Book Excerpts

Discussion in 'Film, Music, Literature, Art' started by AmyDunne, Apr 4, 2019.

  1. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    The Cheerleaders
    Written By: Kara Thomas


    Jen took Ethan’s face in her hands. He held her back, winding his fingers through her hair. He didn’t move to kiss her; this time, she kissed him first. He kissed her back until their faces were flushed and they had to break apart to catch their breath.

    Jen stared at Ethan’s face. Ran a finger down his lips. He kissed the pad of her finger and she reached behind her, unzipping her dress. Ethan put his lips on her shoulder.

    Jen moved her hand lower, lower, until she felt the hot flesh of his belly. When she reached for the zipper on his pants, he laced his fingers through hers. Pulled her hand up his chest.

    She sat up. “You don’t want to?”

    Ethan’s face was flushed, his lips plump from the kissing. “I really, really want to.”
     
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  2. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    Dark Places
    Written By: Gillian Flynn

    Ben was pissed off now, which was always how Diondra seemed to like him. He wanted to ram it into her, make her whine. So as soon as they closed the door, that plywood door Trey could surely hear through—good—Ben reached to grab her and Diondra turned around and scratched his face, hard, drawing blood.

    “Diondra, what the hell?” He now had another scrape on his face, and he didn’t mind it. Scar up these big baby cheeks, do it. Diondra stepped back for a second, opened her mouth, then just pulled him toward her til they fell on her bed, stuffed animals bouncing to lemming deaths on either side. She scratched him again on his neck and he really wanted to f*ck her good then, he was literally seeing red, like they say in cartoons, and she helped him get the pants back off, peeling down like a sunburn, and his dick bouncing right up, hard as it ever had been. She pulled off her sweater, her tits huge, milk-blue and soft, and he ripped down her boxers. When he stared at her belly, she turned her back to him and guided him in from behind, her yelling, Is that it? Is that all you got for me? You can do me harder than that and him pounding away ’til his balls ached and his eyes went blind and then it was over and he was on his back, wondering if he was having a heart attack. He was heaving for air, fighting off that depression that always came to smother him after they had sex, the that’s-all blues.
     
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  3. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    Gone Girl
    Written By: Gillian Flynn

    That night at the Brooklyn party, I was playing the girl who was in style, the girl a man like Nick wants: the Cool Girl. Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

    Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl…Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version—maybe he’s vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every f***ing thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re notCool Girl? Because he says things like “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point f*** someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”
     
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  4. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    The Hobbit
    Written By: J. R. R. Tolkien

    When Bilbo opened his eyes, he wondered if he had; for it was just as dark as with them shut. No one was anywhere near him. Just imagine his fright! He could hear nothing, see nothing, and he could feel nothing except the stone of the floor.

    Very slowly he got up and groped about on all fours, till he touched the wall of the tunnel; but neither up nor down it could he find anything: nothing at all, no sign of goblins, no sign of dwarves. His head was swimming, and he was far from certain even of the direction they had been going in when he had his fall. He guessed as well as he could, and crawled along for a good way, till suddenly his hand met what felt like a tiny ring of cold metal lying on the floor of the tunnel. It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it. He put the ring in his pocket almost without thinking; certainly it did not seem of any particular use at the moment. He did not go much further, but sat down on the cold floor and gave himself up to complete miserableness, for a long while.
     
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  5. MannyMan

    MannyMan Well-Known Member

    Money:
    17,875⛀
    This takes me back to my Senior year in H.S. where we had to read The Hobbit.... I ended up reading all three books and fell in love with Tolkien's world... thank you for the trip down Lothlórien lane!
     
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  6. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    Catch-22
    Written By: Joseph Heller


    “When I was a kid,” Orr replied, “I used to walk around all day with crab apples in my cheeks. One in each cheek.”

    Yossarian put aside the musette bag from which he had begun removing his toilet articles and braced himself suspiciously. A minute passed. “Why?” he found himself forced to ask finally.

    Orr tittered triumphantly. “Because they’re better than horse chestnuts,” he answered.

    […]

    “When I couldn’t get crab apples,” Orr continued, “I used horse chestnuts. Horse chestnuts are about the same size as crab apples and actually have a better shape, although the shape doesn’t matter a bit.”

    “Why did you walk around with crab apples in your cheeks?” Yossarian asked again. “That’s what I asked.”

    “Because they’ve got a better shape than horse chestnuts,” Orr answered. “I just told you that.”

    “Why,” swore Yossarian at him approvingly, “you evil-eyed, mechanically-aptituded, disaffiliated son of a bitch, did you walk around with anything in your cheeks?”

    “I didn’t,” Orr said, “walk around with anything in my cheeks. I walked around with crab apples in my cheeks. When I couldn’t get crab apples I walked around with horse chestnuts. In my cheeks.”

    Orr giggled. Yossarian made up his mind to keep his mouth shut and did. Orr waited. Yossarian waited longer.

    “One in each cheek,” Orr said.

    “Why?”

    Orr pounced. “Why what?”

    Yossarian shook his head, smiling, and refused to say.

    “It’s a funny thing about this valve,” Orr mused aloud.

    “What is?” Yossarian asked.

    “Because I wanted -”

    Yossarian knew. “Jesus Christ! Why did you want -”

    “- apple cheeks.”

    “- apple cheeks?” Yossarian demanded.

    “I wanted apple cheeks,” Or repeated. “Even when I was a kid I wanted apple cheeks someday, and I decided to work at it until I got them, and by God, I did work at it until I got them, and that’s how I did it, with crab apples in my cheeks all day long.” He giggled again. “One in each cheek.”

    “Why did you want apple cheeks?”

    “I didn’t want apple cheeks,” Orr said. “I wanted big cheeks. I didn’t care about the color so much, but I wanted them big. I worked at it just like one of those crazy guys you read about who go around squeezing rubber balls all day long just to strengthen their hands. In fact, I was one of those crazy guys. I used to walk around all day with rubber balls in my hands, too.”

    “Why?”

    “Why what?”

    “Why did you walk around all day with rubber balls in your hands?”

    “Because rubber balls -” said Orr.

    “- are better than crab apples?”
     
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  7. MannyMan

    MannyMan Well-Known Member

    Money:
    17,875⛀
    Are these books you have already read or are currently reading Amy?
     
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  8. AmyDunne

    AmyDunne Guest

    One is a book I just finished. The others are books I have read. Right now, I am reading Sharp Objects.
     
  9. Corsair48

    Corsair48 Well-Known Member FCN Regular

    Money:
    18,518⛀
    The Lonesome Gods by Louis L'Amour

    Long ago, before the Indians who live here now, there were other people. Perhaps they went away, or maybe they died or were driven out by these Indians' ancestors, but they are gone. I think sometimes their spirits are still around, in the land they loved.

    Each people has its gods, or the spirits in which they believe. It may be their god is the same as ours, only clothed in different stories, different ideas, but a god can only be strong if he is worshiped, and the gods of those ancient people are lonesome gods now.

    They are still out there in the desert and mountains, and perhaps their strength has waned because nobody lights fires on their alters anymore. But they are there, and sometimes I think they know me and remember me.
     
  10. Corsair48

    Corsair48 Well-Known Member FCN Regular

    Money:
    18,518⛀
    Poirot Loses A Client by Agatha Christie
    (Written in the first person with Captain Arthur Hastings as narrator)

    We passed a very pleasant evening, though I made the slight mistake of taking Poirot to a crook play. There is one piece of advice I offer to all my readers. Never take a soldier to a military play, a sailor to a naval play, a Scotsman to a Scottish play, a detective to a thriller -- and an actor to any play whatsoever! The shower of destructive criticism in each case is somewhat devastating. Poirot never ceased to complain of faulty psychology, and the hero detective's lack of order and method nearly drove him demented. We parted that night with Poirot still explaining how the whole business might have been laid bare in the first half of the first act.

    "But in that case, Poirot, there would have been no play," I pointed out.

    Poirot was forced to admit that perhaps that was so.
     
  11. Corsair48

    Corsair48 Well-Known Member FCN Regular

    Money:
    18,518⛀
    Backlash by Brad Thor

    To fuel his trek, he allowed himself to tap into an emotion he had been trying to hold at bay -- his rage.

    He knew behind which door it hid and hi didn't just crack it, he kicked it wide open. Instantly, it crashed into his bloodstream like liquid lava, taking him over.

    It was the darkest energy from the darkest part of his soul. More addictive than any drug, more powerful than any other emotion, rage lay beyond reason, beyond any sense of right or wrong. Rage was primal. And though he had been taught to never let it take control, he gave himself over to it, fully.

    He saw everything from the cottage in New Hampshire unfold once more in his mind's eye. He saw the brutal executions and the lives leaving the bodies of the people he loved. He saw the men responsible. He saw his own role -- unable to stop any of it -- and pure, toxic hate rose within him once more. . . .

    With the molten rage pumping through him, he pushed his way through the snow.
     

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