“I shall scream if you do not compose yourself, Mr. Vickery,” stated Lady Miriam, in a whisper. “I warrant you, sir!”
Trevor Walpole, The Imperfect Stranger. (1784)
In his still unpublished Treatise on Gambling Havers devoted five chapters to the task of “reducing the rate at which one loses.”
Palmer Dove, The Edwardian Moment.
“Well, it’s just too bad that God does exist,” said Mr. Lockwood, softly. “But, yes, I think I do see your problem.”
Thaddeus Crewes, The Seven Long Years.
“As I have told you repeatedly, Jerry, I am always suspicious of those who pay me compliments. Suspicious to the point of despising them.”
Myrtle Mawby, Cabinets and Drawers, a Novel.
That a Rothko looks handsome on an otherwise blank wall—that it can hold the wall—is exactly what the artist did not want. It is exactly what modernism desired to surpass.
Anton Melnikas, Warhol and the Anti-Image.
“There must be some explanation,” returned Mister Collins.
Trevor Walpole, The Imperfect Stranger. (1784)
“If they tell you the truth, it is by mistake. By mistake, old boy!”
Everson Dwight, Theory of Machines, a Novel.
“In the New World Order,” admitted Archie, “we’ll have to prove that we’re not smart.”
Lou Costello, Alicia Learns To Fly.
“Claudia’s problem is that she will neither come in nor go out.”
Christina Rubb, The Awful Puzzle.
“Perhaps Jack the Ripper was just curious about human anatomy,” suggested Edward, hoping to remove that awful smirk from Mindy’s face.
Roone Giddings, An Arrangement of Particles.
