I am reading a book called Model Behavior about a magazine writer who falls in love with a model. It's an odd book that switches from first-person to third seemingly at random, and that has many little subheadings within each chapter. On page 113 I found this:
(speaking to his model gf on the phone) "So why did you take your diaphragm?" I ask. "Who are you fucking while you're taking all this contemplative Virginia Woolf Room of One's Own time to think?"
I thought it funny because I am in the middle of A Room of One's Own.
Later, on page 137, I find something I can relate to:
(he has just ushered in an unexpected visitor, someone he does not know well) If I could wish away any one element of the debris at this moment, it would be the dead soldiers, the beer, Absolut and Jack Danel's bottles that suddenly seem so very numerous indeed. I realize, of course, that dirty clothing and towels do not belong in the living room, where they detract from the air quality and overall ambience. And how could any one person read, let alone own, so many newspapers and magazines? Well, I am a leterate slob, at least. The best that can otherwise be said is that there aren't a lot of dirty plates, since I haven't eaten much. Just a couple of pizza boxes spread around the few available surfaces, like accent pieces.
So nicely put!