What, no mention of Joyce yet?
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.
(Full text:
http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Dead)
I really liked Dubliners. Haven't tried Ulysses or Finnegans Wake yet, and I'm not anxious to without some serious guidance, but Dubliners is very readable.
And while I'm in my junior-year English mood,
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
I love that poem so much. One of the few I've bothered to memorize, though I forget most of it now.
Of course, neither of these is really that applicable to most games, unless they're going to be seriously narration-heavy. Dialogue (and character development and whatnot) is a whole different ballgame.