We think we want to know more because we believe that we already do know a great deal.
Jonathan Biggs, The Way of Insects.
What if the photograph does steal something? Say, the illusion that you are a great many things—a complexity— instead of that simple thing in the photo. An entity.
Jason K. Broadus, The Ice of My Dreams.
“We form theories. We do sums. We speak in complete sentences. Well, don’t we? We must be intelligent beings. I tell you, we simply must be!”
Nicholas Crisp, A Suitcase Fell on Her Head.
Some things are too good. They’re just too damned good. We ought to seal them up and store them away. They are just too good.
Victoria Salt, A Compendium of Opening Lines.
“Time reveals the truth.” Well, yes. Of course. Except that we all know, don’t we, that “time” and “truth” can have no meaning. The words have no real meaning. And we are very clever, indeed.
Rollin Mungo, Selected Rants of Mr. Barraclough.
Logic doesn’t preclude the preternatural. It merely presents it in terms of a dull order.
Sal Aurobindo, The Immersion in Matter.
This is the way the world ends—not with a Bang (but with Slang).
Chadwick Graves, Maoist Struggle Session and Other Stories.
Let’s hear Pagliacci with all the performers gagged. An opera of whimpers and groans.
Anthony Scowling, The Beat Paradigm.
The crowd shots at Woodstock (the helicopter views) remind me of the obedience of jam spread on toast.
Jeremy Breedlove, A Sardonic View of the Movies.
James shocked Christine with this remark: “Perhaps you just thought that you were sleeping.”
Alberta Traywick, Susannah’s Accident.
