Nothing is as eloquent as nothing.
Birdsong foamed in the hour-before-dawn garden.
Folks with most to complain about seldom complain most.
I rarely ever put my head above the rampart and see where this big lumbering behemoth called 'global literature' is going.
The soul is a verb." He impales a lit candle on a spike. "Not a noun.
As an experienced editor, I disapprove of flashbacks, foreshadowings, and tricksy devices; they belong in the 1980s with M.A.s in postmodernism and chaos theory.