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| Author |
Message |
| 25 new of 278 responses total. |
senna
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response 3 of 278:
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Mar 22 04:46 UTC 1999 |
John Steinbeck? Probably too positive for him, but it doesn't sound
like Bradbury.
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rcurl
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response 4 of 278:
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Mar 22 04:55 UTC 1999 |
Spring 1999 agora item 20, the "mysterious quote item", has been linked
to books 83.
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davel
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response 5 of 278:
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Mar 22 12:09 UTC 1999 |
Thanks, Rane.
I have no idea on this one.
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void
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response 6 of 278:
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Mar 22 12:24 UTC 1999 |
neither steinbeck nor bradbury. the author is a dead european male.
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sjones
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response 7 of 278:
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Mar 22 19:21 UTC 1999 |
frustratingly vaguely familiar...
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void
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response 8 of 278:
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Mar 22 23:39 UTC 1999 |
here's another quotation taken from the same work as the one in
resp:1:
then suddenly, in the absolute stillness that prevailed, y-----'s
small sweet voice began to sing 'un bel di vedremo'. the effect was
stunning. in that place, in that atmosphere, in the dark night beside
the lake outside p------'s window, i was moved beyond words. i saw
the composer freeze. the pen was in his hand against the paper and
the hand froze and his whole body became motionless as he sat listening
to the voice outside the window. he didn't look round. i don't think
he dared to look round for fear of breaking the spell. outside his
window a young maiden was singing one of his favorite arias in a small
clear voice in absolutely perfect pitch. his face didn't change
expression. his mouth didn't move. nothing about him moved while the
aria was in progress. it was a magic moment. then y----- stopped
singing. for a few seconds longer p------ remained sitting at the
piano. he seemed to be waiting for more, for a sign of some sort from
outside. but y----- didn't move or speak either. she simply stood
there with her face upturned to the window, waiting for the man to come
to her.
and come to her he did. i saw him put down his pen and rise slowly
from the piano stool. he walked to the window. then he saw y-----.
i have spoken many times of her scintillating beauty, and the sight of
her standing out there so still and serene must have come as a glorious
shock to p------. he stared. he gaped. was this a dream? then
y----- smiled at him and that broke the spell. i saw him come
suddenly out of his trance and i heard him say, "dio mio come bello!"
then he jumped clear out of the window and clasped y----- in a powerful
embrace.
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void
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response 9 of 278:
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Mar 23 22:54 UTC 1999 |
here are some more hints: this author was married to an american
actress, and was also more well-known for his children's books than
for the books geared more toward adults.
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valkyrie
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response 10 of 278:
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Mar 23 23:25 UTC 1999 |
My guess is C S Lewis. If this is right, i'll come up with something
better than Heinlein as a quote :)
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md
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response 11 of 278:
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Mar 24 00:09 UTC 1999 |
The clue describes Roald Dahl.
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cyklone
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response 12 of 278:
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Mar 24 02:58 UTC 1999 |
Damn, just missed it. I think you're right MD. It seemed very familiar.
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md
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response 13 of 278:
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Mar 24 11:50 UTC 1999 |
If that's who it is, then you can enter the next quote,
cyklone. I didn't guess the quote, just the clue.
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cyklone
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response 14 of 278:
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Mar 24 12:22 UTC 1999 |
Well, I'm fresh out of quotes today (and we haven't gotten confirmation that
we're right), so I think I'll wait a bit . . . . .
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void
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response 15 of 278:
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Mar 24 12:49 UTC 1999 |
roald dahl is right. the quotations were from _my uncle oswald_.
i'll let cyklone and md decide between themselves who is next.
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awwn96
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response 16 of 278:
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Mar 27 04:58 UTC 1999 |
quit
quit at the start of a line
?
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bdh1
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response 17 of 278:
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Mar 27 09:29 UTC 1999 |
"Fiery the angels fell. Deep thunder rolled along lee shores."
"Burning with the fires of Ork."
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happyboy
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response 18 of 278:
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Mar 27 22:37 UTC 1999 |
d00d...is that a zepplin t00n?
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bdh1
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response 19 of 278:
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Mar 30 09:26 UTC 1999 |
Heh, yeah.
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davel
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response 20 of 278:
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Mar 30 12:04 UTC 1999 |
None the less, we're waiting for either cycyklone or md ...
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cyklone
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response 21 of 278:
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Mar 30 12:32 UTC 1999 |
I'll defer to anyone who wants to enter a quote (or to md).
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md
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response 22 of 278:
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Mar 30 12:35 UTC 1999 |
Oops, sorry. Here's one:
"She says this park would make a tidy summer resort, if
there was any custom for it. Summer resort -- another
invention of hers -- just words, without any meaning.
What is a summer resort? But it is best not to ask her,
she has such a rage for explaining."
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md
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response 23 of 278:
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Mar 31 00:04 UTC 1999 |
Here's another one, same author of course:
"The naming goes recklessly on, in spite of anything
I can do. I had a very good name for the estate, and
it was musical and pretty -- Garden-of-Eden. Privately,
I continue to call it that, but not any longer publicly.
The new creature says it is all woods and rocks and
scenery, and therefor has no resemblance to a garden.
She says it *looks* like a park, and does not look like
anything *but* a park. Consequently, without consulting
me, it has been new-named -- Niagara Falls Park. This
is sufficiently highhanded, it seems to me. And already
there is a sign up:
KEEP OFF
THE GRASS
My life is not as happy as it was."
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johnnie
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response 24 of 278:
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Mar 31 02:07 UTC 1999 |
Twain.
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md
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response 25 of 278:
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Mar 31 05:21 UTC 1999 |
Got 'im! Johnnie's up.
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omni
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response 26 of 278:
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Mar 31 08:10 UTC 1999 |
Damn. I love that story. "The Diary of Adam and Eve".
I especially like the last line. "Wherever she was, there was Eden."
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johnnie
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response 27 of 278:
|
Apr 1 00:00 UTC 1999 |
Okay, here we go...
The young dandy was so much absorbed in his anxious quest that he did
not observe his own success; he did not hear, he did not see the
ironical exclamations of admiration, the genuine appreciation, the
biting gibes, the soft invitations of some of the masks. Though he was
so handsome as to rank among those exceptional persons who come to an
opera ball in search of an adventure, and who expect it as confidently
as men looked for a lucky coup at roulette in Frascati's day, he
seemed quite philosophically sure of his evening; he must be the hero
of one of those mysteries with three actors which constitute an opera
ball, and are known only to those who play a part in them; for, to
young wives who come merely to say, "I have seen it," to country
people, to inexperienced youths, and to foreigners, the opera house
must on those nights be the palace of fatigue and dulness. To these,
that black swarm, slow and serried--coming, going, winding, turning,
returning, mounting, descending, comparable only to ants on a pile of
wood--is no more intelligible than the Bourse to a Breton peasant who
has never heard of the Grand livre.
With a few rare exceptions, men wear no masks in Paris; a man in a
domino is thought ridiculous. In this the spirit of the nation betrays
itself. Men who want to hide their good fortune can enjoy the opera
ball without going there; and masks who are absolutely compelled to go
in come out again at once. One of the most amusing scenes is the crush
at the doors produced as soon as the dancing begins, by the rush of
persons getting away and struggling with those who are pushing in. So
the men who wear masks are either jealous husbands who come to watch
their wives, or husbands on the loose who do not wish to be watched by
them--two situations equally ridiculous.
Now, our young man was followed, though he knew it not, by a man in a
mask, dogging his steps, short and stout, with a rolling gait, like a
barrel. To every one familiar with the opera this disguise betrayed a
stock-broker, a banker, a lawyer, some citizen soul suspicious of
infidelity. For in fact, in really high society, no one courts such
humiliating proofs. Several masks had laughed as they pointed this
preposterous figure out to each other; some had spoken to him, a few
young men had made game of him, but his stolid manner showed entire
contempt for these aimless shafts; he went on whither the young man
led him, as a hunted wild boar goes on and pays no heed to the bullets
whistling about his ears, or the dogs barking at his heels.
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