The whole assembly stood awhile silent and collected. “Let us return,” said Rasselas, “from this scene of mortality. How gloomy would be these mansions of the dead to him who did not know that he should never die; that what now acts shall continue its agency, and what now thinks shall think on for ever. Those that lie here stretched before us, the wise and the powerful of ancient times, warn us to remember the shortness of our present state; they were perhaps snatched away while they were busy, like us, in the CHOICE OF LIFE.”
“There’s one for every week you’ve been working with Jonah.”
"But it doesn't, my dear. The old birds cannot expect to keep the young ones in the nest for ever and ever. Your mother spoke very sensibly to-night. I never saw any woman so altered for the time being. She would not let me imagine there was a thing the matter with her, and she spoke all the time about you, as though she wanted to plead with me, your father, to give you a happy life. Do you think I would deny it to you, my dear little girl?"
“And I am here,” said Angus.
"It is extraordinary to me, Dorian," said Hallward, "that you should have seen this in the portrait. Did you really see it?"
“Does he know? — is he angry?” asked Mrs. Browne.
Nothing in human affairs is more unjust than that those things which are most righteously done, should be perverted by the slanders of malicious men, and that one should bear the reproach of sin where he has rather deserved the hope of honour. Many things are done with singleness of eye, the right hand knoweth not what the left hand doth, the lump is uncorrupted by leaven, nor is the garment woven of wool and linen; and yet by the trickery of perverse men a pious work is mendaciously transformed into some monstrous act. Certes, such is the unhappy condition of sinful nature, that not merely in acts that are morally doubtful it adopts the worse conclusion; but often it depraves by iniquitous subversion those which have the appearance of rectitude.
One of her present enthusiasms was her 'Kipling Brothers,' the boys' band enlisted under the motto, 'I saw a hundred men on the road to Delhi, and they were all my brothers.' She believed that there was no salvation for a boy outside of a band. Banded somehow he must be, then badged, beribboned, bannered, and bye-lawed. From the moment a boy's mother had left off her bye-lows, Mrs. Grubb wanted him put under bye-laws. She often visited Mistress Mary with the idea that some time she could interest her in one of her thousand schemes; but this special call was to see if the older children, whose neat handiwork she had seen and admired, could embroider mottoes on cardboard to adorn the Kipling room at an approaching festival. She particularly wanted 'Look not upon the Wine' done in blood-red upon black, and 'Shun the Filthy Weed' in smoke-colour on bright green. She had in her hand a card with the points for her annual address noted upon it, for this sort of work she ordinarily did in the horse- cars. These ran:
“He feels that to use the design would be dishonest.”
We, of course, are incapable of conceiving even the bare outlines of such a remote process. But one thing we can, I believe, say of it with complete confidence. If ever it does occur, it will be controlled by the supreme social purpose which we ourselves are tardily beginning to recognize as the sole reasonable aim of intelligent beings; namely to develop the capacity for conscious living, the power of knowing, feeling, and creative striving.
They were, I now saw, the most unearthly creatures it is possible to conceive. They were huge round bodies--or, rather, heads--about four feet in diameter, each body having in front of it a face. This face had no nostrils--indeed, the Martians do not seem to have had any sense of smell, but it had a pair of very large dark-coloured eyes, and just beneath this a kind of fleshy beak. In the back of this head or body--I scarcely know how to speak of it--was the single tight tympanic surface, since known to be anatomically an ear, though it must have been almost useless in our dense air. In a group round the mouth were sixteen slender, almost whiplike tentacles, arranged in two bunches of eight each. These bunches have since been named rather aptly, by that distinguished anatomist, Professor Howes, the HANDS. Even as I saw these Martians for the first time they seemed to be endeavouring to raise themselves on these hands, but of course, with the increased weight of terrestrial conditions, this was impossible. There is reason to suppose that on Mars they may have progressed upon them with some facility.
with thee alone! The land thou knowst not,
Hadji Murad looked into his glittering eyes and understanding that this was true, said with some solemnity —
He joins in their turbulent rounds!
Instead, he began flipping through the pile of poems, reading quickly. Some of them were pretty awful, but some of them were original and brilliant. He thought of asking Mr. Castle what he thought was wrong with the poems. Or maybe he could leave the poems he liked in Mr. Castle's in box with a note asking him to reconsider them. But then again, the less he had to do with Siegfried Castle, the better. When he'd gotten control of himself again, he pulled a blank piece of paper out of the stack near the printer and clicked open his pen, jotting down the first few lines of the poem that had been in his head all afternoon. Petite mignonette, sweet coquette I taste your cookies, your bread You fill my plate The last line sounded familiar, like maybe he'd already used it in another poem. He crossed his legs, pondering, and heard the sound of a toilet flushing. He could pee, he decided. Pee and then finish the poem. He got up to go to the bathroom. Inside, there was something written in Latin on the wall in red ink, but he couldn't decipher it. When he got back to his desk the piece of paper with his poem on it was gone, but the entire staff was still in the conference room. Dan didn't dare investigate. He could only hope his fragment of a poem would be published under ?Anonymous? in the next issue ofRed Letter . Eventually, he could leak the information that the poem was his, and the literary world would clamor for more. He'd publish a book?or maybe ten books?and become world-famous, just like Mystery Craze. Although maybe not quite as notorious. I, mystery man Jenny and Leo held hands throughout the entire movie and kept holding hands as they walked out of the theater. Jenny hadn't even paid attention to the movie. All she could think the entire time was,He's going to take me home afterward. We're only five blocks away from that big doorman building on Park. And then I'll meet his dog and his mom and her personal trainer and their ten maids ? ?So, I was thinking maybe we could walk over to the Guggenheim now.? Leo smiled down at her with his cute cracked-tooth smile. If he was so loaded then how come his parents didn't get his tooth fixed?Jenny wondered. Then again, she was glad they hadn't. ?It's after eight. Aren't all the museums closed by now?? ?They have these once-a-month things at night,? Leo explained. ?And it's kind of cooler, you know, seeing the paintings when it's dark out.? If Jenny had been thinking properly, she would have thought this was just about the best thing anyone had ever said. First of all, how cool was it that she and Leo were both into art and museums? Second of all, how cool was it that he knew about these funky nighttime art happenings and that he wanted to takeher to one? But all Jenny could think was,He's not taking me home! What's wrong with me? What's wrong with him?What's his story? ?Do you have any pets?? she demanded suspiciously as they crossed Second Avenue and headed east toward Fifth. ?Pets? No. Why?? Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ?Brrr. You warm enough? Do you want my scarf?? Another heart-meltingly romantic gesture, but did she notice? No pets?Jenny brooded, too distracted to be bothered by the cold.But why would he lie? And how come he's trying to change the subject so quickly? ?Well, here we are.? The ghostlike coil-pot structure that was the Guggenheim Museum hovered above them in the dark. ?Kiss, Kiss,? a banner proclaimed, flapping over the museum's entrance. Leo blushed when he noticed Jenny looking at it. ?Come on, let's go in.? Jenny opened her purse to pay for her half of the admission, but Leo motioned for her to put her wallet away. ?That's okay. I'm a member. We can get in free.? A member? Well, well, well. And hadn't Elise said that Leo had been seen at that big Frick Museum benefit on Thursday night? His family probablyowned the Guggenheim. They wound their way up the graded halls of the museum, stopping at the first painting on exhibit. It was Marc Chagall'sBirthday, a painting of a woman holding a bouquet of flowers, kissing a man who is flying in the air above her head. The woman looked as if she had just been doing something boring, like setting the table, when the man swooped down and caught her lips with his. ?I love the blue,? Leo said, studying it. ?You would think blue would make it cold, but it doesn't. It warms it up.? ?Mmm.? Jenny wasn't listening to a word he said. She was studying his profile, his hair, his clothes, his shoes, his finger-nails, looking for a clue, some sort of explanation. Leo glanced at her, blushing again. He took her hand. ?May I kiss you? I mean, before we look at the next one?? If she hadn't been paying attention before, she was now. ?Oh! Um. Sure.? Jenny took a step backward and almost lost her balance. Leo held her hand even tighter. ?I've got you.? Jenny let him pull her toward him, and she lifted up her face to meet his. What they did next was no mystery at all, although she kind of wondered where he'd learned to kiss so well. If only she could stop thinking so much. S has a stroke of genius Serena van der Woodsen sipped her latte and squinted gloomily down at Fifth Avenue from her perch on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Her abundant pale blond hair overflowed the hood of her belted white cashmere sweater coat and spilled onto her shoulders. There it was again on the side of the M102 bus?the ad for Serena's Tears. She had no problem with the way she looked in the picture. She liked how the cold wind had whipped her yellow sundress up between her St. Barts-tanned knees, and how even though she'd been wearing only sandals and a sundress in the middle of Central Park in February, the goose bumps that had studded her arms and legs had been carefully airbrushed out. She even liked how she wasn't wearing lipstick, so her perfectly full lips looked sort of chapped and bruised. It was the tears in her enormous dark blue eyes that bothered her. Of course that was what had caused Les Best to name his new scent Serena's Tears in the first place, but the real reason Serena had been crying in the photo was because that was the day?no, the veryminute ?Aaron Rose (whom she was pretty sure she'd been in love with, at least for a week) had broken up with her. And what bothered her, what made her feel like crying all over again, was that now that they were broken up, she had no one to love, and no one to loveher . Not that she didn't love almost every boy she'd ever met, and not that every boy in the world didn't totally loveher . It was impossiblenot to. But she wanted someone to love her and shower her with attention the way only a boy who wascompletely in love with her could. That rare sort of love.True love. The kind of love she'd never had. Feeling uncharacteristically dark and melancholy, she pulled a Gauloise cigarette from out of her rumpled black corduroy Cacharel bag and lit it just to watch it burn. ?I feel as ugly as the weather,? she murmured, but then broke into a smile when she saw her best friend, Blair, walking up the steps toward her. She picked up the extra latte she'd bought, stood up, and held it out. ?Kick-ass shoes,? she remarked, admiring Blair's latest purchase. ?You can borrow them,? Blair offered generously. ?But I'll kill you if you spill anything on them.? She tugged on Serena's sleeve. ?Come on, we're gonna be late.? The two girls ambled slowly down the steps and up Fifth Avenue toward school, sipping their coffee as they went. Cold wind blasted through the bare-limbed branches of the trees in Central Park, making them shiver. ?Jesus, it's cold,? Blair hissed. She tucked her free hand into Serena's white cashmere sweater-coat pocket the way only a best friend can. ?So,? she began to vent. She'd gotten control of her tears, but her voice was a little unsteady. ?Not only does my mother walk around, like, stroking her ovaries, but today the decorator is coming to turnmy room into Baby Central, in shades of radicchio andass! ? All of a sudden, Serena's longing for true love seemed kind of trivial. Her parents hadn't gotten divorced because her dad was gay, her middle-aged mom wasn't pregnant, her stepbrother hadn't come on to first her and then her best friend and then ditched them both, and she wasn't being forced to move out of her room. Not only that, she wasn't still a virgin at the grand old age of seventeen, and she hadn't kissed her Yale interviewer and then almost lost her virginity to her Yalealumni interviewer, completely messing up her chances of getting in. As a matter of fact, when she really thought about it, her life was just peachy compared to Blair's. ?But you get Aaron's room, right? And it's just been redecorated for him?it's nice.? ?If you like hemp curtains and ecofriendly ginkgo-leaf furniture,? Blair scoffed. ?Besides,? she added, ?Aaron is an idiot. Going to Oahu for spring break was totally his idea.? Serena didn't think Oahu sounded so bad, but she wasn't about to contradict Blair when she was in a bad mood and risk getting her eyes poked out. The two girls crossed Eighty-sixth Street against the light, banging against each other as they ran to keep from getting mowed down by a taxi. When they reached the sidewalk, Serena suddenly stopped in her tracks, her huge blue eyes gleaming excitedly. ?Hey! Why don't you move in withme? !? Blair crouched down to hug her frozen bare calves. ?Can we keep moving?? she asked grumpily. ?You can live in Erik's room,? Serena continued excitedly. ?And you can totally screw Oahu and come skiing in Sun Valley with us!!? Blair stood up and blew into her coffee, squinting at her friend through the steam. Ever since Serena had come back from boarding school Blair had completely hated her, but sometimes she totally loved her. She took one last sip and tossed her half-empty cup into a trash can. ?Help me move in after school?? Serena slipped her arm through Blair's and whispered in her ear, ?Youknow you love me.? Blair smiled and rested her trouble-weary head against Serena's shoulder as the two girls turned right on Ninety-third Street. Only a few hundred yards beyond stood the great royal blue doors of the Constance Billard School for Girls. Ponytailed girls in gray pleated uniform skirts milled around outside, chattering away as the notorious pair of seniors approached. ?I heard Serena got a huge modeling contract after she did that perfume ad. She's going to bring her baby back from France. You know, the one she had last year before she came back to the city? All the supermodels have babies,? chirped Rain Hoffstetter. ?I heard she and Blair are going to get an apartment downtown and raise the baby themselves instead of going to college. Blair decided not toever have sex with guys, and obviously, Serena has had enough sex to last her whole lifetime. Just look at them,? intoned Laura Salmon. ?Total lesbos.? ?I bet they think they're making some big feminist statement or something,? Isabel Coates observed. ?Yeah, but they won't feel so good about it when their parents are, like, forced todisown them,? Kati Farkas put in.
"Your letter? Oh, yes, I remember. I have not read it yet, Harry. I was afraid there might be something in it that I wouldn't like. You cut life to pieces with your epigrams."
(Turnip-rooted cabbage)详情 ➢
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