JCC ITT we share random literary quotes out of context

Call me Ishmael.

 

We know the day because of the time of the festivals.

 

Now it turns out that this light bulb over the colonel’s head here is the same identical Osram light bulb that Franz Pökler used to sleep next to in his bunk at the underground rocket works at Nordhausen. Statistically (so Their story goes), every n-thousandth light bulb is gonna be perfect, all the delta-q’s piling up just right, so we shouldn’t be surprised that this one’s still around, burning brightly. But the truth is even more stupendous. This bulb is immortal! It’s been around, in fact, since the twenties, has that old-timery point at the tip and is less pear-shaped than more contemporary bulbs. Wotta history, this bulb, if only it could speak—well, as a matter of fact, it can speak. It is dictating the muscular modulations of Paddy McGonigle’s cranking tonight, this is a loop here, with feedback through Paddy to the generator again. Here it is,

THE STORY OF BYRON THE BULB

 

Well, brother, never mind that. It’s a nice place, and if someone asks you, tell them I’ve gone to America.

 

"Why, because it's cur-tailed!"

 

In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit.

 

From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming.
Glamdring glittered white in answer.

 

Another galaxy, another time.

 

Indeed:

His fury mounted to the sky,
But his heavy frame sprawled upon the ground.

Who had knocked him down? Read on.

 

WATCH THE WATER THAT IS NOT WATER, AND BEWARE THE BASILISK!

 

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

 

"But no, as a matter of fact, black is an excellent color for heat. If you remember your black-body radiation, black is actually best in heat. Efficient radiation. In any case, I wear only two colors: black and grey."

 

Suture Self, as the Medical Students like to say.

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.

 

Medicine is my lawful wife and literature my mistress; when I get tired of one, I spend the night with the other.

 

If we're talking medicine, we need something from Mann's Magic Mountain:

 

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

 

Fifteen men on a dead man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

 

“A girl. It was a girl. … What in Kerath’s name was she doing? Then, with a little jolt, he understood. Washing! She was washing! That little mound beside her was a pile of sodden clothes!”