That's like asking me my favourite atom in a bowl of ice cream. Too many to choose. But (if we can include plays) some are:
What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams. (from "La vida es sueño")
The whole run-on passage of Remedios the Beauty being taken into the heavens and also the destruction of Macondo in the final page of One Hundred Years of Solitude (the most beautiful book I will ever read).
For speed and efficiency of travel, give me Amundsen; for scientific discovery, give me Scott; but when all hope is lost, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton. (from "The Worst Journey in the World", by Cherry-Garrard, himself a polar explorer).
The killing of the teacher in Stephen King's banned novel "Rage".
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
("Twelfth Night", by Billy Shakespeare)
Pretty much all of Catcher in the Rye. The whole thing.
No one has lived longer than a dead child, and P'eng-tsu died young. Heaven and earth are as old as I, and the ten thousand things are as one. (from the writings of Chuang Tzu, which I wouldn't know about if not for Carl Sagan).
Nearly all Vonnegut. I miss him like I'm going to miss Márquez. Compliment to both, there.
Finally, this:
He sent himself to her across moraine and ice-cap, traversing the implacable, granite crests of the black deep, passing by sailors and seals, the lonely and the lost, impregnating her without touching her, making life where there was none, leaving before he had arrived. He would never know that she wept for a hundred and ninety-eight days before the yielding of a life unwanted due to the mystery of the siring. Small and bruised, with emerald eyes that disturbed relatives, the baby saw through people and beyond their time, settling easily into the company of ghosts and shadows, the men and trees no longer seen on this world. In this way, he communed with a colourless voice in the icy desolation, the father who had wanted only the idea of him. He sensed without doubt the cool heart that had called him into being and made no special effort to catch at the sleeve disappearing amid the bustle of awkward silence, heading away into the unending caverns of memory's luminous tableaux, aching for the peace of a death unknown.
"Pretty much all of Catcher in the Rye. The whole thing."
You know that book is total shit don't you?
It's not deep or clever, it's just an asshole whining about how much of an asshole he is. Everyone gets older, it's not clever. Everyone who takes meaning from that book is either pretentious or stupid, but considering the content of your huge comment above i'm guessing the former with a touch of pseudo intellectualism for appearances.
"Holden Caulfield was down in the reeds when along came Hairy Maclary...and bustled him up into a drum full of weeds!"
I'm not saying it's a philosophical masterpiece or anything, but Holden makes me laugh. He moans in a very funny way. Like dragging those women around the dancefloor like they were the goddamn statue of liberty.
Middle of the afternoon, just turned 3pm. And yeah, I don't think there's any deep meaning. It's just Holden going on an epic whine (it's how I imagine Salinger probably was). It appealed to me when I was 16 because I was whiney and I liked that someone could publish that in a book.
What is your favorite quote from a book?
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That's like asking me my favourite atom in a bowl of ice cream. Too many to choose. But (if we can include plays) some are:
What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams. (from "La vida es sueño")
The whole run-on passage of Remedios the Beauty being taken into the heavens and also the destruction of Macondo in the final page of One Hundred Years of Solitude (the most beautiful book I will ever read).
For speed and efficiency of travel, give me Amundsen; for scientific discovery, give me Scott; but when all hope is lost, get down on your knees and pray for Shackleton. (from "The Worst Journey in the World", by Cherry-Garrard, himself a polar explorer).
The killing of the teacher in Stephen King's banned novel "Rage".
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?
("Twelfth Night", by Billy Shakespeare)
Pretty much all of Catcher in the Rye. The whole thing.
No one has lived longer than a dead child, and P'eng-tsu died young. Heaven and earth are as old as I, and the ten thousand things are as one. (from the writings of Chuang Tzu, which I wouldn't know about if not for Carl Sagan).
Nearly all Vonnegut. I miss him like I'm going to miss Márquez. Compliment to both, there.
Finally, this:
He sent himself to her across moraine and ice-cap, traversing the implacable, granite crests of the black deep, passing by sailors and seals, the lonely and the lost, impregnating her without touching her, making life where there was none, leaving before he had arrived. He would never know that she wept for a hundred and ninety-eight days before the yielding of a life unwanted due to the mystery of the siring. Small and bruised, with emerald eyes that disturbed relatives, the baby saw through people and beyond their time, settling easily into the company of ghosts and shadows, the men and trees no longer seen on this world. In this way, he communed with a colourless voice in the icy desolation, the father who had wanted only the idea of him. He sensed without doubt the cool heart that had called him into being and made no special effort to catch at the sleeve disappearing amid the bustle of awkward silence, heading away into the unending caverns of memory's luminous tableaux, aching for the peace of a death unknown.
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[Old Memory]
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"Pretty much all of Catcher in the Rye. The whole thing."
You know that book is total shit don't you?
It's not deep or clever, it's just an asshole whining about how much of an asshole he is. Everyone gets older, it's not clever. Everyone who takes meaning from that book is either pretentious or stupid, but considering the content of your huge comment above i'm guessing the former with a touch of pseudo intellectualism for appearances.
"Holden Caulfield was down in the reeds when along came Hairy Maclary...and bustled him up into a drum full of weeds!"
--
dappled
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I'm not saying it's a philosophical masterpiece or anything, but Holden makes me laugh. He moans in a very funny way. Like dragging those women around the dancefloor like they were the goddamn statue of liberty.
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Oh i get that i guess. I just hate hearing people rave about it's meaning and thinking it's so deep, i mean it's content is all just common sense.
Hairy Maclary on the other hand is a masterpiece, i mean a dog that gets chased by a cat with a scar on it's face, oh what a world!
Hey what time is it where you are?
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Middle of the afternoon, just turned 3pm. And yeah, I don't think there's any deep meaning. It's just Holden going on an epic whine (it's how I imagine Salinger probably was). It appealed to me when I was 16 because I was whiney and I liked that someone could publish that in a book.
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Actually that's a good point. I only read it as an adult so i probably just looked down on it abit much.
Haha yeah just wondering, it's just past midnight here in Aus.