Short lives

The Guardian did a thing not long ago where they got people to write short stories in six words, because apparently Hemingway once wrote a six-word short story which he said was his best ever. It went "For sale: baby shoes, never worn". The Guardian's ones show that it's not easy. I like DBC Pierre's:
Evil isn't necessarily unkind. Gran next.
Will Self is wonderfully typical with:
Pain, unutterable pain, stertorous exhalation. Death.
In the best tradition of mainstream journalism, the Guardian ripped off the idea from a lower-circulation magazine, in this case Wired, which has slightly better ones, maybe because of the sort of authors they chose -- idea-mongers, mostly. (In the best tradition of blogs, I got this information not from my own head but from a better blog.) I like Orson Scott Card's:
I saw, darling, but do lie.
Paul di Filippo's:
Husband, transgenic mistress; wife: “You cow!”
Margaret Atwood's
Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
and Alan Moore's
Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time

In a related enterprise I am collecting those sentences you sometimes come across, especially in book reviews, which seem to sum up a whole life and the milieu in which it was lived. The problem is that I keep writing them down in different places and then losing them. The ones I can find to hand are Anna Kavan:
They lived unhappily for a while in Burma, and produced a son who was killed in World War II.
and Sir Harry Oakes:
He befriended the Windsors and drew them into some questionable business ventures before being murdered in 1943.
Less typical, but quite evocative, is this description of Sir Thomas Theophilus Metcalfe:
a notably fastidious man, with feelings so refined that he could not bear to see women eat cheese.
And back to exiled British royalty, here is Andy Warhol's manager Fred Hughes:
He was obsessed by the Duke of Windsor, but bore more than a passing resemblance to the Duchess.

(From BookForum, Rupert Everett's memoirs, Dalrymple's Last Mughal, and Everett again.)