Don Quijote

Original Paragraph:
The priest, and those around him, heard all this, which seemed to them to have been spoken - as indeed it had been - from somewhere very close by, so they rose to look for whoever had been speaking, nor had they gone twenty paces when, seated at the foot of an ash tree, in front of a craggy rock, they saw a young fellow dressed like a peasant (though because his head was bent forward they could not see his face) washing his feet in the stream that ran by. They stood watching so quietly that he was not aware of their presence, nor was he paying attention to anything except bathing his feet - which looked for all the world like two bits of white crystal lying on the stream bed with the other stones and rocks. The whiteness and beauty of those feet astonished them, for they did not seem fashioned for treading on ordinary ground, nor for walking behind a plow and a pair of oxen (as their owner's clothes would have indicated). So, seeing that their presence had still not been noticed, the priest, who had been leading the way, signalled to the others to crouch down and conceal themselves behind some of the boulders lying about, which they all did, staring attentively to see what the young fellow might do. He had on a short, drab double-cape, belted tightly with a white cloth, dun-colored wool leggings and breeches, and a hat of the same nondescript color. He had the leggings rolled halfway up his legs - which seemed every bit as white as alabaster. After washing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a small towel which he pulled out from under his hat, at the same time raising his face and showing them its incomparable loveliness - so lovely that, in a low voice, Cardenio murmured to the priest;
"That isn't Luscinda, so it can't be a human being, but perhaps it's an angel."

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The priest, and those around him, heard all this, which seemed to them have been spoken - as it indeed it had been - from somewhere very close by. So they rose to look for whoever had been speaking, nor had they gone twenty paces when, seated at the foot of an ash tree, in front of a craggy rock, they saw a young fellow dressed like a peasant, washing his feet in the stream that ran by. Though because his head was bent forward, they could not see his face. They stood watching so quietly that he was not aware of their presence, nor was he paying attention to anything except bathing his feet. His feet looked for all the world like two bits of white crystal lying on the stream bed with the other stones and rocks. The whiteness and beauty of those feet astonished them. They did not seem fashioned for treading on ordinary ground, nor for walking behind a plow and a pair of oxen as their owner's clothes would have indicated. So, seeing that their presence had still not been noticed, the priest, leading the way, signalled to the others to crouch down and conceal themselves behind some of the boulders lying about. They all did this staring attentively to see what the young fellow might do. He had on a short, drab double-cape, belted tightly with a white cloth, dun-colored wool leggings and breeches, and a hat of the same nondescript color. He had the leggings rolled halfway up his legs. They seemed every bit as white as alabaster. After washing his beautiful feet, he wiped them with a small towel with he pulled out from under his hat. At the same time he raised his face and showed them its incomparable loveliness. It was so lovely that, in a low voice, Cardenio murmured to the priest:
"That isn't Lucinda, so it can't be a human being, but perhaps it's an angel."

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Original Paragraph:
Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search the woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could find. There in its shadow be buried Mad-Eye Moody's eye and marked the spot by gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge's door. Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were going to do next.
Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron agreed, with the sole proviso that their next move took them within reach of a bacon sandwich. Hermione therefore removed the enchantments she had placed around the clearing, while Harry and Ron obliterated all the marks and impressions on the ground that might show they had camped there. Then they Disapparated to the outskirts of a small market town.

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I liked this part of the story because it had alot of very descriptive and rarely used words in it. Also, when authors use this type of language, they really paint a picture in your mind. And with a book series like Harry Potter, where there is all sorts of make-believe, the author really has to give us the image she is thinking of, or we have to make it up ourselves. And of course the author is thinking of a certain image when she is writing it, so she feels she has to show it to us. I really love it when authors use words well and use different ones than the over-used ones. The Harry Potter series is a wonderful series, and I would definately recommend it.

On Writing Well-Zinsser

Original Paragraph:

Think of the other as a creative act: the expressing of who you are. Relax and say what you want to say. And since style is who you are, you only need to be true to yourself to find it gradually emerging from under the accumulated clutter and debris, growing more distinctive every day. Perhaps the style won't solidify for years as your style, your voice. Just as it takes time to find yourself as a person, it takes time to find yourself as a stylist, and even then your style will change as you grow older.

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There are many things I like about this author: his style and his personality are just a couple. He has a very good sense of humor and alot of good advice. In this paragraph I think he's trying to tell us that we don't really need to worry about what people think, just write what you feel. I agree with this completely, only I struggle with it. It's very hard for me to "put myself in the paper." My Mom is constantly telling me that I need to be more creative.