The last time I glanced at the library books on the kitchen shelf they were more than five months overdue and I wondered whether I would have chosen differently if I had known that these were the last books, the ones which would stand forever on our kitchen shelf.
Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

The citadel was dark, and the heroes were sleeping.
Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

Of my grandfather Verus I have learned to be gentle and meek, and to refrain from all anger and passion.
Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius

Henry the Eighth, the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all the virtues that become a great monarch, having some differenced of no small consequence with Charles the most serene prince of Castile, sent me into Flanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing matters between them.
Sir Thomas Moore, Utopia

‘Curious affair, isn’t it?’
William Le Queux, The Place of Dragons

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.
James Joyce, Ulysses


Alexei Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of a landowner from our district, Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, well known in his own day (and still remembered among us) because of his dark and tragic death, which happened exactly thirteen years ago and which I shall speak of in it’s proper place.
Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife
Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice 

Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.
George Elliot, Daniel Deronda