Let's play a game.

kamagong

kamagong

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Joined
Jan 13, 2001
Messages
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I'll quote a passage from literature, you guys try to identify the book and the author.

Let's start with an easy one.

Mary gave him a brand-new "Barlow" knife worth twelve and a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system shook him to his foundations.
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I guess that one was a little too easy. How about this?

His fist opened. Lovingly he surveyed the pearl pocketknife he held there. The inscription on it was in gold: To Alec on his birthday, Bombay, India. He remembered, too, his uncle's words: "A knife, Alec, comes in handy sometimes."
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Close, but the correct answer is "The Black Stallion" by Walter Farley. :p

You guys are no fun. Looks like I'm going to have to step up my game. As for now, here's my last challenge. Should be easy as well.

It shone pale and dim before his eyes. “So this is an elvish blade, too,” he thought; “and goblins are not very near, and yet not very far."
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I know this one's obvious, but we would be remiss not to mention it.

"On the subject of hunting knives I am tempted to be diffuse. In my green and callow days (perhaps not yet over) I tried nearly everything in the knife line from a shoemaker's skiver to a machete, and I had knives made to order. The conventional hunting knife is, or was until quite recently, of the familiar dime-novel pattern invented by Colonel Bowie. Such a knife is too thick and clumsy to whittle with, much too thick for a good skinning knife, and too sharply pointed to cook and eat with. It is always tempered too hard. When put to the rough service for which it is supposed to be intended, as in cutting through the ossified false ribs of an old buck, it is an even bet that out will come a nick as big as a saw-tooth — and Sheridan forty miles from a grindstone! Such a knife is shaped expressly for stabbing, which is about the very last thing that a woodsman ever has occasion to do, our lamented grandmothers to the contrary notwithstanding."

A camper has use for a common-sense sheath-knife, sometimes for dressing big game, but oftener for such homely work as cutting sticks, slicing bacon, and frying "spuds." For such purposes a rather thin, broadpointed blade is required, and it need not be over four or five inches long. Nothing is gained by a longer blade, and it would be in one's way every time he sat down. Such a knife, bearing the marks of hard usage, lies before me. Its blade and handle are each 4 1/2 inches long, the blade being 1 inch wide, 1/8th inch thick on the back, broad pointed, and continued through the handle as a hasp and riveted to it. It is tempered hard enough to cut green hardwood sticks, but soft enough so that when it strikes a knot or bone it will, if anything, turn rather than nick; then a whetstone soon puts it in order. The Abyssinians have a saying, "If a sword bends, we can straighten it; but if it breaks, who can mend it? " So with a knife or hatchet.

The handle of this knife is of oval cross-section, long enough to give a good grip for the whole hand, and with no sharp edges to blister one's hand. It has a 1/4 inch knob behind the cutting edge as a guard, but there is no guard on the back, for it would be useless and in the way. The handle is of light but hard wood, 3/4 inch thick at the butt and tapering to 1/2 inch forward, so as to enter the sheath easily and grip it tightly. If it were heavy it would make the knife drop out when I stooped over. The sheath has a slit frog binding tightly on the belt, and keeping the knife well up on my side. This knife weighs only 4 ounces. It was made by a country blacksmith, and is one of the homeliest things I ever saw; but it has outlived in my affections the score of other knives that I have used in competition with it, and has done more work than all of them put together."
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Come ,thick night,
And pall Thee in the dunnest smoke of hell!
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry,hold,hold!
 
We eat pork and beef
With cow-horn-handled knives.
They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
Are horrified out of Their lives;
And They who live up a tree,
And feast on grubs and clay,
(Isn't it scandalous?) look upon We
As a simply disgusting They!

Want to have a go at this? No Googling now!:D

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I like this game, kamagong! Here's one… sort of. :D

And now our bodies are oh so close and tight
It never felt so good, it never felt so right
And we're glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Glowing like the metal on the edge of a knife
Come on, hold on tight
Come on, hold on tight!
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Does it have to be classical or well known literature? It's just my choice in books can be rather obscure.

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btb01 said:
I like this game, kamagong! Here's one… sort of. :D

00D1BC77-5AE0-4F40-B40A-74AF3A5E68AD.jpg
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I like to think of myself as well read, but I'm stumped.

K.O.D. said:
Does it have to be classical or well known literature? It's just my choice in books can be rather obscure.
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Sure, why not? Obscure books are an Oprah review away from being a best seller...lol.

How about this one?

I own an old Finnish knife or puukko, the blade made from an old file, the handle and molded case of birch bark. I have carried it for thousands of miles and it has never failed me. The well-tempered steel is hard enough to open a tin and still sharp enough to fillet a fish without needing retouching. Not long ago I dropped it while at Listening Point, and traced and retraced my steps without avail....Since it was early November, the smell of snow was in the air, and we knew if we did not find it then, it would lie outdoors all winter.

"Let’s go back once more," Al said before dusk settled down. "We might just be lucky." Back we went.....Then, with a shout of triumph, my young friend ran over and placed the knife in my hand. Before he left, he took a picture of me standing by the cabin turning the knife over and over. Far more than a tool, the knife to me a symbol of the spirit that went into the cabin, the canoe, and all things made by men proud of their work and of what they had learned to do.
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Aethelman laid the two blades down on the rector's desk and pushed them forward.

The rector picked one up and turned it over in his hands. "Beautiful craftsmanship," he said. "What are they for?"

"Fount Stones," Aethelman said. "We've long forgotten what to do with them, but this is how they are destroyed. This is what we are supposed to do. The blade will cleave the Stones in two."

"Fascinating," the rector said. "Godsteel is always so beautiful when it's worked." He traced his finger along the rippling pattern in the steel.


This is a very new book, so if you're a fan and have read it, awesome. I highly recommend the series.



Sent via carrier pigeon
 
kamagong said:
C'mon ~ P., I know you have some passages of your own to confound us.
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"He liked everything you brought him. He didn't like me. He didn't like anything I gave him. Remember the present I gave him, the pocketknife? I cut and sold a load of wood to get that knife. Well, he didn't even take it to Washington with him. It's right in his bureau right now. And you gave him a pup. It didn't cost you a thing. Well, I'll show you a picture of that pup. It was at his funeral."

IMG_3204.jpg~original

(These pressies get used, but I needed a picture....)


~ P.
 
I had to cheat and Google Will Power's and pertinux's, so I won't post the answers. I was close on Will's, but couldn't come up with it.
 
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