Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                  • It is only from the notes of Dr. Cahusac, who performed the autopsy, that it has been possible to construct some kind of a postscript to the bizarre and pathetic end of a once valuable officer of the Secret Service.
                                                    It was not unnatural that under such conditions the prisoners should have ground not only for bitter indignation with the prison authorities, but for discontent with their own administration. One may in fact be surprised that starving and dying men should have retained any assured spirit of loyalty. When the vote for President came to be counted, we found that we had elected Lincoln by more than three to one. The soldiers felt that Lincoln was the man behind the guns. The prison votes, naturally enough, reached no ballot boxes and my individual ballot in any case would not have been legal as I was at the time but twenty years of age. I can but feel, however, that this vote of the prisoners was typical and important, and I have no doubt it was so recognised when later the report of the voting reached Washington.

                                                                                                  • PERSECUTIONS
                                                                                                    Drax took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at it. He seemed to make up his mind. "You were asking about Krebs," he said. "Well," he looked meaningly up at Bond, "just between ourselves I don't entirely trust the fellow." He held up an admonitory hand. "Nothing definite, of course, or I'd have had him put away, but I've found him snooping about the house and once I caught him in my study going through my private papers. He had a perfectly good explanation and I let him off with a warning. But quite honestly I have my suspicions of the man. Of course, he can't do any harm. He's part of the household staff and none of them are allowed in here but," he looked candidly into Bond's eyes, "I would have said you ought to concentrate on him. Bright of you to have bowled him out so quickly," he added with respect. "What put you on to him?"
                                                                                                    "Sure," said Leiter. He slipped his steel hook into the right-hand pocket of his coat and took Bond's arm with his left hand. They moved out on to the street and Bond noticed that Leiter walked with a heavy limp. "In Texas even the fleas are so rich they can hire themselves dogs. Let's go. Sardi's is just over the way."
                                                                                                    James Bond lowered his gun. He would give the man a few minutes. He knew he couldn't give him more. Pain and heat and exhaustion and thirst. It wouldn't be long before he lay down himself, right there on the hard cracked mud, just to rest. If someone wanted to kill him, they could. He said, and the words came out slowly, tiredly, "Go ahead, Scaramanga. One minute only."


                                                                                                    'Oh, what an accusation,' exclaimed Dora, opening her eyes wide; 'to say that you ever saw me take gold watches! Oh!'
                                                                                                    Bond turned back to face the men. At once he knew the worst. They had rolled their trousers up to the knees and were waiting, composedly, their shoes in one hand and their guns in the other. This was no rescue. It was just part of the ride. Oh well! Paying no attention to the men, Bond bent down, rolled up his trousers as they had done and, in the process of fumbling with his socks and shoes, palmed one of his heel knives and, hah0 turning towards the boat that had now grounded in the shallows, transferred it to his right-hand trouser pocket.
                                                                                                    In South America, however, it lasted only for a decade. There the worse elements of the capitalist class gained power and indulged in secret violations of the agreements. The peoples of South America came to realize that they were being exploited, not flagrantly, as in former times, but at least annoyingly. The movement for socialism rapidly gained ground. The World Government, foreseeing the end, refrained from action, preferring that the change to a socialistic local economy should be brought about by local effort. The bosses of South American capitalism appealed to their colleagues in the northern continent, but in vain. Without trouble the South Americans went over to socialism.
                                                                                                    To make the Medick-Art my whole Concern,
                                                                                                    'Mr. Copperfull,' returned Mrs. Crupp, 'I'm a mother myself, and not likely. I ask your pardon, sir, if I intrude. I should never wish to intrude where I were not welcome. But you are a young gentleman, Mr. Copperfull, and my adwice to you is, to cheer up, sir, to keep a good heart, and to know your own walue. If you was to take to something, sir,' said Mrs. Crupp, 'if you was to take to skittles, now, which is healthy, you might find it divert your mind, and do you good.'

                                                                                                                                                  • And no matter where on earth you find yourself,mothers and fathers instinctively cradle their babieswith the head against the left side of their body, close tothe heart. The heart is at the heart of it. Facial expressionsand body language are all obedient to the greaterpurpose of helping your body maintain the well-being ofits center of feeling, mood and emotion—your heart.

                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 'Yes, sir,' said Hawker stolidly. He limped off on the short cut that would take him half way down the tenth fairway.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Chapter 10 “The Small House at Allington”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Zenana-visiting was only one portion of her work; regarded by herself as the more important portion, but not necessarily the more important because she thought so. We ourselves are poor judges of the comparative worth of the different things which we have to do. She was also a warm and true friend to the Indian Christians, entering into their trials and difficulties, throwing herself into their interests, doing her utmost to help them onward, to lift them upward. In this direction she had a remarkable degree of influence; and in her intercourse with them she was absolutely without pride, she was full of kindliness, consideration, and affection.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Ralph the Heir, 1871 2500 0 0

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • The man wheeled his motor-cycle over the rough ground on to the narrow trail and started off towards the frontier hills of Sierra Leone. They were more distinct now. He would only just have time to get to Susie's hut before dawn. He grimaced at the thought of having to make love to her at the end of an exhausting night. But it would have to be done. Money was not enough to pay for the alibi she gave him. It was his white body she wanted. And then another ten miles to the club for breakfast and the coarse jokes of his friends.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Claiborne's rise from obscurity to the most prestigious food job in America astonished no one more than himself, since his principal qualifications were a B.A. in journalism and one year's training at a hotel and restaurant school in Switzerland. However, the Times knew exactly what they were looking for when Jane Nickerson retired in 1957, and Claiborne quickly proved to be the man of the hour. He threw himself into his work with boundless energy, writing no less than five columns a week, but his relationship with the newspaper eventually became a love hate affair. "Things came to the point where I couldn't go to a restaurant at night unless I came home here and had at least four Scotch and sodas and four martinis. And at this point, I took myself off to Africa. I stayed at the Stanley Hotel in Kenya, and I came back and said, 'Give me my benefits. I'm quitting this place.' They thought I was kidding."