/lit/ - Literature

One hundred works of literature adapted for the screen. Predominantly novels & short stories; some drama, poetry, non-fiction. The films are mostly well-known and/or good quality; the original works, not necessarily. To qualify for a Valuable Prize, answers must specify both book and film. No author repeated. Note that many of the passages quoted were altered for (or omitted from) the film version.


Hints on request.


Authors:

Samuel Hopkins Adams, Edward Albee, Brian Aldiss, Joan Alison, J. G. Ballard, Harry Bates, L. Frank Baum, Peter Benchley, Michael Blake, Robert Bloch, Pierre Boulle, Ray Bradbury, Paul Brickhill, Patrick O'Brien, Christy Brown, Lothar-Günther Buchheim, Anthony Burgess, Murray Burnett, James M. Cain, John W. Campbell, Truman Capote, John le Carré, Agatha Christie, Tom Clancey, Arthur C. Clarke, Joseph Conrad, Julio Cortazar, Noel Coward, Michael Crichton, John M. Cunningham, Philip K. Dick, James Dickey, Isak Dinesen, Bret Easton Ellis, Harlan Ellison, James Ellroy, Howard Fast, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ian Fleming, C. S. Forester, Frederick Forsyth, Graham Greene, Winston Groom, Dashiell Hammett, Ron Hansen, Thomas Harris, Blind Harry, Ernest Haycox, Patricia Highsmith, William Hjortsberg, Richard Hooker, Roy Horniman, Kathryn Hulme, Christopher Isherwood, Kazuo Ishiguro, Henry James, Nikos Kazantzakis, Ken Kesey, Stephen King, Rudyard Kipling, George Langelaan, T. E. Lawrence, Stanislaw Lem, Elmore Leonard, Ted Lewis, Joan Lindsay, James Vance Marshall, Whit Masterson, Richard Matheson, Robin Maugham, Daphne Du Maurier, Cormac McCarthy, Larry McMurtry, Margaret Mitchell, David Morrell, Ray Nelson, Jonathan Nolan, Michael Ondaatje, Mary Orr, Nicholas Pileggi, William Pittenger, Charles Portis, Manuel Puig, Mario Puzo, Tod Robbins, Jack Schaeffer, Peter Schaffer, Arthur Schnitzler, Hubert Selby Jr., Philip Van Doren Stern, Arkady & Boris Strugatsky, Booth Tarkington, W. M. Thackeray, Maria Augusta Trapp, B. Traven, Jules Verne, Lew Wallace, Andy Weir, Edith Wharton, Hagar Wilde, Tom Wolfe

Directors:

Robert Altman, Michelangelo Antonioni, Jack Arnold, Darren Aronofsky, Gabriel Axel, Héctor Babenco, Peter Bogdanovich, John Boorman, Tod Browning, Michael Cacoyannis, Frank Capra x 2, John Carpenter x 2, Ethan & Joel Coen x 2, Francis Ford Coppola, Kevin Costner, David Cronenberg, Michael Curtiz, Jonathan Demme, Andrew Dominik, Blake Edwards, David Fincher, Richard Fleischer, Victor Fleming x 2, John Ford, Milos Forman x 2, Bob Fosse, Robert Hamer, Curtis Hanson, Mary Harron, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock, Mike Hodges, John Huston x 4, James Ivory, L. Q. Jones, Philip Kaufman, Buster Keaton, Ted Kotcheff, Stanley Kubrick x 6, David Lean x 3, Joseph Losey, Eugène Lourié, Sidney Lumet, Joseph L. Mankiewicz, John McTiernan, Anthony Minghella x 2, Mike Nichols, Christopher Nolan, Alan Parker, Wolfgang Petersen, Carol Reed, Martin Ritt, Nicholas Roeg x 2, Martin Scorsese x 2, Ridley Scott x 3, Jim Sheridan, Barry Sonnenfeld, Steven Spielberg x 4, George Stevens, John Sturges, Andrei Tarkovsky x 2, Peter Weir x 2, Orson Welles x 2, Billy Wilder, Robert Wise x 2, William Wyler x 2, Terence Young, Robert Zemeckis, Fred Zinnemann x 3

1)
The Chapter Before the First

To be quite honest, this really is a foreword or an introduction, but I’m so afraid that if I say so, you won’t read it, as I never read forewords, and being so anxious that you do listen to what I want to tell you about the book before it starts, I ask you, foreword or no foreword, please read it just the same.

About fifteen years ago my family and I were visiting in Tirol. Our hostess was a famous writer.

“Isn’t it funny,” she said one day, “I never wrote a word in my life until after I was forty!”


2)
'The other one is a crucifixion? The middle cross is empty.'
'It's Golgotha after the Deposition. Crayon and Magic Marker on butcher paper. It's what the thief who had been promised Paradise really got, when they took the paschal lamb away.'
'And what was that?'
'His legs broken of course, just like his companion who mocked Christ. Are you entirely innocent of the Gospel of St. John?'


3)
For the first time, the woman felt fear, though she did not know why. Adrenaline shot through her trunk and her limbs, generating a tingling heat and urging her to swim faster. She guessed that she was fifty yards from shore. She could see the line of white foam where the waves broke on the beach. She saw the lights in the house, and for a comforting moment she thought she saw someone pass by one of the windows.


4)
"Cool coloring," Van Patten says, studying the card closely.

"That's bone," I point out. "And the lettering is something called Silian Rail."


5)
A controversy arose over just how much bonus Slick Goodlin should receive for assaulting the dread Mach 1 itself. Bonuses for contract test pilots were not unusual; but the figure of $150,000 was now bruited about. The Army balked, and Yeager got the job. He took it for $283 a month, or $3,396 a year; which is to say, his regular Army captain’s pay.

The only trouble they had with Yeager was in holding him back. On his first powered flight in the X–I he immediately executed an unauthorized zero-g roll with a full load of rocket fuel, then stood the ship on its tail and went up to .85 Mach in a vertical climb, also unauthorized. On subsequent flights, at speeds between .85 Mach and .9 Mach, Yeager ran into most known airfoil problems — loss of elevator, aileron, and rudder control, heavy trim pressures, Dutch rolls, pitching and buffeting, the lot — yet was convinced, after edging over .9 Mach, that this would all get better, not worse, as you reached Mach 1. The attempt to push beyond Mach 1 — “breaking the sound barrier” — was set for October 14, 1947. Not being an engineer, Yeager didn’t believe the “barrier” existed.

6)
For the first five days they were kept apart from the community of nuns in a special wing that had its own dormitory, study hall and refectory. But they could feel nevertheless its vast and disciplined presence as they prepared for their entrance into it, learning the signs that took the place of speech and the ways to open doors without any rasp of hinge or lock, accustoming their eyes to look downward and their hearts to lift up to the ultimate goal of being in constant conversation with God.

It was, Gabrielle thought, like being in quarantine before a border crossing into a country of silence. They practiced the gestures of life in that country and learned its laws in daily readings from the Holy Rule. The Rule was a Baedeker to the cloistered life. It mapped monuments and battlegrounds and described the customs of poverty, chastity and obedience in minute detail. You even learned that the long serge skirt must be lifted from the rear when going downstairs, to prevent its wasteful wearing on stones.


7)
She slides through the door with a gust of cold and locks the door behind her and I see her fingers trail across the polished steel — tip of each finger the same color as her lips. Funny orange. Like the tip of a soldering iron. Color so hot or so cold if she touches you with it you can't tell which.


8)
"I will not slow you down. I am a good enough rider."
"I will not be stopping at boardinghouses with warm beds and plates of hot grub on the table. It will be traveling fast and eating light. What little sleeping is done will take place on the ground."
"I have slept out at night. Papa took me and Little Frank coon hunting last summer on the Petit Jean."
"Coon hunting?"
"We were out in the woods all night. We sat around a big fire and Yarnell told ghost stories. We had a good time."
"Blast coon hunting! This ain't no coon hunt, it don't come in forty miles of being a coon hunt!"
"It is the same idea as a coon hunt. You are just trying to make your work sound harder than it is."


9)
She talked along, and there was nothing I could do but go along with it. But you sell as many people as I do, you don't go by what they say. You feel it, how the deal is going. And after a while I knew this woman didn't care anything about the Automobile Club. Maybe the husband did, but she didn't. There was something else, and this was nothing but a stall.


10)
'You see those weevils, Stephen?' said Jack solemnly.
'I do.'
'Which would you choose?'
'There is not a scrap of difference. Arcades ambo. They are the same species of curculio, and there is nothing to choose between them.'
'But suppose you had to choose?'
'Then I should choose the right-hand weevil; it has a perceptible advantage in both length and breadth.'
'There I have you,' cried Jack. 'You are bit — you are completely dished. Don't you know that in the Navy you must always choose the lesser of two weevils? Oh ha, ha, ha, ha!'

11)
April 13, 1863

Though well supplied, I have decided to ration my goods. The missing garrison or a replacement should be here anytime. I cannot imagine it will be too much longer now.

In any event, I’m striving to consume stores in the way I would if I were part of the post rather than the whole affair. It will be hard with the coffee, but I shall try my best.


12)
"Many people have feared the Knut was only temporarily deranged, and that on return to function might be dangerous, so the scientists have completely destroyed all chance of that. The greenish metal of which he is made seemed to be the same as that of the ship and could no more be attacked, they found, nor could they find any way to penetrate to his internals; but they had other means. They sent electric currects of tremendous voltages and amperages through him. They applied terrific heat to all parts of his metal shell. They immersed him for days in gases and acids and strongly corroding solutions, and they have bombarded him with every known kind of ray. You need have no fear of him now. He cannot possibly have retained the ability to function in any way."


13)
The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles away as easily as you could carry a feather.


14)
“You’re hairy as a goddamned dog, ain’t you?”
“Some dogs, I suppose.”
“What the hail...” he said, half turning to the other man.
“Ain’t no hair in his mouth,” the other one said.
“That’s the truth,” the tall one said. “Hold this on him.”
Then he turned to me, handing the gun off without looking. It stood in the middle of the air at the end of his extended arm. He said to me, “Fall down on your knees and pray, boy. And you better pray good.”


15)
The doctor watched him with great interest. He flattened out the two humps of wire, and with great care wriggled the charred scrap of paper on to one of them. He clapped the other on top of it and then, holding both pieces together with the tongs, held the whole thing over the flame of the spirit lamp.

“It is a very makeshift affair, this,” he said over his shoulder. “Let us hope that it will answer its purpose.”

The doctor watched the proceedings attentively. The metal began to glow. Suddenly he saw faint indications of letters. Words formed themselves slowly — words of fire.

16)
“Cavitation?”

“When you have a propeller turning in the water at high speed, you develop an area of low pressure behind the trailing edge of the blade. This can cause water to vaporize. That creates a bunch of little bubbles. They can’t last long under the water pressure, and when they collapse the water rushes forward to pound against the blades. That does three things. First, it makes noise, and us sub drivers hate noise. Second, it can cause vibration, something else we don’t like. The old passenger liners, for example, used to flutter several inches at the stern, all from cavitation and slippage. It takes a hell of a lot of force to vibrate a 50,000-ton ship; that kind of force breaks things. Third, it tears up the screws. The big wheels only used to last a few years. That’s why back in the old days the blades were bolted onto the hub instead of being cast in one piece. The vibration is mainly a surface ship problem, and the screw degradation was eventually conquered by improved metallurgical technology.

Now, this tunnel drive system avoids the cavitation problem.”


17)
The plantation clearings and miles of cotton fields smiled up to a warm sun, placid, complacent. At their edges rose the virgin forests, dark and cool even in the hottest noons, mysterious, a little sinister, the soughing pines seeming to wait with an age-old patience, to threaten with soft sighs: "Be careful! Be careful! We had you once. We can take you back again."


18)
“A pleasant voice, all things considered.” Cyphre raised his glass to eye level in a silent European toast. “As I said, I could never stomach swing music; too loud and jumpy for my taste. But Johnny sounded sweet as a caroler when he wanted to.”


19)
"I have given instructions," said the Governor, "for you to be taken to a comfortable room until the actual order for your release arrives."

Then I recollected my manuscript on the table. No-one had seen it but myself, but if it were noticed it would be awkward.


20)
*Capisco!* I know my fate. Now for the first time I feel my emptiness as Adam felt his nakedness . . . [Slowly he rises to his feet.] Tonight at an inn somewhere in this city stands a giggling child who can put on paper, without actually setting down his billiard cue, casual notes which turn my most considered ones into lifeless scratches. *Grazie, Signore!* You gave the the desire to serve You — which most men do not have — then saw to it the service was shameful in the ears of the server. *Grazie!* You gave me the desire to praise You — which most men do not feel — then made me mute. *Grazie tanti!* You put into me perception of the Incomparable — which most men never know! — then ensured I would know myself forever mediocre. [His voice gains power.] *Why?* . . . *Where is my fault?* . . .

21)
Harry locked his mother in the closet. Harold. Please. Not again the TV. Okay, okay, Harry opened the door, then stop playin games with my head. He started walking across the room toward the television set. And dont bug me.


22)
‘French seven-point-five-millimetre Châttelerault. Light machine gun. Nineteen twenty-four.’

‘German seven-point-nine-millimetre MG-Fifteen air service.’

He was brought to each of the guns. The weapons seemed to be from different time periods and from many countries, a museum in the desert. He brushed the contours of the stock and magazine or fingered the sight. He spoke out the gun’s name, then was carried to another gun. Eight weapons formally handed to him. He called the names out loud, speaking in French and then the tribe’s own language. But what did that matter to them? Perhaps they needed not the name but to know that he knew what the gun was.


23)
I remember the night. We were all playing cards in Robert's when Jimmy said to Remo, "Let's take a ride." He motioned to Tommy and another guy to come along. Remo got in the front seat and Tommy and Jimmy got in the rear. When they got to a quiet area, Tommy used a piano wire. Remo put up some fight. He kicked and swung and shit all over himself before he died. They buried him in the backyard at Robert's, under a layer of cement right next to the boccie court. From then on, every time they played, Jimmy and Tommy used to say, "Hi, Remo, how ya doing?"


24)
"Number of scars — and most interesting. Side or front. None in the back. You don't want to stress such details for the rabble, but I can tell you as a matter of fact — "

The litter-bearers were watching him now and listening, their eyes gleaming out of their long, matted hair.

" — that these were the best soldiers that ever walked on Italian soil. Bears thinking about, something like that. Come back to our friend up here. Took four days for him to die, and it would have taken a good deal longer if they hadn't opened a vein and bled him a bit. Now you may not know that, but you got to do it when you put them up on the cross. Either you bleed them or they swell up like a bloater."


25)
He liked the way Karen kept looking right at him without appearing nervous or emotional, putting on any kind of act. No, this was her. Not anything like Karen the screamer facing the maniac with a butcher knife or seven-foot rats or giant ticks gorged on human blood. He liked her hair, the way it was now, thick and dark, hanging down close to one eye. He noticed how thin her neck was and took a few more pounds off, got her down to around ninety-five. He figured she was now up in her thirties, but hadn’t lost any of her looks to speak of.

“He’s telling me an idea for a movie,” Harry said. “It’s not bad, so far.”

>>21741448
>4)
American Psycho based on the book American Psycho

26)
I suppose that your first important discovery, Dr. Pillman, was the celebrated Pillman radiant?

I wouldn't say so. The Pillman radiant wasn't my first discovery, it wasn't important, and, strictly speaking, it wasn't a discovery. It's not entirely mine either.


27)
It was crazy, that's what it was. They were even crazier than Roderick, the way they carried on. There were more police now, and the detective was trying to tell him that he was the one who had made the calls and worn the mask. He, George! It was utterly ridiculous, and George explained how he had met Roderick on the island in solitary and how he looked like the fiend in the Doré book and everything, and how he was a bad boy.


28)
"I can't hear you very well. Come closer to the transmitter."
Her voice came, cupped and resounding, even scratching a little along the sides of the wires. "I said, do you want a panther?"
"No," David said. "Why should I?"
"Well, for that matter," Suzan said peevishly, "why should I? But I've got one."


29)
At the end of the show the hypnotist told his subjects, “Awake.”

Something unusual happened.

One of the subjects awoke all the way. This had never happened before. His name was George Nada and he blinked out at the sea of faces in the theatre, at first unaware of anything out of the ordinary. Then he noticed, spotted here and there in the crowd, the non-human faces, the faces of the Fascinators. They had been there all along, of course, but only George was really awake, so only George recognized them for what they were.


30)
"How long would it take for these trees of yours to dry, Reeves?"
"It all depends on what sort of wood it is, sir. With some kinds it's advisable to wait eighteen months or even a couple of years."
"That's absolutely out of the question, Reeves," the Colonel protested. "We've only got five months as it is."
The Captain hung his head apologetically.
"I realize that, sir, and that's exactly what's worrying me."
"And what's wrong with using fresh timber?"
"Some species contract, sir, and that might cause cracks and displacements once the work is under way. Not with every kind of wood, of course. Elm, for instance, hardly shifts at all. So naturally I've selected timber which is as much like elm as possible. The elm piles of London Bridge have lasted six hundred years, sir."
"Six hundred years!" exclaimed the Colonel. There was a glint in his eye as he involuntarily turned toward the river. "Six hundred years, Reeves — that would be a pretty good show!"

31)
It was quiet in the cellar. The oil burner had just shut itself off, the clanking wheeze of the water pump had been silenced for an hour. He lay under the cardboard box top listening to the silence, exhausted but unable to rest. An animal life without an animal mind did not induce the heavy, effortless sleep of an animal.

The spider came about eleven o'clock.


32)
" . . . That long, long pain and all the time you say to yourself, 'Either I shall faint or I shall grow to bear the pain, nature will see to that' and the pain just increases like a violinist going up the E string. You think it can't get any higher and it does — the pain's like that, it rises and rises, and all that nature does is bring you on from note to note like a deaf child being taught to hear."


33)
Jácques Courbé was a romanticist. He measured only twenty-eight inches from the soles of his diminutive feet to the crown of his head; but there were times, as he rode into the arena on his gallant charger, St. Eustache, when he felt himself a doughty knight of old about to do battle for his lady.

What matter that St. Eustache was not a gallant charger except in his master's imagination — not even a pony, indeed, but a large dog of a nondescript breed, with the long snout and upstanding ears of a wolf? What matter that Monsieur Courbé's entrance was invariably greeted with shouts of derisive laughter and bombardments of banana skins and orange peel? What matter that he had no lady and that his daring deeds were severely curtailed to a mimicry of the bareback riders who preceded him? What mattered all these things to the tiny man who lived in dreams and who resolutely closed his shoe-button eyes to the drab realities of life?


34)
He’d eaten pretty good, but he was cranky. “Come on, son of a bitch,” I demanded, “find me a piece of ass.”

Blood just chuckled, deep in his dog-throat. “You’re funny when you get horny,” he said.


35)
“Strange indeed. This man is all by himself on a dangerous road and with a long train and his friends are coming behind on horseback, pleasure-riding. Strange, I should say, muy raro.”

“Do you see the friends on horseback coming, Pablo?” asked the one who seemed the laziest of all.

Pablo rose slowly, went over to the road and looked toward the mountains, came back indolently, and said with a grin on his thick lips: “Naw, these two friends are still far behind. Far back, an hour or more. I can’t even see a pinch of dust swirling up from their horses.”

“So you lied to us. Well, well!” Miguel said, his tongue playing about his lips. “Well, well! And what is it you have in the packs, pal? Let’s have a look at the goods.”

36)
It is painful for me to recall the adventures of the year beginning April 7th, 1862. As I compose my mind to the task there rises before me the memory of days of suffering and nights of sleepless apprehension — days and nights that in their black monotony seemed well nigh eternal. And time has not yet dulled the sorrow of that terrible day, when comrades made dear as brothers by common danger and suffering were suddenly dragged to a fearful death that I expected soon to share. A man who has walked for months in the shadow of the scaffold and escaped at last almost by miracle will never find the experience a pleasant one to dwell upon, even in thought. Yet it cannot be forgotten, and the easiest way to answer the enquiries of friends, and to satisfy the curiosity of the public, is to put the whole matter candidly, faithfully, and minutely on record.


37)
"I asked her if there was anything I could do for her, and she said no. I said I had noticed her at the matinee and that my husband had seen her before. She said she stood there every night. I couldn't believe my ears. I said, 'Well, what do you want?' She said, 'Nothing.' I said, 'There must be something,' and finally she said that she knew if she stood there long enough eventually I would speak to her."


38)
At four-thirty in the morning this high air was quite cold, though the sun had begun to flush the sky eastward. A small crowd stood in the square, presenting their final messages to the passengers now entering the coach. There was a girl going down to marry an infantry officer, a whisky drummer from St. Louis, an Englishman all length and bony corners and carrying with him an enormous sporting rifle, a gambler, a solid-shouldered cattleman on his way to New Mexico and a blonde man upon whom both Happy Stuart and the shotgun guard placed a narrow-eyed interest.


39)
I don't give a damn how friendly he is. It's what he does that matters.
But you do look a little rough, as if you might cause trouble. He has a point.
So do I. In fifteen goddamn towns this has happened to me. This is the last. I won't be fucking shoved anymore.


40)
‘A hunting expedition supposes a hunting rifle, and that is what you shall have. Not as small as a .22 calibre, for that is for rabbits and hares. Nor as big as a Remington .300 which would never conform to the limitations of size you have demanded.

I think I have such a gun in mind, and easily available here in Brussels at some sports shops. An expensive gun, a high-precision instrument. Very accurate, beautifully tooled and yet light and slim. Used a lot for chamois and other small deer, but with explosive bullets just the thing for bigger game. Tell me, will the... er... gentleman be moving slowly, fast or not at all?’

41)
Now I know somethin bout idiots. Probly the only thing I do know bout, but I done read up on em — all the way from that Doy-chee-eveskie guy's idiot, to King Lear's fool, an Faulkner's idiot, Benjie, an even ole Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird — now he was a serious idiot. The one I like best tho is ole Lennie in Of Mice an Men. Mos of them writer fellers got it straight — cause their idiots always smarter than people give em credit for. Hell, I'd agree with that. Any idiot would. Hee Hee.


42)
For several minutes they ate in silence, he phlegmatically, she thoughtfully. Then she said in a hushed voice: “I’m afraid of you, and that’s the truth.”
He said: “That’s not the truth.”
“It is,” she insisted in the same low voice. “I know two men I’m afraid of and I’ve seen both of them tonight.”
“I can understand your being afraid of Cairo,” Spade said. “He’s out of your reach.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Not that way,” he said and grinned.


43)
Shaking Sammy was the Protestant chaplain. His headquarters were in an engineering outfit down the road. He was called Shaking Sammy because he so dearly loved to shake hands. Whenever he hit the hospital, Shaking Sammy started shaking hands as soon as he came in and kept right on shaking. On one great morning, people whose hands were shaken by Sammy as soon as he entered the compound maneuvered into his path again and again as he made his rounds and shook his eager hand again and again. It took Sammy two hours to make the circle, and he had shaken hands three hundred times with fifty people.


44)
It just didn’t look right. No soil contamination of the wound site, and no crush-injury component. Mechanical trauma of any sort — an auto injury, a factory accident — almost always had some component of crushing. But here there was none. Instead, the man’s skin was shredded — ripped — across his shoulder, and again across his thigh.

It really did look like a maul. On the other hand, most of the body was unmarked, which was unusual for an animal attack. She looked again at the head, the arms, the hands —

The hands.

She felt a chill when she looked at the kid’s hands. There were short slashing cuts on both palms, and bruises on the wrists and forearms. She had worked in Chicago long enough to know what that meant.


45)
"Listen. You know those days when you've got the mean reds?"

"Same as the blues?"

"No," she said slowly. "No, the blues are because you're getting fat or maybe it's been raining too long. You're sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible. You're afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don't know what you're afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don't know what it is. You've had that feeling?"

46)
I never knew Vienna between the wars, and I am too young to remember the old Vienna with its Strauss music and its bogus easy charm; to me it is simply a city of undignified ruins which turned that February into great glaciers of snow and ice.


47)
Can I help you?

Oh no, please — it's only something in my eye.

Try pulling your eyelid down as far as it'll go.

And then blowing your nose.


48)
“You’ve forced me on a point of honour to keep my life at your disposal, as it were, for fifteen years. Very well. Now that the matter is decided to my advantage, I am going to do what I like with your life on the same principle. You shall keep it at my disposal as long as I choose.”


49)
Our ald ennemys cummyn of Saxonys blud,
That neuyr yeit to Scotland wald do gud,
Bot euir on fors, and contrar haile thair will,
Quhow gret kyndnes thar has beyne kyth thaim till.


50)
Al Hake had his compass production line in a room in 103. He made the compass casings out of broken gramophone records, heating the bits until they were soft as dough and then pressing them in a mold. Artists painted the points of the compass accurately on little circles of paper, and they fitted neatly into the base of the casings. He sank a gramophone needle into the centre of the base for the needle pivot. The direction needle itself was a bit of sewing needle which he rubbed against a magnet.

With great delicacy he soldered a tiny pivot socket to the centre of the magnetized needles. (The solder came from the melted joints of bully-beef tins, and he dug resin for the soldering out of the pine trees, and after the trees were cut down, out of the resinous wood of the huts.) Valenta even got him some luminous paint for the needles so they could be used at night without the danger of striking matches.

Glass for the compass tops he took from bits of broken window. If there weren't any broken windows handy, he broke one himself and then cut the pieces into circular discs under water so the glass wouldn't crack or chip. He made a little blow lamp out of a fat lamp and some thin tubing rolled out of old food tins. Through the tube he blew a gentle jet of air against the flame, playing it around the rim of the compass case, and when it was melting soft he pressed it against the glass and there it set, tight and waterproof.

He was finishing one a day, and they were so beautifully done you'd have thought they were bought in a shop. I think the neatest thing about them came from the inscription he had carved into the bottom of the mold for the casings. When you turned the finished compass over, there on the base was professionally engraved, "Made in Stalag Luft III".

51)
As usual, Trumann is dead drunk. His spiky mop of black hair is covered with a drift of cigarette ash. Three or four butts have become entangled in it. One still smoldering. He may burst into flames at any moment. He wears his Ritterkreuz back to front.


52)
David was staring out of the window. “Teddy, you know what I was thinking? How do you tell what are real things from what aren’t real things?”
The bear shuffled its alternatives. “Real things are good.”
“I wonder if time is good. I don’t think Mummy likes time very much. The other day, lots of days ago, she said that time went by her. Is time real, Teddy?”
“Clocks tell the time. Clocks are real. Mummy has clocks so she must like them. She has a clock on her wrist next to her dial.”
David started to draw a jumbo jet on the back of his letter. “You and I are real, Teddy, aren’t we?”
The bear’s eyes regarded the boy unflinchingly. “You and I are real, David.” It specialized in comfort.


53)
"Culture! Yes — if we had it! But there are just a few little local patches, dying out here and there for lack of — well, hoeing and cross-fertilising: the last remnants of the old European tradition that your forebears brought with them. But you're in a pitiful little minority: you've got no centre, no competition, no audience. You're like the pictures on the walls of a deserted house: 'The Portrait of a Gentleman.' You'll never amount to anything, any of you, till you roll up your sleeves and get right down into the muck. That, or emigrate... God! If I could emigrate..."


54)
"Sssst!" said McDunn. "There!" He nodded out to the Deeps.

Something was swimming towards the lighthouse tower.

It was a cold night, as I have said; the high tower was cold, the light coming and going, and the Fog Horn calling and calling through the raveling mist. You couldn't see far and you couldn't see plain, but there was the deep sea moving on its way about the night earth, flat and quiet, the color of gray mud, and here were the two of us alone in the high tower, and there, far out at first, was a ripple, followed by a wave, a rising, a bubble, a bit of froth.


55)
Michael laughed. He went out the kitchen entrance and the smell of lemon blossoms penetrated even his sinus-filled nose. He saw Apollonia wave to him from the car just ten paces up the villa’s driveway and then he realized she was motioning him to stay where he was, that she meant to drive the car to where he stood. Calo stood grinning beside the car, his lupara dangling in his hand. But there was still no sign of Fabrizzio. At that moment, without any conscious reasoning process, everything came together in his mind, and Michael shouted to the girl, “No! No!”

56)
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a quiet voice beside him said.
George turned resentfully to a little man he had never seen before. He was stout, well past middle age, and his round cheeks were pink in the winter air as though they had just been shaved.
"Wouldn't do what?" George asked sullenly.
"What you were thinking of doing."


57)
Reading through the pages I have written, I realize that my description of Barrett is so inadequate that it hovers perilously close to being ludicrous. My only excuse is that there *was* something comic about Barrett. It was like looking at a fantastically shaped log and knowing that its other side was swarming with lice.


58)
Is the law huntin you?
Everbody's huntin me.
What did you do?
I been pickin up young girls hitchhikin and buryin em out in the desert.
That aint funny.
You're right. It aint. I was just pullin your leg.


59)
Never-ending grief, never-ending anger. Useless without direction. Maybe you can't understand what's happened. Can't say I really understand, either. Backwards amnesia. That's what the sign says. CRS disease. Your guess is as good as mine.

Maybe you can't understand what happened to you. But you do remember what happened to HER, don't you?


60)
So six weeks' was all the schooling I ever got. And I say this to let parents know the value of it; for though I have met more learned book-worms in the world, especially a great hulking, clumsy, blear-eyed old doctor, whom they called Johnson, and who lived in a court off Fleet Street, in London, yet I pretty soon silenced him in an argument (at 'Button's Coffeehouse'); and in that, and in poetry, and what I call natural philosophy, or the science of life, and in riding, music, leaping, the small-sword, the knowledge of a horse, or a main of cocks, and the manners of an accomplished gentleman and a man of fashion, I may say for myself that Redmond Barry has seldom found his equal. 'Sir,' said I to Mr. Johnson, on the occasion I allude to — he was accompanied by a Mr. Boswell of Scotland, and I was presented to the club by a Mr. Goldsmith, a countryman of my own — 'Sir,' said I, in reply to the schoolmaster's great thundering quotation in Greek, 'you fancy you know a great deal more than me, because you quote your Aristotle and your Pluto; but can you tell me which horse will win at Epsom Downs next week? — Can you run six miles without breathing? — Can you shoot the ace of spades ten times without missing? If so, talk about Aristotle and Pluto to me.'

61)
She was extremely fond of her father, and very much afraid of him; she thought him the cleverest and handsomest and most celebrated of men. The poor girl found her account so completely in the exercise of her affections that the little tremor of fear that mixed itself with her filial passion gave the thing an extra relish rather than blunted its edge. Her deepest desire was to please him, and her conception of happiness was to know that she had succeeded in pleasing him. She had never succeeded beyond a certain point. Though, on the whole, he was very kind to her, she was perfectly aware of this, and to go beyond the point in question seemed to her really something to live for. What she could not know, of course, was that she disappointed him, though on three or four occasions the Doctor had been almost frank about it.


62)
“The sea does not belong to despots. Upon its surface men can still exercise unjust laws, fight, tear one another to pieces, and be carried away with terrestrial horrors. But at thirty feet below its level, their reign ceases, their influence is quenched, and their power disappears.”


63)
Staley stood staring at Doane, then swallowed. "I saw Frank Colby. He was in the livery putting up his horse. He'd had a long ride on that horse. I asked him what he was doing in town — friendly like." He ducked his head and swallowed again. "He didn't know I was a deputy. I had my star off." He looked up again. "They're all meeting together, Mr. Doane. Young Jordan, and Colby and Pierce. They're going to meet Jordan when he comes in. The same four."

"So you're quitting," Doane said.


64)
I shook. I sweated and strained every muscle. My hands were so tightly clenched that my fingernails bit into the flesh. I set my teeth so hard that I nearly pierced my lower lip. Everything in the room swam till the faces around me were mere patches of white. But — I drew it — the letter 'A'. There it was on the floor before me. Shaky, with awkward, wobbly sides and a very uneven centre line. But it was the letter 'A'.


65)
"Accursed Roman!" and the sheik shook his fist at the driver. "Did he not swear he could drive them — swear by all his brood of bastard Latin gods? Nay, hands off me — off I say! They should run swift as eagles, and with the temper of hand-bred lambs, he sword. Cursed be he — cursed the mother of liars who calls him son! See them, the priceless! Let him touch one of them with a lash, and — " The rest of the sentence was lost in a furious grinding of his teeth. "To their heads, some of you, and speak them — a word, one is enough, from the tent-song your mothers sang you. Oh, fool, fool that I was to put trust in a Roman!"

66)
A supercilious young voice in the aisle behind Peter Warne said: "Do you mind moving aside?"

Peter Warne moved. The girl glided into the corner he had so laboriously cleared for himself. Peter raised his cap. "Take my seat, madam," he invited, with empressement. She bestowed upon him a faintly speculative glance, indicating that he was of a species unknown to her, and turned to the window. He sat down in the sole remaining place.


67)
‘If only we could stay out all night and watch the moon rise,’ Irma said. ‘Now don’t look so serious, Miranda, darling – we don’t often have a chance to enjoy ourselves out of school.’
‘And without being watched and spied on by that little rat of a Lumley,’ Marion said.
‘Blanche says she knows for a fact Miss Lumley only cleans her teeth on Sundays,’ put in Edith.
‘Blanche is a disgusting little know-all,’ Marion said, ‘and so are you.’


68)
The boy once more filled the glasses. This time the Brothers and Sisters knew that what they were given to drink was not wine, for it sparkled. It must be some kind of lemonade. The lemonade agreed with their exalted state of mind and seemed to lift them off the ground, into a higher and purer sphere.

General Loewenhielm again set down his glass, turned to his neighbor on the right and said to him: ‘But surely this is a Veuve Cliquot 1860?’


69)
She was a pretty, fair-haired, fragile-looking girl, hard as nails, who had been educated at the University of London and took Sex seriously. She was accustomed to spending her days and nights in male society and had little use for the company of other girls. She could drink most of the English journalists under the table, and sometimes did so, but more as a matter of principle than because she enjoyed it. The first time she met you, she called you by your Christian name and informed you that her parents kept a tobacco and sweet shop in Shepherd’s Bush. This was her method of “testing” character; your reaction to the news damned or saved you finally in her estimation.


70)
'You must forgive me, boss,' he said, 'but I'm like my grandfather Alexis — God sanctify his remains! He used to sit in the evening in front of his door when he was a hundred and ogle the young girls going to the well. His sight wasn't too good, he couldn't see very clearly, so he'd call the girls over to him. "I say, which one are you?" "Xenio, Mastrandoni's daughter." "Come closer then and let me touch you. Come along, don't be afraid!" She'd try and keep a solemn face, and go up to him. Then my grandad would raise his hand to her face and feel it slowly, sensually. And his tears would flow. "Why d'you cry, grandad?" I once asked him. "Ah, don't you think I've something to cry about, my boy, when I'm slowly dying and leaving behind so many fine wenches?" '

71)
"Ever hear the old story of how to stop hoof-and-mouth disease in cattle?"

Clark and Garry shook their heads silently.

"If there isn't any hoof-and-mouth disease, there won't be any hoof-and-mouth disease," Copper explained. "You get rid of it by killing every animal that exhibits it, and every animal that's been near the diseased animal. Blair's a biologist, and knows that story. He's afraid of this thing we loosed. The answer is pretty clear in his mind now. Kill everybody and everything in this camp before a skua gull or a wandering albatross coming in with the spring chances out this way and — catches the disease."


72)
The sensation created in Baltimore was, at first, prodigious. What the mishap would have cost the Buttons and their kinsfolk socially cannot be determined, for the outbreak of the Civil War drew the city’s attention to other things. A few people who were unfailingly polite racked their brains for compliments to give to the parents — and finally hit upon the ingenious device of declaring that the baby resembled his grandfather, a fact which, due to the standard state of decay common to all men of seventy, could not be denied.


73)
"Edmund, a few questions before I return to my guests. One, would you be willing to plant corroborative evidence on a suspect you knew was guilty in order to ensure an indictment?"
"I'd have to — "
"Answer yes or no."


74)
The bowl was now brim-full, ringed round its edge by white rice in an embankment a foot wide and six inches deep, filled with legs and ribs of mutton till they toppled over. It needed two or three victims to make in the centre a dressed pyramid of meat such as honour prescribed. The centre-pieces were the boiled, upturned heads, propped on their severed stumps of neck, so that the ears, brown like old leaves, flapped out on the rice surface. The jaws gaped emptily upward, pulled open to show the hollow throat with the tongue, still pink, clinging to the lower teeth; and the long incisors whitely crowned the pile, very prominent above the nostrils' pricking hair and the lips which sneered away blackly from them.


75)
"How much," he asked, "is that family of rabbits over there?"
"Sir, if you have a down payment of three thou, I can make you owner of something a lot better than a pair of rabbits. What about a goat?"
"I haven't thought much about goats," Rick said.
"May I ask if this represents a new price bracket for you?"
"Well, I don't usually carry around three thou," Rick conceded.
"I thought as much, sir, when you mentioned rabbits. The thing about rabbits, sir, is that everybody has one. I'd like to see you step up to the goat class where I feel you belong. Frankly, you look more like a goat man to me."

76)
Innocent yet ominous questions and vague ambiguous answers passed to and fro between them; and, as neither of them doubted the other's absolute candour, both felt the need for mild revenge. They exaggerated the extent to which their masked partners had attracted them, made fun of the jealous stirrings the other revealed, and lied dismissively about their own. Yet this light banter about the trivial adventures of the previous night led to more serious discussion of those hidden, scarcely admitted desires which are apt to raise dark and perilous storms even in the purest, most transparent soul; and they talked about those secret regions for which they felt hardly any longing, yet towards which the irrational winds of fate might one day drive them, if only in their dreams.


77)
— This is a campaign, Ricky. She is almost virginal in her beauty, but she will be here, and from now on the Prefect of Police will haunt your bar.
— What makes you so sure she will come?
— She is a stranger... a refugee... on her way to America with her husband, a bird of passage... and everybody comes to Rick's.


78)
A Japanese soldier was running the bayonet of his rifle across the windshield, as if cutting an invisible web. Jim knew that he would next lean through the passenger window, venting into the Packard’s interior his tired breath and that threatening scent given off by all Japanese soldiers. Everyone then sat still, as the slightest move would produce a short pause followed by violent retribution. The previous year, when he was ten, Jim had nearly given Yang a heart attack by pointing his metal Spitfire into the face of a Japanese corporal and chanting ‘Ra-ta-ta-ta-ta...’ For almost a minute the corporal had stared at Jim’s father without expression, nodding slowly to himself.


79)
— And she’s not cold?
— No, she’s not thinking about the cold, it’s as if she’s in some other world, all wrapped up in herself drawing the panther.
— If she’s wrapped up inside herself, she’s not in some other world. That’s a contradiction.


80)
Freddie knocked on the door. The knob turned. It was locked. Tom picked up a heavy glass ashtray. He couldn’t get his hand across it, and he had to hold it by the edge. He tried to think just for two seconds more: wasn’t there another way out? What would he do with the body? He couldn’t think. This was the only way out. He opened the door with his left hand. His right hand with the ashtray was drawn back and down.

81)
He drew up a chair beside her, taking her hand.

"Darling, what is it? Tell me — are you ill?"

She shook her head, and then turned and looked at him. The dazed expression he had noticed at first had given way to one of dawning confidence, almost of exaltation.

"It's quite wonderful," she said slowly, "the most wonderful thing that could possibly be. You see, she isn't dead, she's still with us. That's why they kept staring at us, those two sisters. They could see Christine."


82)
I have said that the plateau was scarred by meteors; it was also coated inches-deep with the cosmic dust that is always filtering down upon the surface of any world where there are no winds to disturb it. Yet the dust and the meteor scratches ended quite abruptly in a wide circle enclosing the little pyramid, as though an invisible wall was protecting it from the ravages of time and the slow but ceaseless bombardment from space.


83)
There was a heavy tread of feet along the corridor behind him and Holt swung around to see three men approaching from the direction of the chief of police's office. Captain Troge, the homicide head, he recognized; they had worked together before. The other two men were strangers to him but Holt guessed that this was the famous team of McCoy and Quinlan, though he wasn't sure which was which. The bigger of the two carried a cane and walked with a deep limp.


84)
I was eighteen now, just gone. Eighteen was not a young age. At eighteen old Wolfgang Amadeus had written concertos and symphonies and operas and oratorios and all that cal, no, not cal, heavenly music. And then there was old Felix M. with his Midsummer Night's Dream Overture. And there were others. And there was this like French poet set by old Benjy Britt, who had done all his best poetry by the age of fifteen, O my brothers. Arthur, his first name. Eighteen was not all that young an age, then. But what was I going to do?


85)
In the very bottom of the boat, half covered with boxes, lay two large iron tubes, rounded at one end, conical at the other, and in the conical ends were brass fittings—taps and pressure gauges.
“What are those?” asked Rose.
“They’re the cylinders of oxygen and hydrogen. We couldn’t find no use for them, Miss, not anyhow. First time we shift cargo I’ll drop ’em over.”
“No, I shouldn’t do that,” said Rose. All sorts of incredibly vague memories were stirring in her mind. She looked at the long black cylinders again.
“They look like — like torpedoes,” she said at length, musingly, and with the words her plan began to develop apace. She turned upon the cockney mechanic.
“Allnutt,” she demanded. “Could you make a torpedo?”

86)
I’m going to start rationing food right now. Meals are pretty minimal already, but I think I can eat a 3/4 portion per meal and still be all right. That should turn my 300 days of food into 400. Foraging around the medical area, I found the main bottle of vitamins. There’s enough multivitamins there to last years. So I won’t have any nutritional problems (though I’ll still starve to death when I’m out of food, no matter how many vitamins I take).


87)
He could neither multiply nor divide without error and much of his science was superstition. He could list the many begotten of Abraham and the sixty-six books of the King James Bible; he could recite psalms and poems in a stentorian voice with suitable histrionics; he could sing religious hymns so convincingly that he worked for a month as a choirmaster; he was marvelously informed about current events. And yet he thought incense was made from the bones of saints, that leather continued to grow if not dyed, that if he concentrated hard enough his body’s electrical currents could stun lake frogs as he bathed.


88)
"A funny thing happened to me this morning, Charas. I went to the cemetary, where my brother is buried. It was quite empty, and I was alone."
"Not quite alone, Monsier Delambre. I was there, but I did not want to disturb you."
"Then you saw me..."
"Yes, I saw you bury a matchbox."
"Do you know what was in it?"
"A fly, I suppose."
"Yes, I had found it early in the morning, caught in a spider's web in the garden."
"Was it dead?"
"No, not quite. I... crushed it... between two stones. Its head was... white... all white."


89)
A leap up and I settled on the wall, and let myself turn about and be caught and fixed by the sun, giving it my face and hands and ears (I kept my gloves in my pocket). I had no desire to shoot pictures, and lit a cigarette to be doing something. I think it was that moment when the match was about to touch the tobacco that I saw the young boy for the first time.


90)
“I’m really not smart,” she thought, and with the fingers of her other hand she began to smooth the little black hairs at the back of his wrist. “I’m not smart, and if I take him back again it will all be to go through again.”

She didn’t know whether she was brave enough to accept it, but she turned his hand over and traced the little lines in his palm, traced them up to the wrist. She pressed the tips of her fingers against the blue veins at his wrist, and followed the vein upward until it went under the sleeve of his shirt. It irritated her that her fingers wanted to go on, to go up the arm to his elbow and over the smooth muscle to the hollow of his shoulder. All at once tears sprang in her eyes and wet her face, her whole body swelled. She knew she was going to have the nerve, after all, and she took Sonny’s young hand and pressed it to her throat, to her wet face.

91)
I rushed up to her, picked her up. The robe burned my hands; she was rasping. I ran back into the corridor, past a series of doors. I no longer felt the cold, except that the breath coming out of her mouth in clouds of condensation scorched my neck like fire.

I laid her on the table, tore open the robe over her breasts. For a moment I looked at her drawn, trembling face; the blood had frozen on her open lips, covering them with a dark coating. Tiny ice crystals glittered on her tongue...

Liquid oxygen. There was liquid oxygen in the shop, in Dewar flasks. As I picked her up I’d felt broken glass underfoot. How much could she have swallowed?


92)
I swear . . . if you existed I'd divorce you . . .


93)
"So here's what," Jack said. "You set me up an even twenty martinis. An even twenty, just like that, kazang. One for every month I've been on the wagon and one to grow on. You can do that, can't you? You aren't too busy?"

Lloyd said he wasn't busy at all.

"Good man. You line those martians up right along the bar and I'm going to take them down, one by one. White man's burden, Lloyd my man."


94)
I threw my cigarette away.
"Is that all there is?"
He nodded.
"Then that's it, Albert?"
Albert pressed himself hard against he pan.
"Jack, for Christ's sake..."
"Don't be a cunt, Albert. You knew what I'd do."
"Yeah, but listen. Christ, I didn't kill him. It wasn't me."
I took Con's knife out of my pocket.
"I know it wasn't you."
"Well, then..."
"Doesn't matter, Albert."


95)
In the pool of silence round the roped-off top table there was no sound except the loud tripping feet of Kronsteen's clock. The two umpires sat motionless in their raised chairs. They knew, as did Makharov, that this was certainly the kill. Kronsteen had introduced a brilliant twist into the Meran Variation of the Queen's Gambit Declined. Makharov had kept up with him until the 28th move. He had lost time on that move. Perhaps he had made a mistake there, and perhaps again on the 31st and 33rd moves. Who could say? It would be a game to be debated all over Russia for weeks to come.

There came a sigh from the crowded tiers opposite the Championship game. Kronsteen had slowly removed the right hand from his cheek and had stretched it across the board. Like the pincers of a pink crab, his thumb and forefinger had opened, then they had descended. The hand, holding a piece, moved up and sideways and down. Then the hand was slowly brought back to the face.

The spectators buzzed and whispered as they saw, on the great wall map, the 41st move duplicated with a shift of one of the three-foot placards. R-Kt8. That must be the kill!

96)
“ . . . It may be that they will not add to the beauty of the world, nor to the life of men’s souls. I am not sure. But automobiles have come, and they bring a greater change in our life than most of us suspect. They are here, and almost all outward things are going to be different because of what they bring. They are going to alter war, and they are going to alter peace. I think men’s minds are going to be changed in subtle ways because of automobiles; just how, though, I could hardly guess. But you can’t have the immense outward changes that they will cause without some inward ones, and it may be that George is right, and that the spiritual alteration will be bad for us. Perhaps, ten or twenty years from now, if we can see the inward change in men by that time, I shouldn’t be able to defend the gasoline engine, but would have to agree with him that automobiles ‘had no business to be invented.’ ”


97)
They turned to stare at the biscuits. Father gave a deep sigh, so deep it seemed to come all the way from his heavy work shoes. There was nothing sad or sorrowful about it. There was just something in him too big to be held tight in comfort. He let his axe fall to the ground. He leaned forward and separated the biscuits into two piles beside the plate, counting them even. One was left on the plate. He set this by itself on the stump. He took up his axe and reached it out and let it drop gently on the lone biscuit exactly in the middle. He rested the axe against the stump and took the two halves of the biscuit and put one on each pile.


98)
Perhaps it is indeed time I began to look at this whole matter of bantering more enthusiastically. After all, when one thinks about it, it is not such a foolish thing to indulge in — particularly if it is the case that in bantering lies the key to human warmth.


99)
Out he goes, looking neither right nor left, and when he was plumb in the middle of those dizzy dancing ropes – “Cut, you beggars,” he shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell, turning round and round and round, twenty thousand miles, for he took half an hour to fall till he struck the water, and I could see his body caught on a rock with the gold crown close beside.


100)
The girl worked things out quietly, sensibly — she wasn't the sort to get into a panic. The sun had risen there on the left of the gulley: so that would be east. South, then, must be straight ahead: down-stream. That was lucky. Perhaps they'd be able to follow the creek all the way to the sea; all the way to Adelaide. She knotted the four corners of Peter's handkerchief, dipped it in the water, and draped it over his head — for already the sun was uncomfortably hot.

‘Come on, Peter,’ she said, ‘let's go.’

>>21741451
8: True Grit
10:Master and Commander
>>21741455
13: Wizard of Oz
>>21741466
26: The movie Stalker based on Roadside Picnic
>>21741469
31: Charlotte's Web
>>21741478
>41
>To Kill a Mockingbird

>>21741465
>4)
>American Psycho based on the book American Psycho
Correct. Author = Bret Easton Ellis, Director = Mary Harron.

42) Maltese Falcon?
49) This feels like the kind of poem Braveheart would be based on, but I have no clue what it's called.
98) Remains of the Day

>>21741530

>8: True Grit
Correct. Author Charles Portis; director(s) Joel & Ethan Coen (not the original version, but much the better one).

>10:Master and Commander
Sort of. That's the film title, and that's the title of one of the books, but the weevils are actually in another book.
Author Patrick O'Brien; Director Peter Weir.

>13: Wizard of Oz
Correct. Author Frank L. Baum; Director Victor Fleming. We're not in Kansas any more.

>26: The movie Stalker based on Roadside Picnic
Correct. Authors Arkady & Boris Strugatsky; director Andrei "is six minutes long enough for a dialogue-free shot of a branch under water?" Tarkovsky.

>31: Charlotte's Web
Nope. Bold speculation doesn't ALWAYS pay off.

>41
>To Kill a Mockingbird
Nope. TKAM doesn't refer to itself, does it? Only smart-aleck postmodern stuff does that.

>>21741545

>42) Maltese Falcon?
Correct. Dashiell Hammett wrote it, John Huston filmed it.

>49) This feels like the kind of poem Braveheart would be based on, but I have no clue what it's called.
Good guesswork. Mel Gibson directed the film; we'll see if any anon can name the poem. (Apparently at one time it was the second most popular book in Scotland behind the Bible, so someone ought to get it.)

>98) Remains of the Day
Correct. Kazuo Ishiguro the author; James Ivory the director.

>>21741438
Hey man, the request to interview you is still on the table. No rush on a decision though.

>>21741438
88 the fly
36 The Great Locomotive Chase
99 The man who would be king

>>21741763

>88 the fly
Correct. Short story by George Langelaan; film by Mr. Body Horror himself, David Cronenberg.

>36 The Great Locomotive Chase
Correct as far as the book goes. (Non-fiction account by William Pittenger.) The film wasn't called that, though. (Not the film I'm thinking of anyway.) I certainly didn't expect this one to be identified early.

>99 The man who would be king
Correct. John Huston again, adapting Kipling.

>>21741448
5) The Right Stuff (book by Tom Wolfe, film by Philip Kaufman)

>>21741486
58) No Country for Old Men (book by Cormac McCarthy, film by Joel and Ethan Coen)

93) The Shining (book by Stephen King, film by Stanley Kubrick)

>>21741889

>5) The Right Stuff (book by Tom Wolfe, film by Philip Kaufman)
Correct. Quite work-out-able I guess (subject-matter & names).

>58) No Country for Old Men (book by Cormac McCarthy, film by Joel and Ethan Coen)
Correct. Moss with the hitch-hiker. Omitted from the film (they shouldn't have).

>93) The Shining (book by Stephen King, film by Stanley Kubrick)
Of course.


All present and correct. A strong contender for a Valuable Prize!

>>21741601
Right. Sorry if you were waiting expecting an answer. If it seems less forbidding in time I'll let you know.

Bump.

>>21741478
Is 44 Stephen King's Christine that John Carpenter made into a movie?

>>21744618
>Is 44 Stephen King's Christine that John Carpenter made into a movie?
Nope, sorry. No author is repeated, and 93 has already been identified as The Shining.

#44 is a fairly well-known book and very well-known film, but that scene was left out of the film. (It shouldn't have been. It would have been really good.)

Bump.

One final bump. Random hints:

5, 44, 88 have an actor in common
8, 34, 90 likewise
19, 30, 74 likewise
35, 42, 77, 85 likewise
15, 16, 95, 99 likewise

>>21748226
>35, 42, 77, 85 likewise
Just going from the actor I guess 77 is Casablanca and 85 is African Queen.

>>21741461
16 I'm pretty sure is the Hunt For Red October by Clancy. I seem to remember something about new tech that made the sub completely silent in the movie, never read the book

>>21741484
55 The Godfather, Mario Puzo

>>21741507
>everybody comes to Rick's.

this is Casablanca, not sure what the novel is called

>>21741511
85 is The African Queen

>>21748693
>>21748707
>>21748283
>77 is Casablanca and 85 is African Queen.
Correct, more-or-less. The African Queen was written by C. S. Forester and filmed by John Huston. The film Casablanca was directed by Michael Curtiz but the book wasn't called Casablanca, and it wasn't a novel. It was a stage play called "Everybody Comes To Rick's", written by two people called Murray Burnett & Joan Alison that no-one's ever heard of. So there was a title drop in there.

(The actor = Humphrey Bogart of course.)

>>21748406
>16 I'm pretty sure is the Hunt For Red October by Clancy.
Correct. Tom Clancy. John McTiernan directed the film.

>something about new tech that made the sub completely silent in the movie
They called it a "caterpillar drive" in the film.

>>21748618
>55 The Godfather, Mario Puzo
Correct. Francis Ford Coppola. KABOOM!

thanks, last 3 responses were me, guess I'm the only one playing anymore. I skipped it because I felt like it was a guess but today my conviction is stronger:
the one about buying animals is Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep/Blade Runner PKD and whatsisname , he did Gladiator, too

>>21749326
>the one about buying animals is Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep/Blade Runner PKD
Correct. The fake/real animals thing is a huge part of the book but wasn't in the film at all.

>and whatsisname
Ridley Scott

>he did Gladiator, too
And Alien, among others. (He's in this quiz three times.)

>>21749351
>The fake/real animals thing is a huge part of the book but wasn't in the film at all.
It is a big part of the Bladerunner point and click game which is worth checking out.

Bump.

Bump.