“…a wall of words, a hall of words, a stall of words, and, yes, as we all know, a tower of words.”
Silas Wegg, School of Dust.
“Try to remember, Mr. Spaulding, that objects are closer than they appear in the mirror.”
Ralston Dowd, A Spot of Bother.
The syllogism does not care.
Thomas Bedlam, Jackdaws and the Problem of Speech.
Expressionism: when selfhood eclipses the merely natural.
Clinton Arbogast, The Saints of Painting.
“Allen Ginsberg would never lie, Julie. We know that from a dozen sources.”
Brooks Westerby, Squaresville.
It is the word “line” that misleads us. It is not line of reasoning, but circle of reasoning.
Daniel Brasso, The Infinite Regress.
Reality lacks assumptions.
Clem Tartessos, Designing the Past.
All this was written in a letter, found—still in its envelope—amid other papers and various small rock samples inside an iron strongbox, resting on the floorboards of a most unlikely attic.
Talbot Smalls, Barnacle Bill in Macao.
“Paul and David Ogg? Oh yes, I remember them. With those two, it was all mischief all the time. Anarchy might be a better term. Once, they managed to steal a dozen or more jean jackets from school lockers, and then found a unique way to set them on fire.”
Will Southey, Government Cheese, the Novel.
With the Baroque, there is no longer any tangling of the lyrics by means of the polyphonic methods of earlier years. And what a loss.
Adrian Childe, Greater Patterns in Bach.
dennis scharnberg 