All those things we say that we love. The things we think that we love. Don’t we actually hate them? And, of course, ourselves?
Paul Uccelo, The Enigma of the Box.
“So, a human being is actually experiencing feelings. You don’t say! How very astonishing! No, really!” Dalton was often elaborate in his derision of Monica.
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
It would not be quite fair to suggest that Rap is encompassed by just this: “I’m a Donkus with a Bonkus! Bang! Bang! Bang! Thang! Thang! Thang!”
Aaron Tyler Meade, A Pocket History of Hip Hop.
“Just because you place certain words in a certain order doesn’t necessarily mean that you capture anything!” Ricky had read something and had gotten upset. But he couldn’t help it—the bitter resentment of any words that actually penetrate the veil. The words, always, of others.
Thaddeus Crewes, Crowded Evil World.
“I can’t believe it!” cried Anne. “I just cannot believe it.” Later, in a decidedly calm voice, Gregory suggested that she add this to the list of other items she was unable to believe.
Trent Bendix, Patricia Knows Best.
“An ambitious politician. His wife. An old school chum with devious ways. Two rather nasty young women (and the legs that go with them)….” Harry was gathering the ingredients for his next potboiler.
Anselm Bligh, A Collection of Miniatures.
“Performing a topological sort on the flux curves, the nonlinear system can be permuted to triangular form and this permits discrete solution(s) with the property of local control on the nonlinear iterations.” Penberthy delivered all this in his usual dead-fish voice.
Jeremy Malking, The Anechoic Chamber: Stories.
The past—even ten seconds of it—was lived and breathed and smelled. It was filled to the brim. It was all love and hate, fun and resentment, more love and more hate. None of our diagrams can capture much of that. Our “histories” are condemned to anemia.
George Havarti, The Fire Festivals of Alt Bayern.
For something to be real, it must go through the tiresome formality of actually happening. At least, that’s the way it used to be.
Tristram Speaker, A Book of Postulates.
I was a bachelor in those days, practically a hermit, and my table manners wasted away. It is truly remarkable how fast that happens.
Algernon Webb, A Speculative Autobiography.
dennis scharnberg 