Date: 1975

"Each morning for the next ten days he bore his precious vessel to the examination halls and poured a measured quantity of the contents on to the pages of ruled quarto. Day by day the level fell, until on the tenth day the vessel was empty, the cup was drained, the cupboard was bare"

— Lodge, David (b. 1935)

Date: 1975

"In the years that followed he set about replenishing his mind, but it was never quite the same. The sense of purpose was lacking--there was no great Reckoning against which he could hoard his knowledge, so that it tended to leak away as fast as he acquired it."

— Lodge, David (b. 1935)

Date: 1975

"His soul, like his stomach, was in turmoil."

— Lodge, David (b. 1935)

Date: 1992

"Even more important to David than the very natural worry that his wife and his son might grow fond of one another was the intoxicating feeling that he had a blank consciousness to work with, and it gave him great pleasure to knead this yielding clay with his artistic thumbs."

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"After a while, he no longer recognized what he was thinking and, just as a shop window sometimes prevents the onlooker from seeing the objects behind the glass and folds him instead in a narcissistic embrace, his mind ignored the flow of impressions from the outside world and locked him into a d...

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"But his mind was eclipsed by the shadow of his father's presence."

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"Tightening his fists and concentrating until his concentration was like a telephone wire stretched between them, Patrick disappeared into the lizard's body."

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"When Victor sat down again he pictured himself thinking, and tried to superimpose this picture on his inner vacancy."

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"If he was essentially a thinking machine, then he needed to be serviced."

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)

Date: 1992

"Indigestion tablets, thought Victor, belching softly, to help break down the doughy bulk of sensation?"

— Edward St. Aubyn (b. 1960)