Lynda has resumed work on a definitive list of “things in her life” and how she feels about them.
Darko Rivenbark, Snapshots.
“Remember, anxiety is understandable,” announced Dr. Winthrop. “No it isn’t,” I muttered.
Clifford Apogee, Draining the Pools and Other Stories.
“Not when does it end, but where,” insisted Marcus. “Location, location, location.”
Stephanie Biggers, Cat Farming in Nigeria.
They grow weary of reason, of rationality itself, of logic, of evidence, of the empirical. They yearn for something magical, for some hidden/secret knowledge. But they never seem to consider that this yearning might itself be tiresome.
Teresa Ravens, The Lives of Helena Blavatsky.
“There is no need to speculate. It is sitting right there, in front of us. As always.” Alton muttered all this under his beard. But Janet heard it well enough. Every word.
Beatrice Landers, The Case of the Disappearing Detective.
The mystery of buildings. The tenant moving about from one room to the next, unseen.
Timothy Swofford, The Corpse and the Candle.
Winthrope’s sobriety test did not take long.
Priscilla Onkers, All About Edward.
“The cause of death was photography,” smirked Raymond. “She had her picture taken.”
Agatha Vox, When Everything Was Singing.
He uses all names. Hence, he has no name.
Giles Coxe-Coburn, Belief in Insects.
It is not that psychology is hackneyed. It’s that, if it is valid, then human mental reality is hackneyed.
Clifford O. Mounce, A Portable Darkness.
