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message 1: by Ilyn (last edited Dec 28, 2008 06:00AM) (new)

Ilyn Ross (ilyn_ross) | 18 comments The opening scene of Part IV of The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, between Howard Roark and the boy on the bicycle:

"... Don't work for my happiness, my brothers - show me yours - show me that it is possible - show me your achievement - and the knowledge will give me courage for mine."

Then the boy saw Monadnock Valley.

"Who built it?"

"I did."

"What's your name?"

"Howard Roark."

"Thank you," said the boy.


message 2: by Ilyn (new)

Ilyn Ross (ilyn_ross) | 18 comments From my novel, Reason Reigns:

While Ari was with the delegation, his ten-year-old daughter, Lola, was with a classmate on the new obstacle course, a hundred meters south of where the sumptuous buffet breakfast was laid out for the early morning celebrations.

“Let’s try! Let’s do it.” Lola successfully hurdled the difficult obstacle course. She urged her classmate to do the same. “It’s your turn.”

“I’m ashamed.”

“There is no reason to be.”

“Okay, I’ll try. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I laugh when I am happy. I don’t laugh to embarrass people.”

“What if I fail?”

“Lessons learned, and then try again.”

Lola’s classmate focused. She exerted her very best effort. “I did it! I did it so well! Oh… I should be humble.”

“Why?”

“It’s good to be humble.”

“Why?”

“Everybody says so.”

“I am not humble,” Lola declared. “I respect and love myself. I always do my best because I don’t ever want to feel low and small.”

Lola’s classmate realized that self-love was the hallmark of a good person.

Afterward, Lola joined her best friend, ten-year-old Toni Connor. Toni brought their latest science project, a transmitter-receiver device successfully tested the day before. They enjoyed playing with it while recording their observations on static interference and the distance factor. The girls also practiced communicating in a private code.

Another classmate observed the two girls enjoying each other’s company. The recent tests where Toni had the highest scores, particularly in science and math, came to mind as Grandmother Connor summoned Toni. The classmate joined Lola and asked, “Don’t you want to be better than Toni?”

Lola replied, “I don’t compare myself to anyone. I want to be good – period. I want to be the best I can be. I also admire intelligent people, like Toni.”


message 3: by [deleted user] (new)

For some reason I find the first few pages of Afternoon of an Autocrat by Norah Lofts to be very relaxing and soothing. I will try to type the pages for you when I feel better.
Alice


message 4: by Ilyn (new)

Ilyn Ross (ilyn_ross) | 18 comments Happy New Year. May all your wishes come true.


message 5: by [deleted user] (new)

Happy New Year to you also and wishing the same for you!
Alice


message 6: by Ilyn (new)

Ilyn Ross (ilyn_ross) | 18 comments Thank you, Alice. Cheers!


message 7: by [deleted user] (new)

Cheers to you Ilyn! We were just supposedly drinking champagne on Facebook! LOL! What a treat to pretend anyway.


message 8: by Jessica (new)

Jessica  (jessicaafrank) | 257 comments Mod
A belated Happy New Year to all of you. Why did you not drink the champagne on Facebook.

I don't use Facebook. Is it easy to do?
jess


message 9: by Jessica (new)

Jessica  (jessicaafrank) | 257 comments Mod
I can't think of a favorite scene right now. The only one that I can visualize at the moment is the scene in Tom Sawyer where Tom is painting the fence.
jess


message 10: by Ilyn (last edited Jan 02, 2009 03:03AM) (new)

Ilyn Ross (ilyn_ross) | 18 comments Jessica Frank wrote: "I can't think of a favorite scene right now. The only one that I can visualize at the moment is the scene in Tom Sawyer where Tom is painting the fence.
jess"


I love this scene, too. The thought always makes me smile.


message 11: by Jessica (new)

Jessica  (jessicaafrank) | 257 comments Mod
It makes me smile as well. I can picture it in my head (even though I never watched any of the movies).
jess


message 12: by Yui (new)

Yui (ilovegrendel) actually, most of the movies that i watch aren't as good as the books.


message 13: by [deleted user] (last edited Jan 02, 2009 10:42PM) (new)

No, Facebook can be risky! They send out too many "beacons" !!! I got chased there by a strange duck and ran!!

here is my favorite autumn scene from the start of my fav book:

"On the third Saturday afternoon of October, in the year 1795, Sir Charles Shelmadine set out on what - though he naturally had no notion of it - was to be his last ride.
Stubbornly old-fashioned, he still ate his dinner at midday and made of the meal, as of everything else he undertook, a thoroughly good job. The first pig-killing of the season had just taken place and the walnuts were at their best, though the crop was poor this year; he had dined well, and as he proposed, this evening to entertain some friends for cards and supper, that meal, usually a frugal affair of two or three courses, would be supplemented by as many again, so if he were to do justice to his own table some exercise was desirable."
As recently as eighteen months ago he would have made his round of the village on foot, but he had lately come to the conclusion that walking provoked his gout. Moreover, today he intended to make a visit to the cobbler's which was across the Stone Bridge on the other side of the Waste; his new boots, ordered three weeks ago, had not yet been delivered and it was clear that Amos Greenway needed a prod. So at half past two his stout grey horse was brought to the door, and with some assistance from the mounting block, and some from the groom, he heaved himself into the saddle and set off along the avenue. It was a fine autumn day, golden and mellow with sunshine and with just that hint of chill in the air which was conducive to appetite. The chestnut leaves were sharp yellow and bright amber, the hawthorns crimson and bronze; the old man took, in the weather and the scene, a pleasure, undiminished by the repetition of more than seventy years.
As he neared the gate Bessie Jarvey, the lodgekeepers'e wife, broke off her work in the potato patch and hurried clumsily to throw open the gate for him. In the family way again, he noticed; he'd thought so last time he saw her, now he was sure. That would be seven youngsters, all under working age; how they fitted into the Lodge, which consisted of two octagonal rooms, one on each side of the gateway, was a puzzle; a puzzle to which there was no solution, for it was obviously impossible to add to either room without spoiling the perfect symmetry of the entrance. And in any case, he remembered, Jarvey's father had reared ten children there - all fine healthy brats, too.


Well giving out, if you have read it or read it, let me know if you thinks Lady Alice gets him??? LOL! Damask certainly suspects it.

from Norah Lofts book and also posted at Fans of Norah Lofts.


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message 14: by [deleted user] (new)

my favorite scene of a book I can't give you because it'd give away the book, it's the last few pages of The Last Summer


message 15: by Cid (new)

Cid Andrenelli | 3 comments Excerpt from The Burqa Master

Hamid remembers the leaving. First his father had disappeared and no one would say why. ‘Baba’s gone away.’ ‘When will he come back?’ ‘Cant say, be a good boy.’ Alone at night Maman cried, it wasn’t the first time, the aunts said she was as parched and plain as the desert and needed the wetness. Uncles whispered on the roof at night, then Behdad Babai returned to his family home. Hamid saw his father’s homecoming from the window on a dark black night. He heard the screech of rubber tires and an old black van skidded to a halt in the road. The back doors opened and something all broken was rolled out, a lump chucked in the road and the van was gone. The lump lie there and then his uncles came and carried the twisted thing into house and Baba was home again.
But now they were told to stay inside and not to step out on the sunlit streets anymore. Baba looked ugly, all purple and black, he got fired and was no longer the schoolmaster. All this Hamid knew from listening to the whispers that blew like a breeze through the house and by leaning over the walls and peering through the bars of the gate. He came to know that Bolour the pretty girl down the road has lost her face, it was burnt away with acid and Maman and the aunts became afraid. Now they were leaving for England. Suitcases were packed, they had to leave it all behind, no room for all those small scraps of life. Do not look back and Behdad Babai sold the house to a cousin for a song, no time to lose and no money. One day in the late afternoon they left for the airport. Behdad borrowed an old van not unlike the one he’d been delivered home in a few months before. Hamid and his sister were squashed in the back, their legs glued to the hot seat. Their mother sat between them and their father stood on the dusty street. He was shaking hands, kissing and saying his farewells to them all. As his father stood in the crowd crushed between neighbours and family, people stared at him in reverence and fear. Men touched him, women watched him, and his mother gazed down at her twisted hands as they lay motionless in her lap. His mother’s thin lips tightened when a girl in a virginal white dress with long golden tresses flowing over her shoulders pushed her way through the crowd. Her eyes behind her black veil pouring tears like raindrops soaking her breasts. She elbowed her way through the people and called like a lark. ‘Behdad, Behdad.’ It was the sweetest voice and the crowd turned; they waited for Behdad to acknowledge her presence, even if only from the corner of his eyes.
The Burqa Master  by Cid Andrenelli


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