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Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                                      • Whether you want to call it magnetism, polarity,electricity, thought, intelligence or charisma, it's stillattraction, and it invests everything—animal, vegetableor mineral. We form synchronized partnerships naturally,and although they are hardly noticeable to some,they are quite tangible to others.
                                                                        This ingenious system, it must be noted, had not been devised by the rulers themselves but by the technologists, by physiologists, psychologists, and electrical engineers. They had done it partly out of blind professional enthusiasm, partly because they felt the need of such a system to fortify their orthodoxy against the unorthodox impulses which occasionally distressed them.

                                                                                                                                          • In cautious Youth! why dost thou so misplace
                                                                                                                                            Had ne'er been born! or else been born a Fool!
                                                                                                                                            'Ooh! You are a one! But of course I promise. But do you think there's any hope - about the Windsors, I mean?' Now she put her arms round his neck, round the witchdoctor's neck, and the big blue orbs gazed appealingly into his.

                                                                                                                                            Even the children were instructed, each to dip a wooden spoon into Mr. Micawber's pot, and pledge us in its contents. When this was done, my aunt and Agnes rose, and parted from the emigrants. It was a sorrowful farewell. They were all crying; the children hung about Agnes to the last; and we left poor Mrs. Micawber in a very distressed condition, sobbing and weeping by a dim candle, that must have made the room look, from the river, like a miserable light-house.

                                                                                                                                             

                                                                                                                                            She seemed satisfied. "It's called the Spangled Mob. Two brothers called Spang. I work for one of them in Las Vegas. Nobody seems to know where the other one is. Some say he's in Europe. And then there's somebody called ABC. When I'm on this diamond racket, all the orders come from him. The other one, Seraffimo, he's the brother I work for. He's more interested in gambling and horses. Runs a wire service and the Tiara at Vegas."
                                                                                                                                            That same afternoon, Caballo was overjoyed to see a fifty-one-year-old named Herbolisto comejogging in from Chinivo, accompanied by Nacho, a forty-one-year-old champion from one ofHerbolisto’s neighboring settlements. As Caballo had feared, Herbolisto had been laid up with theflu. But he was one of Caballo’s oldest Tarahumara friends and hated the idea of missing the race,so as soon as he felt a little better, he grabbed a pinole bag and set off on the sixty-mile trip on hisown, stopping off on the way to invite Nacho along for the fun.


                                                                                                                                            She has frequently been called America's greatest female pianist — a title which, as recently as the 1960s, almost any woman would have coveted. But when the year is 1978 and the musician is Ruth Laredo, this "compliment" brings a different response.

                                                                                                                                                                                                              • The red curtains at the other end of the room were moving. Through half-sleeping eyes I wondered why. Outside, the wind had dropped and there was no sound. Lazily I raised my eyes to look above me. The curtains at this end of the room, above our bed, were motionless. There must be a small breeze coming off the lake. Come on! For heaven's sake go to sleep!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 'We could show her the substance of one, I think?' said Steerforth, addressing his eyes to mine. 'Eh, Daisy?'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      • The man called Horror sauntered slowly over to the cafeteria table farthest from me. He pulled a chair away from the table, twisted it in his hand, and pushed it between his legs. He sat down and leaned his folded arms along the back and rested his chin on them and watched me with unwavering, indifferent eyes. He said softly, so softly that I could only just hear him, "I'll take mine scrambled too, lady. Plenty crisp bacon. Buttered toast Howsabout coffee?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          • Since this was written the Commission on the law of copyright has sat and made its report. With the great body of it I agree, and could serve no reader by alluding here at length to matters which are discussed there. But in regard to this question of international copyright with the United States, I think that we were incorrect in the expression of an opinion that fair justice — or justice approaching to fairness — is now done by American publishers to English authors by payments made by them for early sheets. I have just found that £20 was paid to my publisher in England for the use of the early sheets of a novel for which I received £1600 in England. When asked why he accepted so little, he assured me that the firm with whom he dealt would not give more. “Why not go to another firm?” I asked. No other firm would give a dollar, because no other firm would care to run counter to that great firm which had assumed to itself the right of publishing my books. I soon after received a copy of my own novel in the American form, and found that it was published for 7 1/2d. That a great sale was expected can be argued from the fact that without a great sale the paper and printing necessary for the republication of a three-volume novel could not be supplied. Many thousand copies must have been sold. But from these the author received not one shilling. I need hardly point out that the sum of £20 would not do more than compensate the publisher for his trouble in making the bargain. The publisher here no doubt might have refused to supply the early sheets, but he had no means of exacting a higher price than that offered. I mention the circumstance here because it has been boasted, on behalf of the American publishers, that though there is no international copyright, they deal so liberally with English authors as to make it unnecessary that the English author should be so protected. With the fact of the £2

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Maybe it was a good thing I fell asleep on the corner sofa. That way, at least, I was hidden in theshadows and managed to get a good look at the lone wanderer—before he saw me, and bolted rightback into the wild.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      • Alfred Blacking came into the workroom and picked up Bond's clubs. He looked very directly at Bond. He said, 'Remember what I told you, sir.' One eye closed and opened again. 'I mean about that flat swing of yours. It needs watching - all the time.'