Beautiful Lines in Literature

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On the Destruction of your Manuscript...

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Paul Whybrow

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Jun 20, 2015
Cornwall, UK
In writing my WIP, which is a prequel to my first novel, I've been keeping an eye on the wordcount and editing assiduously as I go along to conform with the 80,000 word limit that publishers require.

I'm still happy with the first novel, which wound up at 176,000 words that I've since reduced by 10,000 words through cutting filler words and repetitions. All the same, I acknowledge that I was suffering from a case of logorrhoea (try using that as an excuse when phoning in sick to work!), and have concentrated on being more succinct with the new book.

As part of this process, I've given thought to writing things that might be quotable or at least stick in the reader's mind. I tend to insert these after the original flurry of creative writing, from having analysed the scene and reflected on the emotions of the people involved.

I've kept a record of quotes, favourite poems, aphorisms and humorous observations for 20 years, and notice that many of them originated as sentences and paragraphs from novels.

One of my favourites is an elegant sentence from J.D. Salinger's short story A Girl I Knew, which was first published in 1948:

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”

What lines do my fellow Colonists like and admire?
 
This is going to sound grotesque, but I first read this book about nine years ago and it has still stuck with me. The imagery is so powerful and is only more so in context. It's a quote from Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, one of the few books I've reread, which tells the tale of immigrants to the US in the early 1900s who were taken advantage of in several ways. This quote happens right after the MCs wife tells the MC her boss had been forcing her to do sexual favors for him to keep her job and the MC/husband is confronting him.

In a flash he had bent down and sunk his teeth into the man's cheek; and when they tore him away he was dripping with blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his mouth.
 
There are so many -- from Under Milk Wood alone -- but how about this:

Sly and silent, he foxes into his chemist's den and there, in a hiss and prussic circle of cauldrons and phials brimful with pox and the Black Death, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade, nicotine, hot frog, cyanide and bat-spit for his needling, stalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcracker wife.
 
There are so many -- from Under Milk Wood alone -- but how about this:

Sly and silent, he foxes into his chemist's den and there, in a hiss and prussic circle of cauldrons and phials brimful with pox and the Black Death, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade, nicotine, hot frog, cyanide and bat-spit for his needling, stalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcracker wife.

There are so many, and that is the beauty of prose.
 
The last few lines of Wuthering Heights are hard to beat for beauty.

I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.


More famous last lines: http://www.shortlist.com/entertainment/literatures-greatest-closing-paragraphs
 
I agree with you, there are just too many. Nevertheless, Master and Margarita by Bulgakov:

'Is that vodka?' Margarita asked weakly

The cat jumped in his chair in resentment

'Good heavens, Queen' he croaked, 'would I allow myself to pour vodka for a lady? It's pure alcohol!'

There is also this one, from A widow for one year by John Irving

'Tom woke up, but Tim did not'. In Ruth Cole's life as a writer- and she would be a better writer than her father, in every way- she would always envy that sentence.

I can relate to that- I just adore a good sentence ;) John Irving is my master in that respect. His books may be not high literature, but he surely knows his way around words!
 
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There are so many -- from Under Milk Wood alone -- but how about this:

Sly and silent, he foxes into his chemist's den and there, in a hiss and prussic circle of cauldrons and phials brimful with pox and the Black Death, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade, nicotine, hot frog, cyanide and bat-spit for his needling, stalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcracker wife.

That's my hub he's describing, making me porridge! (I cook lunch and dinner)
 
That's my hub he's describing, making me porridge! (I cook lunch and dinner)
No it's not! But could this be you talking to him, sometimes? -:

"Remember last night? In you reeled, my boy, as drunk as a deacon with a big wet bucket and a fish-frail full of stout and you looked at me and you said 'God has come home!' you said, and then over the bucket you went, sprawling and bawling, and the floor was all flagons and eels."

[also from Milk Wood]
 
In writing my WIP, which is a prequel to my first novel, I've been keeping an eye on the wordcount and editing assiduously as I go along to conform with the 80,000 word limit that publishers require.

That's a terrible thing to consider! Do publishers really imagine that anything artistically valid can be written to order in only 80,000 w?
What about all the classic novels of the past... were they subject to the same arbitrary stricture - and what would have been the end result if they had been? And let's face it, that word limit has nothing to do with artistic validity, but the cost of printing (at least, for a debut novel). The attitude of modern publishing just sucks!
 
That's a terrible thing to consider! Do publishers really imagine that anything artistically valid can be written to order in only 80,000 w?
What about all the classic novels of the past... were they subject to the same arbitrary stricture - and what would have been the end result if they had been? And let's face it, that word limit has nothing to do with artistic validity, but the cost of printing (at least, for a debut novel). The attitude of modern publishing just sucks!

I'm inclined to agree with you, but bear in mind that many old classics wouldn't get published today. Even much-loved classics which have sold millions of copies over many decades would be torn apart by 21st century literary agents and eviscerated by editors were they even looked at after languishing on a slush-pile for months. J.K. Rowling got her break not through the wisdom of a literary agent or publisher, but because the eight-year old daughter of an editor at Bloomsbury Publishing demanded to read the rest of the book after enjoying the first three chapters she'd sent them. Even so, her debut totalled 77,325 words, though later Harry Potter books hovered around 200,000 words—a huge length for young readers, and surely a sign of editors taking a hands-off approach, not wanting to ruffle the feathers of a goose that was laying so many golden eggs!

There have been examples of long first novels getting published in recent years and achieving great success, but it's more common for writers to have to jump through various hoops, including word count, to even be considered.

Here's a useful guide to acceptable length:

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor...ovels-and-childrens-books-the-definitive-post

Some best-selling novels have driven a coach and horse through these limits, including Donna Tartt's A Secret History (178,560 words), Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (308,931 words) and Zadie Smith's White Teeth (169,389 words).

The first novel I wrote, an intricate psychological thriller with multiple POV ended up at 176,000 words (since edited down by 10,000 words), and though I received some kind words from agents who liked my style and the premise of the story, the sticking point was the length. It costs a publisher more to print 400 pages than 250, making it more of a commercial risk—which in this economic climate isn't appealing.

I don't intend to take an editing chainsaw to my debut, as hacking away at it would feel like trying to make a footstool out of a sofa. It works as it is, so I'm retaining it for publication as a second or third novel in a series. Trying to be less of a grumpy lion, I'm jumping through the flaming hoop of an 80,000 word limit by writing a prequel which features my detective hero, though reintroducing him has caused me some irritating problems meaning I've had to modify the first manuscript.
 
Whilst we would all agree with you Harlan, Paul is also absolutely right. New authors have little chance of success and if you ignore the industry standards then you need to be better than William Shakespeare to get considered! It's a tragic situation, but dare I say, comes back to reality, the very thing we (sort-of) try to get away from ;)
 
This is going to sound grotesque, but I first read this book about nine years ago and it has still stuck with me. The imagery is so powerful and is only more so in context. It's a quote from Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, one of the few books I've reread, which tells the tale of immigrants to the US in the early 1900s who were taken advantage of in several ways. This quote happens right after the MCs wife tells the MC her boss had been forcing her to do sexual favors for him to keep her job and the MC/husband is confronting him.

In a flash he had bent down and sunk his teeth into the man's cheek; and when they tore him away he was dripping with blood, and little ribbons of skin were hanging in his mouth.
Love it.
 
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Fanfare! Why I Write Erotic Romance by Ravenna Tate

On the Destruction of your Manuscript...

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