It could be said that the radical leftist [sought] exemption from the consequences of his own ideology.
Albrecht Beinz, Climbing Out of Our Skin.
Here is a toast for them all: “To a mediocre hedonism!”
Bertrand Bartholomew, A Confusion of Tongues.
“…up close, a clean new cardboard box smells like bile.”
Clive Ellis, The Case of the Broken Handle.
“Down with water!” cried Eric. And, once again, no one had the slightest idea what he meant.
Jason Starling, ed., Adventures in Narrative Parsimony.
Edward rolled his sleeves up differently this time. It was part of his new commitment to avoid the merely mechanical.
Jed Honneger, The Barca Boys.
The peculiar ignorance of the journalist is a nagging thing; it’s like a physical substance.
Ernest Ingram, The Unclean Sweep.
It is time to recognize that “some” and “several” and “many” are not quantities.
Nigel Swarbrick, A Bootful of Nails.
Trillions of stars are sending light to us, and yet the sky is not a white sheet.
Trent Malthus, Taking Evasive Action.
Each of us steals a language that we did not invent.
Jason K. Broadus, The Ice of My Dreams.
“Facts don’t care about your feelings,” said Kyle, rubbing it in a little.
Miles Everett Mander, Hard-Won Tales.
