• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
If eyes are the window to the soul, is it also true that that ears are the tent flaps to the id?
Speak to me only with thine eyes, and I - I will get my ears checked, ‘cause damn, it’s suddenly very quiet around here.
When, at the age of ten, Elizabeth independently confirmed that the color of a chicken’s ears really do indicate the color eggs they’ll lay, she concluded there is a God and she’s one twisted diety.
You know, you’re trying to ignore Scrine and get stuff done and then someone makes mention of chicken ears; it’s really not playing fair.
“They really are social creatures once you get to know them,” Henry said, pointing to the tiny hummingbird nest in his left ear.
Long, floppy, bunny ones, if you would be so kind.
The phone rang so much that the ringing wore the chief’s ear down to a nub and his glasses fell off; several residents filled out work orders, stating that the chief’s missing ear was ugly and detracted from the property, and also, their toilet was plugged and could he take care of that before he did something about the ear.
“Maintain your form—ears over your shoulders,” said the exercise instructor, and I thought, “well, where else can I put them?”
And stop, oh please stop talking - return the quiet rumbling lava to my plugged ears; you talk of me to him, and I hear you over distance in the ringing.
Luckily, there was no one around to tell him that his ears smelled like armpits.
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