Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:49

Excerpt #1, from The Awakening, and Selected Short Stories, by Kate Chopin

…“Good night,” she murmured. He did not answer, except to continue to caress her. He did not say good night until she had become supple to his gentle, seductive entreaties. XXXII When Mr. Pontellier learned of his wife’s intention to abandon her home and take up her residence elsewhere, he immediately wrote her a letter of unqualified disapproval and remonstrance. She had given reasons which he was unwilling to acknowledge as adequate. He hoped she had not acted upon her rash impulse; and he begged her to consider first, foremost, and above all else, what people would say. He was not dreaming of scandal when he uttered this warning; that was a thing which would never have entered into his mind to consider in connection with his wife’s name or his own. He was simply thinking of his financial integrity. It might get noised about that the Pontelliers had met with reverses, and were forced to conduct their ménage on a humbler scale than heretofore. It might do incalculable mischief to his business prospects. But remembering Edna’s whimsical turn of mind of late, and foreseeing that she had immediately acted upon her impetuous determination, he grasped the situation with his usual promptness and handled it with his…

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Excerpt #2, from Remarks, by Bill Nye

…across the street and pizen yourself with some real old Mormon Valley tan, made last week from ground feed and prussic acid?” I told him that I had just been to dinner, and the doctor had forbidden my drinking any more, and that I had promised several people on their death beds never to touch liquor, and besides, I had just taken a large drink, so he would have to excuse me. But in Maine none of these common styles of invitation prevail. It is all shrouded in mystery. You give the sign of distress to any member in good standing, pound three times on the outer gate, give two hard kicks and one soft one on the inner door, give the password, “Rutherford B. Hayes,” turn to the left, through a dark passage, turn the thumbscrew of a mysterious gas fixture 90 deg. to the right, holding the goblet of the encampment under the gas fixture, then reverse the thumbscrew, shut your eyes, insult your digester, leave twenty-five cents near the gas fixture, and hunt up the nearest cemetery, so that you will not have to be carried very far. If a man really wants to drink himself into a drunkard’s grave, he can certainly save time by going to Maine. Those desiring the most prompt and vigorous style of jim-jams at cut rates will do well to examine Maine goods before going elsewhere. Let a man spend a week in Boston, where the Maine liquor law, I understand, is not in force, and then, with no warning whatever, be taken into the heart of Maine; let him land there a stranger…

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Excerpt #3, from The Jest Book, by Mark Lemon

…DXCVII.–WORTHY OF CREDIT. A GENTLEMAN was applied to by a crossing-sweeper for charity. The gentleman replied, “I will remember you when I return.”–“Please your honor,” says the man, “I’m ruined by the credit I give in that way.” DXCVIII.–PAYING IN KIND. A FARMER, having lost some ducks, was asked by the counsel for the prisoner accused of stealing them to describe their peculiarity. After he had done so, the counsel remarked, “They can’t be such a rare breed, as I have some like them in my yard.”–“That’s very likely,” said the farmer; “these are not the only ducks of the same sort I’ve had stolen lately.” DXCIX.–VERY SERIOUS. A REGULAR physician being sent for by a quack, expressed his surprise at being called in on an occasion apparently trifling. “Not so trifling, neither,” replied the quack; “for, to tell you the truth, I have, by mistake, taken some of my OWN PILLS.” DC.–THE LATE LORD AUDLEY. MR. PHILIP THICKNESSE, father of the late Lord Audley, being in want of money, applied to his son for assistance. This being denied, he immediately hired a cobbler’s stall, directly opposite his lordship’s house, and put up a board, on which was inscribed, in large letters,…

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Excerpt #4, from The Grand Inquisitor, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

…there anything more unbearable to the human race than personal freedom! Dost Thou see these stones in the desolate and glaring wilderness? Command that these stones be made bread–and mankind will run after Thee, obedient and grateful like a herd of cattle. But even then it will be ever diffident and trembling, lest Thou should take away Thy hand, and they lose thereby their bread! Thou didst refuse to accept the offer for fear of depriving men of their free choice; for where is there freedom of choice where men are bribed with bread? Man shall not live by bread alone–was Thine answer. Thou knewest not, it seems, that it was precisely in the name of that earthly bread that the terrestrial spirit would one day rise against, struggle with, and finally conquer Thee, followed by the hungry multitudes shouting: “Who is like unto that Beast, who maketh fire come down from heaven upon the earth!” Knowest Thou not that, but a few centuries hence, and the whole of mankind will have proclaimed in its wisdom and through its mouthpiece, Science, that there is no more crime, hence no more sin on earth, but only hungry people? “Feed us first and then command us to be virtuous!” will be the words written upon the banner lifted against Thee–a banner which shall destroy Thy Church to its very foundations, and in the…

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Excerpt #5, from The power and the glory, by Henry Kuttner

…a hundred feet above the crag-bordered stream at the cliffs bottom! Panic struck him. Then Tsi’s reassuring thought said, “You are safe. This is teleportation.” He scarcely heard. An age-old instinctive fear chilled his middle. For a million years men have been afraid of falling. He could not now control that fear. Slowly he began to drop. He lost sight of Tsi and the golden trees and then of the water-wall. Under him the stream broadened. He sank down at an angle—and felt solid ground beneath his feet. There was silence except for the whispering murmur of the stream. CHAPTER III The World That Couldn’t Be Miller sat down on a rock and held his head in his hands. His thoughts were swimming. Cold, fresh air blew against his cheeks and he raised his face to meet that satisfying chill. It seemed to rouse him. He began to realize that he had been half asleep during the interview with Tsi, as though the mists of his slumber had still blanketed his senses. Otherwise he would scarcely have accepted this miraculous business. Or was there another reason? He felt a desperate impulse to see Tsi again. She could answer his…

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Excerpt #6, from The call of Cthulhu, by H. P. Lovecraft

…and shouted of what he had found. The rest followed him, and looked curiously at the immense carved door with the now familiar squid-dragon bas-relief. It was, Johansen said, like a great barn-door; and they all felt that it was a door because of the ornate lintel, threshold, and jambs around it, though they could not decide whether it lay flat like a trap-door or slantwise like an outside cellar-door. As Wilcox would have said, the geometry of the place was all wrong. One could not be sure that the sea and the ground were horizontal, hence the relative position of everything else seemed fantasmally variable. Briden pushed at the stone in several places without result. Then Donovan felt over it delicately around the edge, pressing each point separately as he went. He climbed interminably along the grotesque stone molding–that is, one would call it climbing if the thing was not after all horizontal–and the men wondered how any door in the universe could be so vast. Then, very softly and slowly, the acre-great panel began to give inward at the top; and they saw that it was balanced. Donovan slid or somehow propelled himself down or along the jamb and rejoined his fellows, and everyone watched the queer recession of the monstrously carven portal. In this fantasy of prismatic distortion it moved anomalously in a diagonal way, so that all the rules of matter and perspective seemed upset….

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Excerpt #7, from The Beetle: A Mystery, by Richard Marsh

…to honour. But, somehow, her enthusiasm cooled mine. ‘It was not a bad speech, of a kind.’ ‘Of a kind!’ How her eyes flashed fire! With what disdain she treated me! ‘What do you mean by “of a kind?” My dear Sydney, are you not aware that it is an attribute of small minds to attempt to belittle those which are greater? Even if you are conscious of inferiority, it’s unwise to show it. Mr Lessingham’s was a great speech, of any kind; your incapacity to recognise the fact simply reveals your lack of the critical faculty.’ ‘It is fortunate for Mr Lessingham that there is at least one person in whom the critical faculty is so bountifully developed. Apparently, in your judgment, he who discriminates is lost.’ I thought she was going to burst into passion. But, instead, laughing, she placed her hand upon my shoulder. ‘Poor Sydney!–I understand!–It is so sad!–Do you know you are like a little boy who, when he is beaten, declares that the victor has cheated him. Never mind! as you grow older, you will learn better.’ She stung me almost beyond bearing,–I cared not what I said. ‘You, unless I am mistaken, will learn better before you are older.’ ‘What do you mean?’ Before I could have told her–if I had meant to tell; which I did…

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Excerpt #8, from Short Story Writing: An Art or a Trade?, by N. Bryllion Fagin

…our complacent reader may be left to contemplate its “rag and a bone and a hank of hair.” When the great American short-story master finally does come, no titles borrowed from the French or any other nationality will be necessary and adequate. His own worth will forge his crown, and his worth will not be measured in tricks and stunts and puzzles and cleverness. His sole object will not be to spring effects upon his unwary reader. His will be sincere honest art–with due apologies for this obvious contradiction in terms, for art can be nothing but sincere!–a result of deep, genuine emotions and an overflowing imagination. His very soul will be imbued with the simple truth, so succinctly put by Mr. H. L. Mencken, that “the way to sure and tremendous effects is by the route of simplicity, naturalness, ingenuousness.”[11] CHAPTER IV THE MOVING PICTURES An assignment once given my class called for a story based on this simple germ: “A servant kills his master.” To my great astonishment I found that fully seventy-five per cent. of the class had decided, as if by agreement, that the servant must be either a Japanese or a Chinaman. Why? The students themselves could not explain it, but I could. I had observed this unison of plot conception many times before. They had all…

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Excerpt #9, from Under the German shells, by Emmanuel Bourcier

…“Look out for yourselves,” says the last horseman, “the Uhlans are at our heels.” “Thanks for the information. Tell that to the officer whom you will meet about a hundred metres from here.” “Good luck to you.” Ouf! Berthet and I both grow hot. The watching brings us together, we remain together. One feels stronger with company. * * * * * It begins to rain–only a mist at first, then a steady rain. The poor fugitives tramp along, miserable, driven ghosts, weird figures in the blackness of the night. Some of them give scraps of information in passing. “They are at the chapel.” “They are arriving at Saint Michel.” “There are twenty Uhlans at the mairie.” Our lieutenant makes his round. “Nothing new?” “Nothing, sir.” “Very well, I am going to look about, as far as the town. I will be back in about fifteen minutes.” “Very well, sir.” He disappears, swallowed up in the darkness. We wait. It rains harder and harder. The water runs in rivulets on our shoulders, trickles down our necks, soaks our shirts. From time to time we shake ourselves like wet spaniels. There is nothing to do but wait. It would not do to…

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Excerpt #10, from Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens

…“It’s a pity now, Joe,” said I, “that you did not get on a little more, when we had our lessons here; isn’t it?” “Well, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “I’m so awful dull. I’m only master of my own trade. It were always a pity as I was so awful dull; but it’s no more of a pity now, than it was—this day twelvemonth—don’t you see?” What I had meant was, that when I came into my property and was able to do something for Joe, it would have been much more agreeable if he had been better qualified for a rise in station. He was so perfectly innocent of my meaning, however, that I thought I would mention it to Biddy in preference. So, when we had walked home and had had tea, I took Biddy into our little garden by the side of the lane, and, after throwing out in a general way for the elevation of her spirits, that I should never forget her, said I had a favour to ask of her. “And it is, Biddy,” said I, “that you will not omit any opportunity of helping Joe on, a little.” “How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance. “Well! Joe is a dear good fellow,—in fact, I think he is the dearest fellow that ever lived,—but he is rather backward in some things. For instance, Biddy, in his learning and his manners.” Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke, and although she opened her…

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Excerpt #11, from Symbolic Logic, by Lewis Carroll

…No. 3. So we add this fact to the Conclusion, which now stands as ¶ e’a_{0} + a_{1}, i.e. ¶ a_{1}e’{0}; i.e. “All a are e.” If the Reader has faithfully obeyed the above directions, his written solution will now stand as follows:– 1 2 3 4 k{1}l’{0} + dh’{0} + a_{1}c_{0} + b_{1}e’{0} + 5 6 7 k’h{0} + b’l_{0} + d’{1}c’{0} 1 5 2 6 4 7 3 kl’ + k’h + dh’ + b’l + be’ + d’c’ + ac – = - -= - = = = - = ¶ e’a_{0} + a_{1} i.e. ¶ a_{1}e’{0}; i.e. “All a are e.” pg093 The Reader should now take a second piece of paper, and copy the Data only, and try to work out the solution for himself, beginning with some other Premiss. If he fails to bring out the Conclusion a{1}e’_{0}, I would advise him to take a third piece of paper, and begin again!] I will now work out, in its briefest form, a Sorites of 5 Premisses, to…

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Excerpt #12, from Why Men Fight: A method of abolishing the international duel, by Bertrand Russell

…is most likely to be achieved through children. Children are to most people rather a need than a desire: instinct is as a rule only consciously directed towards what used to lead to children. The desire for children is apt to develop in middle life, when the adventure of one’s own existence is past, when the friendships of youth seem less important than they once did, when the prospect of a lonely old age begins to terrify, and the feeling of having no share in the future becomes oppressive. Then those who, while they were young, have had no sense that children would be a fulfilment of their needs, begin to regret their former contempt for the normal, and to envy acquaintances whom before they had thought humdrum. But owing to economic causes it is often impossible for the young, and especially for the best of the young, to have children without sacrificing things of vital importance to their own lives. And so youth passes, and the need is felt too late. Needs without corresponding desires have grown increasingly common as life has grown more different from that primitive existence from which our instincts are derived, and to which, rather than to that of the present day, they are still very largely adapted. An unsatisfied need produces, in the end, as much pain and as much distortion of character as if it had been associated with a conscious desire. For this reason, as well as for the sake of the race, it is important to remove the…

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