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Banker's Holiday: A Novel of Fiscal Irregularity

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Gary Clemenceau

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“You have carjacking back in old England?” “Carjacking?” “People walk up to you, steal your car.” “No, but thanks for asking. We have people who clean your windscreen against your will, but, er...” Joe barked with contempt. “The thing is,” explained Dirk, “in London you could certainly walk up to someone and steal their car, but you wouldn't be able to drive it away.” “Some kinda fancy device?” “No, just traffic,” said Dirk.”

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Book:The Salmon of Doubt: Hitchhiking the Galaxy One Last Time
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“There was something about the story she told us...that didn't seem right to him. He didn't buy the idea they'd been lovers. He reckoned it was something else. It's the sort of thing he used to pick up on, when I worked with him. You know as well as I do, sir, in a case like this you collect all sorts of facts, but only a few really matter, and Mr Madden had a gift for spotting them. Not that he always knew why: often it was just something he felt - a sort of instinct, I suppose - though he would have said it was simply a matter of paying attention. That's what he used to tell me.”

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Author:Rennie Airth
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“The pitch we used to convince companies to spend $50 million bucks for one of our planes was that it wasn't simply a means of transportation; oh no - it was 'a productivity tool'. It allowed an executive to make good use of his travel time and a relaxed and refreshed executive could seal the deal much more effectively than his travel-worn counterpart. Yeah, right. You can always justify any obscene luxury on the grounds of productivity...”

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Book:Power Play
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“I placed some of the DNA on the ends of my fingers and rubbed them together. The stuff was sticky. It began to dissolve on my skin. 'It's melting -- like cotton candy.' 'Sure. That's the sugar in the DNA,' Smith said. 'Would it taste sweet?' 'No. DNA is an acid, and it's got salts in it. Actually, I've never tasted it.' Later, I got some dried calf DNA. I placed a bit of the fluff on my tongue. It melted into a gluey ooze that stuck to the roof of my mouth in a blob. The blob felt slippery on my tongue, and the taste of pure DNA appeared. It had a soft taste, unsweet, rather bland, with a touch of acid and a hint of salt. Perhaps like the earth's primordial sea. It faded away. Page 67, in Richard Preston's biographical essay on Craig Venter, "The Genome Warrior" (originally published in The New Yorker in 2000).”

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Book:The Best American Science Writing 2001
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