Book jigsaw

[amathela]

From alixtii:

Take the five books nearest you, and use the following sentences to make a passage:

Book 1 - first sentence
Book 2 - last sentence, page 50
Book 3 - second sentence, page 100
Book 4 - next to last sentence, page 150
Book 5 - final sentence

.....

It ended with a dream. Ten minutes of instruction hadn't made me a crack shot. I can explain. Why, all his behaviours did make their retire to the court of his eye, peeping through desire; his heart, like an agate, with your print impress'd, proud with his form, in his eye pride express'd: his tongue, all impatient to speak and not see, did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be; all senses to that sense did make their repair, to feel only looking on fairest of fair, methought all his senses were lock'd in his eye, as jewels in crystal for some prince to buy; who ten'dring their own worth from where they were glass'd, did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd. Then he is a dead man said Joe Byrne he has just decided.

.....

And, just because that was possibly the awesomest passage ever, the books:

Kushiel's Avatar, Jacqueline Carey
One for the Money, Janet Evanovich
Everyone Worth Knowing, Lauren Weisberger
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Oxford University Press (and particularly, Love's Labour's Lost)
True History of the Kelly Gang, Peter Carey

Comments

[talumin.livejournal.com]

1801 - I have just returned from a visit with my landlord - the solitary neighbour I shall that be troubled with. He frowned at her quizzically, wondering what she meant, but she only tucked her arm through his. I taught my silks, their whistling to forebear, even my oppressed shoes, dumb and speechless were, only, thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid next to me, me traitorously hast betrayed, and unsuspected hast invisibly at once fled unto him, and stayed with me. Sexually, we didn't really do anything, but you wanted to look like you did. Now the sun's entirely caged; its dazzle spills through the ridge's fretwork of trees like the spill of ore in a foundry, and the blue snow wind cuts the evening from the afternoon like a blue-overalled craftsman who might incise from yellow plywood a template of astounding intricacy, disclosing the iconic clouds, fish, birds and trees from a minor, brilliant culture long diffused into others, and in this time of the human surfeit there is not a human in sight now, there's not a human sound audible, while the cars at the kerbside are lodged like gems in the deep ore-seams of earth, and I cannot be elsewhere than from my observing self trusting neither to belief nor to unbelief as these moments slide and eddy, oferingboth how they will be remembered and by how much else they will be utterly effaced.