‘Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!’More info →
Comenzaba a amanecer cuando Gabriel Luna llego ante la catedral. En las estrechas calles toledanas todavia era de noche. La azul claridad del alba, que apenas, lograba deslizarse entre los aleros de los tejados, se esparcia con mayor libertad en la plazuela del Ayuntamiento, sacando de la penumbra la vulgar fachada del palacio del arzobispo y las dos torres encaperuzadas de pizarra negra de la casa municipal, sombria construccion de la epoca de Carlos V.More info →
Le seul véritable voyage, le seul bain de Jouvence, ce ne serait pas d'aller vers de nouveaux paysages, mais d'avoir d'autres yeux, de voir l'univers avec les yeux d'un autre, de cent autres, de voir les cent univers que chacun d'eux voit, que chacun d'eux est.More info →
Judge Hoyt’s strong, keen face took on a kindlier aspect and his curt “Hello!” was followed by gentler tones, as he heard the voice of the girl he loved, over the telephone.
“What is it, Avice?” he said, for her speech showed anxiety.
“Uncle Rowly,—he hasn’t come home yet.”
A las tres de la madrugada comenzaron a llegar los pri-meros carros de la sierra al fielato de los Cuatro Caminos.
Habían salido a las nueve de Colmenar, con cargamento de cántaros de leche, rodando toda la noche bajo una lluvia glacial que parecía el último adiós del invierno. Los carret-eros deseaban llegar a Madrid antes que rompiese el día, pa-ra ser los primeros en el aforo. Alineábanse los vehículos, y las bestias recibían inmóviles la lluvia, que goteaba por sus orejas, su cola y los extremos de los arneses.
Les Miserables is a French historical novel by Victor Hugo, first published in 1862, that is considered one of the greatest novels of the 19th century. In the English-speaking world, the novel is usually referred to by its original French title.More info →
Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:
"ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.
Willa Cather's Lucy Gayheart gropes a wistful way back to the time of the horse and buggy, when some men and some women loved deeply and truly and make themselves miserable and hugged their misery.
Small towns, no less than Vienna and the Paris Left Bank and a Greenwich Village as dirty and noisy then as it is now.
How happy I am that I am gone! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart of man! To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love so dearly, and yet to feel happy! I know you will forgive me. Have not other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head like mine? Poor Leonora! and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault, that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions?