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Later Clive saw Miriam Pearson carrying trays of plants to her plot from a car. She'd bought them in the garden centre, he took it. They'd need a whole lot of water before they even got into the ground would be his suggestion but he wouldn't give it unwarranted. Her path edges were looking neat. At the parish council Janice Green read a letter from the bus company which threatened to remove the service unless there was an improvement in the car-parking situation. There was general objection to the letter's tone but it was conceded that they had a point. A discussion about enforcement and pinch points ensued, and when everyone seemed to have finished William Pearson said that really what they were talking about at the end of the day was Martin Fowler constantly parking like a cunt. A number of those present actually turned their faces away. Judith was asked not to minute that last remark, and William was asked to leave, at which time it became clear that the coffee he'd been pouring from a flask all evening had been mainly whisky. Once the door was finally closed behind him it was noted that he did have a point about Martin's parking habits, and it was suggested that words would be had. In the conifers above Reservoir no. 5, a buzzard sat warmly on her eggs while the wind pulled through the trees. There was rain in the evenings of the sort it was pleasant to be in for a while, taking the dust from the air. Ashleigh Wright friended her father on Facebook. He had found her and sent a message and she was excited to be in touch. She knew not to tell him where they were living, but there was enough in her posts for him to work it out. He dropped the name of the village into conversation and she had a bad feeling she couldn't tell anyone about.

— Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor (Page 167 - 168)

The next day Martin stopped off at Harefield to look at Ruth's new shop. She was surprised to see him. He was heading to his new job in town but this wasn't on his way. She asked how he was keeping and he said it was okay. There was a lot of fresh produce in wicker baskets, and sausages hanging in strings above the chiller counter, and a strong smell of coffee. There were many different types of olive. There were prices Martin found it difficult to believe people were actually paying, but when he asked how business was going Ruth said he'd be surprised. People had cut back on cars and foreign holidays, she told him, and they were spending what was left in shops like this. People liked to treat themselves to nice things. He wondered if this was a pointed remark but he let it settle. They'd had differences. It was done now. He was just glad to know things were going well. He drove into work fast enough that he almost lost grip on the last corner before town, and parked across two parking bays, and clocked on just before his shift was due. If he'd wanted a fucking economics lesson he would've asked.

— Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor (Page 82 - 83)

Da containeren står ruvende i rue des Thermopyles, får jeg det for meg at jeg skal fjerne så mye som mulig. En lampe, en kjøkkenmaskin, et par stoler, noen morkne gummistøvler, og så videre. I løpet av uken fjerner jeg så mange ting at flere skap blir overflødige. Det innebærer færre steder å lete etter ting. Jeg betrakter det som en forbedring, og ringer styrelederen. Noen minutter senere står hun i gangen med mannen sin, Maurice et eller annet. De tar med seg alle tingene og skapene i tillegg til en tung kommode i gangen. Da oppdraget er utført, ser jeg meg rundt. Den forventede lettheten og gleden uteblir. Det slår meg at jeg bare har utvidet tomheten. Men så er jo den mer praktisk.

— Øyeblikk for evigheten by Kjersti Anfinnsen (Birgitte Solheim, #2) (Page 18)

Etter huset skulle vi se eiendommen og svømmebassenget, og sjøflyet, og midtsommerblomstene - men utenfor Gatsbys vindu begynte det å regne igjen, så vi stilte oss opp på rad og rekke og så på den riflete overflaten i sundet. "Hadde det ikke vært for tåken, kunne vi ha sett huset deres på den andre siden av bukten," sa Gatsby. "Dere har alltid et grønt lys som er tent hele natten, ytterst på bryggen." Daisy stakk plutselig armen inn under hans, men det virket som om han var oppslukt av det han nettopp hadde sagt. Det hadde muligens streifet ham at det lysets enorme betydning nå var borte for alltid. I forhold til den veldige avstanden som hadde skilt ham fra Daisy, hadde det virket så nær henne, nesten som det berørte henne. Det hadde virket like nær som en stjerne er nær månen. Nå var det igjen et grønt lys på en brygge. Hans samling av magiske gjenstander var blitt én fattigere.

— Den store Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (Page 105 - 106)

I mange av de «kanaliserte» bøkene beskrives både gode og onde utenomjordiske vesener som avgjørende aktører i jordas historie og utvikling. Dette er gjerne tekster som formidler at verden er større, dypere og mer mystisk enn folk flest tror, og at vitenskap og religion hindrer oss i å se den egentlige sannheten. Når jeg leser om de mest kjente kanaliseringsforfatterne, gjenkjenner jeg mye at det mamma har pratet om. En av dem, Suzanne Ward, har for eksempel formidlet budskap om økonomireformen Nesara. I Norge har Susanne Ertsland Askvik, også kjent som HealerSusanne, oppdaget en ny kanaliseringskanal gjennom kunstig intelligens. Da hun fikk direkte kontakt med «guidene sine» gjennom ChatGPT, ble resultatet en hel bok. «Innholdet er ikke skrevet av mennesker, men av ikke-fysiske entiteter som har brukt ChatGPT som kommunikasjonskanal for direkte ufiltrert overføring», står det om boka på Ark.no. Bokhandelen tilbyr nærmere 300 bøker under kategorien «Spirituelle veiledere, engler og kanalisering», og seriøse forlag som Cappelen Damm utgir «kanaliserte» bøker, som om de faktisk var kanalisert.

— Mamma er konspirasjonsteoretiker by Christine Rehn Jensen