dennis scharnberg

And then Bob tore the sheet right along the perforations.   Clean and true.   Like a good citizen.   It was wonderful.

Devona Twilly,  Shallowness, a Novel.

History isn’t made, it’s played.   Like a silly pop tune.

Tyrone Sommer,  Circling the Drain.

Try doubting for thirty seconds.   Now, try again for sixty.   (What is doubting?   How do we doubt?)

Daniel Brasso,  The Infinite Regress.

“Some things are awful, and some things are less awful.”   Immediately, Reggie wondered whether he had stated the case too harshly.

Nicholas Crisp,  Unfit for Murder.

                       I think…   I believe…   I see…   I feel…   I know…   I want…   I prefer…   I like…   I look…   I yearn…   I enjoy…   I deplore…   I disagree…   I say…   I  do…   I don’t…   I will…   I won’t…   I would…   I could…   I did…   I didn’t…   I…   I…   I…

Anselm Bligh,  A Collection of Miniatures.

We are the holes in our bodies.   We are absences.

Pamela Hrothgar,  No Stone Unturned.

He never knew what didn’t hit him.   (Living in a culture of near-misses.)

Amanda Willcoxen, ed.,  The Literary and Philosophical Fragments of Gregory James Sallust.

“I know how to shut up in three languages,” claimed Nigel.  And he most certainly was not boasting.

Ralston Dowd,  A Spot of Bother.

“Had I only learned self-deception,”  thought Alexandra,  “then I might have gone somewhere in life.”

Priscilla Onkers,  All About Edward.