类似舰r大破的手游|kediribertutur

Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                          • “Kenyans have superquick foot turnover,” Ken said. “Quick, light leg contractions are moreeconomical than big, forceful ones.”
                                                            Dinner ended at nine. "Now we will go over and introduce you to the Moonraker," said Drax, rising abruptly from the table. "Walter will accompany us. He has much to do. Come along, my dear Bond."

                                                                                                                    • Bond led the way to the left of the tree, away from the rifle that lay in the shadowed grass.
                                                                                                                      'National Airlines, "Airline of the Stars", announces the departure of their flight NA 106 to La Guardia Field, New York. Will all passengers please proceed to gate number seven. All aboard, please.'
                                                                                                                      Bond said evasively, "Not long. I've got to find out what happened to them and why. Then we'll be off." He looked at his watch. "It's twelve now. You wait here. Have a bathe or something. Don't walk about leaving footprints. Come on, Quarrel, we'd better get that boat hidden."
                                                                                                                      'My own house?' repeated Mr. Murdstone. 'Clara!'

                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                                      I lowered the chair onto the table top. "Well, what are your names? What about these credentials?"
                                                                                                                      In writing these pages, which, for the want of a better name, I shall be fain to call the autobiography of so insignificant a person as myself, it will not be so much my intention to speak of the little details of my private life, as of what I, and perhaps others round me, have done in literature; of my failures and successes such as they have been, and their causes; and of the opening which a literary career offers to men and women for the earning of their bread. And yet the garrulity of old age, and the aptitude of a man’s mind to recur to the passages of his own life, will, I know, tempt me to say something of myself — nor, without doing so, should I know how to throw my matter into any recognised and intelligible form. That I, or any man, should tell everything of himself, I hold to be impossible. Who could endure to own the doing of a mean thing? Who is there that has done none? But this I protest:— that nothing that I say shall be untrue. I will set down naught in malice; nor will I give to myself, or others, honour which I do not believe to have been fairly won. My boyhood was, I think, as unhappy as that of a young gentleman could well be, my misfortunes arising from a mixture of poverty and gentle standing on the part of my father, and from an utter want on my part of the juvenile manhood which enables some boys to hold up their heads even among the distresses which such a position is sure to produce.


                                                                                                                      FRANKLIN BEGAN reading in an even, expository tone of voice, frequently stopping to explain a point or when he skipped irrelevant passages.

                                                                                                                                                                              • 'On the last night, in the evening, she kissed me, and said: "If my baby should die too, Peggotty, please let them lay him in my arms, and bury us together." (It was done; for the poor lamb lived but a day beyond her.) "Let my dearest boy go with us to our resting-place," she said, "and tell him that his mother, when she lay here, blessed him not once, but a thousand times."'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        • They looked roguishly back at him from the shadows. They were the worst. They were nothing. Zero. Baccarat.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the banquet some time. The greater part of the guests had gone to bed as soon as the eating and drinking were over; and we, who had remained whispering and listening half-undressed, at last betook ourselves to bed, too.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            • It will be said, perhaps, that a man whose work has risen to no higher pitch than mine has attained, has no right to speak of the strains and impulses to which real genius is exposed. I am ready to admit the great variations in brain power which are exhibited by the products of different men, and am not disposed to rank my own very high; but my own experience tells me that a man can always do the work for which his brain is fitted if he will give himself the habit of regarding his work as a normal condition of his life. I therefore venture to advise young men who look forward to authorship as the business of their lives, even when they propose that that authorship be of the highest class known, to avoid enthusiastic rushes with their pens, and to seat themselves at their desks day by day as though they were lawyers’ clerks — and so let them sit until the allotted task shall be accomplished.


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