The infinite is the normal state. It is the finite—the merely material—that is the special case.
Baldwin Tavinger, Toward a Rhetoric of Number.
“…and of course—as you might expect, Watson—the model fails. It does not work. Then, again, they are sometimes all the more charming when they don’t work. When they merely sit there, staring right at you.”
Holden Aberdeen, The White Towers.
In modernist aesthetics, sex is honesty. Failing to posit, to address, to explore, to dwell upon sex—or at least give in to it—is to be inadequate as an artist. Is to be dishonest. Doctor Freud’s victory.
Gaylord Perry III, The Walls of Magnus Martyr.
Anita could see the outdoor thermometer through her kitchen window. It read 96 degrees Fahrenheit. “But what temperature would that feel like?” she wondered.
Charles Jeffrey Yett, Writing in Miniature—Vol. Three.
November 12, 2012. Just today’s additions to my list of favorite words: mistaken, lumber, cloud, blossom, cloudy, leaf, kindling.
Reginald Boyington, Dear Dreadful Diary.
In the postmodern world everything is an announcement of itself, rather than being the thing itself.
Cedric Plumm, All Roads Lead.
Roland Winters presents the talkative Charlie Chan. Oh yes, he does omit some verbs and he leaves out the definite articles. To that degree it is still telegraph English. But in all other respects he is verbose. Almost chatty. It is actually quite ridiculous.
Jeremy Breedlove, A Sardonic View of the Movies.
Perhaps the object only appears to be bounded.
Godfrey Tooke, Collected Aphorisms.
Eric sat in the shadows of the back porch, so he could eavesdrop on Butch and Gabe as they rattled on about this and that, but especially about somehow planning one’s mistakes, and about whether it makes more sense to spread them out evenly over time or to bunch them together (to get them over with).
Jason Starling, ed., Adventures in Narrative Parsimony.
There was plenty of good wine, but you could drink it only out of your cupped hands.
Park V. Kessler, Nearly Happy.
dennis scharnberg 