Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:32

Excerpt #1, from Around the World on a Bicycle Volume II, by Thomas Stevens

…dwindled to mere rivulets, and the narrow, miry trail through the melting snow has become dry and smooth enough to ride wherever the grade permits. The hills are verdant with the green young life of early spring, and are clothed in one of nature’s prettiest costumes–a costume of seal-brown rocks and green turf studded with a profusion of blue and yellow flowers. Shahriffabad is reached early in the afternoon, and the threatening aspect of the changed weather forbids going any farther today. Shortly after taking up my quarters in the chapar-khana, a party of Persian travellers appear upon the scene, and with them a fussy little man in big round spectacles and semi-European clothes. Scarcely have they had time to alight and seek out quarters than the little man makes his appearance at my menzil door in all the glory of a crimson velvet dressing-cap and blue slippers, and beaming gladsomely through his moon-like spectacles, he comes forward and without further ceremony shakes hands. “Some queer little French professor, geologist, entomologist, or something, wandering about the country in search of scientific knowledge,” is the instinctive conclusion I arrive at the moment he appears; and my greeting of “bonjour, monsieur,” is quite as involuntary as the conclusion. “Paruski ni?” he replies, arching his eyebrows and smiling. “Paruski ni; Ingilis.”…

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Excerpt #2, from Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, by William Shakespeare

…Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. ROSENCRANTZ. What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? HAMLET. Compounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin. ROSENCRANTZ. Tell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence, And bear it to the chapel. HAMLET. Do not believe it. ROSENCRANTZ. Believe what? HAMLET. That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded of a sponge—what replication should be made by the son of a king? ROSENCRANTZ. Take you me for a sponge, my lord? HAMLET. Ay, sir; that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. ROSENCRANTZ. I understand you not, my lord. HAMLET. I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. ROSENCRANTZ. My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King. HAMLET. The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body….

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Excerpt #3, from Twenty Four Unusual Stories for Boys and Girls, by Anna Cogswell Tyler

…“You could open your window of a summer night and give a call to the neighbors,” he sighed, “and you needn’t to have the voice of the giant Finn McCoul to make them hear. In this place a man could fall sick and die alone and no one be the wiser.” His reminiscences had wandered farther and farther until he began to tell the tales and legends familiar in his own countryside, stories of the “Little People” and of Ireland in ancient times. Of them all Ted remembered most clearly the story of the white grayhounds of the King of Connemara, upon which his friend had dwelt long, showing that in spite of its being a thousand years old, it was his favorite tale. “Like those dogs on Arran Creek, they were perhaps,” the Irishman said, “only sleeker of coat and swifter of foot, I’m thinking.” “But they couldn’t be faster,” Ted had objected. “The Arran dogs can catch coyotes and jack-rabbits and people have called those the quickest animals that run.” “Ah,” returned the other with true Irish logic, “those Arran dogs are Russian, they tell me, and these I speak of were of Connemara, and what comes out of Ireland, you may be sure, is faster and fairer than anything else on earth.” Against such reasoning Ted had judged it impossible to argue and had dropped into silence and finally into sleep with the voices of the…

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Excerpt #4, from Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott

…finding it impossible to vent her excitement in any other way, and Meg and Jo fed their mother like dutiful young storks, while they listened to her whispered account of Father’s state, Mr. Brooke’s promise to stay and nurse him, the delays which the storm occasioned on the homeward journey, and the unspeakable comfort Laurie’s hopeful face had given her when she arrived, worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and cold. What a strange yet pleasant day that was. So brilliant and gay without, for all the world seemed abroad to welcome the first snow. So quiet and reposeful within, for everyone slept, spent with watching, and a Sabbath stillness reigned through the house, while nodding Hannah mounted guard at the door. With a blissful sense of burdens lifted off, Meg and Jo closed their weary eyes, and lay at rest, like storm-beaten boats safe at anchor in a quiet harbor. Mrs. March would not leave Beth’s side, but rested in the big chair, waking often to look at, touch, and brood over her child, like a miser over some recovered treasure. Laurie meanwhile posted off to comfort Amy, and told his story so well that Aunt March actually ‘sniffed’ herself, and never once said “I told you so”. Amy came out so strong on this occasion that I think the good thoughts in the little chapel really began to bear fruit. She dried her tears quickly, restrained her impatience to see her mother, and never…

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Excerpt #5, from The Pursuit of the House Boat, by John Kendrick Bangs

…“It’s a lucky thing for us that Noah wasn’t a Frenchman, eh?” said Frederick the Great. “How that rain would have fazed him if he had been! The human race would have been wiped out.” “Oh, pshaw!” ejaculated Noah, deprecating the unseemliness of the quarrel, and putting his arm affectionately about Bonaparte’s shoulder. “When you come down to that, I was French—as French as one could be in those days—and these Gallic subjects of my friend here were, every one of ’em, my lineal descendants, and their hatred of rain was inherited directly from me, their ancestor.” “Are not we English as much your descendants?” queried Wellington, arching his eyebrows. “You are,” said Noah, “but you take after Mrs. Noah more than after me. Water never fazes a woman, and your delight in tubs is an essentially feminine trait. The first thing Mrs. Noah carried aboard was a laundry outfit, and then she went back for rugs and coats and all sorts of hand-baggage. Gad, it makes me laugh to this day when I think of it! She looked for all the world like an Englishman travelling on the Continent as she walked up the gang-plank behind the elephants, each elephant with a Gladstone bag in his trunk and a hat-box tied to his tail.” Here the venerable old weather-prophet winked at Munchausen, and the little quarrel which had been imminent passed off in a general laugh….

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Excerpt #6, from Uncle Wiggily’s Adventures, by Howard Roger Garis

…“Let me look at your tongue,” said the rabbit, and when Grandfather Goosey Gander stuck it out, Uncle Wiggily said: “Why, you have the epizootic very bad. Very bad, indeed! But perhaps I can cure you. Let me see, I think you need some bread and butter, and a cup of catnip tea. I’ll make you some.” So Uncle Wiggily made a little fire of sticks, and then he found an empty tin tomato can, and he boiled some water in it over the fire, and made the catnip tea. Then he gave some to Grandfather Goosey Gander, together with some bread and butter. “Well, I feel a little better,” said the old gentleman duck-drake, when he had eaten, “but I am not well yet. It seems to me that if I could have some cherry pie I would feel better.” “Perhaps you would,” agreed Uncle Wiggily, “but, though I know how to make nice cherry pie, and though I made some for the hedgehog, I don’t see any cherry trees around here, so I can’t make you one. There are no cherry trees.” “Yes, there is one over there,” said the duck-drake, and he waved one foot toward it, while he quacked real faint and sorrowful-like. “Sure enough, that is a cherry tree,” said Uncle Wiggily, as he hopped over and looked at it. "And the cherries are ripe, too. Now, if I could only get some of them down I could make a cherry pie, and cure Grandfather…

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Excerpt #7, from Old Greek Stories, by James Baldwin

…the crater of a burning mountain, to take a lump of clay which he gave him, and mold it into the form of a woman. Vulcan did as he was bidden; and when he had finished the image, he carried it up to Jupiter, who was sitting among the clouds with all the Mighty Folk around him. It was nothing but a mere lifeless body, but the great blacksmith had given it a form more perfect than that of any statue that has ever been made. “Come now!” said Jupiter, “let us all give some goodly gift to this woman;” and he began by giving her life. Then the others came in their turn, each with a gift for the marvelous creature. One gave her beauty; and another a pleasant voice; and another good manners; and another a kind heart; and another skill in many arts; and, lastly, some one gave her curiosity. Then they called her Pandora, which means the all-gifted, because she had received gifts from them all. Pandora was so beautiful and so wondrously gifted that no one could help loving her. When the Mighty Folk had admired her for a time, they gave her to Mercury, the light-footed; and he led her down the mountain side to the place where Prometheus and his brother were living and toiling for the good of mankind. He met Epimetheus first, and said to him: “Epimetheus, here is a beautiful woman, whom Jupiter has sent to you to be your wife.”…

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Excerpt #8, from The Communist Manifesto, by Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx

…working class, is to raise the proletariat to the position of ruling as to win the battle of democracy. The proletariat will use its political supremacy to wrest, by degrees, all capital from the bourgeoisie, to centralise all instruments of production in the hands of the State, i.e., of the proletariat organised as the ruling class; and to increase the total of productive forces as rapidly as possible. Of course, in the beginning, this cannot be effected except by means of despotic inroads on the rights of property, and on the conditions of bourgeois production; by means of measures, therefore, which appear economically insufficient and untenable, but which, in the course of the movement, outstrip themselves, necessitate further inroads upon the old social order, and are unavoidable as a means of entirely revolutionising the mode of production. These measures will of course be different in different countries. Nevertheless in the most advanced countries, the following will be pretty generally applicable. 1. Abolition of property in land and application of all rents of land to public purposes. 2. A heavy progressive or graduated income tax. 3. Abolition of all right of inheritance….

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Excerpt #9, from Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo

…Will that become an Ionian or a Bœotian? Wait, currit rota, the Spirit of Paris, that demon which creates the children of chance and the men of destiny, reversing the process of the Latin potter, makes of a jug an amphora. CHAPTER V—HIS FRONTIERS The gamin loves the city, he also loves solitude, since he has something of the sage in him. Urbis amator, like Fuscus; ruris amator, like Flaccus. To roam thoughtfully about, that is to say, to lounge, is a fine employment of time in the eyes of the philosopher; particularly in that rather illegitimate species of campaign, which is tolerably ugly but odd and composed of two natures, which surrounds certain great cities, notably Paris. To study the suburbs is to study the amphibious animal. End of the trees, beginning of the roofs; end of the grass, beginning of the pavements; end of the furrows, beginning of the shops, end of the wheel-ruts, beginning of the passions; end of the divine murmur, beginning of the human uproar; hence an extraordinary interest. Hence, in these not very attractive places, indelibly stamped by the passing stroller with the epithet: melancholy, the apparently objectless promenades of the dreamer. He who writes these lines has long been a prowler about the barriers of…

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Excerpt #10, from The Alchemist, by Ben Jonson

…Firk, like a flounder; kiss, like a scallop, close; And tickle him with thy mother tongue. His great Verdugoship has not a jot of language; So much the easier to be cozen’d, my Dolly. He will come here in a hired coach, obscure, And our own coachman, whom I have sent as guide, No creature else. [KNOCKING WITHOUT.] Who’s that? [EXIT DOL.] SUB. It is not he? FACE. O no, not yet this hour. [RE-ENTER DOL.] SUB. Who is’t? DOL. Dapper, Your clerk. FACE. God’s will then, queen of Fairy, On with your tire; [EXIT DOL.] and, doctor, with your robes. Let’s dispatch him for God’s sake….

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Excerpt #11, from An Outcast of the Islands, by Joseph Conrad

…Meantime he returned encouraging answers to his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited for his opportunity in the calm certitude of ultimate triumph. Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for the first time on the night of Willems’ return to Aissa. Babalatchi, who had been tormented for three days by the fear of having over-reached himself in his little plot, now, feeling sure of his white man, felt lighthearted and happy as he superintended the preparations in the courtyard for Abdulla’s reception. Half-way between Lakamba’s house and the river a pile of dry wood was made ready for the torch that would set fire to it at the moment of Abdulla’s landing. Between this and the house again there was, ranged in a semicircle, a set of low bamboo frames, and on those were piled all the carpets and cushions of Lakamba’s household. It had been decided that the reception was to take place in the open air, and that it should be made impressive by the great number of Lakamba’s retainers, who, clad in clean white, with their red sarongs gathered round their waists, chopper at side and lance in hand, were moving about the compound or, gathering into small knots, discussed eagerly the coming ceremony. Two little fires burned brightly on the water’s edge on each side of the landing place. A small heap of damar-gum torches lay by each, and…

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Excerpt #12, from Don Juan, by Baron George Gordon Byron Byron

…And thus Gulbeyaz, though she knew not why, Felt an odd glistening moisture in her eye. But tears must stop like all things else; and soon Juan, who for an instant had been moved To such a sorrow by the intrusive tone Of one who dared to ask if ‘he had loved,’ Call’d back the stoic to his eyes, which shone Bright with the very weakness he reproved; And although sensitive to beauty, he Felt most indignant still at not being free. Gulbeyaz, for the first time in her days, Was much embarrass’d, never having met In all her life with aught save prayers and praise; And as she also risk’d her life to get Him whom she meant to tutor in love’s ways Into a comfortable tete-a-tete, To lose the hour would make her quite a martyr, And they had wasted now almost a quarter. I also would suggest the fitting time To gentlemen in any such like case, That is to say in a meridian clime—…

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