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Both forms are rather loose and only work if your readers think you're using them on purpose.
- And this: the condemned freighter Maida towed by tugs toward a chalky wafer of sun, toward the lead-white expanse of Detroit River, black gleaming derricks, slag--the whole, lurid panorama of cloacal American nature smarm debouching into Lake Erie where--when Payne was duck hunting--a turn of his oar against the bottom brought up a blue whirring nimbus of petroleum sludge and toxic, coagluant effluents the glad hand of national industry wants kids to swim in. [Thomas McGuane, The Bushwhacked Piano (New York: Warner Books, 1971), p. 13.]
- We believe they are escalating their operations. You know who I mean. I cannot name names. They get at you. Therefore I carry the gun wherever I go. Orders. Regulations. Procedures. It isn't much of a weapon but it can do the job. It is better than nothing. A snub-nosed .32 lightweight. A belly gun. You've seen them. It fits my hand so well only the short barrel can be seen. I've painted it fleshtone so that if I raise it in public they will think I am merely pointing. [Rick DeMarinis, "Mole" 121]
- In the midst of this, caught the eye in my rear-view mirror of someone in the back seat: dark man, balding. (Realized only later he had a boy with him; family resemblance.) Stopped at a gas station; went to the men's room; they were gone when I came back. I think I did that man and the boy some great service; have the feeling I rescued them from sure disaster. Swart; gypsies perhaps, or circus people. No matter; I was pleased to be of service. [Warren Miller, Looking for the General (Greenwich, Conn.: Fawcett, 1964), 131).]
- Next, a raga-rock rendition (sans Ziller) of "Back Door Man," the rhythms of which pulled dancers, singularly or in pairs, into the reeling wheel of firelight. Most of the troupers were rolling their own ecstacy now. Dancing. Singing. Climbing trees. Moonwatching (it was mango orange and as thin as a tortilla). Eating. Drinking. Necking. Dreaming. Goofing. Groping. Trephinating: frescoing their pineal glands with the cardinal brush. Takamichi swaying in an American flag hammock intoning his great wooden beads. Nuclear Phyllis and the new roustabout skinny-dipping in the stream. Only Amanda and Ziller, arm in arm on the log-of-honor, seemed restless. [Tom Robbins, Another Roadside Attraction (New York: Ballantine, 1971), p. 30]
- . . . it was impossible to speak in a wind. And there was only weather in it, after all. Weather. Leaves. Pollen, he'd been told, from infinite plants. Dust, too, of course. And the grains that carry cooking, bloom, and pine tree to the nose. Seeds naturally. Flies. Birds' song and the growl of bees. Himself--Pimber--rushing along. [William H. Gass, Omensetter's Luck (NY: New American Library, 1966), p. 61.
- Anti-fashion! Terrific. Right away anti-fashion itself became the most raving fashion imaginable . . . also known as Funky Chic. [Tom Wolfe]
- The lance overcomes the shield, the bullet pierces the armor. Tanks crush men in their trenches, the missile destroys the bunker. Politicians can slow this terrible progress, but only dreamers think they can end it. [Evan Thomas, "Force," Newsweek Dec 31, 1990 p. 18]
- American culture stems from Europe, our fortunes are linked with hers, in the long run we are aligned. [Barbara Tuchman, "Is History a Guide to the Future?"]
- It epitomizes, it crystallizes, it visualizes. The reader can see it; moreover, it sticks in his mind; it is memorable. [Barbara Tuchman, "History by the Ounce."]
- Chester was startling, he was robust, he was lyrical, he was wry, he was psychological, he was playful, he was scandalous. [Cynthia Ozick, "Reflections: Alfred Chester's Wig," The New Yorker, March 30, 1992, p. 84.]
I remember not long ago hearing Picasso and Gertrude Stein talking about various things that had happened at that time, one of them said but all that could not have happened in that one year, oh said the other, my dear you forget we were young then and we did a great deal in a year. [Gertrude Stein, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas]