Compiled by Karpova.

I tried to create a compendium of interesting, well-played games. Some of them are not widely known but still great chess. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I do.

General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm...

"On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite." — Emanuel Lasker

"Life is like a chess. If you lose your queen, you will probably lose the game." — Being Caballero

"Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles." — Garry Kasparov

"Age brings wisdom to some men, and to others chess." — Evan Esar

* Good Historical Links: https://www.saund.co.uk/britbase/in...

* JonathanJ's favorite games 4: Game Collection: JonathanJ's favorite games 4

* elmubarak: my fav games: Game Collection: elmubarak: my fav games

* Assorted Good games Compiled by rbaglini: Game Collection: assorted Good games

* GK's Scheveningen: Game Collection: Kasparov - The Sicilian Sheveningen

* LAST COLLECTION Compiled by Jaredfchess: Game Collection: LAST COLLECTION

* Internet tracking: https://www.studysmarter.us/magazin...

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils

poem by B.H. Wood, entitled ‘The Drowser':

Ah, reverie! Ten thousand heads I see
Bent over chess-boards, an infinity
Of minds engaged in battle, fiendishly,
Keenly, or calmly, as the case may be:
World-wide, the neophyte, the veteran,
The studious problemist, the fairy fan ...
"What's that? – I'm nearly sending you to sleep? Sorry! – but this position's rather deep."

Source: Chess Amateur, September 1929, page 268.

The Sun and the Frogs

Rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day,
The people drowned their care in drink;
While from the general joy did Aesop shrink,
And showed its folly in this way.
"The sun," said he, "once took it in his head
To have a partner for his bed.
From swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs,
Up rose the wailings of the frogs.
"What shall we do, should he have progeny?"
Said they to Destiny;
"One sun we scarcely can endure,
And half-a-dozen, we are sure,
Will dry the very sea.
Adieu to marsh and fen!
Our race will perish then,
Or be obliged to fix
Their dwelling in the Styx!"
For such an humble animal,
The frog, I take it, reasoned well."

Drive sober or get pulled over.

The Old Man And His Sons

All power is feeble with dissension:
For this I quote the Phrygian slave.
If anything I add to his invention,
It is our manners to engrave,
And not from any envious wishes; –
I'm not so foolishly ambitious.
Phaedrus enriches often his story,
In quest – I doubt it not – of glory:
Such thoughts were idle in my breast.
An aged man, near going to his rest,
His gathered sons thus solemnly addressed:
"To break this bunch of arrows you may try;
And, first, the string that binds them I untie." The eldest, having tried with might and main,
Exclaimed, "This bundle I resign
To muscles sturdier than mine."
The second tried, and bowed himself in vain.
The youngest took them with the like success.
All were obliged their weakness to confess.
Unharmed the arrows passed from son to son;
Of all they did not break a single one.
"Weak fellows!" said their sire, "I now must show What in the case my feeble strength can do."
They laughed, and thought their father but in joke, Till, one by one, they saw the arrows broke.
"See, concord's power!" replied the sire; "as long As you in love agree, you will be strong.
I go, my sons, to join our fathers good;
Now promise me to live as brothers should,
And soothe by this your dying father's fears."
Each strictly promised with a flood of tears.
Their father took them by the hand, and died;
And soon the virtue of their vows was tried.
Their sire had left a large estate
Involved in lawsuits intricate;
Here seized a creditor, and there
A neighbour levied for a share.
At first the trio nobly bore
The brunt of all this legal war.
But short their friendship as It was rare.
Whom blood had joined – and small the wonder! – The force of interest drove asunder;
And, as is wont in such affairs,
Ambition, envy, were co-heirs.
In parcelling their sire's estate,
They quarrel, quibble, litigate,
Each aiming to supplant the other.
The judge, by turns, condemns each brother.
Their creditors make new assault,
Some pleading error, some default.
The sundered brothers disagree;
For counsel one, have counsels three.
All lose their wealth; and now their sorrows
Bring fresh to mind those broken arrows.

Do You Have It?

Riddle: Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it you die. What is it?

Answer: Nothing.

The Maid

A certain maid, as proud as fair,
A husband thought to find
Exactly to her mind –
Well-formed and young, genteel in air,
Not cold nor jealous; – mark this well.
Whoever would wed this dainty belle
Must have, besides rank, wealth, and wit,
And all good qualities to fit –
A man it were difficult to get.
Kind Fate, however, took great care
To grant, if possible, her prayer.
There came a-wooing men of note;
The maiden thought them all,
By half, too mean and small.
"They marry me! the creatures dote:
Alas! poor souls! their case I pity."
(Here mark the bearing of the beauty.)
Some were less delicate than witty;
Some had the nose too short or long;
In others something else was wrong;
Which made each in the maiden's eyes
An altogether worthless prize.
Profound contempt is aye the vice
Which springs from being over-nice,
Thus were the great dismissed; and then
Came offers from inferior men.
The maid, more scornful than before,
Took credit to her tender heart
For giving then an open door.
"They think me much in haste to part
With independence! God be thanked
My lonely nights bring no regret;
Nor shall I pine, or greatly fret,
Should I with ancient maids be ranked."
Such were the thoughts that pleased the fair:
Age made them only thoughts that were.
Adieu to lovers: passing years
Awaken doubts and chilling fears.
Regret, at last, brings up the train.
Day after day she sees, with pain,
Some smile or charm take final flight,
And leave the features of a "fright."
Then came a hundred sorts of paint:
But still no trick, nor ruse, nor feint,
Availed to hide the cause of grief,
Or bar out Time, that graceless thief.
A house, when gone to wreck and ruin,
May be repaired and made a new one.
Alas! for ruins of the face
No such rebuilding ever takes place.
Her daintiness now changed its tune;
Her mirror told her, "Marry soon!"
So did a certain wish within,
With more of secrecy than sin, –
A wish that dwells with even prudes,
Annihilating solitudes.
This maiden's choice was past belief,
She soothing down her restless grief,
And smoothing it of every ripple,
By marrying a cripple.

A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.