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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

Driving home, Gil thought how people liked to say that about other animals. They mate for life, said people in smug admiration. As though this lifelong mating was a prudent, morally upright trait that showed great sexual restraint. A trait some few, superior species among the rest of the animals were fortunate enough to share with their betters, humans.

— Dinosaurs by Paul Heitsch, Lydia Millet

I morse Nourdine kom förbi redan på morgonen. Han hade med sig texten til pjäsen som kan kanske får roll i. Också i påsen han hade två oöpnade ciggpaket och typ en halvkilo pistagenötter. Pappa ställde fram askfat och stängde ut solljus med persienner. Nourdine kavlade skjortan ocj gjorde adndingsöving så det lät som när gussar ska föda barn. Under tiden jag och pappa hjälpte att översätta dom svåra svenska orden. Pjäsen hette Per Gynt men egentligen jag tycker Per Tönt var bättre namn. Det är en norrman som skrivit den för flera hundra år sen så därfor språket var tjockt skumt. Personerna kallades till exempel «säterjänta» och «knappstöpare». När någon jiddrade dom sa «nu är du tossig» och när dom skulle svara tilbake dom sa elaka ord som «tölp» eller «gaphals» eller «vingelpetter».

Vissa gånger jag kände pappa tittade med besvikelse eftersom jag inte kunde alla svårord. Men efter lite tänkande och med ordböker vi oftast fattade vad dom ville säga. Pjäsen verkade fett konstig. Per-tönten raggade lite på några gussar och hängde runt med trollfamilj och träffade en snubbe som het Böjgen (nej inte bögen). Sen han var på sjön och i öknen och i slutet han kom hem som gubbe och ångrade allt han gjort i livet.

— Ett öga rött by Jonas Hassen Khemiri, Hamadi Khemiri (Narrator)