a checkered past
“Crime is an abstract term,” announced Elizabeth, “and it really means nothing.”
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
“Crime is an abstract term,” announced Elizabeth, “and it really means nothing.”
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
“Yes, but in those movie serials, rope is quite useless.”
Fate Hollis, Hand Me Down.
“But what were his final words?” “They told me that he said the word rubbish. Just that one word.”
Fate Hollis, Hand Me Down.
“Of course, Bernadine, I will do what I can. But no one can guarantee complete destruction.”
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
“Look at all the phones,” said Paul, miserably, upon entering the freshman cafeteria.
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
“They’re just names,” admitted Frederick. “Just names.”
Paul Gironda, The Magic Valley.
The worst decision ever made was concerned exclusively with zeroes and ones.
Roger Hedgecook, Stolen and Sold for Parts.
In the alley, on the back wall of the building, in large dripping letters, someone had scrawled, “I think with my knees.”
Wallace Weeks, S.O.S.
Gloves are a warming thing.
My browser is the one called Bing.
I stripped the mitten off my right hand,
I played drums in a high school band.
I now dwell in a churning ring of liars,
I would turn it round with a golden pair of pliers,
So it turns, turns, turns,
That bunch of tires, that bunch of tires.
Patrick Malmsey, Verse.
With psychology, it is all or nothing. One “psychologizes” everything—not just this or that.
Desmond Urquhart, The Unsocial Sciences.