The OF Blog: Even more quotes from books being read

Friday, May 27, 2011

Even more quotes from books being read

From beyond the screen of bushes which surrounded the spring, Popeye watched the man drinking.  A faint path led from the road to the spring.  Popeye watched the man - a tall, thin man, hatless, in worn gray flannel trousers and carrying a tweed coat over his arm - emerge from the path and kneel to drink from the spring.

Since the opening of the pioneering industry, in the estuary of Ponta da Areia, in Nictheroy - birthplace of the Baron locomotive - not a month goes by without a new factory opening its doors to work.  The rhythm inside the factories is as intense as the hurly-burly in the streets, and not only during the day, but also along the nights, something that became feasible when the gaslight network replaced the old whale oil lamps.  Neither luminosity nor even the imperial decree that outlawed the practice of capoeira and kung fu stopped the streets from becoming the stage for showdowns between the [rival groups]...

Soon he reached the overlook:  green rolling hills, a muddy winding river, an expanse of forest unbroken except for the town of Buell and its steelmill.  The mill itself had been like a small city, but they had closed it in 1987, partially dismantled it ten years later; it now stood like an ancient ruin, its buildings grown over with bittersweet vine, devil's tear thumb, and tree of heaven.  The footprints of deer and coyotes crisscrossed the grounds; there was only the occasional human squatter.

The tower stood upon an island that lay at the center of Lake Bakeel, fed by a lingering finger of the Derna River.  Beyond the lake lay the gnarled forests and baleful grasslands through which none, not even erb or deoband, traveled without his knowledge or permission.  Despite this mastery, Sarnod found that each new morning an unease came over him, like a hook in his heart, accompanied by a strange thirst.  He seemed always dry, his skin itchy and taut.  The bowl of water he kept in his chabers did not help.  The fresh, moist smell of the lake beyond came through the window like a thing physical, threat and surcease both.

White:  When were you in the penitentiary?

Black:  Long time ago.

White:  What were you in for?

Black:  Murder.

White:  Really?

Black:  Now who would claim to be a murderer that wasnt one?

White:  You called it the jailhouse.

Black:  Yeah?

White:  Do most blacks call the penitentiary the jailhouse?

Black:  Naw.  Just us old country niggers.  We kind of make it a point to call things for what they is.  I'd hate to guess how many names they is for the jailhouse.  I'd hate to have to count em.

It was genuine.  Some people in this place crawl inside themselves and play the tough guy to survive.  Mark Rolland genuinely made a choice, suffered the consequences, and was prepared to live with whatever happened next, surrounded by the warm waters of one hour with some idea of an angel with perfect skin.

Which of these six quotes appeals to you?  Can you guess any of the books from which I extracted those quotes?

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