Quick Excerpts, from a Library of 492 Titles

Generated 2022-07-28 13:25:59

Excerpt #1, from Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare

…[Within.] Let me go in to see the generals, There is some grudge between ’em; ’tis not meet They be alone. LUCILIUS. [Within.] You shall not come to them. POET. [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me. CASSIUS. How now! What’s the matter? POET. For shame, you generals! What do you mean? Love, and be friends, as two such men should be; For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye. CASSIUS. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme! BRUTUS. Get you hence, sirrah. Saucy fellow, hence! CASSIUS. Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion. BRUTUS. I’ll know his humour when he knows his time….

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #2, from The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle

…in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don’t know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound.” “Pray do so.” “Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy’s narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!’ before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son’s ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.” “What of this ‘Cooee!’ then?” “Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The ‘Cooee!’ was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee’ is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia.” “What of the rat, then?”…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #3, from Tess of the d’Urbervilles: A Pure Woman, by Thomas Hardy

…quivered to the same melody; also at the half-empty kettle whining an accompaniment. The conversation at the table mixed in with his phantasmal orchestra till he thought: “What a fluty voice one of those milkmaids has! I suppose it is the new one.” Clare looked round upon her, seated with the others. She was not looking towards him. Indeed, owing to his long silence, his presence in the room was almost forgotten. “I don’t know about ghosts,” she was saying; “but I do know that our souls can be made to go outside our bodies when we are alive.” The dairyman turned to her with his mouth full, his eyes charged with serious inquiry, and his great knife and fork (breakfasts were breakfasts here) planted erect on the table, like the beginning of a gallows. “What—really now? And is it so, maidy?” he said. “A very easy way to feel ’em go,” continued Tess, “is to lie on the grass at night and look straight up at some big bright star; and, by fixing your mind upon it, you will soon find that you are hundreds and hundreds o’ miles away from your body, which you don’t seem to want at all.” The dairyman removed his hard gaze from Tess, and fixed it on his wife. “Now that’s a rum thing, Christianer—hey? To think o’ the miles I’ve…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #4, from Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

…short, knight-errant, which is all that can be said!” c52c.jpg (325K) Full Size At the cries and moans of Sancho, Don Quixote came to himself, and the first word he said was, “He who lives separated from you, sweetest Dulcinea, has greater miseries to endure than these. Aid me, friend Sancho, to mount the enchanted cart, for I am not in a condition to press the saddle of Rocinante, as this shoulder is all knocked to pieces.” “That I will do with all my heart, señor,” said Sancho; “and let us return to our village with these gentlemen, who seek your good, and there we will prepare for making another sally, which may turn out more profitable and creditable to us.” “Thou art right, Sancho,” returned Don Quixote; “It will be wise to let the malign influence of the stars which now prevails pass off.” The canon, the curate, and the barber told him he would act very wisely in doing as he said; and so, highly amused at Sancho Panza’s simplicities, they placed Don Quixote in the cart as before. The procession once more formed itself in order and proceeded on its road; the goatherd took his leave of the party; the officers of the Brotherhood declined to go any farther, and the curate paid them what…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #5, from In the Sargasso Sea, by Thomas A. Janvier

…about a dozen feet square. That there were several layers of these boxes seemed probable, for those in sight were only six feet or so below the level of the cabin floor, and that they held either gold or silver I considered to be beyond a doubt; and as I raised my head up out of the hatch, my eyes blinking as the light struck them, and thought of the wealth that must be stored there in that little chamber, and that it was mine because I had found it, I gave a long great sigh. For a minute or two I was quite dazed by my discovery; and then as I got steadier–or got crazier, perhaps I ought to say–nothing would serve me but that I must get down to where my treasure was, so that my eyes might see it and that I might touch it with my hands. And with that I caught at the tackle and gave a tug on the ropes to test them, and as they held I swung to them to slide down–and the moment that my full weight was on them they snapped like punk, and down I went feet foremost and struck on the tiers of boxes with a bang. As I fell only a little way, and upon a level surface–for I went clear of the box to which the tackle was made fast–no harm came to me; but under my feet I felt the rotten wood going squashily, and then beneath it something firm and hard. And when I got back my balance and looked down eagerly my eyes caught a dull gleam in the semi-darkness, and…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #6, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, by William Shakespeare

…PUCK. Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not? DEMETRIUS. Abide me, if thou dar’st; for well I wot Thou runn’st before me, shifting every place, And dar’st not stand, nor look me in the face. Where art thou? …PUCK. Come hither; I am here. DEMETRIUS. Nay, then, thou mock’st me. Thou shalt buy this dear If ever I thy face by daylight see: Now go thy way. Faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed. By day’s approach look to be visited. [Lies down and sleeps.] Enter Helena. HELENA. O weary night, O long and tedious night, Abate thy hours! Shine, comforts, from the east, That I may back to Athens by daylight,…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #7, from The Hound of the Baskervilles, by Arthur Conan Doyle

…Watson,” said he; “but I have never seen a place to compare with it.” “I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county,” I remarked. “It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county,” said Dr. Mortimer. “A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles’s head was of a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?” “I was a boy in my teens at the time of my father’s death and had never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I’m as keen as possible to see the moor.” “Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first sight of the moor,” said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage window. Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a grey, melancholy hill, with a…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #8, from Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War, by Basil Wilson Duke et al.

…Tuesday, July 8.–We start to-morrow. Packing the trunks was a problem. Annie and I are allowed one large trunk apiece, the gentlemen a smaller one each, and we a light carpet-sack apiece for toilet articles. I arrived with six trunks and leave with one! We went over everything carefully twice, rejecting, trying to off the bonds of custom and get down to primitive needs. At last we made a judicious selection. Everything old or worn was left; everything merely ornamental, except good lace, which was light. Gossamer evening dresses were all left. I calculated on taking two or three books that would bear the most reading if we were again shut up where none could be had, and so, of course, took Shakspere first. Here I was interrupted to go and pay a farewell visit, and when we returned Max had packed and nailed the cases of books to be left. Chance thus limited my choice to those that happened to be in my room–“Paradise Lost,” the “Arabian Nights,” a volume of Macaulay’s History I was reading, and my prayer-book. To-day the provisions for the trip were cooked: the last of the flour was made into large loaves of bread; a ham and several dozen eggs were boiled; the few chickens that have survived the overflow were fried; the last of the coffee was parched and ground; and the modicum of the tea was well corked up. Our friends across the lake added a jar of butter and two of preserves. H. rode off to X. after dinner to conclude some business…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #9, from Mr. Punch’s History of the Great War, by Charles L. Graves

…interesting has been the sudden re-emergence of Mr. John Burns. He sank without a trace two years ago, but has now bobbed up to denounce the proposal to strengthen the Charing Cross railway-bridge. We could have wished that he had been ready to “keep the bridge” in another sense; but at least he has been a silent Pacificist. Mr. Winston Churchill, when his journalistic labours permit, has contributed to the debates, and Lord Haldane has again delivered his famous lecture on the defects of English education. But for Parliamentary sagacity in excelsis commend us to Mr. McCallum Scott. He is seriously perturbed about the shortage of sausage-skins and, in spite of the bland assurance of Mr. Harcourt that supplies are ample, is alleged to be planning a fresh campaign with the assistance of Mr. Hogge. Another shortage has given rise to no anxiety, but rather the reverse. In a police court it was recently stated that there are no longer any tramps in England. Evidently the appeal of that stirring old song, “Tramp! tramp! tramp! the boys are marching,” has not been without its effect. [Illustration: CONJURER (unconscious of the approach of hostile aircraft): “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, I want you to watch me closely.”] Yet another endurable shortage is reported from the seaside, where an old sailor on the local sea front has been lamenting the spiritual starvation brought about by the war. “Why,” he said, "for the first time for twenty…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #10, from Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea, by Jules Verne

…of some mouthfuls of sea-water?” “As you say, Ned. By the bye,” said I, trying to take Captain Nemo’s careless tone, “are you afraid of sharks, brave Ned?” “I!” replied the Canadian; “a harpooner by profession? It is my trade to make light of them.” “But,” said I, “it is not a question of fishing for them with an iron-swivel, hoisting them into the vessel, cutting off their tails with a blow of a chopper, ripping them up, and throwing their heart into the sea!” “Then, it is a question of——” “Precisely.” “In the water?” “In the water.” “Faith, with a good harpoon! You know, sir, these sharks are ill-fashioned beasts. They turn on their bellies to seize you, and in that time——” Ned Land had a way of saying “seize” which made my blood run cold. “Well, and you, Conseil, what do you think of sharks?” “Me!” said Conseil. “I will be frank, sir.” “So much the better,” thought I. “If you, sir, mean to face the sharks, I do not see why your faithful…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #11, from Remarks, by Bill Nye

…and then insisted on coming in to sob with him in the morning before he has swept the office floor. One time she came and sobbed on my shoulder. Her tears are of the warm, damp kind, and feel disagreeable as they roll down the neck of a comparative stranger, who never can be aught but a friend. She rested her bonnet on my bosom while she wept, and I then discovered that she has been in the habit of wearing this bonnet while cooking her buckwheat pancakes. I presume she keeps her bonnet on all the time, so that she may be ready to dash out and consult me at all times without delay. Still, she ought not to do it, for when she leans her head on the bosom of her counsel in order to consult him, he detects the odor of the early sausage and the fleeting pancake. You may bust such a bonnet and crush it if you will, But the scent of the pancake will cling round it still. As soon as I saw that her object was to lean up against me and not only convulse herself with sobs, but that she intended to jar me also with her great woe, I told her that I would have to request her to avaunt. I then, as she did not act upon my suggestion, avaunted her myself. I avaunted her into a chair with a sickening thud. [Illustration: A TENDER CASE.] She then burst forth in a torrent of vituperation. When the abnormal…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

Excerpt #12, from Don Juan, by Baron George Gordon Byron Byron

…’Twas white and indistinct, nor stopp’d to meet Her glance nor grasp, for still she gazed, and grasp’d, And ran, but it escaped her as she clasp’d. The dream changed:—in a cave she stood, its walls Were hung with marble icicles, the work Of ages on its water-fretted halls, Where waves might wash, and seals might breed and lurk; Her hair was dripping, and the very balls Of her black eyes seem’d turn’d to tears, and mirk The sharp rocks look’d below each drop they caught, Which froze to marble as it fell,—she thought. And wet, and cold, and lifeless at her feet, Pale as the foam that froth’d on his dead brow, Which she essay’d in vain to clear (how sweet Were once her cares, how idle seem’d they now!), Lay Juan, nor could aught renew the beat Of his quench’d heart; and the sea dirges low Rang in her sad ears like a mermaid’s song, And that brief dream appear’d a life too long. And gazing on the dead, she thought his face Faded, or alter’d into something new—…

More: Read or Listen on IA →

A production of Friendlyskies.net