What reader or dreamer doesn’t imagine the romantic life of a writer, who lingers between the desk and the fridge in the morning and in the evening attends cocktail parties thrown by nouveaux riches and...
—Rawi Hage
They were new money, without a doubt: so new it shrieked. Their clothes looked as it they’d covered themselves in glue, then rolled around in hundred-dollar bills.
—Margaret Atwood
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