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Grex > Books > #79: The Mysterious Quote - Winter 1999 Edition | |
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| 25 new of 195 responses total. |
jep
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response 15 of 195:
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Jan 8 21:40 UTC 1999 |
Ray Bradbury?
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sjones
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response 16 of 195:
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Jan 8 23:18 UTC 1999 |
John Fowles? The French Lieutenant's Woman?
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gjharb
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response 17 of 195:
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Jan 9 02:02 UTC 1999 |
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.
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polygon
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response 18 of 195:
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Jan 9 03:24 UTC 1999 |
(In any case, I vehemently disagree with that critic about Salman Rushie.)
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sjones
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response 19 of 195:
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Jan 9 08:46 UTC 1999 |
re item:18 <chuckle> ooh, i don't know - midnight's children drove me
into a coma...
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jep
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response 20 of 195:
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Jan 11 14:40 UTC 1999 |
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."
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aruba
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response 21 of 195:
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Jan 11 21:46 UTC 1999 |
Dickens?
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jep
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response 22 of 195:
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Jan 11 22:32 UTC 1999 |
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.
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sekari
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response 23 of 195:
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Jan 12 06:22 UTC 1999 |
Jane Austin
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jep
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response 24 of 195:
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Jan 12 14:47 UTC 1999 |
Not Jane Austen, but you have the right gender of the author.
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remmers
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response 25 of 195:
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Jan 12 17:20 UTC 1999 |
George Eliot (pseudonym of Mary Ann Evans)?
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jep
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response 26 of 195:
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Jan 12 18:03 UTC 1999 |
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.
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rcurl
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response 27 of 195:
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Jan 12 18:23 UTC 1999 |
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.
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omni
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response 28 of 195:
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Jan 12 18:56 UTC 1999 |
Willa Cather?
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gjharb
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response 29 of 195:
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Jan 12 20:26 UTC 1999 |
Beatrice Potter?
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davel
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response 30 of 195:
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Jan 12 20:37 UTC 1999 |
Mary Shelly?
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jep
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response 31 of 195:
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Jan 12 21:17 UTC 1999 |
None of those 3. But Rane was right that the point of view character is
a horse.
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sekari
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response 32 of 195:
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Jan 13 06:22 UTC 1999 |
hmm, sounds like thomas hardy, Tess I think. that would be my guess except
Hardy is male. how about Charlotte Bronte?
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jep
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response 33 of 195:
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Jan 13 19:40 UTC 1999 |
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.
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jiffer
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response 34 of 195:
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Jan 13 23:01 UTC 1999 |
Darn, Moll Flanders just popped into my head, but that was done in England
and written by a man.
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hhsrat
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response 35 of 195:
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Jan 14 01:11 UTC 1999 |
Black Beauty, by Anna Sewell
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russ
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response 36 of 195:
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Jan 14 04:14 UTC 1999 |
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.
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russ
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response 37 of 195:
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Jan 14 04:15 UTC 1999 |
Dang, the people who slip in during off-line edits.
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jep
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response 38 of 195:
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Jan 14 15:47 UTC 1999 |
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
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hhsrat
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response 39 of 195:
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Jan 14 17:02 UTC 1999 |
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."
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