Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

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Excerpt #1, from Tess of the d’Urbervilles: A Pure Woman, by Thomas Hardy

…losing her. What should he do about his skimming? Who would make the ornamental butter-pats for the Anglebury and Sandbourne ladies? Mrs Crick congratulated Tess on the shilly-shallying having at last come to an end, and said that directly she set eyes on Tess she divined that she was to be the chosen one of somebody who was no common outdoor man; Tess had looked so superior as she walked across the barton on that afternoon of her arrival; that she was of a good family she could have sworn. In point of fact Mrs Crick did remember thinking that Tess was graceful and good-looking as she approached; but the superiority might have been a growth of the imagination aided by subsequent knowledge. Tess was now carried along upon the wings of the hours, without the sense of a will. The word had been given; the number of the day written down. Her naturally bright intelligence had begun to admit the fatalistic convictions common to field-folk and those who associate more extensively with natural phenomena than with their fellow-creatures; and she accordingly drifted into that passive responsiveness to all things her lover suggested, characteristic of the frame of mind. But she wrote anew to her mother, ostensibly to notify the wedding-day; really to again implore her advice. It was a gentleman who had chosen her, which perhaps her mother had not sufficiently considered. A…

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Excerpt #2, from Memories and Adventures, by Arthur Conan Doyle

…The points I mention are taken from the paper I laid before the law officers of the Crown, which lies before me as I write, so the facts are exactly as stated. I had one letter in sorrow and also in anger from the Staffordshire police complaining that I should be libelling this poor young man whose identity could easily be established. I do not know what has become of “X” or how often he has been convicted since, but on the last occasion of which I have notes the magistrate said in condemning him to six months’ imprisonment with hard labour: “His character was extremely bad, he having been convicted of arson, of stealing on three occasions and of damage. On his own confession he had committed a deliberate and cruel theft from his aged mother and it was impossible to overlook the seriousness of the case.” So much for the inoffensive youth whom I had libelled! But what about Edalji’s three years of gaol? On September 18, 1907, I married Miss Jean Leckie, the younger daughter of a Blackheath family whom I had known for years, and who was a dear friend of my mother and sister. There are some things which one feels too intimately to be able to express, and I can only say that the years have passed without one shadow coming to mar even for a moment the sunshine of my Indian summer which now deepens to a golden autumn. She…

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Excerpt #3, from Why Men Fight: A method of abolishing the international duel, by Bertrand Russell

…his desires are specific, and directed towards objects which only he can create. And conversely, the worshiper of money can never achieve greatness as an artist or a lover. Love of money has been denounced by moralists since the world began. I do not wish to add another to the moral denunciations, of which the efficacy in the past has not been encouraging. I wish to show how the worship of money is both an effect and a cause of diminishing vitality, and how our institutions might be changed so as to make the worship of money grow less and the general vitality grow more. It is not the desire for money as a means to definite ends that is in question. A struggling artist may desire money in order to have leisure for his art, but this desire is finite, and can be satisfied fully by a very modest sum. It is the worship of money that I wish to consider: the belief that all values may be measured in terms of money, and that money is the ultimate test of success in life. This belief is held in fact, if not in words, by multitudes of men and women, and yet it is not in harmony with human nature, since it ignores vital needs and the instinctive tendency towards some specific kind of growth. It makes men treat as unimportant those of their desires which run counter to the acquisition of money, and yet such desires are, as a rule, more important to well-being than any increase of income. It leads men to…

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Excerpt #4, from The Boy’s Book of the Sea, by Eric Wood

…terror of the seas. He cut a picturesque figure when he went fighting. He would overhaul a ship, pound at her for all he was worth, and then, entering his longboat, row over and tackle her. All his men were extravagant in their tastes regarding dress, but Roberts was worse than all; he dressed in a rich crimson damask waistcoat and breeches, wore a large black hat with a crimson feather, a gold chain round his neck, with a diamond pendant, a silk band hanging from his shoulders to carry his pistols. Thus, sword in hand, he led his men to the fight, dashing, very often, through a very hail of shot, and, with shouts and curses, urging his men on as they tried to board. A stiff fight very often ensued, and then the pirates, having run the gauntlet of fire, scrambled up the side of the ship and, after a fierce hand-to-hand fight, had her beaten. [Illustration: “Sword in hand, Roberts led his men to the fight, dashing through a very hail of shot”] But, though he played this game many a time with much success, Nemesis was at hand. The Royal Fortune, as he called his last ship, had as consort the Ranger, and the two ships caused such depredation that the British cruiser Swallow scoured the seas to find them, eventually running them to earth in the River Gaboon. The Royal Fortune lay…

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Excerpt #5, from Ghosts I Have Met and Some Others, by John Kendrick Bangs

…“Yes,” he answered; “and I’ve come to tell you I’m mighty sorry about those ruined MSS. of yours. It is too bad that your whole day’s work had to go for nothing.” [Illustration: “HE WAS AMPLY PROTECTED”] “I think so myself,” I retorted, coldly. “It’s rather late in the day for you to be sorry, though. If you’ll show your sincerity by going away and never crossing my path again, I may believe in you.” “Ah!” he said, “I’ve shown it in another way. Indeed I have. You know I have some conscience, though, to tell the truth, I haven’t made much use of it. This time, however, as I considered the situation, a little voice rose up within me and said: ‘It’s all right, old chap, to be rough on this person; make him mad and shove him every which way; but don’t destroy his work. His work is what he lives by–’” “Yes,” I interrupted, “and after what I told you on the steamer about what I would do to you when we got on even terms, you are not anxious to have me die. I know just how you feel. No thing likes to contemplate that paralysis that will surely fall upon you when my ghost begins to get in its fine work. I’m putting it in training now.” “You poor droll mortal!” laughed the cockney. "You poor droll…

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Excerpt #6, from My Reminiscences, by Rabindranath Tagore

…accepted as one of the laws of the universe that it is for the Big to hurt and for the Small to be hurt. It has taken me a long time to learn the opposite truth that it is the Big who suffer and the Small who cause suffering. The quarry does not view virtue and vice from the standpoint of the hunter. That is why the alert bird, whose cry warns its fellows before the shot has sped, gets abused as vicious. We howled when we were beaten, which our chastisers did not consider good manners; it was in fact counted sedition against the servocracy. I cannot forget how, in order effectively to suppress such sedition, our heads used to be crammed into the huge water jars then in use; distasteful, doubtless, was this outcry to those who caused it; moreover, it was likely to have unpleasant consequences. I now sometimes wonder why such cruel treatment was meted out to us by the servants. I cannot admit that there was on the whole anything in our behaviour or demeanour to have put us beyond the pale of human kindness. The real reason must have been that the whole of our burden was thrown on the servants, and the whole burden is a thing difficult to bear even for those who are nearest and dearest. If children are only allowed to be children, to run and play about and satisfy their curiosity, it becomes quite simple. Insoluble problems are only created if you try to…

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Excerpt #7, from Nonsense Books, by Edward Lear

…Mr. Spikky said, “How kind, Dear, you are, to speak your mind! All your life I wish you luck! You are, you are, a lovely duck! Witchy witchy witchy wee, Twitchy witchy witchy bee, Tikky tikky tee! IV.”I was also sad, and thinking, When one day I saw you winking, And I heard you sniffle-snuffle, And I saw your feathers ruffle: To myself I sadly said, ‘She’s neuralgia in her head! That dear head has nothing on it! Ought she not to wear a bonnet?’ Witchy kitchy kitchy wee, Spikky wikky mikky bee, Chippy wippy chee! V. "Let us both fly up to town:…

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Excerpt #8, from The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer; the Art of Controversy, by Arthur Schopenhauer

…between Dialectic and Logic than Aristotle has given us; that to Logic we should assign objective truth as far as it is merely formal, and that Dialectic should be confined to the art of gaining one’s point, and contrarily, that Sophistic and Eristic should not be distinguished from Dialectic in Aristotle’s fashion, since the difference which he draws rests on objective and material truth; and in regard to what this is, we cannot attain any clear certainty before discussion; but we are compelled, with Pilate, to ask, What is truth? For truth is in the depths, [Greek: en butho hae halaetheia] (a saying of Democritus, Diog. Laert., ix., 72). Two men often engage in a warm dispute, and then return to their homes each of the other’s opinion, which he has exchanged for his own. It is easy to say that in every dispute we should have no other aim than the advancement of truth; but before dispute no one knows where it is, and through his opponent’s arguments and his own a man is misled.] We must always keep the subject of one branch of knowledge quite distinct from that of any other. To form a clear idea of the province of Dialectic, we must pay no attention to objective truth, which is an affair of Logic; we must regard it simply as the art of getting the best of it in a dispute, which, as we have seen, is all the easier if we are actually in the right. In itself Dialectic has nothing to do…

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Excerpt #9, from Legends That Every Child Should Know; a Selection of the Great Legends of All Times

…Meantime the news spread even unto Turan, and there too did all men grieve and weep for the child of prowess that was fallen in his bloom. And the King of Samengan tore his vestments, but when his daughter learned it she was beside herself with affliction. And Tahmineh cried after her son, and bewailed the evil fate that had befallen him, and she heaped black earth upon her head, and tore her hair, and wrung her hands, and rolled on the ground in her agony. And her mouth was never weary of plaining. Then she caused the garments of Sohrab to be brought unto her, and his throne and his steed. And she regarded them, and stroked the courser and poured tears upon his hoofs, and she cherished the robes as though they yet contained her boy, and she pressed the head of the palfrey unto her breast, and she kissed the helmet that Sohrab had worn. Then with his sword she cut off the tail of his steed and set fire unto the house of Sohrab, and she gave his gold and jewels unto the poor. And when a year had thus rolled over her bitterness, the breath departed from out her body, and her spirit went forth after Sohrab her son. CHAPTER VI THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS One of the most picturesque myths of ancient days is that told by Jacques de Voragine, in his “Legenda Aurea”:…

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Excerpt #10, from The Grand Babylon Hôtel, by Arnold Bennett

…I right in assuming that you have a reason for keeping the police out of this business, if it can possibly be done?’ ‘Yes,’ said the Prince, and his brow clouded. ‘I am very much afraid that my poor nephew has involved himself in some scrape that he would wish not to be divulged.’ ‘Then you do not believe that he is the victim of foul play?’ ‘I do not.’ ‘And the reason, if I may ask it?’ ‘Mr Racksole, we speak in confidence–is it not so? Some years ago my foolish nephew had an affair–an affair with a feminine star of the Berlin stage. For anything I know, the lady may have been the very pattern of her sex, but where a reigning Prince is concerned scandal cannot be avoided in such a matter. I had thought that the affair was quite at an end, since my nephew’s betrothal to Princess Anna of Eckstein-Schwartzburg is shortly to be announced. But yesterday I saw the lady to whom I have referred driving on the Digue. The coincidence of her presence here with my nephew’s disappearance is too extraordinary to be disregarded.’ ‘But how does this theory square with the murder of Reginald Dimmock?’ ‘It does not square with it. My idea is that the murder of poor Dimmock and the disappearance of my nephew are entirely unconnected–unless,…

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Excerpt #11, 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 #12, from You no longer count, by René Boylesve

…“It’s frightful, frightful,” exclaimed Odette. She had seen and nursed most grievously wounded soldiers; but unconsciously a sort of convention had been established in her mind by which nothing that she saw, or that happened in the hospital at Surville, should move her. This first result of the war which had faced her elsewhere than at Surville, and under another aspect, impressed her almost intolerably. On the other hand, Simone had become accustomed to the dramatic scenes which at times occur in Paris, where everything is perhaps all the more sad because the war drama is close at hand, aping normal life. This juxtaposition of the manners of a time of peace and these shadows of the pit which mingle with the life of every day, more like a prolonged dream than like reality, produce surprising effects upon reflective minds. Simone de Prans, who for a time had taken up work in a model hospital, an American hospital, was no longer a nurse. That was no longer done. “What about our good Rose?” asked Odette. "Rose Misson has arranged her life. She has resolved not to yield to things; she has been too much teased about her old husband, always going about in his automobile. Neither Rose nor her husband is disturbed by that; he remains on his seat; she dresses, visits the shops as in former times and receives the few friends who are not indignant because her…

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