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#Coursera: Fantasy & Science Fiction
ecnef · 10 years ago
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Rainclouds over dark towers, rain falling in deep streets, a dark storm-beaten city of stone, through which one vein of gold winds slowly.
The left hand of darkness by Ursula Le Guin, pg. 2
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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for I was taught as a child on my homeworld that Truth is a matter of the imagination. The soundest fact may fail or prevail in the style of its telling.
The left hand of darkness by Ursula Le Guin, pg. 1
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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We talk fine things about women, but in our hearts we know that they are very limited beings - most of them. We honor them for their functional powers, even while we dishonor them by our use of it; we honor them for their carefully enforced virtue, even while we show by our own conduct how little we think of that virtue; we value them, sincerly, for the perverted maternal activities which make our wives the most comfortable of servants, bound to us for life with the wages wholly at our decision, their whole business, outside of the temporary duties of such motherhood as they may achive, to meet our needs in every way. Oh, we value them, all right, "in their place," which place is the home...
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 174 (reminds me a lot of a scene in The Dollmaker where the main character suddenly realises just how much independence she has given up by moving to the city, and so totally reliant on her husband's wage).
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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This tradition[marriage] relates the woman to the man. He goes on with his business, and she adapts herself to him and it..
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 151
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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The differences in the education of the average man and woman are great enough, but the trouble they make is not mostly for the man; he generally carries out his own views of the case. The woman may have imagined the conditions of married life to be different; but what she imagined, was ignorant of, or might have preferred, did not seriously matter.
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 151
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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Terry did not like it because he found nothing to oppose, to struggle with, to conquer.
Herland by charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg 124
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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Patriotism generally has a chip on its shoulder.
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 119
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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"More like a lot of women!" I thought to myself disgustedly, and then remembered how little like 'women' in our derogatory sense, they were.
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 112
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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"Can't expect stirring romance and wild adventure without men, can you?"
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 57
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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"They don't seem to notice our being men," he went on. "They treat us - well - just as they do one another. It's as if our being men was a minor incident.
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 39
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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Jeff idealized women in the best Southern style. He was full of chivalry and sentiment, and all that. ... Terry's idea seemed to be that pretty women were just so much game and homely ones not worth considering. It was really unpleasant sometimes to see the notions he had.
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, pg. 14
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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"They would fight among themselves," Terry insisted. "Women always do. We mustn't look to find any sort of order and organization."
Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman pg. 12
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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Owning everything in common, even to your women and children, has resulted in your owning nothing in common.
A princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research.
The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells, pg. 34 [as well it should. Conscience trumps research imo.]
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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"It's chance, I tell you," he interrupted, "as everything is in a man's life."
The Island of Doctor Moreau - H. G. Well, pg. 19
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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what will be my triumph when I shall have corrected what Nature left imperfect in her fairest work!
The Birthmark by Nathaniel Hawthorne, pg. 6 (Mosses from an old manse)
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ecnef · 10 years ago
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It was the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably on all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary and finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The crimson hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality clutches the highest and pures of earthly mould,degrading them into kindred with the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their visible frames return to dust.
The Birthmark by Nathaniel Hawthorne (Mosses from an old manse) pg. 4 Nature always seems to be at war with humanity
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