Two short excerpts from the two books I’m currently reading that
struck me slightly askew in a pleasantly intriguing way:
“You cannot pass,” he said. The orcs stood still, and a
dead silence fell. “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of
Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back
to the Shadow! You cannot pass.”
– Gandalf to the Balrog, Chapter V of Part II of The Fellowship of the Ring, “The Bridge
at Khazad-Dûm”,
by the greatest writer of the 20th century.
[He] had been a mischievous child, so much loved that when
he ran away, his family served him lemonade and cookies upon his return. His
family spread butter on their bread while others had bacon drippings … Still,
[he] concluded in his childhood that the American game was rigged against
farmers. They had so many poor neighbors, and so much chance of again becoming poor
themselves; [his] mother had been born in a place called No God Hollow …
– Chapter 2 of The
Forgotten Man, “The Junket”, by Amity Schlaes
As my old friend Timmy Lamb would unequivocally say: “Nice.”
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