*Collated from all horoscopes. Advice applicable for the rest of your life.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going to heaven, we were all going direct the other way…
A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, 1859.
Nobody knew what time it was.
A Tale of Too Shitties by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master’s house…
Black Beauty by Anna Sewell, 1877.
The trees leaned suspiciously over the pond.
Shady Trees by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, 1866.
On an exceptionally hot evening early in July an old woman came out of the garret in which she lodged in S. Place and sprinted rapidly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge.
Time for Refreshment by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, 1890.
Summer Wind: rose, lilac, a garden tree, pink-flowering thorns.
Now available in stores by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
Call me Ishmael… whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
Moby Dick by Herman Melville, 1851.
Call me Dick. I obstruct traffic flow and knock people’s hats off. I like moisture.
Dick by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
Well, Prince, Genoa and Lucca are now no more than private estates of the Bonaparte family. No, I warn you, that if you do not tell me we are at war… you are no longer my friend, no longer my faithful slave, as you say. There, how do you do, how do you do? I see I’m scaring you, sit down and talk to me.
War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, 1869.
Sit down, let me read you something. It won’t take long.
War and Peace by Pivotal Matters, 2014.
Eating is a peculiar thing.
The thin are vacuum packed; the fat are vacuum cleaners.