smelt—rather too much, I thought—of petunias.
Victoria Salt, A Compendium of Opening Lines.
And she had those sensuous lips. The lips that David Bowie always dreamed of having. But never did have.
Logan Nygaard, A Treatise on Amusement.
Similarity is the lie.
Evan Amberol, A Theology of History.
dennis scharnberg 