Brown raised his eyes from the poem, still muttering, the pools behind the lenses disturbed as he brought his attention up. --What are you asking me about a copy of it for?  What makes you think you sent it to us?  Ask the secretary.
     --But I sent copies to . . . I know I sent one here, your secretary . . . and your secretary isn't here today, she . . .
     --We get things from agents, and send them back to agents.  Ask your agent.  Then Brown appeared to notice that the reddened eyes of this young man, who looked enough in keeping with that stereotype of disheveled insanity suddenly assembled so often associated with genius, eyes strained open to abnormal width, were fixed on the scrawled page protruding from under his sleeve.  He pulled some papers toward him, partially covering it, to return to the day's business correspondence.

--William Gaddis, The Recognitions

All altruism stops at profit-sharing.

They own this place in ways that have nothing to do with deeds and liens and property lines... Contracts're just pieces of paper, they own the world before there's laws.

--Evan Dara, Flee