Chivalry, from “Are Women People?” (1915)
It’s treating a woman politely
As long as she isn’t a fright:
It’s guarding the girls who act rightly,
If you can be judge of what’s right;
It’s being - not just, but so pleasant;
It’s tipping while wages are low;
It’s making a beautiful present,
And failing to pay what you owe.
ALICE DUER MILLER
Orlando (1928)
But there, sitting at the servant’s dinner table with a tankard beside him and paper in front of him, sat a rather fat, rather shabby man, whose ruff was a thought dirty, and whose clothes were of hodden brown. He held a pen in his hand, but he was not writing. He seemed in the act of rolling some thought up and down, to and fro in his mind till it gathered shape or momentum to his liking. His eyes, globed and clouded like some green stone of curious texture, were fixed. He did not see Orlando. For all his hurry, Orlando stopped dead. Was this a poet? Was he writing poetry? “Tell me,” he wanted to say, “everything in the whole world” - for he had the wildest, most absurd, extravagant ideas about poets and poetry - but how speak to a man who does not see you? who sees ogres, satyrs, perhaps the depths of the sea instead?
VIRGINIA WOOLF
Steve Jobs (2011)
“We didn’t know much about each other twenty years ago. We were guided by our intuition; you swept me off my feet. It was snowing when we got married at the Ahwahnee. Years passed, kids came, good times, hard times, but never bad times. Our love and respect has endured and grown. We’ve been through so much together and here we are right back where we started 20 years ago – older, wiser – with wrinkles on our faces and hearts. We now know many of life’s joys, sufferings, secrets and wonders and we’re still here together. My feet have never returned to the ground.”
– Steve Jobs to wife Laurene Powell.
WALTER ISAACSON
Eating Animals (2009)
“The worst it got was near the end. A lot of people died right at the end, and I didn’t know if I could make it another day. A farmer, a Russian, God bless him, he saw my condition, and he went into his house and came out with a piece of meat for me.”
“He saved your life.”
“I didn’t eat it.”
“You didn’t eat it?”
“It was pork. I wouldn’t eat pork.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“What, because it wasn’t kosher?”
“Of course.”
“But not even to save your life?”
“If nothing matters, there’s nothing to save.”
JONATHAN SAFRAN FOER
Life, the Universe and Everything (1982)
“Sorry, it’s where?” he said.
“It is written,” repeated Prak, “in thirty-foot-high letters of fire on top of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains in the land of Sevorbeupstry on the planet Preliumtarn, third out from the…”
“Sorry,” said Arthur again, “which mountains?”
“The Quentulus Quazgar Mountains in the land of Sevorbeupstry on the planet…”
“Which land was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Sevorbeupstry, on the planet…”
“Sevorbe-what?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” said Prak and died testily.
DOUGLAS ADAMS
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (1979)
“Now Earthlings…” whirred the Vogon (he didn’t know that Ford Prefect was in fact from a small planet in the vicinity of Betelgeuse, and wouldn’t have cared if he had), “I present you with a simple choice! Either die in the vacuum of space, or…” he paused for melodramatic effect, “tell me how good you thought my poem was!”
He threw himself backwards into a huge leathery bat-shaped seat and watched them. He did the smile again.
Ford was rasping for breath. He rolled his dusty tongue round his parched mouth and moaned.
Arthur said brightly: “Actually I quite liked it.”
Ford turned and gaped. Here was an approach that had quite simply not occurred to him.
The Vogon raised a surprised eyebrow that effectively obscured his nose and was therefore no bad thing. “Oh good…” he whirred, in considerable astonishment.
“Oh yes,” said Arthur, “I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was really particularly effective.”
Ford continued to stare at him, slowly organizing his thoughts around this totally new concept. Were they really going to be able to bareface their way out of this?
“Yes, do continue…” invited the Vogon.
“Oh… and er… interesting rhythmic devices too,” continued Arthur, “which seemed to counterpoint the… er… er…” He floundered.
Ford leaped to his rescue, hazarding “counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the… er…” He floundered too, but Arthur was ready again.
“… humanity of the…”
”Vogonity,” Ford hissed at him.
“Ah yes, Vogonity (sorry) of the poet’s compassionate soul,” Arthur felt he was on a home stretch now, “which contrives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other,” (he was reaching a triumphant crescendo…) “and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into… into… er…” (… which suddenly gave out on him.) Ford leaped in with the coup de grâce:
“Into whatever it was the poem was about!” he yelled. Out of the corner of his mouth: “Well done, Arthur, that was very good.”
DOUGLAS ADAMS
The Art of Racing in the Rain (2008)
“It just doesn’t seem fair,” Eve said. “It was the other driver’s fault.”
“If it was anybody’s fault,” Denny said, “it was mine for being where I could get collected.”
This was something I’d heard him say before: getting angry at another driver for a driving incident is pointless. You need to watch the drivers around you, understand their skill, confidence, and aggression levels, and drive with them accordingly. Know who is driving next to you. Any problems that may occur have ultimately been caused by you, because you are responsible for where you are and what you are doing there.
GARTH STEIN
Love in the Time of Cholera (1988)
“He is ugly and sad,” she said to Fermina Daza, “but he is all love.”
GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ
Leaving Cheyenne (1962)
“All right,” I said. “Hold your horses. I don’t want to be poor. But you can not want to be poor and still not care whether you’re rich or not.”
“Yes, and them’s the kind of people that never accomplish nothing,” he said. “They’re just damn mediocre. If you’re gonna try at all, you ought to try for something big.”
LARRY MCMURTRY
Pride and Prejudice (1813)
But it was her business to be satisfied - and certainly her temper to be happy; and all was soon right again.
JANE AUSTEN
MILES-APART.NET 2004-2011; FOREVER-IF 2011-2012
A work in progress; she'll be better when she's older.
nightnight by
deddy
