Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next, #2)

by Jasper Fforde

It was clear she was a serious fan. Not quite rabid enough to speak only in lines from the plays, but close enough.

You’re that Next girl, aren’t you? I think we met at my niece Gloria’s wedding—who did she marry again?” “My cousin Wilbur.” “Now I remember. Who was that sad old fart who made a nuisance of himself on the dance floor?” “I think that was you, sir.” Lord Volescamper thought for a moment and stared at his feet. “Goodness. It was, wasn’t it?

“How do you do, Mr. Cable? Bought one of the new Griffin Sportinas, I see. How do you find it?” “Usually where I left it, sir.”

My father told me that for the most part coincidences could be safely ignored: They were merely the chance discovery of one pertinent fact from a million or so possible daily interconnections. “Stop a stranger in the street,” he would say, “and delve into each other’s past. Pretty soon an astounding-too-amazing-to-be-chance coincidence will appear.”

“Growth purely for its own sake is the philosophy of cancer, Schitt-Hawse.”

“I . . . I . . . didn’t know I could do this.” “What you mean is that you did know that you couldn’t—it’s quite a different thing.

First of all, we are all time travelers. The vast majority of us manage only one day per day.

Indeed, next Thursday could be the last Thursday for all of us.

haha. I see what you did there fforde.