All literature, highbrow or low, from the Aeneid onward, is fan fiction....Through parody and pastiche, allusion and homage, retelling and reimagining the stories that were told before us and that we...
A high point in a life lived at sea level, prone to flooding.
A gin and tonic under its tiny canopy of lime, I said, elevates character and makes for enlightened conversation
A few peace activists, looking like peace activists all over the world, young, unassailable, and romantic, hand out roses. The message is old, the gesture likewise: the flower as a sign of good. There...
A bitter, disappointed, and jealous man kills the man he believes to be his wife's lover, this you consider to be unlikely. A murderous Nazi spy with orders to abduct a parrot, on the other hand—
She deferred to her partner, to the virtuoso hands of Gwen Shanks, freaky-big, fluid as a couple of tide-pool dwellers, cabled like the Golden Gate Bridge.
He stank more than any human joe had ever smelled, as if he had been dipped in some ungodly confection of camembert and rancid gasoline brewed up in a spit-filled cuspidor.
Так уж получается, что исследователи неизменно дают свои имена местам, которые изводят их или убивают.
Grappling in a hernia truss with steel kegs of Yuengling. For
Acromegaly. Frau Dr. Anna Kavalier was a neurologist
You hope to spend your life doing what you love and need and have been fitted by nature or God or your protein-package to do: write, draw, sing, tell stories. But you have to eat.
When he walked outside again, the sky was shining like a nickel and the air was filled with the smell of sugared nuts.
War confused civilians every bit as surely as it did the armies who got lost in its fogs.
Thus while claiming, on the one hand, a dubiously ahistorical, archetypical source for the superhero idea in the Jungian vastness of legend, we dissolve its true universality in a foaming bath of peri...
Through a determined program of sheer dumb luck and liberal applications of THC I had managed never to impregnate a woman before,
They were utopian, which meant they saw imperfection everywhere they looked.
They were little more than boys, and yet while they differed in race, in temperament, and in their understanding of love, they were united in this: The remnant of their boyhood was a ballast they wish...
The handy thing about being a father is that the historic standard is so pitifully low.
Such men feel imprisoned by invisible chains—walled in, sewn up in layers of batting. For them, the final feat of autoliberation was all too foreseeable.
Sammy could not have known that one day he would come to regard all the things that their loving each other had seemed to put at so much risk--his career in comic books, his relations with his family,...