This is the winter edition of a Grex game that has been running for many
seasons now.

It works like this: Whoever is "up" posts a published quote. The object
is to guess the author. The first person to guess correctly gets to give
the next quote.

If you're up and people are having trouble, it's considered good form to
give hints and/or another quote by the same author.

If you're guessing, please guess one author at a time (that is, no
scattergun guessing by one person). If you're told that your guess is
wrong, then you're free to guess a different author.

Your quotes can be easy or hard, but the authors should be people that
at least some Grexers are apt to have heard of.

195 responses total.

There's a challenge left over from the fall edition of this item.
Simon Jones (sjones) entered the following two quotes:

Quote #1:

 'And now there was an end of path or road.  More than ever the camel 
 seemed insensibly driven; it lengthened and quickened its pace, its head 
 pointed straight towards the horizon; through the wide nostrils it drank 
 the wind in great draughts.  The litter swayed, and rose and fell like a 
 boat in the waves.  Dried leaves in occasional beds rustled underfoot.  
 Sometimes a perfume like absinthe sweetened all the air.  Lark and chat 
 and rock-swallow leaped to wing, and white partridges ran whistling and 
 clucking out of the way.  More rarely a fox or hyena quickened his 
 gallop, to study the intruders at a safe distance.  Off to the right 
 rose the hills of the Jebel, the pearl-grey veil resting upon them 
 changing momentarily into a purple which the sun would make matchless a 
 little later.  Over their highest peaks a vulture sailed on broad wings 
 into widening circles.  But of all these things the tenant under the 
 green tent saw nothing, or at least, made no sign of recognition.  His 
 eyes were fixed and dreamy.  The going of the man, like that of the 
 animal, was as one being led.'

Quote #2:

 'Let us add now, the world - always cunning enough of itself; always 
 whispering to the weak, Stay, take thine ease; always presenting the 
 sunny side of life - the world was in this instance helped by (his) 
 companion.
      "Were you ever at Rome?" he asked.
      "No," Esther replied.
      "Would you like to go?"
      "I think not."
      "Why?"
      "I am afraid of Rome," she answered with a perceptible tremor of 
 the voice.
 
 He looked at her then - or rather down upon her, for at his side she 
 appeared little more than a child.  In the dim light he could not see 
 her face distinctly; even the form was shadowy.  But again he was 
 reminded of Tirzah, and a sudden tenderness fell upon him - just so the 
 lost sister stood with him on the house-top the calamitous morning of 
 the accident to Gratus.  Poor Tirzah!  Where was she now?  Esther had 
 the benefit of the feeling evoked.  If not his sister, he could never 
 look upon her as his servant; and that she was his servant in fact would 
 make him always the more considerate and gentle towards her.'

We've learned that the author is American, that the film version of the
work is probably much better known than the work itself, and that the
work has been described as a "genuine American folk possession.

The last guess entered was by Larry Kestenbaum (polygon). He guessed
Booth Tarkington. So far Simon hasn't responded.

Simon was away for a while, but I believe he's back now, so the guessing
can resume.

agora item 53 has been linked to books 79.

uh... Paul Coelho?

Salmon Rushdie?

Oops, cancel that -- I didn't realize that I still had a guess outstanding.

sorry, sorry - start of term's v. busy!  i'm afraid it's no to everyone 
suggested so far, including salmon rushdie - i figure it's my fault you 
had a guess outstanding!

thanks very much for getting this rolling again, john!  appreciate it...

um - this seems to be even trickier than i thought it would be, and i 
don't know booth tarkington or paul coelho, so i can't say much about 
where you're going wrong.  mr rushdie, on the other hand, is far too 
much still alive - which reminds me that i read a critic somewhere who 
said that the fatwa was outrageous, but that he would sypmathise with 
anyone who wanted to shoot rushdie on the grounds of literary style...)

so, it's back a good hundred years from rushdie.  er... let's try 
another quote, which i hope won't make it *too* immediately obvious...

'There was a peculiarity, however, which could not have failed the 
notice of a looker-on this night in Antioch.  Nearly everybody wore the 
colours of one or other of the charioteers announced for the morrow's 
race.  Sometimes it was in form of a scarf, sometimes a badge; often a 
ribbon or a feather.  Whatever the form it signified merely the wearer's 
partiality; thus, green published a friend of Cleanthes the Athenian, 
and black an adherent of the Byzantine.  This was according to a custom, 
old probably as the day of the race of Orestes - a custom, by the way 
worthy of study, as a marvel of history, illustrative of the absurd yet 
appalling extremities to which men frequently suffer their follies to 
drag them.'

this quote is dealing by reference with a central aspect of the novel as 
a whole, certainly as regards the plot, and the film adaptation...

pob lwc, as we say in wales...

Ben Hur by Lew Wallace?

sighs of relief and congratulation!  ben hur it is, so well done and 
you're up, gjharb... i presume it was the charioteering that gave it to 
you?

and hey, remmers, what *was* your original guess?...)

Yep - it was the race that clinched it.  ok - give me a day to go thru my
favorites.

Yep, Lew Wallace would've been my guess too, based on the last
entry. Gloria beat me to it. I look forward to her quote.

Simon is quite right that the film version (actually, both films:
the silent one and the C. Heston version) are better known that
the original novel nowadays.

Oh, and re resp:8 - I forget exactly what my original guess was.
Nothing close to Lew Wallace. Might've been Rudyard Kipling.

Okay - here it is:

"The rain continued.  It was a hard rain, a perpetual rain, a sweating and
steaming rain; it was a mizzle, a downpour, a fountain, a whipping at the
eyes, an undertow at the ankles; it was a rain to drown all rains and the
memory of rains.  It came by the pound and the ton, it hacked at the jungle
and cut the trees like scissors and shaved the grass and tunneled the soil
and molted the bushes.  It shrank's men's hands into the hands of wrinkled
apes; it rained a solid glassy rain, and it never stopped."

That *should* be from _Rain_, by Maugham.

Not Maugham.  Here's the next paragraph:

"The Lieutenant looked up.  He had a face that had once been brown and now
the rain had washed it pale, and the rain had washed the color from his eyes
and they were white, as were his teeth, and as was his hair.  He was all
white.  Even his uniform was beginning to turn white, and perhaps a little
green with fungus."
. 

Ray Bradbury?

John Fowles?  The French Lieutenant's Woman?

Ray Bradbury it is.  I know there are a lot of scifi fans out there and
someone would recognize this.  It's from a short story called "The Long Rain"
and is part of a collection of short stories entitled "R Is For Rocket" which
I still see on sale at Barnes & Noble.  Okay - jep - your turn.

(In any case, I vehemently disagree with that critic about Salman Rushie.)

re item:18 <chuckle>  ooh, i don't know - midnight's children drove me 
into a coma...

Sorry it took me a few days.  I don't log in much on the 
weekends.

Here's a new quote:

"I don't often speak of myself," said John, "but as you are going away 
from us out into the world to shift for yourself I'll just tell you how 
I look on these things.  I was just as old as Joseph when my father and 
mother died of the fever within ten days of each other, and left me and 
my cripple sister Nelly alone in the world, without a relation that we 
could look to for help.  I was a farmer's boy, not earning enough to 
keep myself, much less both of us, and she must have gone to the 
workhouse but for our mistress (Nelly calls her her angel, and she has 
good right to do so).  She went and hired a room for her with old Widow 
Mallet, and she gave her knitting and needlework when she was able to do 
it; and when she was ill she sent her dinners and many nice, comfortable 
things, and was like a mother to her.  Then the master he took me into 
the stable under old Norman, the coachman that was then.  I had my food 
at the house and my bed in the loft, and a suit of clothes, and three 
shillings a week, so that I could help Nelly.  Then there was Norman;
he might have turned round and said at his age he could not be troubled
with a raw boy from the plow-tail, but he was like a father to me, and 
took no end of pains with me.  When the old man died some years after I 
stepped into his place, and now of course I have top wages, and can lay 
by for a rainy day or a sunny day, as it may happen, and Nelly is as 
happy as a bird.  So you see, James, I am not the man that should turn 
up his nose at a little boy and vex a good, kind master.  No, no! I 
shall miss you very much, James, but we shall pull through, and there's 
nothing like doing a kindness when 'tis put in your way, and I am glad I 
can do it."

Dickens?

Nope.  I almost posted something from "Oliver Twist", though!  I 
couldn't find a passage that didn't immediately identify the novel.

You have the right rough time period, though.

Jane Austin

Not Jane Austen, but you have the right gender of the author.

George Eliot (pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans)?

Not George Eliot/Mary Ann Evans.

Here's another quote which will more closely identify the book:

I shall never forget the first train that ran by.  I was feeding quietly 
near the pales which separated the meadow from the railway, when I heard 
a strange sound at a distance, and before I knew whence it came -- with 
a rush and a clatter, and a puffing out of smoke -- a long black train 
of something flew by, and was gone almost before I could draw my 
breath.  I turned and galloped to the further side of the meadow as fast 
as I could go, and there I stood snorting with astonishment and fear.

In the course of the day many other trains went by, some more slowly; 
these drew up at the station close by, and sometimes made an awful 
shriek and groan before they stopped.  I thought it very dreadful, but 
the cows went on eating very quietly, and hardly raised their heads as 
the black frightful thing came puffing and grinding past.

For the first few days I could not feed in peace; but as I found that 
this terrible creature never came into the field, or did me any harm, I 
began to disregard it, and very soon I cared as little about the passing 
of a train as the cows and sheep did.

Wow - #20 is clearly a person speaking, and #26 would appear to be a horse.
A horsey Metamorphosis..... Nothing like it comes to mind, however.

  Willa Cather?

Beatrice Potter?

Mary Shelly?

None of those 3.  But Rane was right that the point of view character is 
a horse.

hmm, sounds like thomas hardy, Tess I think. that would be my guess except 
Hardy is male. how about Charlotte Bronte?

Nope, neither Thomas Hardy nor Charlotte Bronte.  (It wasn't Emily 
Bronte, either.)

Hmm.  The author was a Quaker, and died a year after this book was 
published.  It was the only one the author wrote, though two sequels 
were written by others.

According to a WWW page, 30 million copies have been printed, which the 
WWW page says is a record for fiction.  That would surprise me, but it's 
certainly a well-known book.  It also surprises me that no one has 
recognized it yet.

Here's another quote:


When I was four years old Squire Gordon came to look at me.  He examined 
my eyes, my mouth, and my legs; he felt them all down; and then I had to 
walk and trot and gallop before him.  He seemed to like me, and said, 
"When he has been well broken in he will do very well."  My master said 
he would break me in himself, as he should not like me to be frightened 
or hurt, and he lost no time about it, for the next day he began.

Every one may not know what breaking in is, therefore I will describe 
it.  It means to teach a horse to wear a saddle and bridle, and to carry 
on his back a man, woman or child; to go just the way they wish, and to 
go quietly.  Besides this he has to learn to wear a collar, a crupper,
and a breeching, and to stand still while they are put on; then to have 
a cart or a chaise fixed behind, so that he cannot walk or trot without 
dragging it after him; and he must go fast or slow, just as his driver 
wishes.  He must never start at what he sees, nor speak to other horses, 
nor bite, nor kick, nor have any will of his own; but always do his 
master's will, even though he may be very tired or hungry; but the worst 
of all is, when his harness is once on, he may neither jump for joy nor 
lie down for weariness.  So you see this breaking in is a great thing.

Darn, Moll Flanders just popped into my head, but that was done in England
and written by a man.

Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell

This can only be from "Black Beauty".  I could not name the
author if my life depended on it, and I don't have the WWW
at home to go search for it.

Dang, the people who slip in during off-line edits.

You got it, hhsrat!  Anna Sewell it is.  You're up.

Russ, my drill sergeants used to give some good advice: "There's the 
quick and the dead."  How long could it take you to write the name of 
the author?

By the way, this book is available via electronic text from Project 
Gutenberg.  The URL where I got my quotes is:

ftp://sunsite.unc.edu/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext95/bbeau10.txt

Ok, here goes

"She scraped a patch of ground bare of pine needles and leaves, and 
there scratched his name in the dirt with a twig.  Then she made a small 
teepee of twigs and needles and lit a small fire.  It made smoke that 
interwove with the branches and needles of the pine overhead.  All the 
way into space, she said silently.  All the way to the Battle School.

No letters had ever come, and as far as they knew their own letters had 
never reached him.  When he first was taken, Father and Mother sat at 
the table and keyed in long letters to him every few days.  Soon, 
though, it was once a week, and when no answers came, once a month.  Now 
it had been two years since he went, and there were no letters, none at 
all, and no remembrance on his birthday.  He is dead, she thought 
bitterly, because we have forgotten him."

- Backtalk version 1.3.30 - Copyright 1996-2006, Jan Wolter and Steve Weiss