Tom Sharpe, Grantchester Grind
The following week he had come better prepared, only to find that her lecture was purely theoretical and dealt entirely with an historical review of medical and religious objections to so-called self-abuse or onanism. There had been none of those practical demonstrations that had made the condom necessary and, far from saving Purefoy Osbert embarrasment, the thing had been the cause of it.His efforts to prevent the device making its way down his trouser leg had caught the attention of the women on either side of him, who were evidently as bored as he was by historical objections to masturbation. Purefoy's spasmodic movements were far more intriguing. Purefoy smiled bleakly at the woman on his right and was misunderstood. 'Can't you wait until afterwards?' she asked in a whisper that was audible several rows behind. For the rest of the hour he sat staring rigidly at Mrs Ndhlovo and hardly moved at all, but at the end of the class he was forced to stand up. 'After you,' said the woman on his left. The one on his right had already hurried off.'No, please, after you,' said Purefoy and squeezed back against the chair.
The woman shook her head. She had no intention of passing at all closely to a man whose sudden attention to his upper leg had been so peculiarly spasmodic and intense.She hadn't liked his bleak smile either. 'Look,' she said, rather unpleasantly. 'You go out first. All right?'
It wasn't all right, but Purefoy went. So did the condom. For a moment it clung to his knee but only for a moment. As he stepped forward it dropped out of the bottom of his trouser-leg and lay supine on the toe of his shoe. Purefoy tried to kick it off but again his movements were too peculiar to ignore. Conscious that he was the object of amused interest he hurried down the hall and out into the comparative anonymity of the parking lot where he could deal with the thing in private.
After that Purefoy abandoned the condom method and took matters into his hands before attending Mrs Ndhlovo's classes.
Stephen King, The Tower Schwaze
If you were to fall to the border of the universe, you would see a sign reading DEAD END? No. You might find something hard and round like a chicken might see the egg from the inside. And if you were to pick through it by this envelope that huge and raging light you would see that appears through your hole at the end of the room? Could you see through it and find that our entire universe is nothing more than an atom in a blade of grass? Could you be forced into thinking that you are an infinity of infinities annihilate, if you burn a straw? That the Existenx not enough to infinity, but an infinite number of infinities?
Only enemies speak the truth. Friends and lovers lie without ceasing, because they are caught in the web of obligations.
Eddie sat there and concentrated on not moving. He wanted to move, he would stutter and chug along, zippeln and wriggling, hopping and flipping, he wanted to scratch his ankles, and scratch his ankles.
He looked sick, sick and dying, but he was still out so hard that the next like a Andolini soft-boiled egg seemed.
Eddie had as a child sometimes have to think of his sister when he was listening to Mel Allen, who commented on the baseball games of the Yankee Network. If someone really is a top hit, Mel had shouted: 'what a big egg! He's but has given! And bye! " Well, it was the drunk Gloria Dean given you a big egg oh, and bye.
too, was an example of Piper-language. Piper School students never had to 'pee' or 'a pole drain water' or, God forbid, 'pull the trigger a charge'. There was general agreement that the students of Piper were too perfect to create on their quiet tasteful way through life waste products of digestion. Now and then someone asked for permission to 'escape' to be allowed once, and that was all.
Jake could imagine that had kids all over America at this point geplärrt sore eyes, and he had to remember that there were many stories for children that contained such a thing - things that an acid poured over the whole emotional life. Hansel and Gretel, which were suspended in the forest, Bambi's mother was shot by a hunter, and the death of Old Yeller. It was easy to do young children hurt to make her cry, and that seemed in many storytellers a strangely sadistic expose ...
shake the hand that shook the world.
Frank Schätzing, Death and Devil
Mathias smiled complacently. "Our mutual friend William of Jülich is the proud owner of a farm under spur-maker. The spat is around the corner, and the abbot of the Friars Minor owes him several favors. Wilhelm has given him over to a few treasures for the vestry, if you understand what I mean. " 'I thought the Friars Minor were at the will of the merciful God poor and destitute. " 'Yes, and so everything is only on their land to the Lord. But as long as the pick's not, it must be so maintained. " 'Or eaten? " 'And drunk. "
When the man bone weiterschlurfte namely, dangling one of the sausages out boldly. Jacop looked at her with wide eyes. She looked back. She promised the court to paradise, the heavenly Jerusalem, the bliss on earth. She was almost bursting with beauty. In dark brown smoked meat under the skin looked tight friendly hundreds of small, white grossly triturated fat up to him and he seemed to wink confidential. He felt when he heard the call for sausage boldest of all deeds, simply pinch them off and look into the distance. He saw himself in his crate to sit on the walls and chew, the idea was to truth and the truth of an obsession. His feet were set in motion as if by themselves. All was forgotten the danger that fear. The world was a sausage.
Thus St. Mary Magdalene seemed so shabby when just opposite the imposing stone church its main Severin rose and made it clear where God would probably would, if he came only once in the area.
Patrick Suskind, Perfume
At the time of which we speak there was, in a major city for us modern humans almost unimaginable stench. It stank the roads to manure, the courtyards stank of urine, the stairwells stank of rotting wood and rat droppings under the kitchen of rotten cabbage and mutton fat, and the unaired parlors stank of stale dust the bedroom to the greasy sheets, damp featherbeds, and after following the sweet scent of the pungent chamber pots. De stank of sulfur from chimneys, the stench from the tanneries caustic lye, from the slaughterhouses stank the clotted blood. People stank of sweat and unwashed clothes, from the mouth, they stank of rotting teeth, from their stomachs after onion juice and the bodies when they were no longer young, of old cheese and for sour milk and after tumor diseases. It stank the rivers, it stank the courts, it stank, the churches, it stank beneath the bridges and in the palaces. The peasant stank as the priest, the craft workers, like most women, it stank all the nobility, so stank, even the king, like a predator, he stank, and the Queen like an old goat, summer and winter.
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
examined the man, who lives in him was perhaps what he actually said, for no animal has ever from the infinite, infinitely inventive art of human hatred tried. No animal can compete with its variety and power.
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