/lit/ - Literature

Bradbury was such shit. He was paid by the word so he just stuffed as much as he could.

>>5085168
>He was paid by the word

And other critiques that mean nothing at all.

>>5085168
how is this a valid criticism?

>>5085163
"“Sacrebleu!” The baguette was fully immersed within his colon. A fiery pain shot through his body. He knew, however, from experience, that such a pain would last at most twenty seconds. He managed to withstand his suffering by biting his lip and grunting like a lame hound. For a short while the man lay motionless on the restroom floor. The sheer agony of his sodomized rectum immobilized the fibers of his body. Helpless, he closed his eyes and imagined a scene from his childhood. He beheld a vibrant meadow, cradled with the blood-red warmth of a blanket of poppies in full bloom. Staring ahead he could only see the hills slowly fade away into the expanse of an endless blue sky painted with floating specks of white that wandered about above his head. Bountiful cosmic rays of warmth graced his nude figure, and for a moment even the nauseating, filthy lavatory odor was overcome by the sensual delight of roses. In front of him frolicked his beautiful cousin, a feminine figure blessed with the innumerable virtues of youth. He playfully pursued her as she fled giggling. The golden locks of hair which flowed from angelic body glistened under the sun. For a split-second her gait wavered and she came stumbling to a fall. With plentiful laughter the man fell upon her, and as their eyes met their mouths sank into one another's. As her tongue crept between his teeth, the picturesque fantasy suddenly collapsed upon itself with a rapping on the door."

>>5085168
>implying Dickens wasn't paid by the word

>>5085168
Plato was such shit. He was paid by the line so he just stuffed in as much as he could.

>>5085163
Reasons for the study of trees can be given by score. All of them--scientific, cultural, economic, and aesthetic--are justifiable. Yet reasons are hardly necessary. Trees are too large, too majestic, too important, and too much a part of nature to be ignored.
--C. Frank Brockman, Trees of North America: a Guide to Field Identification

"M-m-master, when I was on the Quasar I had a paracoita, a doll, you see, a genicon, so beautiful with her great pupils as dark as wells, her irises purple like asters or pansies blooming in summer, Master, whole beds of them, I thought, had been gathered to make those eyes, that flesh that always felt sun-warmed. Wh-wh-where is she now, my own scopolagna, my poppet? Let h-h-hooks be buried in the hands that took her! Crush them, Master, beneath stones. Where has she gone from the lemon-wood box I made for her, where she never slept at all, for she lay with me all night, not in the box, the lemon-wood box where she waited all day, watch-and-watch, Master, smiling when I laid her in so she might smile when I drew her out. How soft her hands were, her little hands. Like d-d-doves. She might have flown with them about the cabin had she not chosen instead to lie with me. W-w-wind their guts about your w-windlass, stuff their eyes into their mouths. Unman them, shave them clean below so their doxies may not know them, their lemans may rebuke them, leave them to the brazen laughter of the brazen mouths of st-st-strumpets. Work your will upon those guilty. Where was their mercy on the innocent? When did they tremble, when weep? What kind of men could do as they have done - thieves, false friends, betrayers, bad shipmates, no shipmates, murderers and kidnappers. W-without you, where are their nightmares, where are their restitutions, so long promised? Where are their chains, fetters, manacles, and cangues? Where are their abacinations, that shall leave them blind? Where are the defenestrations that shall break their bones, where is the estrapade that shall grind their joints? Where is she, the beloved whom I lost?"

>>5085163

"It happens."

-K. Vonnegut (Billy Pilgrim)