It’s not what happens during sleep that matters. It is that we sleep. That’s what tells us something.
Octavius Kinder, A Sustainable Unhappiness.
“Well, sir, confusion is my meat and drink. My joy. I specialize in confusion.”
Benedict Elder, A Cosmopolitan Paradise.
They were told that life began when lightning struck a mud puddle. And they can’t get past that. They do not try.
Hilbert Kaasa, The Fabian Way.
He paid 180 million for that de Kooning. That is roughly $600,000 for each brushstroke.
Crispin Trove, The Viewer as Pest.
Benno laid camp for five legions__ / ____ / __at high ground / That river floods in spring__ /
Hildegarde Busby, tr., Latin Epigraph Fragments.
Poison of drink__ / ____ / Poison of [mind]__ / __the shouting of soldiers__ /
Hildegarde Busby, tr., Latin Epigraph Fragments.
Into the valley__ / The first valley__ / So many items covered in gold__ /
Hildegarde Busby, tr., Latin Epigraph Fragments.
“…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.
