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Det bodde folk på noen av gårdene der ute, men ansiktene deres var preget av samlivet. Det var nesten umulig å se hvem som var gift og hvem som var søsken, i mange generasjoner hadde de klamret seg til livet der ute på det største utneset i landet, helt fra landnåmstiden, og blitt helt overbeslektet.

— Seksti kilo solskinn by Hallgrímur Helgason, Maren Barlien Guntvedt (Translator) (Seksti kilo-saga, #1)

Den ble gjort til kjøpmann som bar det fineste navnet i hver husbygd (Sigurður Schiöth, Elíbert Hansen …), gikk i de beste klærne og snakket dansk. Men samtidig måtte han også ha et prydelig skjegg, være staut, imøtekommende og dessuten lite salgsvillig, særlig når det gjaldt vin. Det siste personlighetstrekket var særislandsk: Islandske kjøpmenn var de eneste kjøpmennene i verden som syntes det var leit å selge varene sine, ethvert ‘salg’ var en viss skuffelse, og enhver ‘kunde’ som tuslet inn gjennom butikkdøren, ble møtt med sukk i blikket. Den kontantløse økonomien og avstanden til verdens havner førte til at kjøpmannen så på beholdningen som sin egen eiendom som han hadde anskaffet med mye strev og møye, og derfor ugjerne ga fra seg.

— Seksti kilo solskinn by Hallgrímur Helgason, Maren Barlien Guntvedt (Translator) (Seksti kilo-saga, #1)

He called himself a Democratic Communist, with adamant but respectful disdain for the opiate of the masses. That atheism freed up his Sunday mornings and added four more hours to his usable time, leaving him, by his own estimates, almost nine percent more productive every week than if he had been saddled with belief.

— Playground by Richard Powers

What you call the ocean is nothing but the coast. You can go visit it for a long weekend. You can even live alongside it. But you never get much farther than a mile or two from the shore. Your ocean is just the continental shelf, a little bit of spill over the rim of the cup.

— Playground by Richard Powers

One year, when he and Lane were still in their twenties, they’d sent out a holiday form letter instead of cards. She’d been chronically irritated by all the long, tedious Christmas letters they got from her large extended family. It had become a tradition for her to read the worst passages aloud. In-depth accounts of children’s activities in sports, with details of the games. Blow-by-blow accounts of home redecorations. Three paragraphs on a great-aunt’s bunion operation, with before-and-after pictures. A list of the performances of a folk-dancing group in Appalachia. The résumé of a teen cousin who shone as brightly as the sun.Four elite colleges had embraced him, the letter said. And named each one. Also, the Young Republicans. They’d written their own form letter together. Over most of a bottle of wine for Lane and two cocktails for him.

Dear friends and family, it read. This year we did not get engaged. We acquired no pet, and we did not produce a child. We did not buy a car or house. We did not take the package deal. We did not join the club. We did not order the special. We never multiplied our miles. We had some arguments, that’s true. There was so much we did not see. We did not know. We did not understand. At times we drank heavily. Happy holidays to all! xoo, Lane and Gil.

The letter had not been well received.

— Dinosaurs by Paul Heitsch, Lydia Millet

Her absence had not made him no one. Just as her presence had not made him someone. In all of her choices he’d been more like anyone. They’d had little to do with him.

— Dinosaurs by Paul Heitsch, Lydia Millet