Parts from books you've liked

[. . .]

List parts from books you've liked.

The ending of the J.G. Ballard short story The Garden of Time:

?Tonight we?ll pick the flowers together, my dear,? he said to her evenly. ?One for each of us.?
He peered only briefly over the wall. They could hear, less than a kilometre away, the great dull roar of the ragged
army, the ring of iron and lash, pressing on towards the house.
Quickly, Axel plucked his flower, a bud no bigger than a sapphire. As it flickered softly, the tumult outside
momentarily receded, then began to gather again.
Shutting his ears to the clamour, Axel looked around at the villa, counting the six columns in the portico, then
gazed out across the lawn at the silver disc of the lake, its bowl reflecting the last evening light, and at the shadows
moving between the tall trees, lengthening across the crisp turf. He lingered over the bridge where he and his wife had
stood arm in arm for so many summers ?
?Axel!?
The tumult outside roared into the air; a thousand voices bellowed only twenty or thirty metres away. A stone
flew over the wall and landed among the time flowers, snapping several of the brittle stems. The Countess ran towards
him as a further barrage rattled along the wall. Then a heavy tile whirled through the air over their heads and crashed
into one of the conservatory windows.
?Axel!? He put his arms around her, straightening his silk cravat when her shoulder brushed it between his lapels.
?Quickly, my dear, the last flower!? He led her down the steps and through the garden. Taking the stem between
her jewelled fingers, she snapped it cleanly, then cradled it within her palms.
For a moment the tumult lessened slightly and Axel collected himself. In the vivid light sparkling from the flower he
saw his wife?s white, frightened eyes. ?Hold it as long as you can, my dear, until the last grain dies.?
Together they stood on the terrace, the Countess clasping the brilliant dying jewel, the air closing in upon them as
the voices outside mounted again. The mob was battering at the heavy iron gates, and the whole villa shook with the
massive impact.
While the final glimmer of light sped away, the Countess raised her palms to the air, as if releasing an invisible bird,
then in a final access of courage put her hands in her husband?s, her smile as radiant as the vanished flower.
?Oh, Axel!? she cried.
Like a sword, the darkness swooped down across them.
Heaving and swearing, the outer edge of the mob reached the knee-high remains of the wall enclosing the ruined
estate, hauled their carts over it and along the dry ruts of what had once been an ornate drive. The ruin, formerly a
spacious villa, barely interrupted the ceaseless tide of humanity. The lake was empty, fallen trees rotting at its bottom,
an old bridge rusting into it. Weeds flourished among the long grass in the lawn, over-running the ornamental
pathways and carved stone screens.
Much of the terrace had crumbled, and the main section of the mob cut straight across the lawn, by-passing the
gutted villa, but one or two of the more curious climbed up and searched among the shell. The doors had rotted from
their hinges and the floors had fallen through. In the music room an ancient harpsichord had been chopped into
firewood, but a few keys still lay among the dust. All the books had been toppled from the shelves in the library, the
canvases had been slashed, and gilt frames littered the floor.
As the main body of the mob reached the house, it began to cross the wall at all points along its length. Jostled
together, the people stumbled into the dry lake, swarmed over the terrace and pressed through the house towards the
open doors on the north side.
One area alone withstood the endless wave. Just below the terrace, between the wrecked balcony and the wall was
a dense, two-metre high growth of heavy thorn bushes. The barbed foliage formed an impenetrable mass, and the
people passing stepped around it carefully, noticing the belladonna entwined among the branches. Most of them were
too busy finding their footing among the upturned flagstones to look up into the centre of the thorn-bushes, where
two stone statues stood side by side, gazing out over the grounds from their protected vantage point. The larger of
the figures was the effigy of a bearded man in a high-collared jacket, a cane under one arm. Beside him was a woman in
an elaborate full-skirted dress, her slim serene face unmarked by the wind and rain. In her left hand she lightly clasped
a single rose, the delicately formed petals so thin as to be almost transparent.
As the sun died away behind the house a single ray of light glanced through a shattered cornice and struck the
rose, reflected off the whorl of petals on to the statues, lighting up the grey stone so that for a fleeting moment it was
indistinguishable from the long-vanished flesh of the statues? originals.

 

[. . .]

Here's a brilliant part from The Green Pearl by Jack Vance:

LONG LIAM THE BARBER wended his way by lane and by road south into Dahaut, that he might ply his trade at the harvest festivals of the late summer. Arriving at the town Mildenberry, he did brisk trade and one afternoon was summoned to Fotes Sachant, the country house of Lord Imbold. A footman took him into a drawing room, where he learned that, owing to the illness of the valet, he would be required to shave Lord Imbold's face and trim his mustache.

Long Liam performed his duties with adequate proficiency, and was duly complimented by Lord Imbold, who also admired the green pearl in the ring worn by Long Liam. So distinctive and remarkable did Lord Imbold think the gem that he asked Long Liam to put a price on the piece.

Long Liam thought to take advantage of the situation and quoted a large sum: "Your Lordship, this confection was given to me by my dying grandfather, who had it from the Sultan of Egypt. I could not bear to part with it for less than fifty gold crowns."

Lord Imbold became indignant. "Do you take me for a fool?" He turned away and called to the footman. "Taube! Pay this fellow his fee and show him out."

Long Liam was left alone while Taube went to fetch the coins. Exploring the room, he opened a cupboard and discovered a pair of gold candlesticks which inflamed his avarice to such an extent that he tucked them into his bag and closed up the cupboard.

Taube returned in time to notice Long Liam's suspicious conduct, and went to look into the bag. In a panic Long Liam slashed out with his razor, and cut a deep gash into Taube's neck, so that his head fell back over his shoulders.

Long Liam fled from the chamber but was taken, adjudged and led to the gallows.

A crippled ex-soldier named Manting for ten years had served the county as executioner. He did his work efficiently and expunged Long Liam's life definitely enough, but in a style quite devoid of that extra element of surprise and poignancy, which distinguished the notable executioner from his staid colleague.

The perquisites of Manting's position included the garments and ornaments found on the corpse, and Manting came into possession of a valuable green pearl ring which he was pleased to wear for his own.

Thereafter, all who watched Manting declared that they had never seen the executioner's work done with more grace and attention to detail, so at times Manting and the condemned man seemed participants in a tragic drama which set every heart to throbbing; and at last, when the latch had been sprung, or the blow struck, or the torch tossed into the faggots, there was seldom a dry eye among the spectators.

Manting's duties occasionally included a stint of torture, where again he proved himsef not only the adept at classical techniques, but deft and clever with his innovations.

Manting, however, while pursuing some theoretical concept, tended to over-reach himself. One day his schedule included the execution of a young witch named Zanice, accused of drying the udders of her neighbor's cow. Since an element of uncertainty entered the case, it was ordained that Zanice die by the garrote rather than by fire. Manting, however, wished to test a new and rather involved idea, and he used this opportunity to do so, and thereby aroused the fury of the sorcerer Qualmes, the lover of Zanice.

Qualmes took Manting deep into the Forest of Tantrevalles, along an obscure trail known as Ganion's Way, and led him a few yards off the trail into a little glade.

Qualmes asked: "Manting, how do you like this place?"

Manting, still wondering as to the reason for the expedition, looked all about. "The air is fresh. The verdure is a welcome change from the dungeons. The flowers yonder add to the charm of the scene."

Qualmes said: "It is fortunate that you are happy here, inasmuch as you will never leave this place."

Manting smilingly shook his head. "Impossible! Today I find myself at leisure, and this little outing is truly pleasant, but tomorrow I must conduct two hangings, a strappado and a flogging."

"You are relieved of all such duties, now and forever. Your treatment of Zanice has aroused my deep emotion, and you must pay the penalty of your cruelty. Find yourself a pleasant place to recline, and choose a comfortable position, for I am imposing a spell of stasis upon you, and you will never move again."

Manting protested for several minutes, and Qualmes listened with a smile on his face. "Tell me, Manting, have any of your victims made similar protests to you?"

"Now that I think of it: yes."

"And what would be your response?"

"I always replied that, by the very nature of things, I was the instrument, not of mercy, but of doom. Here, of course, the situation is different. You are at once the adjudicator, as well as the executioner of the judgement, and so you are both able and qualified to consider my petition for mercy, or even outright pardon."

"The petition is denied. Recline, if you will; I cannot chop logic with you all day."

Manting at last was forced to recline on the turf, after which Qualmes worked his spell of paralysis and went his way.

Manting lay helpless day and night, week after week, month after month, while weasels and rats gnawed at his hands and feet, and hornets made their lodges in his flesh, until nothing remained but bones and the glowing green pearl, and even these were gradually covered under the mold.

 

[petrossa]

There one book that rules them all, The Hitchhikers guide to the universe.

So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

After mice, the second most intelligent species on Earth were the dolphins. "Although they had long known that Earth was about to be destroyed, their attempts to communicate this knowledge to humanity were misinterpreted as attempts to jump through hoops for bits of fish. They left the Earth just prior to its destruction, but left humanity one last message, a triple backwards somersault through a hoop whilst whistling the Star Spangled Banner, when, in fact, the message was this: "So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish."

 

[Streetwise]

twilight by stephenie Meyer
quote"but he was so repelled by himself "
this tickled me