QUIZ — ALLITERATION

[Anonymouṡ No.22549307]

[Anonymouṡ No.22549309]

Rhyming is all very well, but if you're not careful, you can find yourself sounding like a Christmas cracker. What's the alternative? Why, alliteration, of course. The patrician choice for verbal texture since prehistoric times. Here are a hundred examples to identify. All the usual caveats (non-fiction, pop-culture rubbish, etc). Hints on request.


The authors:

John Ashbery, W. H. Auden

John Barth, Samuel Beckett, John Berryman, William Blake, Rupert Brooke, Thomas Browne, Robert Browning, William Cullen Bryant, Anthony Burgess, Lord Byron

Thomas Carlyle, Lewis Carroll, John Cheever, G. K. Chesterton, James Fenimore Cooper, Hart Crane, e. e. cummings

King David, Samuel R. Delaney, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson, Joan Didion, John Donne, Lord Dunsany, Bob Dylan

T. S. Eliot, James Ellroy

William Faulkner, Henry Fielding, Edward Fitzgerald, F. Scott Fitzgerald

Neil Gaiman, William Gass, Edward Gibbon, W. S. Gilbert, William Golding, Kenneth Grahame, Robert Graves, Thomas Gray

H. Rider Haggard, Thomas Hardy, Joel Chandler Harris, Seamus Heaney, William Ernest Henley, Thomas Hobbes, G. M. Hopkins, A. E. Houseman, Robert E. Howard

Robinson Jeffers, Jerome K. Jerome, James Joyce

John Keats, Rudyard Kipling

R. A. Lafferty, William Langland, Philip Larkin, D. H. Lawrence, Laurie Lee, John Lennon, Sinclair Lewis, Abraham Lincoln, H. W. Longfellow, H. P. Lovecraft

Christopher Marlowe, Cormac McCarthy, Herman Melville, H. L. Mencken, John Milton, Jim Morrison

Vladimir Nabokov, Richard Nixon

Wilfred Owen

Walter Pater, Mervyn Peake, Sylvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Ezra Pound, Thomas Pynchon

John Ruskin

Thomas de Quincey

Robert W. Service, William Shakespeare, P. B. Shelley, Elizabeth Smart, Gertude Stein, Laurence Sterne, Wallace Stevens, A. C. Swinburne

Alfred Lord Tennyson, Dylan Thomas, James Thurber, Mark Twain

John Updike

Evelyn Waugh, Walt Whitman, Virginia Woolf

W. B. Yeats

Warren Zevon

[Anonymouṡ No.22549314]

1)
Out of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander’d alone, bareheaded, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,
Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries . . .


2)
“He’s supposed to have a particularly high-class style: ‘Feather-footed through the plashy fen passes the questing vole’... would that be it?”

“Yes,” said the Managing Editor. “That must be good style. At least it doesn't sound like anything else to me.”


3)
Never in his life had he seen a river before — this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver — glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble.


4)
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o'-love, the lady that's known as Lou.


5)
What could be more full of meaning? — for the pulpit is ever this earth’s foremost part; all the rest comes in its rear; the pulpit leads the world. From thence it is the storm of God’s quick wrath is first descried, and the bow must bear the earliest brunt. From thence it is the God of breezes fair or foul is first invoked for favourable winds. Yes, the world’s a ship on its passage out, and not a voyage complete; and the pulpit is its prow.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549317]

6)
One day old is fine for frying. A little cream, a little egg, a little butter, dash of vanilla. What I like best — maybe what I like best in any average day — is the moment when the knife begins to cut into the crust: you are holding the loaf, of course, so that hand is happy; there is a satisfying sawing sound; the blade’s bright metallic bite says fresh; you can almost feel that same crunch beneath your teeth; crumbs fly about like bread sparks; and the board is covered in soft dust as if a piece of timber had been milled.


7)
The peddler now speaks to the countess who's pretending to care for him
Sayin', "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him"


8)
Tiny’s size was frightening. He was not tall, but his bulk was so unnatural that his clothes would have had to be sewn for him alone, and in spite of what he said about haste he walked very slowly, impeded by the bulk of his thighs. His gray hair was cut like a brush and you could see his scalp. “You got cellblock F,” he said. “F stands for fucks, freaks, fools, fruits, first-timers, fat-asses like me, phantoms, funnies, fanatics, feebies, fences and farts. There’s more, but I forget it. The guy who made it up is dead.”


9)
Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.


10)
The beauty of the best pigs lies in a certain sleepy perfection of contour which links them especially to the smooth strength of our south English land in which they live. There are two other things in which one can see this perfect and piggish quality: one is in the silent and smooth swell of the Sussex downs, so enormous and yet so innocent. The other is in the sleek, strong limbs of those beech trees that grow so thick in their valleys. These three holy symbols, the pig, the beech tree, and the chalk down, stand for ever as expressing the one thing that England as England has to say — that power is not inconsistent with kindness. Tears of regret come into my eyes when I remember that three lions or leopards or whatever they are, sprawl in a fantastic, foreign way across the arms of England. We ought to have three pigs passant, gardant, or on gules. It breaks my heart to think that four commonplace lions are couched around the base of the Nelson Column. There ought to be four colossal Hampshire hogs to keep watch over so national a spot.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549318]

11)
The moving finger writes, and having writ
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Years wash out a Word of it.


12)
Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call 'im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin' crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin' de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out:

'Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox — bred en bawn in a brier-patch!' en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.


13)
The result of this education was that the twins grew quite enamored of the world — especially Ebenezer, for Anna, from about her thirteenth birthday, began to grow more demure and less demonstrative. But Ebenezer could be moved to shivers by the swoop of a barn-swallow, to cries of laughter at the lace of a cobweb or the roar of an organ’s pedal-notes, and to sudden tears by the wit of Volpone, the tension of a violin-box, or the truth of the Pythagorean Theorem.


14)
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity . . .


15)
She was an enchanting study. Her gown was of a soft white silky stuff that clung to her round young figure like a fish’s skin, and it was rippled over with the gracefulest little fringy films of lace; she had deep, tender eyes, with long, curved lashes; and she had peachy cheeks, and a dimpled chin, and such a dear little rosebud of a mouth; and she was so dovelike, so pure, and so gracious, so sweet and so bewitching. For long hours I did mightily wish she would speak. And at last she did; the red lips parted, and out leaps her thought — and with such a guileless and pretty enthusiasm, too: “Auntie, I just *know* I’ve got five hundred fleas on me!”

[Anonymouṡ No.22549333]

11)
The moving finger writes, and having writ
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.


12)
Dar wuz a considerbul flutter whar Brer Rabbit struck de bushes, en Brer Fox sorter hang 'roun' fer ter see w'at wuz gwineter happen. Bimeby he hear somebody call 'im, en way up de hill he see Brer Rabbit settin' crosslegged on a chinkapin log koamin' de pitch outen his har wid a chip. Den Brer Fox know dat he bin swop off mighty bad. Brer Rabbit wuz bleedzed fer ter fling back some er his sass, en he holler out:

'Bred en bawn in a brier-patch, Brer Fox — bred en bawn in a brier-patch!' en wid dat he skip out des ez lively ez a cricket in de embers.


13)
The result of this education was that the twins grew quite enamored of the world — especially Ebenezer, for Anna, from about her thirteenth birthday, began to grow more demure and less demonstrative. But Ebenezer could be moved to shivers by the swoop of a barn-swallow, to cries of laughter at the lace of a cobweb or the roar of an organ’s pedal-notes, and to sudden tears by the wit of Volpone, the tension of a violin-box, or the truth of the Pythagorean Theorem.


14)
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity . . .


15)
She was an enchanting study. Her gown was of a soft white silky stuff that clung to her round young figure like a fish’s skin, and it was rippled over with the gracefulest little fringy films of lace; she had deep, tender eyes, with long, curved lashes; and she had peachy cheeks, and a dimpled chin, and such a dear little rosebud of a mouth; and she was so dovelike, so pure, and so gracious, so sweet and so bewitching. For long hours I did mightily wish she would speak. And at last she did; the red lips parted, and out leaps her thought — and with such a guileless and pretty enthusiasm, too: “Auntie, I just *know* I’ve got five hundred fleas on me!”

[Anonymouṡ No.22549337]

16)
Self-respect is something that our grandparents, whether or not they had it, knew all about. They had instilled in them, young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things that one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible comforts. It seemed to the nineteenth century admirable, but not remarkable, that Chinese Gordon put on a clean white suit and held Khartoum against the Mahdi; it did not seem unjust that the way to free land in California involved death and difficulty and dirt.


17)
The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water


18)
I wonder that any man among us lived and kept his sanity through that hideous day of discovery. Not Hoffmann or Huysmans could conceive a scene more wildly incredible, more frenetically repellent, or more Gothically grotesque than the twilit grotto through which we seven staggered; each stumbling on revelation after revelation, and trying to keep for the nonce from thinking of the events which must have taken place there three hundred years, or a thousand, or two thousand, or ten thousand years ago.


19)
Lots of folk live on their wits:
Lecturers, lispers,
Losels, loblolly-men, louts —
They don't end as paupers;

Lots of folk live up lanes
With fires in a bucket,
Eat windfalls and tinned sardines —
They seem to like it.


20)
— and it is certain (though as yet widely unknown), Servantship on the nomadic principle, at the rate of so many shillings per day, cannot be other than misdone. The whole world rises in shrieks against you, on hearing of such a thing: — yet the whole world, listening, to the cool Sheffield disclosures of rattening, and the market-rates of murder in that singular “Sheffield Assassination Company (Limited),” feels its hair rising on end; — to little purpose hitherto; being without even a gallows to make response!

[Anonymous No.22549339]

>>22549314
1 is obviously WW

[Anonymouṡ No.22549342]

21)
He rubbed his palms against denim. Where he was, was still. Somewhere else, wind whined.

The leaves winked.

What had been wind was a motion in brush below. His hand went to the rock behind.

She stood up, two dozen feet down and away, wearing only shadows the moon dropped from the viney maple; moved, and the shadows moved on her.

Fear prickled one side where his shirt (two middle buttons gone) bellied with a breeze. Muscle made a band down the back of his jaw. Black hair tried to paw off what fear scored on his forehead.

She whispered something that was all breath, and the wind came for the words and dusted away the meaning:

“Ahhhhh... ” from her.


22)
Storms, on the stone-cliffs beaten, fell on the stern
In icy feathers; full oft the eagle screamed
With spray on his pinion.
Not any protector
May make merry man faring needy.


23)
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.


24)
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind


25)
The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. “Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!” he shouted. “Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!” repeated Lieutenant Berg. “Full strength in No. 3 turret!” shouted the Commander. “Full strength in No. 3 turret!” The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned. “The Old Man’ll get us through,” they said to one another. “The Old Man ain’t afraid of Hell!” . . .

[Anonymouṡ No.22549346]

26)
GLAZED GLITTER.

Nickel, what is nickel, it is originally rid of a cover.

The change in that is that red weakens an hour. The change has come. There is no search. But there is, there is that hope and that interpretation and sometime, surely any is unwelcome, sometime there is breath and there will be a sinecure and charming very charming is that clean and cleansing.


27)
From his footprints flowed a river,
Leaped into the light of morning,
O’er the precipice plunging downward
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.


28)
Where there is no common Power, there is no Law: where no Law, no Injustice. Force, and Fraud, are in warre the two Cardinall vertues. Justice, and Injustice are none of the Faculties neither of the Body, nor Mind. If they were, they might be in a man that were alone in the world, as well as his Senses, and Passions. They are Qualities, that relate to men in Society, not in Solitude.


29)
. . . . When they joined the struggle
there was something they could not have known at the time,
that no blade on earth, no blacksmith's art
could ever damage their demon opponent.
He had conjured the harm from the cutting edge
of every weapon.


30)
To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear midnight such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement. The sensation may be caused by the panoramic glide of the stars past earthly objects, which is perceptible in a few minutes of stillness, or by the better outlook upon space that a hill affords, or by the wind, or by the solitude; but whatever be its origin, the impression of riding along is vivid and abiding. The poetry of motion is a phrase much in use, and to enjoy the epic form of that gratification it is necessary to stand on a hill at a small hour of the night, and, having first expanded with a sense of difference from the mass of civilised mankind, who are dreamwrapt and disregardful of all such proceedings at this time, long and quietly watch your stately progress through the stars.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549350]

31)
“We could plan a better meal than *this*” Roger waving the menu. “Start off with afterbirth appetizers, perhaps some clever little *scab sandwiches* with the crusts trimmed off of course . . . o-or booger biscuits! Mmm, yes, spread with mucus mayonnaise? and topped with a succulent bit of slime sausage. . . .”


32)
The women of Samos are lost in love for me:
Nag at their men, neglect their looms,
And send me secret missives, to my sorrow.


33)
The tinker in his burial tree was a wonder to the birds. The vultures that came by day to nose with their hooked beaks among his buttons and pockets like outrageous pets soon left him naked of his rags and flesh alike. Black mandrake sprang beneath the tree as it will where the seed of the hanged falls and in spring a new branch pierced his breast and flowered in a green boutonniere perennial beneath his yellow grin. He took the sparse winter snows upon what thatch of hair still clung to his dried skull and hunters that passed that way never chanced to see him brooding among his barren limbs. Until wind had tolled the tinker's bones and seasons loosed them one by one to the ground below and alone his bleached and weathered brisket hung in that lonesome wood like a bone birdcage.


34)
. . . . You, that
Were ne'er possessed of wealth, are pleas'd with want;
But give him liberty at least to mourn,
That in a field, amidst his enemies,
Doth see his soldiers slain, himself disarm'd,
And know no means of his recovery.


35)
Who made Man, with powers which dart him from earth to heaven in a moment —— that great, that most excellent, and most noble creature of the world —— the miracle of nature, as Zoroaster in his book *peri physeos* called him —— the Shekinah of the divine presence, as Chrysostom —— the image of God, as Moses —— the ray of divinity, as Plato —— the marvel of marvels, as Aristotle —— to go sneaking on at this pitiful —— pimping —— pettifogging rate?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549354]

36)
Wars are no longer waged by the will of superior men, capable of judging dispassionately and intelligently the causes behind them and the effects flowing out of them. They are now begun by first throwing a mob into a panic; they are ended only when it has spent its ferine fury. Here the effect of civilization has been to reduce the noblest of the arts, once the repository of an exulted etiquette and the chosen avocation of the very best men of the race, to the level of a riot of peasants. All the wars of Christendom are now disgusting and degrading; the conduct of them has passed out of the hands of nobles and knights and into the hands of mob-orators, money-lenders and atrocity-mongers.


37)
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being


38)
It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their forefathers, and declaim against the wickedness of times present. Which notwithstanding they cannot handsomely do, without the borrowed help and satire of times past; condemning the vices of their own times, by the expressions of vices in times which they commend, which cannot but argue the community of vice in both.


39)
Who gave thee thy wisdom? what stories
That stung thee, what visions that smote?
Wert thou pure and a maiden, Dolores,
When desire took thee first by the throat?
What bud was the shell of a blossom
That all men may smell to and pluck?
What milk fed thee first at what bosom?
What sins gave thee suck?


40)
And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549356]

41)
First, from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning at their discharge, flew forth two pointed ogles; but, happily for our heroe, hit only a vast piece of beef which he was then conveying into his plate, and harmless spent their force. The fair warrior perceived their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair bosom drew forth a deadly sigh. A sigh which none could have heard unmoved, and which was sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen beaus; so soft, so sweet, so tender, that the insinuating air must have found its subtle way to the heart of our heroe, had it not luckily been driven from his ears by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale, which at that time he was pouring forth.


42)
He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burneth the chariot in the fire.


43)
To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark dock,
In a pestilential prison, with a life-long lock,
Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock,
From a cheap and chippy chopper on a big black block!


44)
"I will tell you, Black Bran, king of Caledon! Oh, I knew you when you came into my hut with your black hair and your cold eyes! I will lead you to the doors of Hell if you wish — and the price shall be the kisses of a king!

What of my blasted and bitter life, I, whom mortal men loathe and fear? I have not known the love of men, the clasp of a strong arm, the sting of human kisses, I, Atla, the were-woman of the moors!"


45)
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549361]

46)
‘I sit on them that will not eat,’ said Ticklepenny, ‘jacking their jaws apart with the gag, spurning their tongues aside with the spatula, till the last tundish of drench is absorbed. I go round the cells with my shovel and bucket, I — ’


47)
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee


48)
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.


49)
Little old lady got mutilated late last night


50)
He blinked for a moment. There had been sun before, but not like this. The most seeming solid thing in the nave, was not the barricade of wood and canvas that cut the cathedral in two, at the choir steps, was not the two arcades of the nave, nor the chantries and painted tomb slabs between them. The most solid thing was the light. It smashed through the rows of windows in the south aisle, so that they exploded with colour, it slanted before him from right to left in an exact formation, to hit the bottom yard of the pillars on the north side of the nave. Everywhere, fine dust gave these rods and trunks of light the importance of a dimension. He blinked at them again, seeing, near at hand, how the individual grains of dust turned over each other, or bounced all together, like mayfly in a breath of wind. He saw how further away they drifted cloudily, coiled, or hung in a moment of pause, becoming, in the most distant rods and trunks, nothing but colour, honey-colour slashed across the body of the cathedral. Where the south transept lighted the crossways from a hundred and fifty foot of grisaille, the honey thickened in a pillar that lifted straight as Abel’s from the men working with crows at the pavement.

He shook his head in rueful wonder at the solid sunlight. If it were not for that Abel’s pillar, he thought, I would take the important level of light to be a true dimension, and so believe that my stone ship lay aground on her side; and he smiled a little, to think how the mind touches all things with law, yet deceives itself as easily as a child.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549365]

51)
“Good evening peepers, prowlers, pederasts, panty-sniffers, punks and pimps.”


52)
Centuries of summer suns had warmed the tops of the same noble oaks and pines, sending their heats even to the tenacious roots, when voices were heard calling to each other, in the depths of a forest, of which the leafy surface lay bathed in the brilliant light of a cloudless day in June, while the trunks of the trees rose in gloomy grandeur in the shades beneath.


53)
The crew was complete: it included a Boots —
A maker of Bonnets and Hoods —
A Barrister, brought to arrange their disputes —
And a Broker, to value their goods.

A Billiard-marker, whose skill was immense,
Might perhaps have won more than his share —
But a Banker, engaged at enormous expense,
Had the whole of their cash in his care.

There was also a Beaver, that paced on the deck,
Or would sit making lace in the bow:
And had often (the Bellman said) saved them from wreck,
Though none of the sailors knew how.


54)
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.


55)
‘Ask these good people who’s the hard man here. They’ll tell you Pancks, I believe.’

This was confirmed with cries of ‘Certainly,’ and ‘Hear!’

‘But I tell you, good people — Casby! This mound of meekness, this lump of love, this bottle-green smiler, this is your driver!’ said Pancks. ‘If you want to see the man who would flay you alive — here he is! Don’t look for him in me, at thirty shillings a week, but look for him in Casby, at I don’t know how much a year!’

[Anonymouṡ No.22549368]

56)
You cannot seek Destruction and return unscathed.

Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything.
Despair says little, and is patient.
Destiny smells of dust and the libraries of night. He leaves no footprints. He casts no shadow.
Who knows what Delirium sees, through her mismatched eyes?
Dream casts a human shadow, when it occurs to him to do so.
And there is Death.


57)
I know her scrubbed and sour humble hands
Lie with religion in their cramp, her threadbare
Whisper in a damp word, her wits drilled hollow,
Her fist of a face died clenched on a round pain;
And sculptured Ann is seventy years of stone.


58)
He was not fat but he was exceedingly well fed; his cheeks were pads, and the unroughened hand which lay helpless upon the khaki-colored blanket was slightly puffy.


59)
Motel money murder madness
Let's change the mood from glad to sadness


60)
Yes: a sparrow which God himself neglected to mark. Because though men, white men, created her, God did not stop it. He planted the seed which brought her to flower — the white blood to give the shape and pigment of what the white man calls female beauty, to female principle which existed, queenly and complete, in the hot equatorial groin of the world long before that white one of ours came down from trees and lost its hair and bleached out — a principle apt docile and instinct with strange and ancient curious pleasures of the flesh (which is all: there is nothing else) which her white sisters of a mushroom yesterday flee from in moral and outraged horror — a principle which, where her white sister must needs try to make an economic matter of it like someone who insists upon installing a counter or a scales or a safe in a store or business for a certain percentage of the profits, reigns, wise supine and all-powerful, from the sunless and silken bed which is her throne.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549370]

61)
Happy the hare at morning, for she cannot read
The Hunter's waking thoughts, lucky the leaf
Unable to predict the fall, lucky indeed
The rampant suffering suffocating jelly
Burgeoning in pools, lapping the grits of the desert,
But what shall man do, who can whistle tunes by heart,
Knows to the bar when death shall cut him short like the cry of the shearwater,
What can he do but defend himself from his knowledge?


62)
We find ourselves rich in goods, but ragged in spirit; reaching with magnificent precision for the moon, but failing into raucous discord on earth.


63)
The vulgarest tool that Tyranny could want,
With just enough of talent, and no more,
To lengthen fetters by another fix'd,
And offer poison long already mix'd.


64)
Speaking with warmth and eloquence, she described the iniquity of the English dairy system, and in what state milk was delivered at the door, and was about to prove her charges, for she had gone into the matter, when all round the table, beginning with Andrew in the middle, like a fire leaping from tuft to tuft of furze, her children laughed; her husband laughed; she was laughed at, fire-encircled, and forced to veil her crest, dismount her batteries, and only retaliate by displaying the raillery and ridicule of the table to Mr. Bankes as an example of what one suffered if one attacked the prejudices of the British Public.


65)
The serpent crest of the king's crown, or of the god's, on the pillars of Egypt, is a mystery; but the serpent itself, gliding past the pillar's foot, is it less a mystery? Is there, indeed, no tongue, except the mute forked flash from its lips, in that running brook of horror on the ground?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549377]

66)
On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.


67)
I was wery for-wandred,
And wente me to reste
Under a brood bank
By a bournes syde;
And as I lay and lenede,
And loked on the watres,
I slombred into a slepyng,
It sweyed so murye.


68)
Letters blackly scarred with the censor’s knife translate the unimaginable: ‘I heard a child ask where its legs were.’ ‘We think with longing now of onions and lemons.’ The radio voice says: ‘Out of privation and the death of friends arises a new determination.’

Bombs are bigger, but the human brains they burst remain the same. It is the faces we once kissed that are being smashed in the English coastal towns, the hands we shook that are swept up with the debris; the headlines speak to us of our private lives: yet still the mangy dog skulking under our window arouses a realer pity. Babylon and Sodom and the Roman Empire fell, but the winter blizzard cuts as cruelly as ever, and love still uproots the heart better than an imagined landmine.


69)
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy.


70)
You in your stone home where the sycamore
More than I see you sees you, where luck's grass
Smooths your bare feet more often, even your glass
Touches your hand and tips to your lips to pour
Whatever is in it into you, through which door
O moving softness do you just now pass —
Your slippers' prows curled, red and old — alas
With what soft thought for me, at sea, and sore?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549381]

71)
Civilization should wipe away our tears, and yet we weep and cannot be comforted. Warfare is abhorrent to her, and yet we strike out for hearth and home, for honour and fair fame, and can glory in the blow. And so on, through everything.

So, when the heart is stricken, and the head is humbled in the dust, civilization fails us utterly. Back, back, we creep, and lay us like little children on the great breast of Nature, she that perchance may soothe us and make us forget, or at least rid remembrance of its sting.


72)
He prevented the murder of Mistinguett in Mexico.
He has a knack for abortions. If you see
He is following you, forget him immediately:
He is dangerous even though asleep and unarmed.


73)
Here was a panacea, a *pharmacy nepenthes* for all human woes; here was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed for so many ages, at once discovered: happiness might now be bought for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat pocket; portable ecstacies might be had corked up in a pint bottle, and peace of mind could be sent down in gallons by the mail-coach.


74)
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone


75)
‘I own ten-thousand back-loads of corn. I own gold and beans and nine buffalo horns full of watermelon seeds. I own the loin cloth that the sun wore on his fourth journey across the sky. Only three loin cloths in the world are older and more valued than this. I cry out to you in a big voice like the hammering of herons’ (that sound-verb-particle is badly translated, the hammer being not a modern pounding hammer but a rock angling, chipping hammer) ‘and the belching of buffaloes. My love is sinewy as entwined snakes, it is steadfast as the sloth, it is like a feathered arrow shot into your abdomen — such is my love. Why is my love unrequited?’

[Anonymouṡ No.22549385]

76)
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware.


77)
Crab-a-locker fishwife, pornographic priestess


78)
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.


79)
The plowman homeward plods his weary way


80)
And you. You. You allow your skirt, the same black skirt in which this morning you with woman’s soft bravery mounted a bicycle and sallied forth to play hymns in difficult keys on the Sunday school’s old piano — you allow this black skirt to slide off your raised knees down your thighs, slide wp your thighs in your body’s absolute geography, so the parallel whiteness of their undersides is exposed to the fire’s warmth and to my sight. Oh. There is a line of Joyce. I try to recover it from the legendary, imperfectly explored grottoes of Ulysses: a garter snapped, to please Blazes Boylan, in a deep Dublin den. What? Smackwarm. That was the crucial word. Smacked smackwarm on her smackable warm woman’s thigh. Something like that. A splendid man, to feel that. Smackwarm woman’s. Splendid also to feel the curious and potent, inexplicable and irrefutably magical life language leads within itself. What soul took thought and knew that adding “wo” to man would make a woman? The difference exactly. The wide W, the receptive O. Womb. In our crescent the children for all their size seem to come out of you toward me, wet fingers and eyes, tinted bronze. Three children, five persons, seven years. Seven years since I wed wide warm woman, white-thighed. Wooed and wed. Wife. A knife of a word that for all its final bite did not end the wooing. To my wonderment.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549388]

81)
He was in a manner tricked, coney-caught, a court-dor to a cozening cotquean. So are all men, first gulls, later horned gulls, and so will ever be all men, amen. It was easier to believe so, yet the real truth is that all men choose what they will have.


82)
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.


83)
The love of the diver for his world of wavering light. His world of pearls and tendrils and his breath at his breast. Born as a plunger into the deeps, he is at one with every swarm of lime-green fish, with every colored sponge. As he holds himself to the ocean’s faery floor, one hand clasped to a bedded whale’s rib, he is complete and infinite. Pulse, power, and universe sway in his body. He is in love.


84)
But the coals were murmuring of their mine,
And moans down there
Of boys that slept wry sleep, and men
Writhing for air.


85)
It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon, it says, “Work!” After beefsteak and porter, it says, “Sleep!” After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don’t let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, “Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!”

[Anonymouṡ No.22549390]

86)
By aid of this starveling stock — *pauvre plante et vergette* — of the French language, he must speak delicately, movingly, if he is ever to speak at all: that, or none, must be for him the medium of what he calls, in one of his great phrases, *le discours fatal des choses montaines* — that discourse about affairs which decide men's fates.


87)
The human dress is forgèd iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.


88)
To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping,
Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary


89)
I leave you, hoping that the lamp of liberty will burn in your bosoms until there shall no longer be a doubt that all men are created free and equal.


90)
. . . And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549394]

91)
Though it was every moment in their power to repeal the disgraceful edict of Gallienus, the proud successors of the Scipios patiently acquiesced in their exclusion from all military employments. They soon experienced, that those who refuse the sword must renounce the sceptre.


92)
He likes a Boggy Acre
A Floor too cool for Corn —
Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot —
I more than once at Noon

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash
Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
It wrinkled, and was gone —


93)
Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.
Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,
Sliding by semitones till I sink to the minor, — yes . . .


94)
That kitchen, worn by our boots and lives, was scruffy, warm, and low, whose fuss of furniture seemed never the same but was shuffled around each day. A black grate crackled with coal and beech-twigs; towels toasted on the guard; the mantel was littered with fine old china, horse brasses, and freak potatoes. On the floor were strips of muddy matting, the windows were choked with plants, the walls supported stopped clocks and calendars, and smoky fungus ran over the ceilings.


95)
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549400]

96)
Much homage hath Slid among the cities of men and pleasant are the woodland paths and the paths of the plains, and pleasant the high valleys where he danceth in the hills; but Slid would be fettered neither by banks nor boundaries — so the soul of Slid is in the Sea.


97)
What but the wolf's tooth whittled so fine
The fleet limbs of the antelope?
What but fear winged the birds, and hunger
Jewelled with such eyes the great goshawk's head?
Violence has been the sire of all the world's values.


98)
'Good-bye. I am going to the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees, to find out what the Crocodile has for dinner.'


99)
O slow
Horse the colour of rust,

Hooves, dolorous bells —
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.


100)
For they met and mated and bedded and buckled and got and gave and reared and raised and brought Thawland within Har danger, and turned them, tarrying to the sea and planted and plundered and pawned our souls and pillaged the pounds of the extramurals and fought and feigned with strained relations and bequeathed us their ills and recrutched cripples gait and under-mined lungachers, manplanting seven sisters while wan warm — wooed woman scrubbs, and turned out coats and removed their origins and never learned the first day’s lesson and tried to mingle and managed to save and feathered foes’ nests and fouled their own and wayleft the arenotts and ponted vodavalls for the zollgebordened and escaped from liquidation by the heirs of their death and were responsible for congested districts and rolled olled logs into Peter’s sawyery and werfed new woodcuts on Paoli’s wharf and ewesed Rachel’s lea and rammed Dominic’s gap and looked haggards after lazatables and rode fourscore odd-winters and struck rock oil and forced a policeman and col — laughsed at their phizes in Toobiassed and Zachary and left off leaving off and kept on keeping on and roused up drink and poured balm down and were cuffed by their customers and bit the dust at the foot of the poll when in her deergarth he gave up his goat after the battle of Multaferry. Pharoah with fairy, two lie, let them!

[Anonymouṡ No.22549455]

>>22549339
>1 is obviously WW
Normally we like more information but this gets the essentials across. Walt Whitman, for anyone who didn't check the author list. He tried various titles, I believe (but these days it's just called Out Of The Cradle Endlessly Rocking). When it was first published, a newspaper said it was hopeless drivel. They didn't mince words in those days.

[Anonymous No.22549494]

>>22549307
>le word sounds like le other word

[Anonymous No.22549541]

>>22549350
33 is McCarthy. That passage is probably the best from Outer Dark. So sonorous.

12 is Riddley walker by Hoban.

[Anonymous No.22549568]

5) Father Mapple's pulpit from Moby Dick
9) Lolita
18) Sounds like H.P. Lovecraft, though I definitely won't know which work.
23) Closing line of the Great Gatsby
27) Song of Hiawatha
45) T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men

[Anonymous No.22549600]

Is 85 Melville?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549632]

>>22549541

>33 is McCarthy.
Correct
>Outer Dark
Correct
>That passage is probably the best. So sonorous.
Well there are several good passages.

>12 is Riddley walker by Hoban.
Haha, RW does have some passages a bit like this. RH isn't in the author list, though.

[Anonymous No.22549639]

>>22549307
The Scipios one Gibbon?

[Anonymouṡ No.22549649]

>>22549568

5) Father Mapple's pulpit from Moby Dick
9) Lolita
Correct.

18) Sounds like H.P. Lovecraft, though I definitely won't know which work.
Yes, it's HPL. One of the half-dozen most well-known stories I would say. Maybe someone else can identify it.

23) Closing line of the Great Gatsby
Of course.

27) Song of Hiawatha
Correct. Longfellow. The only major poem that ever used this rhythm as far as I know.

45) T.S. Eliot's The Hollow Men
Right.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549655]

>>22549600
>Is 85 Melville?
Nope, Melville is already identified as #5 (no author appears twice). #85 sounds a bit like him I guess but it's a lot more lightweight & comic.

[Anonymouṡ No.22549684]

>>22549639
>The Scipios one Gibbon?
#91. Yes, Decline and Fall. One of the few lines that's actually memorable (partly because of the alliteration, I guess. Partly because it's short and easy to understand and comes at the end of a chapter).

[Anonymous No.22551028]

>>22549307

Presenting: Pretentious Poopy Pollock Painting, per pederast. Afterward, An Alcoholic Artist's Auto Accident and Annihilation.

[Anonymouṡ No.22552324]

>>22551028
Appealingly adept, although answers are absent. Any additional anons available? Astute assistance always acceptable.

[Anonymous No.22552344]

>>22549385
80 is Gass

[Anonymouṡ No.22552373]

>>22552344
>80 is Gass
Incorrect. It does sound a bit like him, I agree. Gass is rarely this wholesome, though. He spends most of his time lashing out at the world. (That said, the Gass extract in this quiz is actually very wholesome, which just goes to show how tricky life can be.)

I also just noticed there's a typo in there. "Slide wp your thighs" should be "slide *up*", obviously.

[Anonymouṡ No.22553622]

Bump.