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Doce
Posted: Sunday, June 15, 2014 11:18:08 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
I dedicate this game to my friends Anton (who loves picture association games) and Alice (who is keen on books and movies).

In fact the rules - as written below - were developed by Alice from my initial idea, which was not very clear. I hope many of my friends here will like it and join the game. Chris, Roger, David, A.D., Big Jack etc, you're invited to play 'Illustrate This', with my best regards. :)


Rules:

1. Post a fragment of text from a book, either prose or poetry. The first one will be #1, then #2, etc.

2. The next player will post a picture or pictures that illustrate the text, as many as you like, and give it/them the same number as the posted text to which the picture corresponds.

3. If the book is already illustrated, or has been turned into a movie or TV series, avoid using the official illustrations or any movie or TV stills.
Alice M Toaster
Posted: Sunday, June 15, 2014 11:34:33 AM

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#1 - I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead. (Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller)
RamufAznag
Posted: Sunday, June 15, 2014 1:08:57 PM

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#1

The Villa Borghese is Miller’s pseudonym for Villa Seurat, which is a cul-de-sac located off the rue de la Tombe d’Issoire in the 14th arrondissement.

From Wikipedia: In 1928, Miller spent several months in Paris with June, a trip which was financed by Freedman. In 1930, Miller moved to Paris unaccompanied. Soon after, he began work on Tropic of Cancer, writing to a friend, "I start tomorrow on the Paris book: First person, uncensored, formless - fuck everything!" Although Miller had little or no money the first year in Paris, things began to change with the meeting of Anaïs Nin who, with Hugh Guiler, went on to pay his entire way through the 1930s including the rent for an apartment at 18 Villa Seurat. Nin became his lover and financed the first printing of Tropic of Cancer in 1934 with money from Otto Rank. She would write extensively in her journals about her relationship with Miller and his wife June; the first volume, covering the years 1931-34, was published in 1966. Late in 1934, June divorced Miller by proxy in Mexico City.



#2

“Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic and a dyslexic?"
"I give."
"You get someone who stays up all night torturing himself mentally over the question of whether or not there's a dog.”

― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

Doce
Posted: Sunday, June 15, 2014 1:30:58 PM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 1





[image not available]







# 2






[image not available]



# 3

''Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.''
(Emily Bronte - Wuthering Heights)
anton exobio
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 4:30:39 AM

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Interesting game, dear Doce :)
Thank you everyone for joining :)

Here are some pictures I associate with the 3 first excerpts. I may add more later.

#1 - I am living at the Villa Borghese. There is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced. We are all alone here and we are dead. (Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller)


#2 - “Mario, what do you get when you cross an insomniac, an unwilling agnostic and a dyslexic?"
"I give."
"You get someone who stays up all night torturing himself mentally over the question of whether or not there's a dog.”
― David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest


#3 - ''Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. 'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.'' (Emily Bronte - Wuthering Heights)





Excerpt #4:

“Grave this on your memory, lad: A world is supported by four things..." she held up four big-knuckled fingers. "...the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the righteous and the valor of the brave. But all of these things are as nothing..." She closed her fingers into a fist. "...without a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Make that the science of your tradition!”
― Frank Herbert, "Dune".
Doce
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 10:42:39 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 4:




Whistle


# 5: “Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!”
― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
RamufAznag
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 4:12:34 PM

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Location: Hirātī, Helmand, Afghanistan
Excerpt #4: From the greatest science fiction book ever written...



[image not available]



Hey anton exobio, that was exactly the image I was going to add for #3!

Excerpt #5: (Click on it)

Drag0nspeaker
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 6:58:50 PM

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Wuthering - #3 - click on the picture.




Spice eyes! #4

Alice M Toaster
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 7:52:51 PM

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#5 "This time was different. I was bound for Switzerland to what promised to be a romantic rendezvous." (The Blue Train by Lawrence Powell)
Doce
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 8:05:57 PM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
I'm sure you mean # 6, dear Alice. :)

So...

# 6







# 7:

'' Turning,
re-turning...
Ouch!
Is it skin? Is it leather?
Turning in
like burning paper,
touched, held,
rippling, showing -
uncovered,
discovered,
written
on
it is.
I think.
Calligraphic ink.
Imbedding all the arts,
passing through
my translucent skin:
that's how it begins.

Numb.
My paperback skin cannot wait.
It's just turning,
rolling,
spinning,
revolving.
Evolving.

My calligraphy holds
an intention.
The thought
of an action.
A section.
(Ouch! The pen scratches a ripple.
Or is it a wrinkle?)

I'm turning
into a tree.
It's growing
through my skin,
where the story begins.
A nameless tree:
here are the roots,
thick and strong,
drawing
words
deep
down...
READ ME!
I want to be
that tree.
(Can I be
a symbol
of sin?)
So old, yet too young,
daring
to
create.


(Karl Gavilan, SM)

Drag0nspeaker
Posted: Monday, June 16, 2014 9:18:16 PM

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#7 The metamorphosis of a tree to a book, then branching out into a tree of knowledge.

Drag0nspeaker
Posted: Tuesday, June 17, 2014 1:24:49 AM

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Location: Livingston, Scotland, United Kingdom
#8
Quote:
Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

Jealousy is a disease, love is a healthy condition. The immature mind often confuses one for the other, or assumes the greater the love,
the greater the jealousy. In fact they are almost incompatible; both at once produce unbearable turmoil.


Robert Heinlein - Stranger in a Strange Land
Doce
Posted: Tuesday, June 17, 2014 1:46:58 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 8:



[image not available]


RamufAznag
Posted: Tuesday, June 17, 2014 7:13:41 PM

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Joined: 1/19/2014
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Location: Hirātī, Helmand, Afghanistan
Drag0nspeaker wrote:

Spice eyes! #4


I'm sorry Drag0nspeaker, but I believe those are not spice eyes, they're just plain blue eyes!
Spice eyes are blue within blue, like Alia's:



[image not available]

anton exobio
Posted: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 5:54:28 AM

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Great illustrations, everyone :D



This is a picture I associate with #8:




#9:

"Then one day you look in the rearview mirror of your existence and realize that you can see clear down the hill-less and curveless and bridgeless road of your life, straight to the maternity ward where you were born. And then you go to college. Where your bland past meekly follows, sluggishly scraping its feet on the floor."

"I Was Told There’d Be Cake" by Sloane Crosley
Doce
Posted: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 9:56:25 AM

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# 9 (I know, it's weird to illustrate a text with another text, but it's part of a picture, anyway, and so closely linked to the text given by Anton that I must post it):



[image not available]





[image not available]



# 10: “Our lives are often a continuous betrayal and denial of what came before, we twist and distort everything as time passes, and yet we are still aware, however much we deceive ourselves, that we are the keepers of secrets and mysteries, however trivial. How tiring having always to move in the shadows or, even more difficult, in the half-light, which is never the same, always changing, every person has his light areas and his dark areas, they change according to what he knows and to what day it is and who he's talk to and what he wants... Sometimes it is only the weariness brought on by the shadow that impels one to tell all the facts, the way someone hiding will suddenly reveal himself, either the pursuer or the pursued, simply in order to bring the game to an end and to step free from what has become a kind of enchantment.”
― Javier Marías, Tomorrow in the Battle Think of Me
Articulate Dreamer
Posted: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 2:32:57 PM

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Hi Doce. Alice, Anton & gang .... not sure i'm getting this right but here goes

#10



# 11
"Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo..."
~James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

RamufAznag
Posted: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 3:46:16 PM

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# 11: James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

Hey Articulate Dreamer, what a coincidence... I've just finished reading it today! As was expected I loved it, it's a magnificent piece of literary art!


Yes, that's a moocow by the house. It's not coming down the road now, but just give it time and it will...



[image not available]

Baby Joyce



[image not available]

This is a photograph of my father meeting a cow. It was taken in 1916 which was coincidentally the year that Joyce published Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
The quotation is the first sentence of Portrait.



Fun fact: According to Urban Dictionary, moocows are different from regular cows.


#12: “Reshaping life! People who can say that have never understood a thing about life—they have never felt its breath, its heartbeat—however much they have seen or done. They look on it as a lump of raw material that needs to be processed by them, to be ennobled by their touch. But life is never a material, a substance to be molded. If you want to know, life is the principle of self-renewal, it is constantly renewing and remaking and changing and transfiguring itself, it is infinitely beyond your or my obtuse theories about it.”
Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak



Doce
Posted: Wednesday, June 18, 2014 3:56:44 PM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 11:



[image not available]


anton exobio
Posted: Thursday, June 19, 2014 3:11:26 PM

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Location: Chartres, Centre, France
#12:




#13:

"It is the itsi sign. That is what Geoffroy saw on the faces when he first arrived in Onitsha. The sign carved into the skin of the men's faces, like writing upon stone. It is the sign which entered him, touched his heart, marked him, too, on his too white face, on his skin where from birth there has never been the mark of the burn. But now he feels this burn, this secret. Men and women of the Umundri people, in the streets of Onitsha; absurd shadows wandering in the alleyways of red dust, among the acacia groves, with their herds of goats and their dogs. Only some of them wear on their faces the sign of their ancestor Ndri, the sign of the sun."

Excerpt from "Onitsha", Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio.
Doce
Posted: Friday, June 20, 2014 1:08:20 PM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 12:




[image not available]







# 13:




[image not available]




# 14: “Memory is fiction. We select the brightest and the darkest, ignoring what we are ashamed of, and so embroider the broad tapestry of our lives.”
― Isabel Allende, Portrait in Sepia
Articulate Dreamer
Posted: Sunday, June 22, 2014 4:33:16 AM

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Location: Bangalore, Karnataka, India
#14



Doce, that quote reminded me of Pinter:


#15
"There are some things one remembers which may never have happened"
~Harold Pinter, Old Times
Doce
Posted: Sunday, June 22, 2014 5:43:13 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 15:





# 16:

''Green, I want you so much - to be green...
Green wind, green branches...
The two comrades climbed up.
The long passing wind left behind
a strange taste which filled their mouths
with bitter bile, mint and basil.
'My friend, tell me, I implore you:
Where is she? Where's your sad girl?'
'She waited for you - so many times -
and she would still wait - for just as many...
with her fair face and her black hair
up on this green terrace!'
Meanwhile the gypsy girl was swaying
over the face of the water:
her face was green, so was her hair,
and her eyes were like cold silver.
Hanging from an icy ray
of the moon over the water,
as the night became intimate
like a small village square.
(...)
Green, I want you so much - to be green...
Green wind, green branches...
A big boat away on the sea
and a horse in the mountains.'' (free translation and adaptation of an excerpt from Federico Garcia Lorca's Romance sonambulo)
anton exobio
Posted: Sunday, June 22, 2014 6:50:05 AM

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Location: Chartres, Centre, France
#16:






#17:

"Every morning, as he cycles alone along the road to the mill, Windisch counts the day. In front of the war memorial he counts the years. By the first poplar tree beyond it, where he always hits the same pot hole, he counts the days. And in the evening, when Windisch locks up the mill, he counts the years and the days once again."

Herta Müller, excerpt from "The Passport".




Drag0nspeaker
Posted: Sunday, June 22, 2014 7:51:03 AM

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Joined: 9/12/2011
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Location: Livingston, Scotland, United Kingdom
RamufAznag wrote:
I'm sorry Drag0nspeaker, but I believe those are not spice eyes, they're just plain blue eyes!
Spice eyes are blue within blue, like Alia's


Thank you!

For some reason, when I searched, all I got were pictures of blue eyes (not true blue-in-blue). I must have chosen the wrong search-terms.

Thanks for the 'Litany Against Fear' picture especially!

So this is #18!
I will not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.


Here's a picture for #17


[image not available]

Doce
Posted: Sunday, June 22, 2014 9:09:50 AM

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Posts: 2,036
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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 17:



[image not available]








# 18: (I was looking for a pic of a man with a certain expression that I had in mind - but I found a woman instead :) and I like it. I consider it appropriate.)



[image not available]
Alice M Toaster
Posted: Tuesday, June 24, 2014 12:48:29 PM

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Location: Palm Springs, California, United States
#19
A certain minor light may still leap incandescent (Black Rook in Rainy Weather - Sylvia Plath)
Doce
Posted: Wednesday, June 25, 2014 12:16:30 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 19:

Doce
Posted: Wednesday, June 25, 2014 12:31:32 PM

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# 20: “Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Shadow of the Wind
anton exobio
Posted: Wednesday, June 25, 2014 2:46:05 PM

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Location: Chartres, Centre, France
#20:




anton exobio
Posted: Wednesday, June 25, 2014 2:59:13 PM

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#21:

"At least once in a lifetime, self-reflection leads us to examine the circumstances of our birth. Why were we born in this particular corner of the world, on this particular date? These families into which we were born, these countries and cities to which the lottery of life has assigned us - they expect love from us, and in the end, we do love them, from the bottom of our hearts - but did we perhaps deserve better?"

Orhan Pamuk - Excerpt from "Istanbul: Memories of a City".
Doce
Posted: Saturday, June 28, 2014 3:22:08 AM

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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
# 21:

As I read Anton's quote, I thought of Tyrion, so:




[image not available]
Doce
Posted: Sunday, June 29, 2014 7:49:26 AM

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Posts: 2,036
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Location: Vaslui, Vaslui, Romania
Since the pic I posted is no longer visible, I'll try another one:




# 22:

''Over the hill the moon ascends her fiery crown of crimson deep,
Staining the ancient forest red, and the lonely castle keep,
And staining red the tumbling waves that from a murmuring fountain well,
While down the sweeping valley rolls the solemn music of a bell.
Above the river's rocky course rises the castle grim and tall
While, clinging fast against its face, a knight is scaling high the wall;
Clambering up on hands and knees, and holding tight to crack and edge,
Until the rusty bars he breaks that issue from a window ledge.
Silently he passes through, and soft, on tiptoe, does he creep
Into a secret chamber where the wall is hung with shadow deep
And where the starry sky between the bars and tangled creepers gleams
And timidly and unassured the broken moonlight softly streams;
Where strikes the moon the walls and floor are white as though they had been chalked,
But darkness lies where shadows fall, as black as though with charcoal marked.
Down from the ceiling to the floor has an enchanted spider spun
A wonder web, more light and fair than e'er by human weaver done.
It trembles in the silver light as though its veil would surely tear
Beneath the weight of misty gems that shine upon its filet there.
Beyond the web, in magic sleep, the sovereign's lovely daughter lies,
Drenched in the moon's unearthly light, before the knight's enraptured eyes.
Beneath the sheet her form he sees, her sleeping body young and fair,
For the silken coverings hide it but little from his stare,
And here and there her sleeping gown parted a little leaves to show
The secret lovely nakedness of girlish limbs as white as snow.
Upon her pillow's smooth incline her heavy golden hair is laid,
While on her temples gently throb her pulses in a violet shade:
Drawn as though in one straight line, in noble and bewitching grace
Beneath the curtain of lids, her eyes in slumber seem to beat?
While one smooth rounded shapely arm lies nakedly upon the sheet.
Her full and gently moving breast in maiden ripeness tender shows
And through her lips, a bit apart, her burning breath in silence flows.
Her delicate and lovely mouth moves sweetly in a wistful smile,
While over her and round her head a mound of fragrant petals pile.
But now the knight draws near her bed and stretching out his hand he tears
The spider's sparkling wonder web and spills the precious gems it bears.
Upon her beauty's nakedness he feeds his hungry heart's desire
And scarcely can his breast contain the burning ardour of its fire;
Till clasping her to him at last in one long, clinging sweet caress,
His scarlet mouth is set on hers, and on her lips his hot lips press.
Then taking from her hand a ring, glittering with jewels dear,
Turns, and through the moonlit casement goes our dauntless cavalier.

*

When morning comes, and the wondering maid finds that the web is broken through
And in her mirror sees her lips by thirsty kisses bruised and blue,
Sadly she smiles and softly says, while gazing on her image white;
"O dauntless, dark curled fairy prince, come back again to me tonight".''


(Mihai Eminescu - Calin - translation by Corneliu M. Popescu)
anton exobio
Posted: Tuesday, July 1, 2014 12:56:51 PM

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Location: Chartres, Centre, France
#22:






#23:

"You no longer live in other people's shadows nor treat other people's shadows as imaginary enemies. You just walked out of their shadows, stopped making up absurdities and fantasies, and are now in a vast emptiness and tranquillity. You originally came into the world naked and without cares and there is no need to take anything away with you, and if you wanted to you wouldn't be able to. Your only fear is unknowable death."

Gao Xingjian, excerpt from "One Man's Bible".
Drag0nspeaker
Posted: Monday, July 7, 2014 2:14:29 PM

Rank: Advanced Member

Joined: 9/12/2011
Posts: 34,427
Neurons: 228,163
Location: Livingston, Scotland, United Kingdom
#23



[image not available]


#24
When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
Arthur C. Clarke, Clarke's first law
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