Corridor Best Quotes

To wait. In our lives we know joy, anger, sorrow, and a hundred other emotions, but these emotions all together occupy a bare one percent of our time. The remaining ninety-nine percent is just living in waiting. I wait in momentary expectation, feeling as though my breasts are being crushed, for the sound in the corridor of the footsteps of happiness. Empty. Oh, life is too painful, the reality that confirms the universal belief that it is best not to be born.

Zach walked away, but I stood there for a long time, wondering if I should go to my mother; if I should go to my friends; but instead I slipped into the corridors I hadn't used in months, pushed my way through cobwebs and darkness, trying to walk away from the tears that burned hot down my cheeks, because maybe I didn't want to admit weakness; maybe I wanted to wallow in my solitude and grief. Or maybe crying is like everything else we do—it's best if you don't get caught.

You'll get over it...' It's the cliches that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life for ever. You don't get over it because 'it' is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to greive over is not made anodyne by death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to? I've thought a lot about death recently, the finality of it, the argument ending in mid-air. One of us hadn't finished, why did the other one go? And why without warning? Even death after long illness is without warning. The moment you had prepared for so carefully took you by storm. The troops broke through the window and snatched the body and the body is gone. The day before the Wednesday last, this time a year ago, you were here and now you're not. Why not? Death reduces us to the baffled logic of a small child. If yesterday why not today? And where are you? Fragile creatures of a small blue planet, surrounded by light years of silent space. Do the dead find peace beyond the rattle of the world? What peace is there for us whose best love cannot return them even for a day? I raise my head to the door and think I will see you in the frame. I know it is your voice in the corridor but when I run outside the corridor is empty. There is nothing I can do that will make any difference. The last word was yours. The fluttering in the stomach goes away and the dull waking pain. Sometimes I think of you and I feel giddy. Memory makes me lightheaded, drunk on champagne. All the things we did. And if anyone had said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. That surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shaft of recognition. It was worth it. Love is worth it.

Take the time to make some sense for what you wanna say, And cast your words away upon the waves. Sail them home with acquiesce on a ship of hope today, And as they land upon the shore, Tell them not to fear no more. I'm not saying right is wrong, It's up to us to make the best of all the things that come our way. Cos' everything that's been has past, The answers in the looking glass. There's four and twenty million doors On life's endless corridor, So say it loud and sing it proud today.

True love cannot die,'" Will said, translating the inscription on the back in the light from the corridor. "I can't wear this, Magnus. It's too pretty for a man." "So are you. Go home and clean yourself up. I will call upon you as soon as I have information." He looked at Will keenly. "In the meantime do your best to be worthy of my assistance.

Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it - and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended - a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

Eons of suffering, brutality and struggle have paved the way through the corridors of time to create this moment, where you exist as an exalted expression of life.

I believed in the existence of other and more vivid kinds of goodness, and what I believed in I wished to behold. Who blames me? Many, no doubt: and I shall be called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third story, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind’s eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it—and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended—a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

Believe me, when you're dealing with infectious alien mind parasites, I always find primitive is best." Then, calmly, almost as if it were a recognised form of verbal punctuation, she took aim with the needler and gutted a rat which had dared to stray into the corridor.

The nurses did their best to spruce up the antiseptic corridors but the smell of pine boughs was overpowered by Pine Sol and no one paused beneath the mistletoe on the contagious ward.

James Potter moved slowly along the narrow aisles of the train, peering as nonchalantly as he could into each compartment. To those inside, he probably looked as if he was searching for someone, some friend or group of confidantes with whom to pass the time during the trip, and this was intentional. The last thing that James wanted anyone to notice was that, despite the bravado he had so recently displayed with his younger brother Albus on the platform, he was nervous. His stomach knotted and churned as if he’d had half a bite of one of Uncles Ron and George’s Puking Pastilles. He opened the folding door at the end of the passenger car and stepped carefully through the passage into the next one. The first compartment was full of girls. They were talking animatedly to one another, already apparently the best of friends despite the fact that, most likely, they had only just met. One of them glanced up and saw him staring. He quickly looked away, pretending to peer out the window behind them, toward the station which still sat bustling with activity. Feeling his cheeks go a little red, he continued down the corridor. If only Rose was a year older she’d be here with him. She was a girl, but she was his cousin and they’d grown up together. It would’ve been nice to have at least one familiar face along with him.

He was a rich white Conservative male, Mr. Strike, and he felt the corridors of power were best populated exclusively by rich white Conservative males. He sought, in everything, to restore a status quo he remembered in his youth. In pursuit of that objective, he was frequently unprincipled and certainly hypocritical.

Malfoy got Hermione!” Ron said. “Look!” He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape’s back. Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, “I see no difference.” Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

Swirling furiously among the stairs and corridors of her exquisite home like a small and angry white bat Sybilla, Dowager Lady Culter, was not above spitting at her unfortunate son when he chose to sit down in his own great hall to take his boots off. ‘If Madge Mumblecrust comes down those stairs once again for a morsel of fowl’s liver with ginger, or pressed meats with almond-milk, I shall retire to a little wicker house in the forest and cast spells which will sink Venice into the sea for ever, and Madame Donati with it. The Church,’ said Sybilla definitely, ‘should excommunicate girls who do not replace lids on sticky jars and wash their hair every day with the best towels.

I leave entry for the first day of the tenth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls This morning I fetched the small cardboard box with the word AQUARIUM and the picture of an octopus on it. It is the box that originally contained the shoes Dr Ketterley gave me. When Dr Ketterley told me to hide Myself from 16, I took the ornaments out of my hair and placed them in the box. But now, wanting to look my best when I enter the New World, I spent two or three hours putting them back in, all the pretty things that I have found or made: seashells, coral beads, pearls, tiny pebbles and interesting fishbones. When Raphael arrived, she seemed rather astonished at my pleasant appearance. I took my messenger bag with all my Journals and my favourite pens and we walked towards the two Minotaurs in the South-Eastern Corner. The shadows between them shimmered slightly. The shadows suggested the shape of a corridor or alleyway with dim walls and, at the end of it, lights, flashes of moving colour that my eye could not interpret. I took one last look at the Eternal House. I shivered. Raphael took my hand. Then, together, we walked into the corridor.

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men often go astray.   Robert Burns 1759 -1796         “Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley.   But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us.”   A.J. Cronin Parts of All of Us The Simple and The Complex   The four imaginary characters depicted in this story— the mice: “Sniff” and “Scurry,” and the Littlepeople: “Hem” and “Haw”— are intended to represent the simple and the complex parts of ourselves, regardless of our age, gender, race or nationality.   Sometimes we may act like Sniff Who sniffs out change

Opening the door quietly, I slipped in without switching on the light. From the entrance hall, I could see the dining room at the end of the corridor, the table still decked out for the party. The cake was there, untouched, and the crockery still waited for the meal. I could make out the motionless silhouette of my father in his armchair, as he observed the scene from the window. He was awake and still wearing his best suit. Wreaths of smoke rose lazily from a cigarette he held between his index and ring fingers, as if it were a pen. I hadn't seen my father smoke for years.

Merchants and charlatans gained control of Europe, calling their insidious gospel “The Enlightenment.” The day of the locust was at hand, but from the ashes of humanity there arose no Phoenix. The humble and pious peasant, Piers Plowman, went to town to sell his children to the lords of the New Order for purposes that we may call questionable at best. (See Reilly, Ignatius J., Blood on Their Hands: The Crime of It All, A study of some selected abuses in sixteenth-century Europe, a Monograph, 2 pages, 1950, Rare Book Room, Left Corridor, Third Floor, Howard-Tilton Memorial Library, Tulane University, New Orleans 18, Louisiana. Note: I mailed this singular monograph to the library as a gift; however, I am not really certain that it was ever accepted. It may well have been thrown out because it was only written in pencil on tablet paper.) The gyro had widened; The Great Chain of Being had snapped like so many paper clips strung together by some drooling idiot; death, destruction, anarchy, progress, ambition, and self-improvement were to be Piers’ new fate. And a vicious fate it was to be: now he was faced with the perversion of having to GO TO WORK.

I could see the corridor window, where the wires-six thin black wires-were doing their best to slant up, to ascend skyward, despite the lightning blows dealt them by one telegraph pole after another; but just as all six, in a triumphant swoop of pathetic elation, were about to reach the top of the window, a particularly vicious blow would bring them down, as low as they had ever been, and they would have to start all over again.

At one-thirty in the deep dark morning, the cooking odors blew up through the windy corridors of the house. Down the stairs, one by one, came women in curlers, men in bathrobes, to tiptoe and peer into the kitchen- lit only by fitful gusts of red fire from the hissing stove. And there in the black kitchen at two of a warm summer morning, Grandma floated like an apparition, amidst bangings and clatterings, half blind once more, her fingers groping instinctively in the dimness, shaking out spice clouds over bubbling pots and simmering kettles, her face in the firelight red, magical, and enchanted as she seized and stirred and poured the sublime foods. Quiet, quiet, the boarders laid the best linens and gleaming silver and lit candles rather than switch on electric lights and snap the spell. Grandfather, arriving home from a late evening's work at the printing office, was startled to hear grace being said in the candlelit dining room. As for the food? The meats were deviled, the sauces curried, the greens mounded with sweet butter, the biscuits splashed with jeweled honey; everything toothsome, luscious, and so miraculously refreshing that a gentle lowing broke out as from a pasturage of beasts gone wild in clover. One and all cried out their gratitude for their loose-fitting night clothes.

Nobody else in Special Operations knows about this, and I really don’t want Skirata to know, because … fine man though he might be, he does have an issue with Kaminoans. Any man who refers to them as tatsushi and actually boasts of recipes is probably best kept out of the loop. Dismissed.” Scorch chuckled approvingly as they clunked their way down the corridor toward the mess with Maze at their heels. “You think Skirata would really eat a Kaminoan?” Fixer managed a sentence, which was good going for him. “Only if he had hot sauce.

It was dark in the corridor, they were standing near the lamp. For a minute they were looking at one another in silence. Razumihin remembered that minute all his life. Raskolnikov's burning and intent eyes grew more penetrating every moment, piercing into his soul, into his consciousness. Suddenly Razumihin started. Something strange, as it were, passed between them.... Some idea, some hint, as it were, slipped, something awful, hideous, and suddenly understood on both sides.... Razumihin turned pale. "Do you understand now?" said Raskolnikov, his face twitching nervously. "Go back, go to them," he said suddenly, and turning quickly, he went out of the house. I will not attempt to describe how Razumihin went back to the ladies, how he soothed them, how he protested that Rodya needed rest in his illness, protested that Rodya was sure to come, that he would come every day, that he was very, very much upset, that he must not be irritated, that he, Razumihin, would watch over him, would get him a doctor, the best doctor, a consultation.... In fact from that evening Razumihin took his place with them as a son and a brother.

If, in the further reaches of some or another remote corridor in an immense house of two or, perhaps, three storeys, and behind some or another door that remains mostly closed but in sight of a window overlooking some or another tract of far-reaching landscape of mostly level grassy countryside with low hills or a line of trees in the distance, a certain man at his desk, on some or another day of sunshine with scattered clouds, were to spurn the predictable words and phrases of the many writers of fiction who have reported of this or that male character that he once fell in love with this or that female character, and if that same man, after striving as neither I, the author of this sentence, nor even the most discerning reader of the sentence, have or has striven nor will ever strive, in late afternoon, and at about the time when the rays of the declining sun might have caused the pane in the window of his room to seem to a traveller on a distant road like a spot of golden oil, had found in his heart, or wherever such things are to be found, the words best fitted to suggest what he seemed to have felt long before, on a certain hot afternoon, in a distant inland city, and whether he had simply kept those words in mind or whether he had actually written them, either as notes for a work of fiction that he might one day write or as part of an actual work of fiction, then I do not doubt that the words would have been to the effect that a certain boy, a mere child, while he watched unobserved a certain girl, a mere child, whose name he did not know and who had almost certainly never had sight of him, wished for the means to inform her that he was worthy of trust.

I saw her when I came back... Her eyes were closed and everything. I had to stop. I just watched her. It was very relaxing. I had to keep proper still. I had to be extra quiet or I'd ruin it. I didn't want it to stop. I could see her lips move but I couldn't hear the words. Sometimes she bent forward until her head was nearly on the ground. She made everything to proper slow. It made me sleepy from just watching it. I wanted to ask her what she was praying for but I swallowed the words back down again. ...you knew it had to be something good. I just watched from behind the wall. There was nobody else around. It was the best kind of quiet... When the head-tie girl finished praying she opened her eyes and stood up. I turned aroun sharp-sharp and went back down the corridor. I tried not to make a sound. I didn't want her to see me. I didn't want her to know I was there for if it ruined it. I waited until she was gone, then I came back to life. I held my breath when I went past the bit she was praying in. I walked around the outside so I didn't tread on it.

I thought I heard the "little steps" — those little steps that came tripping down the corridor when she was looking for me. It was the child that was the best of all! To watch that fearless little creature, whom nothing could frighten, who never suspected that life might be deceptive, who had no secrets! I recall her first experience of the malice that is in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty child down in the park, and, though it was strange to her, she went up to it with open arms to kiss it — and the pretty child rewarded her friendliness by biting her in the cheek first and then making a face at her. Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror at the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human heart. I have been confronted with the same sight myself once, when out of two beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances as if some evil beast had appeared behind those eyes. It scared me literally so that I had to see if some other person were standing behind that face, which looked like a mask.

they had to do it anyway. They had to try. They had taken an oath, and they would be faithful to the end. On the bank of surveillance monitors in front of her, she saw a dozen of her best agents—guns drawn—suddenly rush the convention stage, surround the president, grab him by the arms, and literally carry him away, his feet barely touching the ground. Sanchez then bolted out of the command post and met the president’s protective detail backstage and ordered them downstairs, into the makeshift bunker. “Go, go, go,” she yelled as they raced the president down one corridor after another, into a heavily guarded stairwell, and down five flights, eventually bursting into the basement, where all the convention center’s HVAC systems were housed. They turned one corner and then another, ducking pipes and ducts along the way. A moment later, they raced the president into a large storage freezer, slammed the door shut behind them, and worked feverishly to put him in a protective suit, gloves, and mask, pre-positioned there by the army’s nuclear, biological, and chemical fast-reaction team. That done, Sanchez and her agents began to suit up themselves. But just then, Sanchez felt the

And thus when by poetyr or wehn by music the most entrancing of the poetic moods we find ourselves melted into tears, we weep then not as the abbate gravina supposes through excess of pleasure but through a certain petulatn impatient sorrow at our inability to grasp no wholly here on earth at once and forever these divein and rapturous joys of which through the poem or through the music we attain to but brief and indeterminate glimpses. The struggle to apprehend the supernal loveliness this struggle on the part of souls fittingly constituted has given to the world all that which it (the world) has ever been enabled at once to understand and to feel as peotic whose distant footsteps echo down the corridors of time The impression left is one of pleasurable sadness. This certain taint of sadness is insperably connected with al the higher manifestations of true beauty . It is nevertheless. Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones. The next desideratum was a pretext for the continous use of the one word nevermore.in observing the difficutly which i at once found in inventing a suffiecienly plausible reason for its continuous repetition i did not fail to preceive thta this difficutly arose solely form the pre assumption that the world was to be so continuously or monotonously spoke by a human being i did not fail to perceive in shor t that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the exercise of reason on the part of the creature repeating the word here then immediately arose the idea of a non-reasoning creature capable of speech and very naturally a parrot in the first instance suggested itself but was superseded forthwith by a raven as equally capable of speech and infinitely more in keeping with the intended tone.“I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven, the bird of ill-omen, monotonously repeating the one word "Nevermore" at the conclusion of each stanza in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object _supremeness_ or perfection at all points, I asked myself--"Of all melancholy topics what, according to the _universal_ understanding of mankind, is the _most_ melancholy?" Death, was the obvious reply. "And when," I said, "is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?" From what I have already explained at some length, the answer here also is obvious--"When it most closely allies itself to _Beauty_; the death, then, of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.

Southern violence was explored in one of the all-time coolest psychology studies, involving the use of a word rare in science journals, conducted by Nisbett and Cohen. Undergraduate male subjects had a blood sample taken. They then filled out a questionnaire about something and were then supposed to drop it off down the hall. It was in the narrow hallway, filled with file cabinets, that the experiment happened. Half the subjects traversed the corridor uneventfully. But with half, a confederate (get it? ha-ha) of the psychologists, a big beefy guy, approached from the opposite direction. As the subject and the plant squeezed by each other, the latter would jostle the subject and, in an irritated voice, say the magic word—“asshole”—and march on. Subject would continue down the hall to drop off the questionnaire. What was the response to this insult? It depended. Subjects from the South, but not from elsewhere, showed massive increases in levels of testosterone and glucocorticoids—anger, rage, stress. Subjects were then told a scenario where a guy observes a male acquaintance making a pass at his fiancée—what happens next in the story? In control subjects, Southerners were a bit more likely than Northerners to imagine a violent outcome. And after being insulted? No change in Northerners and a massive boost in imagined violence among Southerners.

University Hospital, Boston The trees on the hospital lawn are lush and thriving. They too are getting the best of care, like you, and the anonymous many, in the clean rooms high above this city, where day and night the doctors keep arriving, where intricate machines chart with cool devotion the murmur of the blood, the slow patching-up of bone, the despair of the mind. When I come to visit and we walk out into the light of a summer day, we sit under the trees- buckeyes, as sycamore and one black walnut brooding high over a hedge of lilacs as old as the red-brick building behind them, the original hospital built before the Civil War. We sit on the law together, holding hands while you tell me: you are better. How many young men, I wonder, came here, wheeled on cots off the slow trains from th red and hideous battlefields to lie all summer in the small and stuffy chambers while doctors did what they could, longing for tools still unimagined, medicines still unfound, wisdoms still unguessed at, and how many died staring at the leaves of the trees, blind to the terrible effort around them to keep them alive? I look into your eyes which are sometimes green and sometimes gray, and sometimes full of humor, but often not, and tell myself, you are better, because my life without you would be a place of parched and broken trees. Later, walking the corridors down to the street, I turn and step inside an emty room. Yesterday someone was here with a gasping face. Now the bed is made all new, the machines have been rolled away. The silence continues, deep and neutral, as I stand there, loving you.

After wandering the world and living on the Continent I had long tired of well-behaved, fart-free gentlemen who opened the door and paid the bills but never had a story to tell and were either completely asexual or demanded skin-burning action until the morning light. Swiss watch salesmen who only knew of “sechs” as their wake-up hour, or hairy French apes who always required their twelve rounds of screwing after the six-course meal. I suppose I liked German men the best. They were a suitable mixture of belching northerner and cultivated southerner, of orderly westerner and crazy easterner, but in the post-war years they were of course broken men. There was little you could do with them except try to put them right first. And who had the time for that? Londoners are positive and jolly, but their famous irony struck me as mechanical and wearisome in the long run. As if that irony machine had eaten away their real essence. The French machine, on the other hand, is fuelled by seriousness alone, and the Frogs can drive you beyond the limit when they get going with their philosophical noun-dropping. The Italian worships every woman like a queen until he gets her home, when she suddenly turns into a slut. The Yank is one hell of a guy who thinks big: he always wants to take you the moon. At the same time, however, he is as smug and petty as the meanest seamstress, and has a fit if someone eats his peanut butter sandwich aboard the space shuttle. I found Russians interesting. In fact they were the most Icelandic of all: drank every glass to the bottom and threw themselves into any jollity, knew countless stories and never talked seriously unless at the bottom of the bottle, when they began to wail for their mother who lived a thousand miles away but came on foot to bring them their clean laundry once a month. They were completely crazy and were better athletes in bed than my dear countrymen, but in the end I had enough of all their pommel-horse routines. Nordic men are all as tactless as Icelanders. They get drunk over dinner, laugh loudly and fart, eventually start “singing” even in public restaurants where people have paid to escape the tumult of the world. But their wallets always waited cold sober in the cloakroom while the Icelandic purse lay open for all in the middle of the table. Our men were the greater Vikings in this regard. “Reputation is king, the rest is crap!” my Bæring from Bolungarvík used to say. Every evening had to be legendary, anything else was a defeat. But the morning after they turned into weak-willed doughboys. But all the same I did succeed in loving them, those Icelandic clodhoppers, at least down as far as their knees. Below there, things did not go as well. And when the feet of Jón Pre-Jón popped out of me in the maternity ward, it was enough. The resemblances were small and exact: Jón’s feet in bonsai form. I instantly acquired a physical intolerance for the father, and forbade him to come in and see the baby. All I heard was the note of surprise in the bass voice out in the corridor when the midwife told him she had ordered him a taxi. From that day on I made it a rule: I sacked my men by calling a car. ‘The taxi is here,’ became my favourite sentence.

I’m the kind of patriot whom people on the Acela corridor laugh at. I choke up when I hear Lee Greenwood’s cheesy anthem “Proud to Be an American.” When I was sixteen, I vowed that every time I met a veteran, I would go out of my way to shake his or her hand, even if I had to awkwardly interject to do so. To this day, I refuse to watch Saving Private Ryan around anyone but my closest friends, because I can’t stop from crying during the final scene. Mamaw and Papaw taught me that we live in the best and greatest country on earth. This fact gave meaning to my childhood. Whenever times were tough—when I felt overwhelmed by the drama and the tumult of my youth—I knew that better days were ahead because I lived in a country that allowed me to make the good choices that others hadn’t. When I think today about my life and how genuinely incredible it is—a gorgeous, kind, brilliant life partner; the financial security that I dreamed about as a child; great friends and exciting new experiences—I feel overwhelming appreciation for these United States. I know it’s corny, but it’s the way I feel. If Mamaw’s second God was the United States of America, then many people in my community were losing something akin to a religion. The tie that bound them to their neighbors, that inspired them in the way my patriotism had always inspired me, had seemingly vanished. The symptoms are all around us. Significant percentages of white conservative voters—about one-third—believe that Barack Obama is a Muslim. In one poll, 32 percent of conservatives said that they believed Obama was foreign-born and another 19 percent said they were unsure—which means that a majority of white conservatives aren’t certain that Obama is even an American. I regularly hear from acquaintances or distant family members that Obama has ties to Islamic extremists, or is a traitor, or was born in some far-flung corner of the world. Many of my new friends blame racism for this perception of the president. But the president feels like an alien to many Middletonians for reasons that have nothing to do with skin color. Recall that not a single one of my high school classmates attended an Ivy League school. Barack Obama attended two of them and excelled at both. He is brilliant, wealthy, and speaks like a constitutional law professor—which, of course, he is. Nothing about him bears any resemblance to the people I admired growing up: His accent—clean, perfect, neutral—is foreign; his credentials are so impressive that they’re frightening; he made his life in Chicago, a dense metropolis; and he conducts himself with a confidence that comes from knowing that the modern American meritocracy was built for him. Of course, Obama overcame adversity in his own right—adversity familiar to many of us—but that was long before any of us knew him. President Obama came on the scene right as so many people in my community began to believe that the modern American meritocracy was not built for them. We know we’re not doing well. We see it every day: in the obituaries for teenage kids that conspicuously omit the cause of death (reading between the lines: overdose), in the deadbeats we watch our daughters waste their time with. Barack Obama strikes at the heart of our deepest insecurities. He is a good father while many of us aren’t. He wears suits to his job while we wear overalls, if we’re lucky enough to have a job at all. His wife tells us that we shouldn’t be feeding our children certain foods, and we hate her for it—not because we think she’s wrong but because we know she’s right.

It was probably only a few intervals, though it seemed longer with Ryzven lurking and radiating impatience. At last Beryl and Kurr returned, markedly cleaner and fresher, and he heard Beryl telling the Greenspirit about the garden. His human hurried toward him, though her steps slowed when she spotted Ryzven nearby. Snaps squirmed in Zylar’s arms, so he set him down after checking the cord looped around his neck. Beryl reached for the leash as she eyed Ryzven, but she didn’t address him. Instead, she knelt and spoke nonsense words to the fur-person while rubbing him all over with her grabbers. Kurr filled the awkward silence with a stiff, formal greeting. “Honor to your kith and kin, renowned Ryzven. I am Kurr.” “A pleasure! Everyone who has been following the Choosing knows who you are, esteemed Greenspirit.” While Zylar would be pleased if Ryzven forgot his business with Beryl while dallying with Kurr, he doubted he’d be so lucky. And as Beryl rose, Ryzven turned to her, making sure she got the full impact of his rare colors. He even puffed out his thorax a little, and Beryl let out a breath, a sound Zylar identified as annoyance. She said something the translator couldn’t process. “I came to congratulate you on your—” Before Ryzven could finish his pompous sentence, Snaps ambled forward, lifted a leg, and eliminated on him. “I don’t like him,” Snaps said. “Beryl doesn’t like him. Let’s go!” “So sorry about that,” Beryl said in a flat tone. “Snaps is nervous around strangers.” Zylar had heard sincerity from her many times before, and on this occasion, she wasn’t remotely apologetic. In fact, her eyes were twinkling and she seemed to be having a hard time restraining herself from making the battle face, which she’d said indicated amusement or enjoyment. “You should clean that up,” he told Ryzven, who was sputtering incoherent outrage. Most likely, he would live to regret all of this, but it felt so good to get the best of his arrogant nest-mate for once that he didn’t even look back when Beryl grabbed his claw and led him toward the exit. It occurred to him that she was leading him like Snaps, only by the limb instead of using a cord, but it would have lessened the impact of their departure if he mentioned as much. Once they reached the public corridors, Kurr finally said, “I hope we have not given serious offense. I am…fearful.” The Greenspirit must know Ryzven’s reputation well. He wouldn’t accept such a humiliation without striking back. “Do not let it lessen your satisfaction in what you’ve achieved today. I will apologize more fully another time.” “Why would you apologize for something Snaps did?” Beryl cut in. “If anyone’s going to make amends, it should be me. Though for the record, I said ‘sorry’ already.” “It was insincere,” Kurr noted. Beryl stared for a long moment, then said, “That’s fair.” She took a step closer to the two of them and added in a whisper, “So when I apologize sincerely, I probably shouldn’t let on that I told Snaps to pee on him? I mean, theoretically.” The Greenspirit emitted a shocked rustling sound while Zylar simply could not contain his glee. He churred louder than he ever had in his life. “Truly? That’s what you said that the translator could not comprehend?” Then Beryl did show her fearsome aspect, displaying all her teeth. “I will neither confirm nor deny those allegations.” “Confirmed,” said Snaps. “I was promised extra snacks.” Still delighted with his intended, Zylar led the way to the garden, wondering how he should reward Beryl for improving his life in every conceivable way. 

Let us Let us fall in love and be romantics once again, Let us kiss our desires again and again, Let me pursue my feelings in your beautiful eyes, Let us dive into them and feel the love that lies beyond these eyes, Let us wear our emotions all over us, To feel the kiss of love all over us, Let us become the daylight and spread everywhere, Or maybe in that secret somewhere where your beauty is everywhere, Let me love you now and love you forever, And let your heart confess it has felt the kiss of the true lover, My darling Irma, let our love be the only event in our lives, And let us only grow being a part of our beautiful love lives, Let you be the summer day that never ends, And let all my beginnings in your beautiful eyes find their ends, Let me belong to you just like the Moon belongs to the sky, Let us create a world where there is only your and my love’s sky, Let your feelings like the scent of the rose sink into my senses, And then let us love each other with all our senses, Let us reside in some quiet corner together, Where there is only one sound, that of our two hearts beating together, Let us travel together from our today into our every tomorrow, And carry our love into every moment that represents every tomorrow, Let us walk through the corridors of time, And leave the essence of our love as our signature in every moment of time, Then let me hold your hand and travel somewhere, Because now with our love’s essence residing in time, you shall be everywhere, even in places called somewhere, Let me say it again and again, that my heart beats for you, And then let every moment of time echo with these words, “my darling Irma I love you!” Let the drops of dew reflect your grace, And then let every flower bear the beauty of just one beautiful face, and your grace, Let the moments of time rain over you and me, And then let me find you everywhere within me, Finally let the night conceal us in its dark and mystical shades, And let us transform into love’s most beautiful cascades, only bearing your and my shades, Then let the river of love flow into the valley of promises, And let me find you in beautiful roses and let us now fulfill our promises!

Then, in the corridors outside, in the noisy confusion of leave-taking, a boy had thrown an arm about Keating’s shoulders and whispered: “Run on home and get out of the soup-and-fish, Pete, and it’s Boston for us tonight, just our own gang; I’ll pick you up in an hour.” Ted Shlinker had urged: “Of course you’re coming, Pete. No fun without you. And, by the way, congratulations and all that sort of thing. No hard feelings. May the best man win.” Keating had thrown his arm about Shlinker’s shoulders; Keating’s eyes had glowed with an insistent kind of warmth, as if Shlinker were his most precious friend; Keating’s eyes glowed like that on everybody. He had said: “Thanks, Ted, old man. I really do feel awful about that A.G.A. medal—I think you were the one for it, but you never can tell what possesses those old fogies.” And now Keating was on his way home through the soft darkness, wondering how to get away from his mother for the night.

The door opened. I stopped. Beyond it, orks lined both sides of the corridor. They had been watching for me. The moment I appeared, they roared their approval. They did not attack. They simply stood, clashed guns against blades, and hooted brute enthusiasm. I had been subjected to too many celebratory parades on Armageddon not to recognise one when it confronted me. I went numb from the unreality before me. I stepped forward, though. I had no choice. I walked. It was the most obscene victory march of my life. I moved through corridor, hold and bay, and the massed ranks of the greenskins hailed my passage. I saw the evidence of the destruction I had caused around every bend. Scorch marks, patched ruptures, buckled flooring, collapsed ceilings. But it hadn’t been enough. Not nearly enough. Only enough for this… this… At length, I arrived at a launch bay. There was a ship on the pad before the door. It was human, a small in-system shuttle. It was not built for long voyages. No matter, as long as its vox-system was still operative. I knew that it would be. Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka awaited me beside the ship’s access ramp. I did not let my confusion or the sense that I had slipped into an endless waking nightmare slow my stride. I did not hesitate as I strode towards the monster. I stopped before him. I met his gaze with all the cold hatred of my soul. He radiated delight. Then he leaned forward, a colossus of armour and bestial strength. Our faces were mere centimetres apart. My soul bears many scars from the days and months of my defeat and captivity. But there is one memory that, above all others, haunts me. By day, it is a goad to action. By night, it murders sleep. It lives with me always, the proof that there could hardly be a more terrible threat to the Imperium than this ork. Thraka spoke to me. Not in orkish. Not even in Low Gothic. In High Gothic. ‘A great fight,’ he said. He extended a huge, clawed finger and tapped me once on the chest. ‘My best enemy.’ He stepped aside and gestured to the ramp. ‘Go to Armageddon,’ he said. ‘Make ready for the greatest fight.’ I entered the ship, my being marked by words whose full measure of horror lay not in their content, but in the fact of their existence. I stumbled to the cockpit, and discovered that I had a pilot. It was Commander Rogge. His mouth was parted in a scream, but there was no sound. He had no vocal cords any longer. There was very little of his body recognisable. He had been opened up, reorganised, fused with the ship’s control and guidance systems. He had been transformed into a fully aware servitor. ‘Take us out of here,’ I ordered. The rumble of the ship’s engines powering up was drowned by the even greater roar of the orks. I knew that roar for what it was: the promise of war beyond description.

Gen. Pendleton may lecture and create a sensation that will put money in his pocket, but he will never convince the fighting men who are left of Longstreet's corps that the grim commander at whose word they so often threw themselves against the battalions of the north, was a traitor to the cause he sacrificed for. No matter what his politics may be; no matter how much derided, vilified and abused, Longstreet's name will go sounding down the corridors of time as one of the best, bravest, and most unassuming officers the southern confederacy produced. -- 'One of Longstreet's Foot Cavalry,' Morning Republican (Little Rock, AR), May 14, 1873.

My best man, of course, was Gloinn...who accompanied us on our honeymoon to Kildare...often popping into the marital bed with myself and Noreen when the winter nights got particularly cold. Once, while I was in the lavatory at the end of the corridor outside the bedroom, he tried to have sex with Noreen. I was a bit annoyed with him at first, but when he told me that it was Noreen who had led him on, I accepted his explanation immediately. Over the years, I have often wondered if Gloinn was being slightly disingenuous about this, as Noreen has the sexual urges of a corpse.

My childhood at Grant Road, next to Novelty Cinema, was lower-middle-class—we weren’t wealthy, but we had what we needed. We lived in an apartment situated on the first floor of the five-storey Arsiwalla building, nearly a century old and in constant need of repair. It had one long corridor with three rooms that held my brother, parents, two aunts and grandparents. The apartment’s sleeping area was indistinguishable from its other rooms. I recall begging family members to switch with me so their bedroom could become the de facto living room for a while. I lived there until the age of sixteen, privileged enough to go to a school where most of my classmates came in cars while I waited forty-five minutes for the B.E.S.T. bus to arrive.

One thing her trip taught, and that is apparent to scientists studying the pronghorn, is the vital importance of “connectivity.” It is a lesson being learned, and preached, by innovative environmental thinkers all over the West, and it applies to many of the region’s threatened species. It comes down to a simple point: wild animals need to roam. It’s true that putting land aside for our national parks may be, to paraphrase Stegner paraphrasing Lord Bryce, the best idea our country ever had, and it’s also true that at this point we have put aside more than 100 million acres of land, a tremendous accomplishment that we should be proud of. But what we are now learning is that parks are not enough. By themselves they are islands—particularly isolated and small islands—the sort of islands where many conservation biologists say species go to die. That would change if the parks were connected, and connecting the parks, and other wild lands, is the mission of an old friend of Ed Abbey’s, Dave Foreman. Foreman, one of the founders of Earth First!, eventually soured on the politics of the organization he helped create. In recent years he has focused his energy on his Wildlands Project, whose mission is the creation of a great wilderness corridor from Canada to Mexico, a corridor that takes into account the wider ranges of our larger predators. Parks alone can strand animals, and leave species vulnerable, unless connected by what Foreman calls “linkages.” He believes that if we can connect the remaining wild scraps of land, we can return the West to being the home of a true wilderness. He calls the process “rewilding.” Why go to all this effort? Because dozens of so-called protected species, stranded on their eco-islands, are dying out. And because when they are gone they will not return. A few more shopping malls, another highway or gas patch, and there is no more path for the pronghorn. But there is an even more profound reason for trying to return wildness to the West. “We finally learned that wilderness is the arena of evolution,” writes Foreman. Wilderness is where change happens.

Your father and I made a deal. I agreed to let him sell some paintings and things to raise the money he needed to fix up the house, and he agreed to let me have one book from the family library to take home each year." "The Christmas book!" said Sophie. "Exactly, the Christmas book. So every year at Christmas I pick one book to keep for my own." He took her by the hand and led her into a small bedroom at the end of the corridor. "Do you see this shelf right here next to my bed? Those are all the books I've picked over the years. It is my very special shelf." "It must be exciting to go into a big library and get to pick any book you want." "I'm glad you think so, Sophie. Because I want you to do the same thing. I want you to pick any book in my flat to take home with you and keep." "Really?" she said, her face lighting up. "Really," said Bertram. "after all, it's almost Christmas." "Any book?" "Any book. But choose carefully," said Uncle Bertram. "A good book is like a good friend. It will stay with you for the rest of your life. When you first get to know it, it will give you excitement and adventure, and years later it will provide you with comfort and familiarity. And best of all, you can share it with your children or your grandchildren or anyone you love enough to let into its secrets.

Shrieking Brooke’s name as loudly as I could, out in the corridor, I brought her running quickly to my room. ‘What’s happened, what’s wrong?’ she immediately cried concerned, legging it up the stairs two at a time. She appeared breathless outside the kitchen door. Brian appeared sleepily at his door too, awoken by the noise, and watched us. ‘She’s moving,’ I cried. ‘What? Flutters like before?’ ‘No more, here feel.’ I grabbed her hand and pushed it down onto my exposed belly. Brian averted his eyes as I stood, belly out and top up over my bra, in the middle of the corridor. ‘I can’t push you that hard,’ she exclaimed, pulling back her fingers surprised. ‘It will hurt you, or her, I can’t do that.’ ‘Yes, you can,’ I insisted. ‘You won’t hurt us.’ I pulled her hand back and pushed her long fingers into my belly and we stood waiting, hardly daring to breathe. You kicked again, hard into my side, under Brooke’s long pink fingernails. Brooke jumped away from me in shock and then burst out laughing. She clapped her hands together delighted. ‘Well?’ I asked her. ‘She kicked me,’ Brooke shrieked still jumping up and down clapping. ‘She kicked me. That was amazing, let me do it again.’ She came back over towards me slowly. Cautiously she pushed her fingers into the same spot on my side. We waited again in silence and I saw her face slightly drop as the seconds ticked by. ‘Ah it works,’ she yelled, as again she jumped back shocked as the tiny little feet thudded from my insides at her hand. ‘I love it. Do it again.’ I laughed and then Brian stepped forward. ‘Can I have a go?’ he asked quietly, fiddling with his hands and stepping out of his room towards us. ‘Of course you can, come here.’ And that is how we spent the next few minutes out in the corridor by the kitchen, shrieking, whooping, and jumping around. If anyone had been in the house, I know they would probably have thought we were all mad. Mad, no. Thrilled and excited, most definitely. Baby girl, you did that to us. Thank you.

She didn’t worry that she was boring him, as Old Jane would’ve done. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. He was paid to listen to her and make her feel like the most interesting person in the world, and so, by George, she would be. His lips pressed into a small smile that stayed. A very small smile. Sometimes almost imaginary. Jane wished that it might be bigger, that it might beam at her, but she supposed that wasn’t the Nobley way. Then when she’d decided that his smile was a figment, Mr. Nobley said--or whispered, rather-- “Let’s go look at your paintings.” What a delight, this man. How he kept surprising her, tossing aside his uptight propriety for her sake, murmuring plans for meeting in secret, fibbing to the others that he would withdraw early, then waiting upstairs for her to do the same. With a thrill to look around for watchers and scramble into her chamber, shutting the door behind them. Jane stood with her back to the door, her hands still on the knob, breathing hard and trying to laugh quietly. He was leaning against the wall, smiling. The moment was giddily awkward as she waited to see what he had in mind, if he would suddenly shed Mr. Nobley and become some other man entirely. If he would break any other rules. The wait was agonizing. She realized she didn’t know what she wanted him to do. “I would love to see those paintings,” he said, his voice still proper. “Of course,” she said. Of course he was still Mr. Nobley, of course the man, the actor, was not falling in love with her. And a relief it was, too, as she realized she wasn’t ready to let go of Pembrook Park yet. Somehow she had to be by the day after tomorrow. She presented the first painting, and he held it at arm’s length for some time before saying, “This is you,” though the portrayal was not photo-realistic. “I couldn’t quite get the eyes,” she said. “You got them just right.” He didn’t look away from the painting when he said, “They are beautiful.” Jane didn’t know whether to thank him or clear her throat, so she did neither and instead handed him the second painting or her window and the tree. “Ah,” was all he said for some time. He glanced back and forth between both paintings. “I like this second one best. Beside it, the portrait looks stiff, as though you were too cautious, measuring everything, taking away the spontaneity. The fearlessness of this window scene is a better style for you. I think, Miss Erstwhile, that you do very well when you loosen up and let the color fly.” He was right, and it felt good to admit it. Her next painting would be better. “I should let you retire.” He held the self-portrait a minute longer, gazing at it as she had sometimes felt him look at her--unblinking, curious, even urgent. She peeped through the keyhole to make sure no one was in the corridor before opening the door and letting him slip out. After a moment, she peered again and could see nothing, then Mr. Nobley’s face dropped into view. He was crouching outside her door, looking back. “Miss Erstwhile?” he whispered. “Yes, Mr. Nobley?” “Tomorrow evening, will you reserve for me the first two dances?” “Yes, Mr. Nobley.” She could hear how her voice was full of smile.

I should let you retire.” He held the self-portrait a minute longer, gazing at it as she had sometimes felt him look at her--unblinking, curious, even urgent. She peeped through the keyhole to make sure no one was in the corridor before opening the door and letting him slip out. After a moment, she peered again and could see nothing, then Mr. Nobley’s face dropped into view. He was crouching outside her door, looking back. “Miss Erstwhile?” he whispered. “Yes, Mr. Nobley?” “Tomorrow evening, will you reserve for me the first two dances?” “Yes, Mr. Nobley.” She could hear how her voice was full of smile. “Miss Erstwhile, may I come back in a moment?” She yanked him back in and shut the door. Now he was going to grab her and kiss her and call her Jane, now she’d witness the pent-up passion that explodes behind Regency doors! But…he just stood with his back to the door and looked at her. And smiled in his way, the way that made her stare back and wish she could breathe. “I should not put you in danger of Mrs. Wattlesbrook by staying,” Mr. Nobley said, “but I suddenly had to see you again. I know that seems ridiculous, but I look at you, and I feel sure of something. Things are changing, aren’t they?” “Yes,” she said, and they were, right at that moment. He took her hand and looked at it a moment, then he turned it over. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Tomorrow, then.” And he left. If only he was real! She stood and pressed her palm to her chest and breathed her pulse back into submission and thought she’d rather fancy a swoon. To her self-portrait, Jane whispered, “This is the best therapy ever.

Exclamations arose from the personnel as they recognized the lifeless legs hanging in the air above them as having once belonged to Slaughter.  Derek swore and reached up to pull the body out, but it did not budge.  He looked closely and noted that the body and clothing had fused into the vessel’s own metallic material.  Everyone’s attention was so riveted above that they failed to notice the shadows in time.  Once the dark forms reached the squad’s rear, the screams began.  Laser fire erupted next, but it had no effect.  Bodies of the dead fell about the corridor.  Anne’s hands shook as she assembled the cannon.  Derek covered her as best as he was able, but his weapon seemed useless. The laser would cut through a shadowy figure, then it would simply re-materialize.  He dropped the rifle and went for his backup weapon, which was an old .45 caliber handgun in his belt pouch.  He jammed the magazine in and chambered the round and fired twice into the darkness, punctuated with flashes of white light and fire.

This way,” Clyde says with more gusto than I think I could manage even on a good day and suddenly we’re whisking our way down a myriad of corridors, pushing through doors and security points. I tag along as best I can, feeling like flotsam caught in a wake. Eventually we reach a moment of stasis, waiting for an elevator to take us up. “So,” I manage to say into the toe-tapping silence, “who are the Sheilas then?” Clyde turns, a look of sudden horror on his face. For a moment I wonder if he’s foreign and I’ve somehow stumbled across a colloquialism that means I’ve slept with his mother.

Tad squeezed through the line of visitors in the White House corridor. He looked them over. Most were wounded soldiers, job seekers, and widows who had lost husbands in the Civil War. For a few hours every afternoon, Tad’s father, Abraham Lincoln, the president of the United States, would do his best to meet with them. Tad dashed to the staircase, blocking the path of a young woman with a baby. “Halt!” Tad ordered in his deepest voice. “Five cents to pass. The proceeds help wounded soldiers in the Union army.” The woman burst into tears. “What’s wrong?” Tad asked, startled. “Recently I was very ill,” she explained, wiping her eyes. “My husband left his army post to come visit me. He went back, but they arrested him for desertion anyway.” Her lips trembled. “He’s to be shot tomorrow.” Tad winced. “Oh, that’s dreadful sad, ma’am.” “I pray the president will pardon him.” “Oh, he will,” Tad said, his face brightening. “Pa’s a good man.” “There are so many people ahead of me,” the woman said anxiously. “I’m afraid I’ll be too late.” Suddenly there was a commotion on the stairway above. Tad looked around and noticed one of the president’s aides, his mouth tightly drawn, coming down toward him. “Your father wishes to see you,” the man said. “Immediately.” Tad turned back to the woman. “What’s your name, ma’am?” he asked. “Elizabeth Miller.” Tad nodded and hurried up the stairs. As he rounded a corner he glanced over his shoulder. The hall was empty. By his father’s office, the table with the visitors’ calling cards stood unguarded. Tad quickly found Mrs. Miller’s and placed it at the top of the pile.

oan Hilliard could feel the smile on her face as she stepped from her car. Not the best wheels, but they were hers, a token of four years spent working in a brokerage firm. Joan had always wanted to be a teacher, but she had finished college at the wrong time. To her great disappointment, she couldn’t land a teaching position. She had still wanted her own classroom but decided that any job was better than nothing. The brokerage firm paid well, and she felt better for the experience. She had learned about herself, how to work with other adults, and what life at work was all about. Above all, she felt more confident. She had learned to cope in a demanding and stressful adult environment. That experience ought to help in a classroom of kids. She was delighted to get a teaching assignment at Pico School. It looked like a friendly place from the outside. The surrounding neighborhood was in decline, but Pico boasted green lawns, welltrimmed shrubbery, and large, lattice-paned windows. Built in the 1950s, it had the architectural charm that Joan remembered from the schools of her childhood. As she walked through the arched entryway, she noticed the vaguely familiar smells of new wax and summer mustiness. As she turned down the corridor leading to the principal’s office, she ran into a tall, broad-shouldered man with hands on hips, scrutinizing the newly polished sheen on the floor. This had to be the custodian, admiring his work before hundreds of students’feet turned it into a mosaic of scuff marks. As she moved closer, he looked up and smiled as if he had

The nearness of the war had another more immediate effect. The food, which had been fairly good, was growing worse; some days there was none at all. There was little food in the town itself; there were too many prisoners now, and the prison kitchen was just not equipped to handle such a crisis. One evening, as our group was being led to the toilet, I noticed a big hambone in a corner of the corridor. When the guard wasn’t looking, I snatched it up and hid it inside my coat. In the toilet I washed it off as best I could under the faucet and put it in my pocket. The rest of the day I sat in the cell, biting off pieces of it, grinding it to powder between my teeth and swallowing it. I broke it up and offered pieces to the others, but their teeth weren’t strong enough to chew

They were the best at following orders: told to hold the corridor, they would do so or die trying. But they also possessed the same mental acuity and flexibility as a bag of wet mice. Some days, the Princess would need well-armed, violent wet mice. But this was not one of those days.

Restoring habitat where we live and work, and to a lesser extent where we farm and graze, will go a long way toward building biological corridors that connect preserved habitat fragments with one another.

saddlebags. “And please tell Kiri she should put her shoes on. Lucas will have a fit if she serves like that.” “Mummy, why do I have to put on shoes? Kiri isn’t wearing any.” George met Gwyneira and her daughter in the corridor outside his room just as he was about to go down to dinner. He had done his best as far as evening wear went. Though slightly wrinkled, his light brown suit was handsomely tailored and much more becoming than the comfortable leather pants and waxed jacket he had acquired in Australia. Gwyneira and the captivating little red-haired girl who was squabbling so loudly were likewise elegantly attired. Though not in the latest fashion. Gwyneira was wearing a turquoise evening gown of such breathtaking refinement that, even in the best London salons, it would have created a stir—especially with a woman as beautiful as Gwyneira modeling it. The little girl wore a pale green shift that was almost entirely concealed by her abundant red-gold locks. When Fleur’s hair hung down loose, it frizzed a bit, like that of a gold tinsel angel. Her delicate green shoes matched the adorable little dress, but the little one obviously preferred to carry them in her hands than wear them on her feet. “They pinch!” she complained. “Fleur, they don’t pinch,” her mother declared. “We just bought them four weeks ago, and they were on the verge of being too big then. Not even you grow that fast. And even if they do pinch, a lady bears a small degree of pain without complaining.” “Like the Indians? Ruben says that in America they take stakes and hurt themselves for fun to see who’s the bravest. His daddy told him. But Ruben thinks that’s dumb, and so do I.” “That’s her opinion on the subject of being ‘ladylike,’” Gwyneira remarked, looking to George for help. “Come, Fleurette. This is a gentleman. He’s from England, like Ruben’s mummy and me. If you behave properly, maybe he’ll greet you by kissing your hand and call you ‘my lady.’ But only if you wear shoes.” “Mr. McKenzie always calls me ‘my lady’ even if I walk around barefoot.” “He must not come from England, then,” George said, playing along. “And he certainly hasn’t been introduced to the queen.” This honor had been conferred on the Greenwoods the year before, and George’s mother would probably chatter on about it for the rest of her

When the fourth officer entered the post office on G deck, the mail clerks were hastily pulling armfuls of envelopes out of the sorting racks. On looking down into the lower storage room, he saw mailbags floating in water. When Boxhall reported this to the bridge, the captain gave the order for the lifeboats to be uncovered and went below to see the damage for himself. The ship’s designer, Thomas Andrews, was already making his own inspection tour of the lower decks. He went into the post office and soon dispatched a mail clerk to find the captain. The clerk hurried along the corridor and returned with Captain Smith and Purser McElroy. After they had viewed the damage, Andrews was overheard saying to Smith, “Well, three have gone already, Captain.” Andrews was undoubtedly referring to three of the ship’s bulkheads that divided the ship into the watertight compartments that gave the Titanic its reputation for unsinkability. With only three compartments flooded, however, there was a chance that the pumps could stay ahead of it. The captain then returned to the bridge and gave the order for women and children to go up on deck with lifebelts. Thomas Andrews, meanwhile, continued his inspection. At around twelve-twenty-five William Sloper saw Andrews racing up the staircase with a deeply worried look on his face. As the ship’s designer passed by Dorothy Gibson, she put her hand on his arm and asked him what had happened. Andrews simply brushed past the prettiest girl and continued upward three stairs at a time. He had just discovered that two more watertight compartments had been breached. Andrews knew how serious this was. The bulkhead between the fifth and sixth compartments extended only as high as E deck. As the ship was pulled down at the bow, the water would spill over it into the next compartment, and then the next, until the ship inevitably sank. In all his planning at Harland and Wolff, he had never imagined a scenario such as this. Andrews informed the captain that the ship had only an hour left to live—an hour and a half at best. Smith immediately told Fourth Officer Boxhall to calculate the liner’s position and take it to the Marconi Room so the call for assistance could be sent out. He also gave orders to muster the passengers and crew.

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On Friday morning, September 1, the young butcher’s lad came and told us: There has been a radio announcement, we already held Danzig and the Corridor, the war with Poland was under way, England and France remained neutral,” Victor Klemperer wrote in his diary on September 3. “I said to Eva [that] a morphine injection or something similar was the best thing for us; our life was over.”1

At last I said good-night and stepped into the corridor, startled to find London waiting for me. “I was told you were here,” he said, by way of explanation. “It’s late, and you’re off duty,” I pointed out, bewildered. “I’m sure I can make it to my quarters unharmed.” “Nonetheless, I’ll accompany you.” There was no humor in his tone, no desire to engage me, and my apprehension grew. When we arrived at my quarters, he followed me into the parlor, and I wondered why everyone was behaving so strangely tonight, for despite how well London and I knew each other, he would normally have waited for an invitation before entering. “London, what are you--” He cut me off, closing the door. “Alera, you must know that this war is far from over.” “What are you talking about?” He considered me for a moment, then approached to lay his hands on my shoulders, gazing into my uneasy brown eyes. “I realize that since Narian came into our lives, you and I have not always been on the best of terms. You have not always agreed with me, and you have not always trusted me. But I beg of you to do so now.” I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, for his intensity was disconcerting. “Please, London. Just tell me what’s going on.” “I know that you and Narian are betrothed,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “This increases the difficulty of your position, but it is imperative that you do as I say.” He released me and untied a small pouch from his belt, then took my hand, pressing it into my palm. “Pour this into a goblet of wine and give it to Narian when he comes to you tonight.” “Why?” I choked, feeling faint. “Because he is the only one who can stop us. And because you are the only one he won’t suspect. Please, Alera, you must do this for me. For Hytanica.” “But what are you going to do?” I demanded. “What exactly is it I’m doing for Hytanica?” He strode to the window, gazing out at the last streaks of light cast by the setting sun before turning around, his face in shadow. “Tonight, we will take back our kingdom. Halias and his men are positioned to take care of the Cokyrian sentries on the city wall. Once that’s done, we’ll lock down the gate.” His voice was calm, but forceful. “We’re ready for them, Alera--do you realize we outnumber them? We’ve been planning this for months, but Narian can thwart us. The magic the Overlord taught him is too great. He is unnaturally strong, as quiet as the mist, can conjure fire, cause pain with a wave of his hand and has an array of potions at his disposal. You are our only hope of success.” I bristled at his assumption that our goals were the same. “Why would I do this?” I angrily demanded. “People will die. My people, Narian’s people. You’re setting them up to die, and for what? An attempt that will fail! Let me talk to Narian, negotiate for more freedoms. I love Hytanica as much as you do, but this is foolish--no, this is reckless.” “This is going to happen. Just think of how many people will die if Narian is unleashed.” “Narian is not a monster.” “Narian is a weapon.” We glared at each other until it seemed time had stopped altogether, then London stepped toward me. “Sides aren’t easy to pick. But you know which one needs you the most.” “And what if Narian doesn’t come to me tonight? What then?” “He will.

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It was best not to spend too much time in the Corridors. Nightmares lurked there, forces and energies that the living and the dead could not quite explain.

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Exploring Speed and Serenity: My Experience on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project The Beginning of a Surprisingly Pleasant Ride When I started my drive on the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project, I wasn’t expecting much beyond a regular highway trip. But as soon as I hit the expressway, I realized this wasn’t just another road — it was an example of how world-class infrastructure is now a part of Indian travel. #ModernRoadMakers A Highway Designed for Modern-Day Travel Wide lanes, perfect surface quality, and well-marked exits made the journey effortless. The road was clearly planned with precision. Even with moderate traffic, the flow was smooth — no honking, no potholes, and no unnecessary diversions. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Rest Stops That Redefine Convenience What really impressed me were the facilities along the way. From fuel pumps to food plazas and clean washrooms, everything was right where it should be. These thoughtfully placed amenities make long drives a pleasure rather than a hassle. #India'sBestHighwayInfrastructure Scenery That Keeps You Engaged Between the occasional village views and wide stretches of green farmland, the Agra-Etawah corridor gives travelers a taste of rural charm while riding in urban comfort. It’s the kind of journey where you roll down your windows and breathe in the real India. A Safe Journey, Even After Sunset I happened to travel during the late afternoon, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, I was still on the road — but not once did I feel unsafe. Reflective markings, street lights, and visible signboards gave me full confidence as I drove into the night. #BestHighwayInfrastructure Perfect for All Kinds of Wheels Whether you’re in a car, bus, or commercial truck, the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project handles every type of vehicle with ease. I noticed minimal lane interference and great lane discipline among drivers — a rare but welcome sight. Final Words: A Road That Sets the Standard The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project isn’t just a highway — it’s a clear signal of how far India has come in terms of transport infrastructure. As a traveler, I felt comfort, speed, and beauty all in one ride. Highly recommend this route to anyone looking for a smooth escape. #ModernRoadMakers

the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since . . .” He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit. But to Harry’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape.

Son, At the corridors of success, you will find those who are well-prepared. You can also be one of them if you do your best.

HAW realized his fears were making things worse. So he did what he would do if he weren’t afraid. He moved in a new direction. As he started running down the dark corridor he began to smile. Haw didn’t realize it yet, but he was discovering what nourished his soul. He was letting go and trusting what lay ahead for him, even though he did not know exactly what it was, but he was discovering what nourished his soul. He was LETTING GO & TRUSTING what lay ahead for him, even though he did not know exactly what it was. To his surprise, Haw started to enjoy himself more and more. “Why do I feel so good?” he wondered. “I don’t have any Cheese and I don’t know where I am going.” Before long, he knew why he felt good. Haw remembered the times when he had felt his best in the Maze. It was when he was moving along. He was taking control, rather than simply letting things happen to him.

Girls must learn to make do with the limited spaces that they're offered. In my servant adolescence, that space was the mall. Easily accessed, inviting no probing questions from our parents, always warm and safe. I can't begin to count the hours spent wandering the convoluted corridors of ever expanding shopping centers in Mississauga. I suppose we were lucky that given Mississauga size and growth rate, we had choices. […] despite the mall's inherent homogeneity, we entertained ourselves by looking at things we couldn't afford, imagining the cool people we'd be if only we had the right clothes and shoes. We found ways to make our own spaces, and stairwells, corners, and service corridors. My best friend Erica and I didn't go to the same school, so the mall was the place where we could actually gather instead of talking on the phone. But as we got older, the mall didn't reflect our changing identities. We needed to find the space and styles and people that would let us start to define ourselves as more Jewish girls from the suburbs. […] If the mall was our default space – easy to access, parents happy to leave us there for a few hours – then downtown, as we called neighboring Toronto, was our aspiration. We could take a commuter train and in about 30 minutes we'd be at the foot of Yonge Street, one of Toronto’s central shopping and tourist districts. While we might venture into the enormous Eaton center mall, our targets were the vintage shops, used record stores, poster shops, and head shops of Yonge and Queen streets. […] Of course all of this feels like a cliche now. We weren't unique. Suburban girls all over seek out ways to push back against the pressures of conformity. Like with young people we were trying to figure ourselves out and “different” space has helped us create fresh moments for self-expression. Girls’ presence on city streets, a place where they have been deemed out of place, can and should be considered part of girls’ repertoire of resistance to varying modes of control within an adult-dominated, patriarchal society.

Who blames me? Many, no doubt; and I shall be called discontented. I could not help it: the restlessness was in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes. Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third storey, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind’s eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it—and, certainly, they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended—a tale my imagination created, and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence.

Rolling Smoothly: How the Agra Etawah Toll Road Redefines India’s Best Highway Infrastructure Introduction If you’ve ever driven from Agra toward Etawah, you know how breathtakingly seamless the journey feels today. The transformation didn’t happen overnight — it’s the result of one of India’s most successful infrastructure projects, the Agra Etawah Toll Road, built by Modern Road Makers. Stretching for 124.52 kilometers, this project isn’t just a highway; it’s a moving symbol of progress and perfection in India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. This route connects history with modernity — from the Mughal magnificence of Agra to the evolving industrial growth of Etawah. And every kilometer you drive speaks of engineering brilliance and thoughtful planning. Engineering Excellence on the Move The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project forms a key stretch of National Highway 19 (NH-2), one of India’s oldest and busiest routes. It was developed under the Build-Operate-Transfer (BOT) model at a cost of approximately ₹3,244 crore. With Modern Road Makers at the helm, this six-lane expressway is designed to deliver world-class travel comfort and safety. From start to finish, the project includes: 3 major bridges, 26 minor bridges, and 7 railway overbridges 6 major flyovers and over 200 culverts 69.64 km of service roads and 64 km of slip roads 3 km of noise barriers to protect nearby communities Two advanced toll plazas with FASTag support Every element — from the smooth asphalt to the precisely marked lanes — demonstrates why this corridor stands tall among #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure projects. The Traveller’s Perspective I recently drove down this stretch, and it felt like cruising through the future of Indian roads. The lanes are wide, the road surface is perfectly laid, and the signage is clear even at night. What impressed me most was how well the road merges beauty with utility. Halfway through my trip, I pulled over at a rest stop — neat, organized, and ideal for travelers like me. With the open countryside on both sides and a smooth horizon ahead, it felt like the perfect combination of nature and engineering. As I sped past the Firozabad stretch, the glass city shimmered in the distance, and I couldn’t help but appreciate how #modernroadmakers have managed to balance local connectivity with national mobility. This isn’t just a toll road; it’s a lifeline for traders, tourists, and transporters alike. Economic Pulse of Uttar Pradesh The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project has become a major growth driver for Uttar Pradesh. The reduced travel time between two important cities has made logistics smoother, business faster, and tourism stronger. Local industries, from small-scale glassworks in Firozabad to agricultural businesses near Etawah, are reaping the benefits of better access and reduced transportation costs. What’s even more impressive is how this single road has created thousands of jobs — during construction, operation, and ongoing maintenance. It’s proof that modern infrastructure doesn’t just move vehicles — it moves economies. And that’s exactly what #agraetawahtollroadproject stands for. Sustainability and Safety Unlike old-style highways, this road has been built with sustainability in mind. The use of green medians, proper stormwater drainage, and advanced lighting systems ensures that the route remains safe and eco-friendly. The addition of noise barriers along populated stretches and intelligent traffic monitoring technology makes it one of the safest and most environment-conscious roads in India. Modern Road Makers have shown that creating India’s Best Highway Infrastructure doesn’t mean compromising with the planet — it means innovating responsibly.

The Smooth Way Forward: Unveiling the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project India’s highway infrastructure has been evolving at a remarkable pace, and one of the finest examples of this progress is the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project. Designed and built by Modern Road Makers, this modern expressway has not only reshaped the way people travel but has also contributed to regional growth, tourism, and trade in Uttar Pradesh. Connecting Two Worlds: Heritage and Development Stretching across 124.52 kilometers, the #agraetawahtollroadproject connects the historic city of Agra with the fast-growing region of Etawah. It forms a vital link along National Highway 19 (NH-19), one of India’s busiest transport corridors that connects northern and eastern India. The route passes through Firozabad, Shikohabad, and Jaswant Nagar, offering travelers a glimpse of Uttar Pradesh’s diverse landscape — from bustling urban centers to quiet rural plains. For decades, this route was infamous for its heavy traffic and slow movement, but the new toll road has changed that completely. A Road Built for the Future Constructed with precision and care, the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project reflects the highest standards of modern engineering. Built by #modernroadmakers, the project includes: Six wide lanes for efficient vehicle flow. Flyovers and underpasses to reduce congestion. Service roads for local access. Toll plazas equipped with FASTag technology for cashless payments. LED lighting and safety features for night-time driving. The focus on quality construction ensures a smooth driving surface, well-marked lanes, and proper drainage to handle heavy monsoon rains. Every detail — from the road’s foundation to its signboards — shows careful attention to traveler safety and convenience. A Traveler’s Experience on the Agra Etawah Stretch For travelers, this road offers one of the best driving experiences in northern India. The journey from Agra to Etawah now feels effortless — wide lanes, scenic views, and clean rest areas make the drive comfortable and enjoyable. The highway offers well-placed rest stops with essential facilities like fuel stations, small cafes, and restrooms. Drivers can take a break, grab a cup of tea, or simply enjoy the view of open farmlands stretching to the horizon. The sense of safety on this route is also noteworthy. With proper lighting and well-marked lanes, even night travel feels secure and organized — a big improvement compared to older highways. Driving Growth Beyond Travel Beyond making travel easier, the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project has played a major role in strengthening the local economy. Businesses along the corridor now enjoy better logistics, faster transportation, and improved connectivity with major cities. The famous glass industry of Firozabad has particularly benefited from this development, as goods can now reach markets faster and more efficiently. Farmers and small traders in the nearby towns also find it easier to transport their products across districts. Tourism has received a strong boost too. Travelers visiting Agra for the Taj Mahal or heading to the Etawah Safari Park can now plan shorter, smoother trips. This has helped both local tourism operators and hospitality businesses grow. A Milestone in India’s Infrastructure Story The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project stands as a shining example of what modern infrastructure can achieve. It has not only made travel faster and safer but has also brought economic and social benefits to the entire region. Projects like this reflect India’s vision of building roads that connect not just places but people and opportunities. Thanks to the efforts of Modern Road Makers, what was once a challenging journey has now become a symbol of progress and pride. Driving along this road feels like witnessing the future — smooth, efficient, and full of possibilities.

India’s Best Highway Infrastructure: Agra Etawah Toll Road by Modern Road Makers If you’ve ever driven across Uttar Pradesh, you know the difference a well-built highway can make. Among India’s most impressive road projects, the Agra Etawah Toll Road stands tall as a symbol of modern connectivity and precision engineering. Developed by Modern Road Makers, this project is a key part of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure, offering travellers a smooth, safe, and time-saving journey through one of the busiest corridors in North India. Overview of the Project The Agra Etawah Toll Road is a six-lane expressway built along the NH-2 (now NH-19), stretching approximately 124.52 kilometers between the historic city of Agra and the district of Etawah. The road was designed to decongest traffic, improve regional trade, and provide a world-class travel experience. It connects important towns like Etmadpur, Firozabad, Shikohabad, and Jaswantnagar before ending at Etawah. The project was executed under a Build-Operate-Transfer (BOT) model with a concession period of 24 years. With an estimated investment of over ₹3,200 crore, the highway showcases the strong commitment of Modern Road Makers to developing India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Engineering Excellence Every kilometer of this highway reflects top-tier construction and planning. The main carriageway extends for about 124.48 km, supported by 69.64 km of service roads and 64.05 km of slip roads to ensure smooth local connectivity. There are 7 flyovers, 7 railway overbridges, 26 minor bridges, and 3 major bridges along the route — all designed for durability and efficiency. The project also includes 215 culverts and multiple underpasses for pedestrians and vehicles, ensuring safety and convenience for both travellers and local residents. Noise barriers have been installed over a 3-kilometer stretch near populated areas, and more than 40 kilometers of the route is equipped with modern street lighting for night driving. Modern Road Makers have prioritized not only high-quality materials but also smart design choices that reduce maintenance and improve lifespan — a true example of #indiasbesthighwayinfrastructure. Traveller’s Experience As a traveller, driving along the Agra Etawah Toll Road feels effortless. The lanes are wide, the surface is smooth, and the signages are clear. Travel time between Agra and Etawah has significantly reduced, turning what once was a slow, uneven journey into a quick, scenic drive. The highway also features multiple truck lay-bys and bus bays, ensuring that heavy and public transport vehicles have designated areas to stop without disrupting the flow of traffic. For car travellers, this means fewer obstructions and a consistent driving rhythm. Whether you start your trip near the iconic Taj Mahal in Agra or plan to explore the greener landscapes near Etawah, the experience remains comfortable and stress-free. The mix of urban and rural sights makes the journey enjoyable — something every traveller appreciates when exploring India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Importance for Regional Development Beyond comfort, the Agra Etawah Toll Road has brought economic and social growth to surrounding areas. With better connectivity, small towns and villages now have easier access to Agra’s markets, industries, and tourism. Businesses benefit from faster logistics, and tourists enjoy a direct, high-speed route to multiple attractions across western Uttar Pradesh. By enhancing mobility, this project stands as a pillar of progress — proof that Modern Road Makers are shaping not just highways, but India’s development journey itself. #modernroadmakers #agraetawahtollroadproject Why It Deserves the Title “India’s Best Highway Infrastructure” World-class quality – Superior materials, six-lane design, and precise engineering. Enhanced safety – Clear lanes, underpasses, service roads, and lighting systems.

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Expanding Frontiers: A Glimpse Into India’s Best Highway Transformation As the vehicle moves along this remarkable stretch, the observer immediately senses a shift in India’s transportation landscape. The road ahead is smooth, wide, and engineered with clear intention—showcasing the evolution of India’s best highway infrastructure. Every element reflects purposeful planning, and across several points, the expertise of Modernroadmakers becomes undeniably evident through their precise construction style and attention to long-term quality. #modernroadmakes The highway offers broad lanes that create an effortless driving rhythm. Even the smallest details—like lane reflectors, painted arrows, and side barriers—appear perfectly aligned. As the observer continues along the progressing #agraetawahtllroad corridor, they notice how each section has been upgraded to support rising traffic demands without compromising comfort or safety. Technology stands out as a powerful contributor to this corridor’s efficiency. Smart toll booths greatly reduce waiting time, LED display boards provide immediate travel information, and surveillance systems ensure round-the-clock monitoring. These modern systems demonstrate how India’s best highway infrastructure is no longer just about improving roads, but also about integrating intelligent transport solutions for smoother journeys. #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure Environmental planning plays a visible role throughout the route. Fresh green plantations, thoughtfully maintained medians, and solar-powered lighting at select points make the corridor both eco-friendly and visually calming. The observer notices the effective drainage channels designed by Modernroadmakers, enabling the highway to function safely even during peak monsoon months. Rest areas add another layer of convenience. Each zone offers clean and accessible washrooms, shaded seating, organised parking, and food stalls—providing essential comfort for long-distance travellers, transport operators, and families alike. #modernroadmakes As the journey continues, the observer is met with stunning examples of strong engineering: elevated flyovers, robust underpasses, well-built culverts, and wide bridges that maintain smooth movement even in high-traffic zones. These structures prevent congestion, reduce travel time, and demonstrate how strategic planning can change the entire travel experience. Every kilometre serves as a reflection of India’s commitment to rapid infrastructure advancement. With Modernroadmakers contributing significantly to these progressive corridors, India’s best highway infrastructure is setting new benchmarks in durability, efficiency, and innovation.

Modernroadmakers Showcases How India’s Best Highway Infrastructure Is Built As they continued shaping the nation’s most advanced corridors, Modernroadmakers stood proudly at the center of India’s evolving infrastructure story. From planning to execution, every curve, every lane, and every structural detail reflected their commitment to delivering #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure. Observers traveling across the route often admired the precision, but behind that smooth experience was the dedication of a company determined to redefine modern mobility. Modernroadmakers operated with a clear philosophy: highways should not only connect cities—they should elevate the entire travel experience. On landmark stretches like the renowned #agraetawahtllroad, the company demonstrated how technology and engineering innovation could transform long-distance journeys. Their teams used advanced machinery, real-time monitoring systems, and sustainable construction techniques to ensure durability and seamless flow on every kilometer laid. The company approached each project as a blend of science and vision. Their planners analyzed terrain, weather patterns, and future traffic demands to create highways that would remain efficient for decades. Their engineers crafted multilayered roadbeds, intelligent drainage systems, and noise-reduction zones, ensuring both user comfort and structural longevity. It was through such unwavering standards that Modernroadmakers earned recognition across India, proudly echoing the tag #modernroadmakes in every achievement. One of the company’s most impactful contributions was the integration of smart infrastructure. Traffic sensors, digital signages, emergency response points, and solar-powered lighting formed a tech-driven ecosystem that supported safer and more efficient travel. These features enabled the highways to adapt to real-time needs, enhancing not only speed but also security for thousands of travelers daily. Landscaping and environmental concerns were equally central to their approach. Green belts, dust-control measures, rainwater harvesting pits, and energy-efficient systems reflected their belief that modern highways must coexist harmoniously with nature. This balance between growth and sustainability became a signature element of their projects, setting new benchmarks for responsible infrastructure development. With each completed stretch, Modernroadmakers reinforced the idea that India’s development story is strongly linked to the quality of its roads. Their work stood as proof that when vision meets engineering excellence, highways become more than transport routes—they become symbols of national progress. Every milestone they achieved strengthened their mission to continue building the paths that power India’s tomorrow.

India’s Best Highway Infrastructure Seen Through the Agra–Etawah Corridor India’s Best Highway Infrastructure continues to evolve, and a strong example of this progress can be seen on the Agra–Etawah corridor. This stretch stands out as a symbol of modern engineering, efficient planning, and high-quality construction standards. Managed and developed with advanced methods used by companies like Modernroadmakers, this highway showcases how India is shaping its roadways for a smarter future. #modernroadmakes The Agra–Etawah corridor has been designed to ensure smooth, uninterrupted mobility for thousands of vehicles every day. Wide lanes, highly visible road markings, and well-structured intersections contribute to its reputation as one of the most efficient segments under India’s Best Highway Infrastructure development. Modernroadmakers has played a key role in bringing consistency, precision, and durability to the construction standards adopted in this region. One of the strongest features of the Agra–Etawah stretch is its controlled-access design. This minimizes traffic interruptions and enhances safety across the route. With dedicated service lanes, proper signages, and well-planned entry and exit points, the highway maintains a balanced flow even during peak hours. This structured layout marks it as a benchmark of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure and highlights the country’s commitment to world-class road connectivity. #agraetawahtllroad Beyond the structural components, the highway’s surface quality reflects the technical excellence used throughout its construction process. Premium-grade materials and advanced layering techniques help reduce wear and tear, enabling a long-lasting driving experience. Such durability demonstrates how companies like Modernroadmakers continue to support national infrastructure goals with modern technology and reliable execution. Additionally, the corridor integrates multiple safety features that align with global roadway guidelines. From reflective signboards to crash barriers and emergency response points, the route maintains a strong emphasis on protection and preparedness. These elements reinforce why this stretch is often referenced in discussions around India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Environmental considerations are also embedded into its planning. Proper drainage systems, green patches along certain sections, and noise-control strategies enhance sustainability while ensuring the road remains functional throughout the year. #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure Altogether, the Agra–Etawah corridor is more than just a roadway—it is a clear demonstration of how India is transforming its infrastructure with vision and responsibility. With continued contributions from reputed developers like Modernroadmakers, this stretch stands proudly among the finest examples of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure.

Miles of Progress: Experiencing the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project Few things define development as clearly as a well-built road — and the Agra Etawah Toll Road Project is a shining example of how modern infrastructure can reshape a region’s future. Built by Modern Road Makers, this stretch of highway has transformed travel, trade, and tourism across Uttar Pradesh, offering both locals and visitors a smoother journey between two significant cities. Connecting Agra’s Heritage to Etawah’s Growth Spanning an impressive 124.52 kilometers, the #agraetawahtollroadproject forms a crucial part of National Highway 19 (NH-19), one of India’s most vital transport routes. It links Agra, known worldwide for the Taj Mahal, with Etawah, an emerging hub for agriculture and industry. Along the way, the road passes through bustling towns like Firozabad, Shikohabad, and Jaswant Nagar, connecting people, markets, and communities. Once known for narrow lanes and heavy congestion, this route now stands as a modern expressway that saves both time and energy for thousands of daily commuters. Smart Engineering at Its Best Executed with precision by #modernroadmakers, the project highlights the best of contemporary road design. The highway features: Six broad lanes that ensure steady and safe traffic flow. Flyovers, underpasses, and service lanes for smoother local access. Modern toll plazas equipped with FASTag for digital, cashless transactions. Well-planned lighting systems that make night driving safe and convenient. Clean rest areas and fuel stations to support long-distance travelers. From its smooth surface to its well-marked lanes, everything about this highway reflects quality. Proper drainage, safety barriers, and reflective signs ensure travelers experience reliability at every turn. A Traveler’s Perspective on the Agra-Etawah Drive For anyone who loves road trips, driving on the Agra Etawah Toll Road feels like a breath of fresh air. The wide, scenic route offers a perfect blend of comfort and beauty. You can enjoy the view of open fields, small villages, and the occasional rest stop that adds life to the journey. Unlike older highways where constant traffic jams tested patience, this road is calm, well-regulated, and smooth. I personally found it one of the most enjoyable drives in northern India — perfect for those who appreciate clean, organized, and modern travel experiences. The route also feels safer than before, thanks to visible lane markings, lighting, and proper signage. Whether you’re driving at sunrise or returning under the evening sky, the highway ensures a steady and stress-free experience. Economic and Social Transformation The Agra Etawah Toll Road Project isn’t just about travel convenience — it’s also a major boost to the local economy. With faster connections to major cities, industries around Firozabad and Etawah now enjoy better logistics and access to wider markets. Farmers can transport produce quickly, manufacturers ship goods efficiently, and travelers find new routes to explore. The tourism sector too has flourished — with Agra’s global appeal and attractions like the Etawah Safari Park, more visitors are extending their trips beyond traditional tourist spots. The corridor has become a true engine of progress, creating jobs, saving time, and improving safety for everyone who uses it.

The Agra–Etawah Corridor: A Benchmark in India’s Best Highway Infrastructure The Agra–Etawah corridor stands as a prime example of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure, showcasing how modern engineering and strategic planning can transform long-distance travel. This highway reflects the country’s commitment to building durable, safe, and efficient roads, with contributions from top developers like Modernroadmakers. #modernroadmakes One of the most remarkable features of the Agra–Etawah stretch is its wide lanes and smooth pavement. Each section has been designed to handle heavy traffic while maintaining stability and safety. The combination of precision lane markings, crash barriers, and clear signage ensures a highly organised roadway, reinforcing its position as a model of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #agraetawahtllroad The highway’s surface quality is another highlight. Multi-layered asphalt construction and high-grade materials help resist wear and tear from heavy vehicles and seasonal weather variations. Such engineering ensures long-lasting performance and minimal maintenance interruptions, making this corridor a dependable route for commercial and private vehicles alike. Companies like Modernroadmakers have employed cutting-edge construction techniques to achieve this level of durability and consistency. Safety measures on the Agra–Etawah route are also exemplary. Service lanes, reflective signboards, rumble strips, and strategically placed emergency response systems create a controlled environment that minimizes accidents. The corridor’s design allows smooth traffic flow even during peak hours, highlighting its efficiency and reliability. These safety-focused features are a key reason the highway is considered a leading example of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Beyond functionality, environmental considerations have been integrated into the design. Green belts along the sides reduce dust and improve air quality, while proper drainage systems prevent waterlogging during monsoon seasons. Landscaping and ecological planning enhance sustainability without compromising the efficiency of the highway, further strengthening its modern infrastructure credentials. #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure Overall, the Agra–Etawah corridor is more than just a route; it is a representation of India’s evolving roadway standards. With careful planning, robust construction, and advanced engineering practices implemented by companies like Modernroadmakers, this highway stands out as a benchmark for quality, safety, and efficiency. Its strategic design, durability, and modern facilities make it a true symbol of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure.

A New Era in Mobility on the Agra Etawah Toll Road India’s highway development has entered a transformative phase, and at the center of this evolution stands the remarkable progress visible on the Agra Etawah Toll Road, widely recognized today as one of the finest examples of India’s best highway infrastructure. Built with precision, foresight, and engineering excellence, the project reflects how Modernroadmakers continues to redefine the future of national mobility. The company’s constant commitment to innovation has made this corridor a benchmark for quality and efficiency, often celebrated with tags like #modernroadmakes, #agraetawahtllroad, and #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure. Modernroadmakers approaches every highway project as an opportunity to reshape the way India travels. On the Agra–Etawah stretch, their work showcases a blend of smart systems, environmental consciousness, and durable structural design. From multilayered pavement engineering to uninterrupted drainage channels, every component is built to withstand heavy traffic loads and ensure long-term stability. This strong foundation not only improves travel comfort but also minimizes maintenance requirements, making it a sustainable asset for years to come. An integral part of the project’s success is its adoption of advanced technologies. Modernroadmakers integrates intelligent traffic systems that monitor movement patterns, digital signages for real-time alerts, and solar-powered lighting solutions that enhance visibility while reducing energy consumption. These innovations make the highway safer, smoother, and more future-ready. Commuters frequently notice how efficiently the route functions, and many associate this progress with the growing reputation of #modernroadmakes across the infrastructure sector. The Agra Etawah Toll Road also reflects a strong focus on environmental harmony. Green landscaping zones reduce dust, sound barriers help minimize noise pollution, and strategically placed rainwater harvesting structures promote water conservation. Such eco-conscious planning is becoming increasingly important in India’s expanding infrastructure landscape, and Modernroadmakers continues to pioneer these practices with every new project they undertake. Safety remains at the forefront of their approach. Clearly visible lane markings, reflective signboards, emergency lay-bys, and well-equipped response units ensure that the highway supports not only fast travel but secure travel as well. The combination of engineering precision and safety-centric design strengthens the identity of this corridor as a model of India’s best highway infrastructure, proudly recognized under tags like #agraetawahtllroad and #india'sbesthighwayinfrastructure. With each milestone achieved, Modernroadmakers reinforces its role as a leader in shaping India’s mobility future. Their work on this stretch stands as a powerful testament to what modern infrastructure in India can truly become.

Highways That Connect: Experiencing India’s Best Highway Infrastructure on a Toll Road Driving along this newly upgraded toll highway gives travellers a clear understanding of how India’s Best Highway Infrastructure is shaping modern road journeys. From the very first kilometre, the wide lanes, smooth pavement, and carefully engineered curves make travel safe, comfortable, and uninterrupted. Modernroadmakers has implemented advanced engineering and high-quality construction, making this corridor a benchmark in highway design. #modernroadmakers The toll-based design helps maintain smooth traffic flow and ensures consistent upkeep of the roadway. Strategically placed entry and exit points reduce congestion, while reflective lane markings and clear directional signage make navigation simple for all drivers. Safety medians, crash barriers, and structured shoulders further protect travellers, reinforcing the corridor’s reputation as part of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Each detail reflects thoughtful planning for both long-distance and daily travel needs. This highway significantly improves connectivity across regions. Industrial zones, commercial hubs, and smaller towns now enjoy faster transportation of goods and easier access for commuters. The corridor acts not just as a transit route but as a driver of economic growth and regional development. By linking communities efficiently, it showcases the broader impact and importance of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #agraetawahtollroad Long-term durability has been a major focus during construction. Modernroadmakers has used premium materials, advanced drainage systems, and strong load-bearing surfaces to ensure consistent performance under heavy traffic and various weather conditions. Minimal maintenance interruptions allow travellers to move continuously, demonstrating the corridor’s reliability and further confirming its status as India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #modernroadmakers Safety and convenience remain at the forefront of the design. Well-lit roads, emergency lanes, and proper shoulders create a secure environment for all vehicles. The uniform surface reduces vehicle wear and improves fuel efficiency, making long journeys more predictable and stress-free. These features highlight why this toll highway exemplifies India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Each stretch of this highway reflects modern planning, engineering excellence, and national progress. Travelling along this corridor provides a firsthand view of how India’s Best Highway Infrastructure supports connectivity, economic development, and long-term sustainability. This road stands as a living example of thoughtful design, innovation, and safe travel standards.

Fast Lanes and Future Plans: Touring India’s Best Highway Infrastructure Travelling along this state-of-the-art toll highway offers a first-hand experience of how India’s Best Highway Infrastructure is raising the standards of modern road travel. The corridor features wide, smooth lanes, precisely engineered curves, and durable pavements designed to ensure uninterrupted movement across long distances. Built and maintained by Modernroadmakers, each segment of the highway reflects advanced engineering, robust construction, and forward-looking planning, making it a benchmark for India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #modernroadmakers The toll system plays a vital role in maintaining consistent traffic flow while ensuring the highway remains in top condition. Strategically located entry and exit points minimise congestion, while clearly visible lane markings and signboards guide vehicles efficiently. Safety medians, barriers, and structured shoulders further strengthen protection, showcasing why this highway is a leading example of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. Traffic moves smoothly for private commuters, commercial vehicles, and long-distance travellers alike. Connectivity along this corridor transforms regional accessibility. Industrial hubs, commercial centres, and towns in the surrounding regions are now linked more efficiently, allowing faster movement of goods, better commuting experiences, and improved logistical operations. The toll highway functions as more than a travel route; it serves as a backbone for economic growth and regional integration, reflecting the modern standards of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #agraetawahtollroad Durability and long-term performance are key features of this corridor. Modernroadmakers has employed high-quality construction materials, strong load-bearing surfaces, and advanced drainage systems to ensure reliable operation under heavy traffic and varying weather conditions. Reduced maintenance interruptions guarantee uninterrupted travel, demonstrating how thoughtful design contributes to India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. #modernroadmakers Safety and comfort remain central to the highway’s design. Proper lighting, emergency lanes, and wide shoulders create a secure environment for all vehicles. The smooth and consistent surface enhances fuel efficiency, reduces wear and tear, and allows long-distance travel to be predictable and comfortable. These features further reinforce why this toll corridor is celebrated as a model of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure.

Experiencing the Road That Defines India’s Best Highway Infrastructure The journey begins as the traveller merges onto a modern toll highway that immediately reflects the progress of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure. The road unfolds with wide, clearly marked lanes and a smooth driving surface that allows vehicles to move effortlessly. Every curve feels intentional, every stretch thoughtfully planned, giving the traveller a sense of confidence and comfort. Built and maintained by Modernroadmakers, this corridor showcases how precision engineering and long-term vision can transform highway travel into a refined experience. As the vehicle maintains a steady speed, the toll system operates quietly in the background, ensuring smooth traffic flow without unnecessary delays. Entry and exit ramps are intelligently designed to prevent congestion, while digital boards, reflective markings, and clear signages guide drivers without confusion. Safety features such as central medians, crash barriers, and reinforced shoulders contribute to a secure journey, reinforcing the credibility of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure along this route. #modernroadmaker Moving further ahead, the traveller observes the impact of improved connectivity on the surrounding regions. Industrial zones, logistics parks, and commercial areas now feel closer, thanks to reduced travel time. Local towns benefit from easier access, encouraging trade and daily commuting. The highway acts as a vital link for economic movement, proving how India’s Best Highway Infrastructure supports regional development beyond transportation alone. #agraetawahtollroad Durability becomes evident through consistent road quality across long distances. Modernroadmakers has incorporated strong load-bearing pavements, premium construction materials, and efficient drainage systems to withstand heavy traffic and seasonal changes. Even during extended drives, the surface remains stable, highlighting how India’s Best Highway Infrastructure is designed for long-term performance rather than short-term convenience. Safety and comfort remain constant throughout the journey. Proper lighting enhances visibility during night travel, emergency lanes provide reassurance, and the uniform road texture reduces vehicle wear and fuel consumption. These practical features elevate the driving experience and demonstrate why this corridor aligns with the standards of India’s Best Highway Infrastructure.

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