The written word still enjoyed a certain prestige here. It was a sluggish country.

Hollis thought he looked like William Burroughs, minus the bohemian substrate (or perhaps the methadone). Like someone who'd be invited quail shooting with the vice-president, though too careful to get himself shot.

Some people dote on contemplating disasters.

I don't much live my life as if I was living in a Raymond Chandler novel, which is probably a good thing.

Laney had recently noticed that the only people who had titles that clearly described their jobs had jobs he wouldn't have wanted.

Enlightenment is "being," and it grows; it's end is serenity.

To the very limited extent that I have a political consciousness, to some extent I'm a lazy, apolitical sort of guy that just flits around.