#sentence

Detachment produces a peculiar state of mind. Maybe that's the worst sentence of all, to be deprived of feeling what a human being ought to be entitled to feel. ↗

— James Dickey

#deprived #detachment #entitled #feel #feeling

Pithy sentences are like sharp nails which force truth upon our memory. ↗

— Denis Diderot

#like #memory #nails #our #sentences

Then starting home, he walked toward the trees, and under them, leaving behind him the big sky, the whisper of wind voices in the wind-bent wheat. ↗

— Truman Capote

#home

Many men would take the death-sentence without a whimper, to escape the life-sentence which fate carries in her other hand. ↗

— T.E. Lawrence

#fate #life-sentence #death

It was a short one-paragraph item in the morning edition. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#first-sentence

Hapscomb's Texaco sat on Number 93 just north of Arnette, a pissant four-street burg about 110 miles from Houston. ↗

— Stephen King

#first-sentence

What the semicolon's anxious supporters fret about is the tendency of contemporary writers to use a dash instead of a semicolon and thus precipitate the end of the world. Are they being alarmist? ↗

— Lynne Truss

#english-language #grammar #humor #lynne-truss #punctuation

Does such a thing as "the fatal flaw," that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? ↗

— Donna Tartt

#literature #life

In the spring of her twenty-second year, Sumire fell in love for the first time in her life. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#life

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city. Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. ↗

— Ursula K. Le Guin

#music