From Paradise Lost
by John Milton

Book VI
Raphael told Adam the whole Story:
How for two long days the fight was even.
And on the third day, God was like, "Enough."
Then did Jesus mount His bryght Chariot.
He bade the good Angels stand aside,
Called out, "Giddyap, giddyap--yeeeeha! "
Straight rolled Jesus into enemy ranks!
Unstoppable with His thundrous Wrath,
Back He drove the Rebel Rankes--Back! Back!
Until He'd pressed them 'gainst the very walls,
Then knocking them through, so they all fell
Down to that awful fiery prison
That rowling Inferno of liquid Flame,
That we've already talked so much about.
Then Jesus rode back calmly, coolly:
Rode back to His Father, Triumphant,
Resplendent, Glorious, Victorious,
And a little smug.

Book VII
Then saieth Adam, "Tell me about us,
How came we two to be created?"
And Raphael told how after the fight,
God said, "A New World shall I create,
And fill it will I with brand new creatures
And see if they're a little more grateful."
Jesus and some cherubs built it for him,
in six days only they built Creation.
And then, when done, on the seventh day
Hymns and praises sang they, all of them,
About how good it was to be Good,
And how sad it was that not everyone
Could be as wonderful as they were,
Such as certain Angels, for example,
Whose asses had just been kicked to Hell.
And on and on, hymns and praises, endless.

Book VIII
Then saieth Adam, "Tell me about the sky,
About the planet's movements, and the stars,
The workings of the celestial spheres,
The cloakèd secrets of time, and tides,
And why I'm here right now, and what love is:
What it's all about, Raphy?"
And thus did Raphael answer him: "No."

Once more warned he Adam and Eve:
Once more told how Good Angels were good,
And Bad Angels were Bad, specially Satan,
Who was actually the Worst, and how
They must not eat from the Tree of Knowledge,
No matter what, for any reason, ever,
Under any conditions, period.
And then he left.

And Adam and Eve said prayers for him,
And sang hymns, and were grateful, and all that,
Because they didn't know any better:
They wouldn't have known a Setup
If it bit them in the Ass.

From The Old Man and the Sea
by Ernest Hemingway

It was cramped in the box when the boy followed him in, but the old man did not mind. He liked to feel the boy's supple warmth press against him.

"Santiago," the boy said. "I could go with you again. The boat has made some money, I could come with you tomorrow." The old man had taught the boy to fish, and the boy loved him the way a young boy loves a man who teaches him how to fish.

"No," Santiago said, "You are with a lucky boat. Stay with them."

"But remember how you went eighty-seven days without a fish, and then we caught a fish every day for three weeks?"

"Those were good days," the old man said.

"Yes," said the boy.

"But they were different days."

"Yes."

Santiago sighed. "These are not bad days," he said, "But they are different from the good days."

"Yes," the boy said, "They are different."

"Different," the old man said.

"Yes," said the boy.

"But not bad," the old man said.

"No," said the boy.

"But not the same."

"No," the boy said, "Not the same."

"Yes," said the old man.

"Yes what?" said the boy.

"Yes they are not the same," said the old man.

"No," said the boy. "No, yes, they are not."

The old man and the boy were silent.

"What will you have for dinner tonight?" the boy asked.

"Dirt and seaweed," the old man said. "It is a good meal, a man's meal. Why don't you eat with me?"

The boy saw through his pride. They went through this often. "I'm going to get some chili and rice and corn bread," the boy said. "More than I can eat. Would you like to share some?"

The old man shook his head. "Dirt and seaweed," he said. "This is all a fisherman needs."

"Yes," the boy said, "It is a good meal, but my mother is loco like a pollo. If I do not eat the chili and the rice and the corn bread she will become very upset, but it is too much for me to eat. If you help me eat it, I will be grateful."

The old man nodded. "Bring me this chili," he said...

From Crime and Punishment
by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Well," Rasklonikov thought, "so that's how it is, they're going to sacrifice themselves for me, are they? They cannot--they must not! It is loathsome, I will not allow it!-- …But can I really do it? Yes, yes, I must, it is time."

He put on his rags and leaves and his cardboard hat. He snuck into the first floor tenant's apartment and stole the axe from under his sofa, tucking it into a special axe-holster he had sewn into the inside of his overcoat.

Then he wandered out into the sweltering streets, distracted and confused. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his face again, perhaps because he was wearing an overcoat in July. As he passed the high walls of a certain bourgeois home, a dark figure climbed over the wall into the street and scurried away hurriedly; from within the house, someone was screaming, "Parricide! Parricide!"

"Ah, Russia!" Rasklonikov thought, "Wherefore, wherefore? You are like a great troika rumbling across the steppe, heedlessy driven by a dim-witted drunk, demolishing everything in your path--the world stands back and beholds your terrible coming: shall they step aside? or will they be crushed beneath your wheels? or will they just keep their distance until you sober up? O, Russia, Russia, Russia!"

When he was done thinking about Russia and how tragically mixed up she was, he wandered around the city some more, wondering what he would have done if he were Napoleon. Finally it was twilight. It was time to do it...

Farming Tips