Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                                  • "This underground war I was talking about, this crime battle that's always going on-whether it's being fought between cops and robbers or between spies and counterspies. This is a private battle between two trained armies, one fighting on the side of law and of what his own country thinks is right, and one belonging to the enemies of these things." Captain Stonor was now talking to himself. I imagined that he was reciting something-something he felt very strongly about, perhaps had said in speeches or in an article in some police magazine. "But in the higher ranks of these forces, among the toughest of the professionals, there's a deadly quality in the persons involved which is common to both-to both friends and enemies." The captain's closed fist came softly down on the wooden table-top for emphasis, and his inward-looking eyes burned with a dedicated, private anger. "The top gangsters, the top F.B.I, operatives, the top spies and the top counterspies are coldhearted, coldblooded, ruthless, tough killers, Miss Michel. Yes, even the 'friends' as opposed to the 'enemies.' They have to be. They wouldn't survive if they weren't. Do you get me?" Captain Stonor's eyes came back into focus. Now they held mine with a friendly urgency that touched my feelings-but not, I'm ashamed to say, my heart. "So the message I want to leave with you, my dear-and I've talked with Washington and I've learned something about Commander Bond's outstanding record in his particular line of business-is this. Keep away from all these men. They are not for you, whether they're called James Bond or Sluggsy Morant. Both these men, and others like them, belong to a private jungle into which you've strayed for a few hours and from which you've escaped. So don't go and get sweet dreams about the one or nightmares from the other. They're just different people from the likes of you-a different species." Captain Stonor smiled. "Like hawks and doves, if you'll pardon the comparison. Get me?" My expression cannot have been receptive. The voice became abrupt. "Okay, let's go, then."
                                                                    Bond rested his forearm against the door jamb and raised the tube to his right eye. He focused it on the patch of black shadow opposite. Slowly the black dissolved into grey. The outline of a huge woman's face and some lettering appeared. Now Bond could read the lettering. It said: `NIYAGARA. MARILYN MONROE YE JOSEPH GOTTEN' and underneath, the cartoon feature, `BONZO FUTBOLOU'. Bond inched the glass down the vast pile of Marilyn Monroe's hair, and the cliff of forehead, and down the two feet of nose to the cavernous nostrils. A faint square showed in the poster. It ran from below the nose into the great alluring curve of the lips. It was about three feet deep. From it, there would be a longish drop to the ground.

                                                                                                                                  • "Thanks. Trouble is, I'm not all that much in England. And thanks for spotting for me." Bond glanced at the distant clock tower. On either side, the red danger flag and the red signal drum were coming down to show that firing had ceased. The hands stood at nine-fifteen. "I'd like to buy you a drink, but I've got an appointment in London. Can we hold it over until that Queen's Prize you were talking about?"
                                                                                                                                    Between the time of which I have now spoken, and the present, took place the most important events of my private life. The first of these was my marriage, in April, 1851, to the lady whose incomparable worth had made her friendship the greatest source to me both of happiness and of improvement, during many years in which we never expected to be in any closer relation to one another. Ardently as I should have aspired to this complete union of our lives at any time in the course of my existence at which it had been practicable, I, as much as my wife, would far rather have foregone that privilege for ever, than have owed it to the premature death of one for whom I had the sincerest respect, and she the strongest affection. That event, however, having taken place in July, 1849, it was granted to me to derive from that evil my own greatest good, by adding to the partnership of thought, feeling, and writing which had long existed, a partnership of our entire existence. For seven and a half years that blessing was mine; for seven and a half only! I can say nothing which could describe, even in the faintest manner, what that loss was and is. But because I know that she would have wished it, I endeavour to make the best of what life I have left, and to work on for her purposes with such diminished strength as can be derived from thoughts of her, and communion with her memory.

                                                                                                                                    'Yes. That can be done. I will see that they are put in your room.' She summoned the head waiter and gave him the order in German. The man, looking at Bond with overt dislike, said, 'Sofort, gnadiges Fraulein,' and clicked his heels.
                                                                                                                                    11When you learn how to make fast, meaningful connectionswith people, you will improve your relationshipsat work and even at home. You will discover theenjoyment of being able to approach anyone with confidenceand sincerity. But a word of caution: we're notabout to change your personality; this is not a new wayof being, not a new way of life. You are not getting amagic wand to rush out into the street with and have theworld inviting you to dinner—these are connecting skillsto be used only when you need them.


                                                                                                                                    'I'd rather take a little rest before breakfast,' he said. 'It's been quite a day and I expect Paris will want me to do a bit of mopping-up tomorrow. There are several loose ends you won't have to worry about. I shall. I'll walk over to the hotel with you. Might as well convoy the treasure ship right into port.'
                                                                                                                                    Innumerable Drops there be,

                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 'Quite, quite.' Mr Du Pont made a throwaway gesture with the hand that held the cigarette. His eyes evaded Bond's as he put the next question, waited for the next lie. (Bond thought, there's a wolf in this Brooks Brothers clothing. This is a shrewd man.) 'And now you've settled down?' Mr Du Pont smiled paternally. 'What did you choose, if you'll pardon the question?'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • And yet when I think how little I knew of Latin or Greek on leaving Harrow at nineteen, I am astonished at the possibility of such waste of time. I am now a fair Latin scholar — that is to say, I read and enjoy the Latin classics, and could probably make myself understood in Latin prose. But the knowledge which I have, I have acquired since I left school — no doubt aided much by that groundwork of the language which will in the process of years make its way slowly, even through the skin. There were twelve years of tuition in which I do not remember that I ever knew a lesson! When I left Harrow I was nearly at the top of the school, being a monitor, and, I think, the seventh boy. This position I achieved by gravitation upwards. I bear in mind well with how prodigal a hand prizes used to be showered about; but I never got a prize. From the first to the last there was nothing satisfactory in my school career — except the way in which I licked the boy who had to be taken home to be cured.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • "Well, then you must let me help." I put my hand out to him. "And you will take care, won't you? I can't do without you. I don't want to be alone again."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • Department V: Prosecutions: the section which passes final judgement on all victims.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 鈥楢ug. 10.鈥擨 am glad that you are well and happy. You must not think that I forget you, because I write little. It is rather a case of 鈥渄uties thronging round,鈥 and not much strength to perform them.鈥橖/p>

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • The switchboard at the Yard said that the Assistant Commissioner had been trying to reach him. He had had to go to a dinner at the Mansion House. Could Commander Bond please stay by the telephone? Bond waited impatiently. All his fears surged up at him from the chunk of black bakelite. He could, see the rows of polite faces. The uniformed waiter slowly edging his way round to Vallance. The quickly pulled-back chair. The unobtrusive exit. Those echoing stone lobbies. The discreet booth.