Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:54

Excerpt #1, from With Lawrence in Arabia, by Lowell Thomas

…on board a lighter loaded down with donkeys and mules. One unlucky donkey was kicked overboard by a nervous mule. Immediately two sharks appeared and attacked him fore and aft. One seized a front leg and the other the poor donkey’s rump, and literally they pulled him in two. We were told by the skipper of our ark that there are more sharks in the Red Sea than in any other waters of the globe. When we grounded on the coral beach we were greeted by several thousand Bedouins, who welcomed us by blazing into the air with their rifles and pistols. This firing had begun when we were still afar off, and Mr. Chase and I thought we were arriving in the midst of a battle. So fantastic and full of color was that palm-fringed coral shore, and so picturesque were the Bedouins with their flowing beards, their gorgeous robes, their strange head-dress, and their array of ancient and modern weapons of every sort, that it all seemed like some bizarre Oriental pageant. So indeed it was, and these were some of Colonel Lawrence’s modern Arabian knights. King Solomon’s long-forgotten port had been turned into a great base-camp, and enormous piles of supplies lay stacked in the sand and under the palms. Several of the British officers who were in charge of the receiving of supplies at Akaba took us to a near-by tent and slaked our growing thirst, and a few hours later Lawrence…

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Excerpt #2, from Mr. Munchausen , by John Kendrick Bangs

…could you?" “I think I might try,” said Mr. Munchausen, puffing thoughtfully upon his cigar and making a ring with the smoke for Angelica to catch upon her little thumb. “I might try–but it will all depend upon whether you want me to tell you about Decoration Day as it is celebrated in the United States, or the way a band of missionaries I once knew in the Cannibal Islands observed it for twenty years or more.” “Why can’t we have both stories?” said Angelica. “I think that would be the nicest way. Two stories is twice as good as one.” “Well, I don’t know,” returned Mr. Munchausen. "You see the trouble is that in the first instance I could tell you only what a beautiful thing it is that every year the people have a day set apart upon which they especially honour the memory of the noble fellows who lost their lives in defence of their country. I’m not much of a poet and it takes a poet to be able to express how beautiful and grand it all is, and so I should be afraid to try it. Besides it might sadden your little hearts to have me dwell upon the almost countless number of heroes who let themselves be killed so that their fellow-citizens might live in peace and happiness. I’d have to tell you about hundreds and hundreds of graves scattered over the battle fields that no one knows about, and which, because no one knows of them, are not decorated at all,…

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Excerpt #3, from Gladiator, by Philip Wylie

…He shook hands with them. Mrs. Shayne went to an automobile. Her husband invited Hugo to a café. Over the wine he became suddenly less dignified, more human, and almost pathetic. “Tell me about him, Danner. I loved that kid once, you know.” Hugo found himself unexpectedly moved. The man was so eager, so strangely happy. He stroked his white moustache and turned away moist eyes. So Hugo told him. He talked endlessly of the trenches and the dark wet nights and the fire that stabbed through them. He invented brave sorties for his friend, tripled his accomplishments, and put gaiety and wit in his mouth. The father drank every syllable as if he was committing the whole story to memory as the text of a life’s solace. At last he was crying. “That was the Tom I knew,” Hugo said softly. “And that was the Tom I dreamed and hoped and thought he would become when he was a little shaver. Well, he did, Danner.” “A thousand times he did.” Ralph Jordan Shayne blew his nose unashamedly. He thought of his patiently waiting wife. “I’ve got to go, I suppose. This has been more than kind of you, Mr. Danner–Lieutenant Danner. I’m glad–more glad than I can say–that you were there. I understand from the major that you’re no small shakes in this army yourself.” He smiled deferentially….

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Excerpt #4, from Ethics, by Benedictus de Spinoza

…whereof the proof is of universal application). But the idea A is supposed to be referred to God, in so far as he is displayed through the human mind; therefore, the idea of the idea A must be referred to God in the same manner; that is (by II. xi. Coroll.), the adequate idea of the idea A will be in the mind, which has the adequate idea A; therefore he, who has an adequate idea or knows a thing truly (II. xxxiv.), must at the same time have an adequate idea or true knowledge of his knowledge; that is, obviously, he must be assured. Q.E.D. Note.–I explained in the note to II. xxi. what is meant by the idea of an idea; but we may remark that the foregoing proposition is in itself sufficiently plain. No one, who has a true idea, is ignorant that a true idea involves the highest certainty. For to have a true idea is only another expression for knowing a thing perfectly, or as well as possible. No one, indeed, can doubt of this, unless he thinks that an idea is something lifeless, like a picture on a panel, and not a mode of thinking–namely, the very act of understanding. And who, I ask, can know that he understands anything, unless he do first understand it? In other words, who can know that he is sure of a thing, unless he be first sure of that thing? Further, what can…

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Excerpt #5, from Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë

…Isabella, absorbed in her meditations, or a book, remained till the door opened; and it was too late to attempt an escape, which she would gladly have done had it been practicable. “Come in, that’s right!” exclaimed the mistress, gaily, pulling a chair to the fire. “Here are two people sadly in need of a third to thaw the ice between them; and you are the very one we should both of us choose. Heathcliff, I’m proud to show you, at last, somebody that dotes on you more than myself. I expect you to feel flattered. Nay, it’s not Nelly; don’t look at her! My poor little sister-in-law is breaking her heart by mere contemplation of your physical and moral beauty. It lies in your own power to be Edgar’s brother! No, no, Isabella, you sha’n’t run off,” she continued, arresting, with feigned playfulness, the confounded girl, who had risen indignantly. “We were quarrelling like cats about you, Heathcliff; and I was fairly beaten in protestations of devotion and admiration: and, moreover, I was informed that if I would but have the manners to stand aside, my rival, as she will have herself to be, would shoot a shaft into your soul that would fix you for ever, and send my image into eternal oblivion!” “Catherine!” said Isabella, calling up her dignity, and disdaining to struggle from the tight grasp that held her, “I’d thank you to adhere to the truth and not slander me, even in joke! Mr. Heathcliff, be kind…

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Excerpt #6, from Burgess Unabridged: A new dictionary of words you have always needed, by Burgess

…-a-clever-man-nor-a-pretty-woman.” It’s a mooble. Dancing with your own wife is a mooble–a fairly good play, a dinner-party where the ménu makes up for the dramatis personæ–moobles! Mooble is the word that “Damns with faint praise”–an “awfully nice girl”–why not say it point blank: “She’s a mooble.” (See Cowcat.) Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant–a mooble. A tame young man–a mooble. (See Snosh.) You may be a wonder with women,–leaving a trail of fire behind you as you go–but you’re a mooble at tennis. You’re a mooble at pool, too, although you “used to play a very good game.” Moobly novels are written by–well, of course you know already. Moobly foods: cornstarch custard, warm iced tea, vanilla ice cream. The W.C.T.U. is a mooble. So is a commencement essay, and most tall, blonde women. But the perfect mooble is the man you used to be engaged to. (See Thusk.) At first I thought her a genius bright, Almost an angel–out of sight! But the second time that I went to call I found her a mooble, after all.…

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Excerpt #7, from Japan: From the Japanese Government History, by Kan’ichi Asakawa

…hundred thousand. Nevertheless, the government was careful to avoid a return to the excesses of former days. The building of new temples was forbidden, the lands assigned for the support of those already in existence were rigidly defined, and the people were encouraged to study Chinese literature, so that the corruption which disfigured the Buddhist priesthood in earlier ages was, in great part, corrected. Even more important than the revival of Buddhist influence was the bearing of the Catholic extermination upon the almost total exclusion of foreign trade from the shores of Japan. The entry of all foreign ships, except those of China and Holland, into Japanese ports was peremptorily forbidden. Neither the Chinese nor the Dutch entertained any idea of religious propagandism, their sole purpose being commercial. The Dutch, indeed, having shown a disposition to assist Japan in every way, enjoyed great credit with the Edo government, as will be more fully set forth in the next chapter. At first no restrictions were imposed on the commercial transactions of the Chinese and the Dutch, but subsequently a limit was set to the amount of trade and to the number of ships engaged, and the prices at which imported articles must be offered for sale were also determined officially. These restrictions were suggested by the fact that the trade involved a heavy drain of the precious metals. Indeed, the quantity of gold and silver exported from Japan during the…

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Excerpt #8, from The Railway Children, by E. Nesbit

…before. Anyway, let’s get down.” They got down the steep stairs. Bobbie was pale and shivering. Peter’s face looked thinner than usual. Phyllis was red-faced and damp with anxiety. “Oh, how hot I am!” she said; “and I thought it was going to be cold; I wish we hadn’t put on our–” she stopped short, and then ended in quite a different tone–“our flannel petticoats.” Bobbie turned at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, yes,” she cried; “THEY’RE red! Let’s take them off.” They did, and with the petticoats rolled up under their arms, ran along the railway, skirting the newly fallen mound of stones and rock and earth, and bent, crushed, twisted trees. They ran at their best pace. Peter led, but the girls were not far behind. They reached the corner that hid the mound from the straight line of railway that ran half a mile without curve or corner. “Now,” said Peter, taking hold of the largest flannel petticoat. “You’re not”–Phyllis faltered–“you’re not going to TEAR them?” “Shut up,” said Peter, with brief sternness. “Oh, yes,” said Bobbie, “tear them into little bits if you like. Don’t you see, Phil, if we can’t stop the train, there’ll be a real live accident, with people KILLED. Oh, horrible! Here, Peter, you’ll never…

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Excerpt #9, from The Influence of the Stars: A book of old world lore, by Rosa Baughan

…influence of Jupiter. Long fingers, knotty at the joints and with square tips, show reasoning power and taste for science. Persons with these fingers are always in harmony with progress and have little or no veneration and are, therefore, never stirred by associations; with the antiquity of Catholicism, its mystical and somewhat sensuous worship, its celibate priesthood and golden aureole of saints and martyrs, persons having these fingers have no sympathy. If they belong to any fixed creed (and their logical powers are rather against this) they prefer Protestantism–or its offshoot, Dissent–where their real deity, Reason, is permitted full sway. These people love–with all the force of their nature–the study of history, jurisprudence, mathematics and the exact sciences. They are naturally clever at calculation and have much sense of order. Such fingers show the influence of Saturn, but not when most dignified; Saturn when most exalted gives mysticism, but then the fingers are not knotted at the joints and the tips are always spatulated. Fingers that are shorter than the palm and with spatulated tips, show sensuality in love and materialism in all things, energy, love of field sports and indomitable courage. Such fingers indicate the influence of Mars at birth….

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Excerpt #10, from Ten Months in a German Raider: A prisoner of war aboard the Wolf, by Cameron

…the waves were breaking on deck, and every moment might be the last; but still she hung on as if fighting for her very life. Suddenly a shudder seemed to pass over her, caused by the bursting of a bulkhead; her head disappeared below the wave, she hung there an instant and then her stern rose high out of the water; she made her final dive … and the Hitachi Maru, 1st class Japanese passenger steamer, ceased to be. There were a great many satisfied Ah, Ahs from the German crew as she disappeared, and a general feeling of satisfaction among them. For myself, I am afraid there was a tear in my eye, and all that I can wish these destroyers of good honest ships is that may they sometime think of how they smiled as they sank these ships, when they are standing around with empty bellies waiting for a chance to earn a living as sailors. I can understand a landsman sinking a ship and thinking it a joke, but a sailor, to my mind, should feel sad at seeing the end of an honest vessel, may she belong to friend or enemy. I know one German officer who told me that, when the Wolf returned to Germany, he would never go in a raider again; that he made his living going to sea and could not stand seeing ships sunk. From the Chagos Islands we steamed toward the Cape of Good Hope, and on November 10th, at 6:30 A.M., Wolf captured the Spanish steamer Igotz Mendi with a cargo of coal from Delagoa Bay to Colombo for…

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Excerpt #11, from Around the World on a Bicycle Volume I, by Thomas Stevens

…alternating wealth of green woods and greener cultivated areas, fully recompense for the extra toil. Prune-orchards, the trees weighed down with fruit yet green, clothe the hill-sides with their luxuriance; indeed, the whole broad, rich valley of the Danube seems nodding and smiling in the consciousness of overflowing plenty; for days we have traversed roads leading through vineyards and orchards, and broad areas with promising-looking grain-crops. It is but thirty kilometres from Indjia to Semlin, on the riverbank opposite Belgrade, and since leaving the Fruskagora Mountains the country has been a level plain, and the roads fairly smooth. But Igali has naturally become doubly cautious since his succession of misadventures this morning, and as, while waiting for him to overtake me, I recline beneath the mulberry-trees near the village of Batainitz and survey the blue mountains of Servia looming up to the southward through the evening haze, he rides up and proposes Batainitz as our halting-place for the night, adding persuasively, “There will be no ferry-boat across to Belgrade to-night, and we can easily catch the first boat in the morning.” I reluctantly agree, though advocating going on to Semlin this evening. While our supper is being prepared we are taken in hand by the leading merchant of the village and “turned loose” in an orchard of small fruits and early pears, and from thence conducted to a large gypsy…

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Excerpt #12, from The Mark of Zorro, by Johnston McCulley

…He greeted his excellency with carefully chosen words, bowed over his hand, and then took the chair the governor was kind enough to indicate. “Don Diego Vega,” the governor said, “I am doubly glad that you have called upon me to-day, for in these times a man who holds high office would know his friends.” “I should have called sooner, but I was away from my house at the time you arrived,” Don Diego said. “You contemplate remaining long in Reina de Los Angeles, excellency?” “Until this highwayman, known as Señor Zorro, is either slain or taken,” the governor said. “By the saints! Am I never to hear the last of that rogue?” Don Diego cried. “I have heard of nothing else for these many days. I go to spend an evening with a fray, and in comes a crowd of soldiers chasing this Señor Zorro. I repair to the hacienda of my father to get me peace and quiet, and along comes a crowd of caballeros seeking news of Señor Zorro.” “These be turbulent times! A man whose nature inclines him to music and the poets has no right to exist in the present age!” “It desolates me that you have been annoyed,” the governor said, laughing. "But I hope to have the fellow soon, and so put an end to that particular annoyance. Captain Ramón has sent for his big sergeant…

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