Teachers're always using that in your own words. I hate that. Authors knit their sentences tight. It's their job. Why make us unpick them, just to put it back together more shonkily? How're you s'pose...
Temple of the Rat King. Ark of the Soot God. Sphincter of Hades. Yes, King's Cross Station, where, according to , a blow job costs only five quid - any of the furthest-left three cubicles in the men's...
That is more or less it. Middle age is flown, but it is attitude, not years, that condemns one to the ranks of the Undead, or else proffers salvation. In the domain of the young there dwells many an U...
That love loves fidelity, she riposted, is a myth woven by men from their insecurities.
That’s my problem with new-age stuff. In common with many irrational views it harks back to a sense of something ancient while rejecting anything provably historical. It’s like the miserable concept o...
That’s the problem with boys: They tend to help you only ’cause they fancy you, but there’s no unembarrassing way to find out their real motives till it’s too late.
That’s the weird part: I know I don’t know you. So how come I feel like I do?
The Cookie Monster is anarchic, dynamic and madly driven by a very specific, but also totally random, aim: he wants cookies. He wants to charge around crazily smashing cookies into his mouth. He will...
The Dusk follows you as you go through it. If it touches you, you cease to exist, so one wrong turn down a dead end, that’s the end of you. That’s why you have to learn the labyrinth by heart.
The Ghost of Sir Felix Finch whines, But it's been done a hundred times before!--as if there could be anything done a hundred times between Aristophanes and Andrew Void-Webber! As if Art is the , no...
The Ghost-Girl's lips was fixed in a bitter smile, but her creamy eyes was sad so sad but proud'n'strong too.
The Icon'ry, Aunt Bees said, held Valleysmen's past an' present all t'gether
The Ticket-wallah, whose pimples bubbled as I watched, was as intractably dense as his counterpart in King's Cross. The Corporation breeds them from the same stem cell.
The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.
When insolvent, pack minimally, with a valise tough enough to be thrown onto a London pavement from a first- or second-floor window. Insist on hotel rooms no higher.
The best way to work with dementia is to act as if the person you knew is still inside the wreckage. If you're wrong, and the person you know is gone, then no damage is done but the standards of care...
The newborn; the growing; the strong-willed and pliant; the ailing; the dying; the weak and defiant; over the roof of a painter withdrawn first from the world, then his family, and down into a masterp...
The blue jay threads a flight-path through stripes of brightness and stripes of mossy dark.
The body is the outermost layer of the mind.
The brigadier I knew has left his bombed-out face, leaving me alone with the clock, shelves of handsome books nobody ever reads, and one certainty: that whatever I do with my life, however much power,...
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