Favourite pieces of literature/writing

[infernal_contessa]

Post your favourite pieces of literature here.

If it's too long to post, then pick a passage from the work. Otherwise, post it in its entirety.

Tell us why you like it.

It can be poetry, philosophy, prose, fiction, non-fiction, music lyrics, etc.

To begin:

The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;-- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow-- sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me-- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-- here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning-- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered-- not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never-- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee-- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!-- prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by Horror haunted-- tell me truly, I implore--
Is there-- is there balm in Gilead?-- tell me-- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil-- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us-- by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!-- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-- nevermore!


Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

 

[SirFace]

The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky. On the road so I cant quote anything but its the most intense love and pain story Ive ever read. And the first time I read it I was 12. Maybe thats why I am the way I am.

 

[luxey313]

Lolita
The Virgin Suicides
The End of Alice

 

[infernal_contessa]

"Wait. And hope". - The Count of Monte Cristo.

 

[luxey313]

Love Will Tear Us Apart (Again)- Joy Division

When the routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And the resentment rides high
But emotions wont grow
And were changing our ways,
Taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again

Why is the bedroom so cold
Turned away on your side?
Is my timing that flawed,
Our respect run so dry?
Yet theres still this appeal
That weve kept through our lives
Love, love will tear us apart again

Do you cry out in your sleep
All my failings expose?
Get a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Is it something so good
Just cant function no more?
When love, love will tear us apart again

 

[BoobsNBrains]

"Much Ado about Nothing" - Billy Shakes

Also, "To Kill a Mockingbird" - Harper Lee

 

[McKenna]

The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. To this day, the best book I've ever read about Vietnam.


Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. Here's the blurb from Barnes and Noble: "Desert Solitaire is an account of Abbey's seasons as a ranger at Arches National Park outside Moab, Utah. Abbey reflects on the nature of the Colorado Plateau desert, on the condition of our remaining wilderness, and on the future of a civilization that cannot reconcile itself to living in the natural world. He also recounts adventures with scorpions and snakes, obstinate tourists and entrenched bureaucrats, and, most powerful of all, with his own mortality."

Fabulous book about what's done to the environment in the name of "progress."

 

[McKenna]

A Taste of Desert Solitaire:

"Wilderness. The word itself is music.

"Wilderness, wilderness . . . We scarcely know what we mean by the term, though the sound of it draws all whose nerves and emotions have not yet been irreparably stunned, deadened, numbed by the caterwauling of commerce, the sweating scramble for profit and domination.

"Why such allure in the very word? What does it really mean? Can wilderness be defined in the words of government officialdom as simple as "A minimum of not less than 5000 contiguous acres of roadless area'? This much may be essential in attempting a definition but it is not sufficient; something more is involved.

"Suppose we say that wilderness invokes nostalgia, a justified not merely sentimental nostalgia for the lost America our forefathers knew. The word suggests the past and the unknown, the womb of earth from which we all emerged. It means something lost and something still present, something remote and at the same time intimate, something buried in our blood and nerves, something beyond us and without limit, Romance--but not to be dismissed on that account. The romantic view, while not the whole of truth, is a necessary part of the whole truth.

"But the love of wilderness is more than a hunger for what is always beyond reach; it is also an expression of loyalty to the earth, the earth which bore us and sustains us, the only home we shall ever know, the only paradise we ever need--if only we had the eyes to see. Original sin, the true original sin, is the blind destruction for the sake of greed of this natural paradise which lies all around us--if only we were worthy of it."

"Some people who think of themselves as hard-headed realists would tell us that the cult of the wild is possible only in an atmosphere of comfort and safety and was therefore unknown to the pioneers who subdued half a continent with their guns and plows and barbed wire. Is this true? Consider the sentiments of Charles Marion Russell, the cowboy artist, as quoted in John Hutchens' One Man's Montana:

I have been called a pioneer. In my book a pioneer is a man who comes to virgin country, traps off al the fur, kills off all the wild meat, cuts down all the trees, grazes off all the grass, plows the roots up and strings ten million miles of wire. A pioneer destroys things and calls it civilization.​

"No, wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread. A civilization which destroys what little remains of the wild, the spare, the original, is cutting itself off from its origins and betraying the principle of civilization itself."

 

[DV81]

The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien. To this day, the best book I've ever read about Vietnam.

I read that, brilliantly written.
I recommend:

• 
  Einstein's Dreams- Allan Lightman
  Fahrenheit 451, Something Wicked this Way Comes-Ray Bradbury
  Books of Blood 1-3 - Clive Barker
  The Monkey's Paw and Other Tales of Mystery and the Macabre-W. W. Jacobs and Gary Hoppenstand

 

[breakwall]

From "The Great Gatsby" by F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless and with her chin raised a little as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it - indeed I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise - she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression - then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

"I'm p-paralyzed with happiness."

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I've heard it said that Daisy's murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)

 

[tymeblind]

ok The Importance of Being Hated by Chuck Klosterman

The Importance of Being Hated.

In thing golden age of enmity, friends are for suckers. What you need are a pair of well-chosen foes.

"IT'S NOT WHAT YOU KNOW," they say. "It's who you know." We have all heard this sentiment, and we all reflexively agree with it. This is because "they" are hard to debate, especially since "they" never seem to be in the room whenever anyone makes reference to them. Yet they have a secret shame, and it's a shame they can't deny: They are losers. They don't realize that life is--almost without exception--an absolute and everyone who succeeds completely deserves it.(n1) The only people who disagree with this are people who will never succeed at anything. You see, "they" want you to believe the passageway to power is all about cultivating allies, so they spend all their time trying to make friends and influence people. And this is why they fail. It rarely matters who is on your side; what matters is who is against you. Unlike Gloria Loring, you don't need a friend and you don't need a lover. What you need is a) one quality nemesis, and b) one archenemy. These are the two most important characters in the life of any successful human. We measure ourselves against our nemeses, and we long to destroy our archenemies. Nemeses and archenemies are the catalysts for everything.

Now, I know that you're probably asking yourself, How do I know the difference between my nemesis and my archenemy? Here is the short answer: You kind of like your nemesis, despite the fact that you despise him. If your nemesis invited you out for cocktails, you would accept the offer. If he died, you would attend his funeral and--privately--you might shed a tear over his passing. But you would never have drinks with your archenemy, unless you were attempting to spike his gin with hemlock. If you were to perish, your archenemy would dance on your grave, and then he'd burn down your house and molest your children. You hate your archenemy so much that you try to keep your hatred secret, because you don't want your archenemy to have the satisfaction of being hated.

If this distinction seems confusing, just ask your girlfriend to explain it in detail; women have always intuitively grasped the nemesis/archenemy dichotomy. Every woman I've ever known has had at least one close friend whose only purpose in life is to criticize her actions, compete for the attention of men, and drive her insane; very often, this is a woman's best friend. Every woman also has a former friend (usually someone from high school with large breasts) whom she has loathed for years (and whom she will continue to loath with the intensity of a thousand suns, even if she sees her only once every ten years). This is her archenemy. Women intrinsically understand human dynamics, and this makes them unstoppable. Unfortunately, the average man is less adroit at fostering such rivalries, which is why most men remain average. Males are better at hating things that can't hate them back (e.g., lawn mowers, cats, the 1986 Denver Broncos, et cetera). Most men fail to see a world beyond themselves; if given the choice, they would connect themselves to nothing. But greatness cannot be achieved in a vacuum, and great people know that.

In the 1980s, Larry Bird's nemesis was Magic Johnson, and it was always beautiful when they tangled. But Bird's archenemy wasn't Magic; it was Isiah Thomas. When the Celtics played the Pistons, it was a train wreck, and it went deeper than basketball: In 1987, Isiah supported Dennis "Rush" Rodman when he claimed Bird was famous only because he was white. Larry forgave Isiah in public, but he still iced him in the end; the first thing Bird did after becoming president of the Pacers was fire Zeke as head coach. Steve Jobs is Bill Gates's nemesis, but if Gates had only one bullet in his revolver, he'd shoot David Boies. J. R. Ewing was at war with nemesis/brother Bobby for twelve seasons (thirteen if you count the year Victoria Principal dreamed he was dead), but Cliff Barnes was the true Minotaur of Southfork. Jack White turned Von Bondies singer Jason Stollsteimer's face into a speed bag, but Stollsteimer barely even deserves nemesis stature; White's archenemy is Ryan Adams (although he'd be better off if it were Julian Casablancas of the Strokes). The Joker was Batman's nemesis, but--ironically--his archenemy was Superman, since Superman made Batman seem entirely mortal and generally nonessential. Nobody likes to admit this, but Batman hated Superman; Superman is the reason Batman became an alcoholic.(n2)

This fall, George W. Bush will seek reelection, and whoever the Democrats end up nominating will become Bush's "nemesis by default" (although not his true nemesis; that will always be John McCain). But none of the candidates has a shot at becoming Bush's archenemy; that designation is inflexible. W's archenemy is Bill Clinton (mostly because Bill beat up his dad in '92). George W. Bush will never face the man he hates most; this is why George W. Bush will never achieve greatness. However, when we get to 2008--when Clinton's wife faces the little brother of her husband's archenemy--it will be a bloodbath. When the families of archenemies collide, skulls get pounded into pulp. Jeb-Hillary will be like Frazier-Ali III.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of my nemesis's Buick Skylark when he punched me in 1992; I jacked his jaw at a keg party in '94. These days I mostly just read his blog, although we did have a pressure-packed lunch at the Fargo Olive Garden over Christmas. Meanwhile, I've had the same archenemy since eighth grade: He's a guy named Rick Helling, and he grew up in Lakota, North Dakota. Last year, Helling pitched a few innings for the Marlins in the World Series; in 1998, he won twenty games for the Rangers. I went to basketball camp with Rick Helling in 1985, and he was the single worst person I'd ever met. Every summer, I constantly scan the sports section of USA Today, always hoping that he got shelled. This is what drives me. I cannot live in a world where Helling's career ERA hovers below 5.00, yet all I do for a living is type. As long as Rick Helling walks this earth, I shall never sleep soundly.

I realize there are those who don't think it's necessary (or even wise) to consciously create adversaries; Will Rogers claimed that he never met a man he didn't like. But what is Will Rogers famous for, really? For telling jokes that don't have punch lines? For wearing a bandanna like an ascot? Who wants that for a legacy? There is a reason they say, "Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer." Granted, "they" usually don't know what they're talking about, but sometimes "they" get lucky, you know?

How to Make Enemies

• As the accompanying essay makes clear, you'll need a nemesis and an archenemy if you wish to be successful in this world. The good news is, it's entirely possible that you already have each of these entities in your life; perhaps you just don't realize it (or maybe you can't tell them apart). As a public service, here are a few signs.

RECOGNIZING YOUR NEMESIS

• At some point in the past, this person was (arguably) your best friend.

• You have punched this person in the face.

• If invited, you would go to this person's wedding and give him a spice rack, but you mould secretly hope that his marriage ends in a bitter, public divorce.

• People who barely know both of you assume you are close friends; people who know both of you intimately suspect that you profoundly dislike each other.

• If your archenemy tried to kill you, this person would attempt to stop him.

RECOGNIZING YOUR ARCHENEMY

• Every time you talk to this person, you lie.

• If you meet someone who has the same first name as this person, you immediately like him less.

• The satisfaction you feel from your own success pales in comparison to the despair you feel at this person's triumphs, even if those triumphs are completely unrelated to your life.

• If this person slept with your girlfriend, she would never be attractive to you again.

• Even if this person's girlfriend was a hateful bitch, you should sleep with her out of spite.

(n1) The exceptions being Dale Peck, MTV on-air personalities who aren't Kurt Loder, Al Franken, and myself.

 

[atmas]

Best thread on lit.
The Dead, James Joyce:

"So what did he die from, this Michael Furey?"
"I believe he died for me."




And The Bhagavad Gita:
Freedom from action is never achieved through inaction.

 

[SkAoUt]

Gloria by Keith Maillard
All of his Raysberg series but Gloria in particular

Earl Birneys poem David which was required reading in HS.

"David and I that summer cut trails on the Survey,
All week in the valley for wages, in air that was steeped
in the wail of mosquitoes, but over the sunalive week-ends
we climbed, to get from the ruck of the camp, the surly

Poker, the wrangling, the snoring under the fetid
Tents, and because we had joy in our lengthening coltish
Muscles, and mountains for David were made to see over,
Stairs from the valleys and steps to the sun's retreats...."