Filmy Quotes

There was a filmy veil of soft dull mist obscuring, but not hiding, all objects, giving them a lilac hue, for the sun had not yet fully set; a robin was singing ... The leaves were more gorgeous than ever; the first touch of frost would lay them all low to the ground. Already one or two kept constantly floating down, amber and golden in the low slanting sun-rays.

The Qur’an calls Jesus Al-Masih, the Messiah—literally, “the anointed one” or “the one who wipes away injustice.” Rather than adopting the Jewish framing of the messiah as a political redeemer, the Qur’anic understanding of the messiah is a reformer anointed by God to revive the theory of Abraham and the structure of Moses. Or, in a related sense, as a great clarifier who wipes away the filmy haze obscuring clear understanding.

Filmy a knihy nám umožňujú nežiť chvíľu svoj život, a to je blahodarná šanca zotaviť aspoň na chvíľu svoje doráňané vnútro.

It is amazing how you can look in a mirror your whole life and think you are seeing yourself clearly. And then one day, you peel off a filmy gray layer of hypocrisy, and you realize you’ve never truly seen yourself at all. I

In this life,” she said, crossing these glorious gams, shimmering in the filmy light, “you can’t let your guard down. If you can control yourself, you can control everyone else.

Matthew had sheepishly unfolded the dress from its paper swathings and held it out with a deprecatory glance at Marilla, who feigned to be contemptuously filling the teapot, but nevertheless watched the scene out of the corner of her eye with a rather interested air. Anne took the dress and looked at it in reverent silence. Oh, how pretty it was--a lovely soft brown gloria with all the gloss of silk; a skirt with dainty frills and shirrings; a waist elaborately pintucked in the most fashinable way, with a little ruffle of filmy lace at the neck. But the sleeves--they were the crowning glory! Long elbow cuffs, and above them two beautiful puffs divided by rows of shirring and bows of brown-silk ribbon.

Hiç ayırt etmem, - her türlü müziği dinlerim, - her türlü filmi seyrederim, - her türlü kitabı okurum. Sen aptal mısın evladım?

My favorite style, though, is the way you were wearing it earlier when you had it draped across both of your arms loosely. That way, I get the full effect of your exquisite hair tumbling down your back.” Wrapping the filmy fabric around my shoulders, he pulled the shawl and gently tugged me closer. He reached out, captured a curl, and wrapped the hair around his finger. “This life is so different from what I know. So many things have changed.” He let go of the shawl, but he kept hold of the curl. “But some things are much, much better.” He let go of the curl, trailing a finger down my cheek, and gave me a little nudge back toward my room. “Goodnight, Kelsey. We have a busy day tomorrow.

Yossarian gorged himself in the mess hall until he thought he would explode and then sagged back in a contented stupor, his mouth filmy with a succulent residue.

Clare arose in the light of a dawn that was ashy and furtive, as though associated with crime. The fireplace confronted him with its extinct embers; the spread supper-table, whereon stood the two full glasses of untasted wine, now flat and filmy; her vacated seat and his own; the other articles of furniture, with their eternal look of not being able to help it, their intolerable inquiry what was to be done?

Be like Grace: Wear large, dark glasses and a filmy scarf over your hair next time you go out in public. People will totally wonder who the mysterious beauty is, standing in line behind them at Blockbuster.

He knew clearly enough that his imagination was growing traitor to him, and yet at times it seemed the ship he sailed in, his fellow-passengers, the sailors, the wide sea, were all part of a filmy phantasmagoria that hung, scarcely veiling it, between him and a horrible real world. Then the Porroh man, thrusting his diabolical face through that curtain, was the one real and undeniable thing. At that he would get up and touch things, taste something, gnaw something, burn his hand with a match, or run a needle into himself. ("Pollock And The Porrah Man")

Ale tak naprawdę robię filmy, bo nie umiem nic innego. To był zły wybór, którego kiedyś dokonałem. Wtedy prawdopodobnie nie mógł być inny. Dzisiaj wiem, że był zły. To jest zawód, który jest bardzo trudny. Jest bardzo stresujący, bardzo męczący a daje nieproporcjonalnie mało satysfakcji w stosunku do tego wysiłku, który mu się poświęca.

How marvellously lie our anxieties, in filmy layers, one over the other! Take away that which has lain on the upper surface for so long—the care of cares—the only one, as it seemed to you, between your soul and the radiance of Heaven—and straight you find a new stratum there. As physical science tells us no fluid is without its skin, so does it seem with this fine medium of the soul, and these successive films of care that form upon its surface on mere contact with the upper air and light.

Bir filmi izlemeni istemiştim çok sevdiğim; beraber izleyelim demiştim, bulamazsan. Uçup gitti sözlerim. Hiçliğe mi? Oysa ben senin sevdiğin bütün o filmleri milyon kere izleyebilirdim, çocukluğumdan beri onlarca kez izlediğim halde, seninle de sensiz de...

Ohhhhh." A lush-bodied girl in the prime of her physical beauty. In an ivory georgette-crepe sundress with a halter top that gathers her breasts up in soft undulating folds of the fabric. She's standing with bare legs apart on a New York subway grating. Her blond head is thrown rapturously back as an updraft lifts her full, flaring skirt, exposing white cotton panties. White cotton! The ivory-crepe sundress is floating and filmy as magic. The dress is magic. Without the dress the girl would be female meat, raw and exposed. She's not thinking such a thought! Not her. She's an American girl healthy and clean as a Band-Aid. She's never had a soiled or a sulky thought. She's never had a melancholy thought. She's never had a savage thought. She's never had a desperate thought. She's never had an un-American thought. In the papery-thin sundress she's a nurse with tender hands. A nurse with luscious mouth. Sturdy thighs, bountiful breasts, tiny folds of baby fat at her armpits. She's laughing and squealing like a four year-old as another updraft lifts her skirt. Dimpled knees, a dancer's strong legs. This husky healthy girl. The shoulders, arms, breasts belong to a fully mature woman but the face is a girl's face. Shivering in New York City mid-summer as subway steam lifts her skirt like a lover's quickened breath. "Oh! Ohhhhh." It's nighttime in Manhattan, Lexington Avenue at 51st Street. Yet the white-white lights exude the heat of midday. The goddess of love has been standing like this, legs apart, in spike-heeled white sandals so steep and so tight they've permanently disfigured her smallest toes, for hours. She's been squealing and laughing, her mouth aches. There's a gathering pool of darkness at the back of her head like tarry water. Her scalp and her pubis burn from the morning's peroxide applications. The Girl with No Name. The glaring-white lights focus upon her, upon her alone, blond squealing, blond laughter, blond Venus, blond insomnia, blond smooth-shaven legs apart and blond hands fluttering in a futile effort to keep her skirt from lifting to reveal white cotton American-girl panties and the shadow, just the shadow, of the bleached crotch. "Ohhhhhh." Now she's hugging herself beneath her big bountiful breasts. Her eyelids fluttering. Between the legs, you can trust she's clean. She's not a dirty girl, nothing foreign or exotic. She's an American slash in the flesh. That emptiness. Guaranteed. She's been scooped out, drained clean, no scar tissue to interfere with your pleasure, and no odor. Especially no odor. The Girl with No Name, the girl with no memory. She has not lived long and she will not live long.

A silky rustling sound came from behind him. He turned, and saw Helen standing there in a white dress made of thin, glimmering layers of silk trimmed with lace. The dress clung to her slender form, the skirts pulled back to outline her hips and cascading gently behind her. She pulled back a filmy white veil sewn with lace and seed pearls, and smiled at him. She was unearthly in her beauty, as light and delicate as a wash of rainbow through morning mist. He held a hand over his hammering heart, as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest.

Bir mısra için baştan sona bir divanı hatmetmek... Okuma, öğrenme, anlama, dinleme, görme, bir düzeyden sonra bu hali alır; almak zorundadır. Bir mısra için bir divanı, bir couple için bir senfoniyi dinlemek, bir filmi sadece bir sahne için seyretmek, bazılarına beyhude bir çabaymış gibi gelir. Zarara uğramış, zaman kaybetmiş gibi hissederler kendilerini. Oysa hiç de öyle değil. En azından benim için öyle değil...

Dear Jeff, I happened to see the Channel 7 TV program "Hooray for Hollywood" tonight with the segment on Blade Runner. (Well, to be honest, I didn't happen to see it; someone tipped me off that Blade Runner was going to be a part of the show, and to be sure to watch.) Jeff, after looking—and especially after listening to Harrison Ford discuss the film—I came to the conclusion that this indeed is not science fiction; it is not fantasy; it is exactly what Harrison said: futurism. The impact of Blade Runner is simply going to be overwhelming, both on the public and on creative people—and, I believe, on science fiction as a field. Since I have been writing and selling science fiction works for thirty years, this is a matter of some importance to me. In all candor I must say that our field has gradually and steadily been deteriorating for the last few years. Nothing that we have done, individually or collectively, matches Blade Runner. This is not escapism; it is super realism, so gritty and detailed and authentic and goddam convincing that, well, after the segment I found my normal present-day "reality" pallid by comparison. What I am saying is that all of you collectively may have created a unique new form of graphic, artistic expression, never before seen. And, I think, Blade Runner is going to revolutionize our conceptions of what science fiction is and, more, can be. Let me sum it up this way. Science fiction has slowly and ineluctably settled into a monotonous death: it has become inbred, derivative, stale. Suddenly you people have come in, some of the greatest talents currently in existence, and now we have a new life, a new start. As for my own role in the Blade Runner project, I can only say that I did not know that a work of mine or a set of ideas of mine could be escalated into such stunning dimensions. My life and creative work are justified and completed by Blade Runner. Thank you...and it is going to be one hell of a commercial success. It will prove invincible. Cordially, Philip K. Dick

People I had never seen before flocked in, their faces showing a longing you never saw for cake. People's eyes lit up for a cupcake, cake seemed to signal celebration. But their eyes got filmy, watery, misty when we handed them a slice of pie. Pie was memory. Nostalgia. Pie made people recall simpler, maybe happier times.

başladığımız filmi birlikte bitireceğiz kim ne derse desin içimde delice bir his

Knihy sú omnoho zaujímavejšie ako filmy. Kto sleduje iba filmy a videá, vidí len to, čo mu servírujú iní. Pri čítaní nám však naša fantázia prehráva náš vlastný, osobný film.

If anyone was questioning themselves, it was all under the surface, a filmy bubble drifting and popping in their brains. Their doubt growing weak as the particulars of a dream grow weak.

Binde bir, güzel bir filmi görsün diye. Önlerde bir yere oturur, yanağı avcuna dayalı filmi seyreder, tam beni düşünmesini istediğim zaman beni düşünürdü. Film bitince eve yürüyerek dönerdi.

W filmach fabularnych zawsze na początku jest myśl. (...) Zawsze najpierw jest myśl czy prosta konstatacja, proste stwierdzenie. Potem pomalutku, pomalutku znajduje się dla tego jakąś formę.

Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are. -Benjamin Franklin Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced. -James Baldwin She wore an expression I've only seen in paintings in museums, of a love and a grief so fierce that they forged together to create some new, raw emotion. There are two types of people who become public defenders: those who believe they can save the world, and those who know damn well they can. Any public defender who tells you justice is blind is telling you a big fat lie. If no one ever talks about race in court, how is anything ever supposed to change? It is amazing how you can look in a mirror your whole life & think you are seeing yourself clearly. Then one day, you peel off a filmy gray layer of hypocrisy, & you realize you've never truly seen yourself at all. My client hates me. She thinks I'm a racist. Micah: She has a point. You're white and she's not, and you both happen to live in a world where white people have all the power. It is a strange thing being suddenly motherless. It's like losing a rudder that was keeping me on course, one that I never paid much mind to before now. Who will teach me how to parent, how to deal with the unkindness of strangers, how to be humble? You already did, I realize. She looks at me, and we laugh....we have more in common than we have differences. Everyone has prejudices. It's my job to make sure that they work in favor of the person I'm representing. The Millennials are the me generation. They usually think everything revolves around them, and make decisions based on what's going on in their lives & how it will affect their lives. They're minfields of egocentrism.

Olive never had to wear flannel petticoats. Olive wore ruffled silk and sheer lawn and filmy laced flounces. But Olive’s father had ‘married money’ and Olive never had Bronchitis. So there you were.

It is amazing how you can look in a mirror your whole life and think you are seeing yourself clearly. And then one day, you peel off a filmy gray layer of hypocrisy, and you realize you’ve never truly seen yourself at all.

She glanced down to where Seth's fingers were still curled around her arm. "Are you testing my biceps, Lieutenant? I do like to think they're firm." "Your muscle tone's fine." From what he could see of her in the filmy ivory slacks, it appeared more than fine.

SWIFTLY walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave,-- Where, all the long and lone daylight, Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear,-- Swift be thy flight! Wrap thy form in a mantle grey, Star-inwrought! Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; Kiss her until she be wearied out. Then wander o'er city and sea and land, Touching all with thine opiate wand-- Come, long-sought! When I arose and saw the dawn, I sigh'd for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turn'd to his rest, Lingering like an unloved guest, I sigh'd for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried, 'Wouldst thou me?' Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmur'd like a noontide bee, 'Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me?'--And I replied, 'No, not thee!' Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon-- Sleep will come when thou art fled. Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night-- Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon!

I would remove my shoes and, still clutching my belongings, lurch over the cold, damp rocks, the air smelling of wet weeds. With the sun just piercing the horizon, the light was hazy and filmy, the sand seeming to stretch on into oblivion. The sea foam stirred whitely at the edge of the water.

The soul which fathoms every league of the celestial arc--knows, as a mariner the sea, the distant latitudes where comets flame, and worlds career, and constellations shake their awful clusters--wanders amid the spectral nebula, and makes suns and systems to be but glittering beads upon the aspiring thread of its induction, cannot perish. There is a future life. In a universe so spherical and whole as this, reason argues that its own incompleteness and capacity for more are suggestive--are prophetical. Under-shadows and cross-lights of mystery, these filmy depths of present being, shudder in sympathy with something beyond.

All yesterday it poured, and all night long I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat Upon the shingled roof like a weird song, Upon the grass like running children’s feet. And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed, Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed, Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist, And nestled soft against the earth’s wet breast. But lo, there was a miracle at dawn! The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze, The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn, The songsters twittered in the rustling trees. And all things were transfigured in the day, But me whom radiant beauty could not move; For you, more wonderful, were far away, And I was blind with hunger for your love

The day was warm; but the fact that the sky was covered with a filmy veil of grey clouds gave to the vast plain before him the appearance of a landscape whose dominant characteristic consisted in a patient effacement of all emphatic or outstanding qualities. The green of the meadows was a shy, watery green. The verdure of the elm trees was a sombre, blackish monotony. The yellow of the stubble land was a whitish-yellow, pallid and lustreless.

Najednou jsem žila úplně stejný scénář, jaký mají všechny ty stupidní filmy, ve kterých si dva hlavní hrdinové něco udělají, ale ten jeden to nenechá toho druhého vysvětlit, a tak se následujících třicet minut filmu oba trápí a vyčítají si to. A za těch třicet minut samozřejmě uběhne třeba sedm let, než se nakonec náhodou potkají, konečně si promluví, odpustí si a pak už jen žili spolu šťastně až do smrti a titulky. Já nemám čas čekat sedm let na to, až si někdo laskavě poslechne, co mu chci říct!

Then she sent Schweik for lunch and wine. And before he returned, she put on a filmy gown which made her extremely attractive and alluring. At lunch she drank a bottle of wine and smoked several Memphis cigarettes. And while Schweik was in the kitchen feasting on army bread which he soaked in a glass of brandy she retired to rest. "Schweik," she shouted from the bedroom. "Schweik!" Schweik opened the door and beheld the young lady in an enticing attitude among the cushions. "Come here." He stepped up to the bed, and with a peculiar smile she scrutinized his sturdy build. Then, she pulled aside the thin covering which had hitherto concealed her person. And so it came about that when the lieutenant returned from the barracks, the good soldier Schweik was able to inform him: "Beg to report, sir, I carried out all the lady's wishes and treated her courteously, just as you instructed me." "Thank you, Schweik," said the lieutenant. "And did she want many things done?" "About six," replied Schweik.

Everything was so beautiful in this magical moment before sunrise. The wild blue irises around the pond, the violet shadows in the curves of the dunes, the white, filmy mist hanging over the buttercup valley across the pond, the cloth of gold and silver thtat was called a field of daisies, thye cool, delicious gulf breeze, the blue of far lands beyond the harbour, plumes of purple and mauve smoke going up on the still, golden air from the chimneys of Stovepipe Town where the fishermen rose early. And Teddy lying at her feet, his slim brown hands clasped behind his head. Again she felt thye magnetic attraction of his personality. Felt it so strongly that she dared not meet his eyes. Yet she was admitting to herself with a secret cadour which would have horrified Aunt Elizabeth that she wanted to run her fingers through his sleek black hair- feel his arms about her- press her face against his dark tender ne- feel his lips on her lips- Teddy took one of his hands from under his head and put it over hers.

Jeżeli widzę, że ludzie się kierują jakimiś racjami, na przykład politycznymi, ale kierują się tymi racjami z wewnętrznego przekonania, a nie z potrzeby wygodnego urządzenia sobie życia, to nawet jeżeli są po drugiej stronie, mam do nich rodzaj szacunku. (...) Oczywiście, byłoby może prościej pokazać tępego biurokratę niż człowieka, który też ma swoje racje. Mnie ciekawiło bardziej to drugie. Tak jest w wielu filmach i uważam, że to jest – dla mnie jako dla człowieka, który robił filmy – właściwie jedyna możliwa droga.

A girl and a boy, sitting lazily cross-legged under a pale green willow, picking at the grass. She is lying with her head in his lap, long red hair fanned against his knee. Her skin is not my unnatural red but like honeyed cream. She grins up at him, his eyes the color of an evergreen forest, of dragonfly wings, his corn-gold, too-long hair falling over his forehead. And she laughs. When she does her back, her throat arches slightly, and he blushes. He smells of wheat fields and fallen autumn apples soft against the earth, and it is a smell she knows like her own. Under the filmy reed-curtain of the old willow tree, they hold hands and talk quietly, shoes discarded like peach pits. The sun is low in the sky, warm and orange-gold on their young faces, their strong white smiles and freshly washed hair. The light spills onto their shoulders like water from a well. There are sharp-smelling rosemary branches braided into her hair, with their little blue blossoms, and the oil is on their brown fingers. The boy whispers something in the girl’s ear, and she closes her eyes, lashes smoking cheekbones like bundles of sage.

Feeling the slight tremor of his fingers against her skin, Daisy was emboldened to remark, “I’ve never been attracted to tall men before. But you make me feel—” “If you don’t keep quiet,” he interrupted curtly, “I’m going to strangle you.” Daisy felt silent, listening to the rhythm of his breath as it turned deeper, less controlled. By contrast his fingers became more certain in their task, working along the row of pearls until her dress gaped open and the sleeves slipped from her shoulders. “Where is it?” he asked. “The key?” His tone was deadly. “Yes, Daisy. The key.” “It fell inside my corset. Which means… I’ll have to take that off too.” There was no reaction to the statement, no sound or movement. Daisy twisted to glance at Matthew. He seemed dazed. His eyes looked unnaturally blue against the flush on his face. She realized he was occupied with a savage inner battle to keep from touching her. Feeling hot and prickly with embarrassment, Daisy pulled her arms completely out of her sleeves. She worked the dress over her hips, wriggling out of the filmy white layers, letting them slide to the floor in a heap. Matthew stared at the discarded dress as if it were some kind of exotic fauna he had never seen before. Slowly his eyes returned to Daisy, and an incoherent protest came from his throat as she began to unhook her corset. She felt shy and wicked, undressing in front of him. But she was encouraged by the way he seemed unable to tear his gaze from each newly revealed inch of pale skin. When the last metal hook came apart, she tossed the web of lace and stays to the floor. All that remained over her breasts was a crumpled chemise. The key had dropped into her lap. Closing her fingers around the metal object, she risked a cautious glance at Matthew. His eyes were closed, his forehead scored with furrows of pained concentration. “This isn’t going to happen,” he said, more to himself than to her. Daisy leaned forward to tuck the key into his coat pocket. Gripping the hem of her chemise, she stripped it over her head. A tingling shock chased over her naked upper body. She was so nervous that her teeth had begun to chatter. “I just took my chemise off,” she said. “Don’t you want to look?” “No.” But his eyes had opened, and his gaze found her small, pink-tipped breasts, and the breath hissed through his clenched teeth. He sat without moving, staring at her as she untied his cravat and unbuttoned the layers of his waistcoat and shirt. She blushed everywhere but continued doggedly, rising to her knees to tug the coat from his shoulders. He moved like a dreamer, slowly pulling his arms from the coat sleeves and waistcoat. Daisy pushed his shirt open with awkward determination, her gaze drinking in the sight of his chest and torso. His skin gleamed like heavy satin, stretched taut over broad expanses of muscle. She touched the powerful vault of his ribs, trailing her fingertips to the rippled tautness of his midriff. Suddenly Matthew caught her hand, seemingly undecided whether to push it away or press it closer. Her fingers curled over his. She stared into his dilated blue eyes. “Matthew,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m yours. I want to do everything you’ve ever imagined doing with me.” He stopped breathing. His will foundered and collapsed, and suddenly nothing mattered except the demands of a desire that had been denied too long. With a rough groan of surrender, he lifted her onto his lap.

Nancy grabbed Plum's hand and together they ran around the last curve and then they were leaning against the old stone wall that marked Lookout Hill. Far, far down below them, a river was trying to wriggle its way out of a steep canyon. Over to the right, thick green hills crowded close to each other to share one filmy white cloud. To the left, as far as they could see the land flowed into valleys that shaded from a pale watery green, through lime, emerald, jade, leaf, forest to a dark, dark, bluish-green, almost black. The rivers were like inky lines, the ponds like ink blots.

Though with the baby her breasts are used without shame, tools like her hands, before his eyes she is still shy, and quick to cover herself if he watches too openly. But he feels a difference between now and when they first loved, lying side by side on the borrowed bed, his eyes closed, together making the filmy sideways descent into one another. Now, she is intermittently careless, walks out of the bathroom naked, lets her straps hang down while she burps the baby, seems to accept herself with casual gratitude as a machine, a white, pliant machine for loving, hatching, feeding.

A gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, bringing with it the scent of fresh-turned earth and lavender blossoms. Amanda drew to the side of the balcony, where she was completely concealed from view. As she leaned against the wall of the house, the rough texture of the red brick gently abraded her bare shoulders. She had worn a pale blue, corded-silk gown with a low-cut back, and draperies of gauze that crossed over the bodice in an X pattern. The long sleeves of the gown were made of more transparent gauze, while her hands were encased in white gloves. The flash of her bare arms beneath the filmy blue silk made Amanda feel sophisticated and daring.

Türk sinemasının ümmi döneminde, ortalama Türk filmi, bir Doğulu yabancılaşmanın, 'alaturka'nın ürünüydü; şimdi Batılılığa özgü bir yabancılaşma, 'alafranga' baskın. Yeni dönem sinemasında ne klasik Doğuya, ne de köklü bir Batılılığa yer var. Bunların her ikisinden de ustaca kaytarılıyor. (Aydın bir sinemanın ölçütünün Batılı bir bilinçle Doğuyu araştırmak, Doğulu bir bilinçle Batıya sanatsal eleştirel bir düzeyde gaza etmek olduğu öne sürülebilirse, bunların her ikisi de yeni dönem sinemasında yok. Doğudan ve kendi Doğululuğundan nefret eden, elden düşme bir Batıya teslim bayrağını çekmiş bir 'sürü psikolojisi'nin tüm izlerini taşıyor bu yeni sinema.)

Along the Oregon coast an arm of the Pacific shushes softly against rocky shores. Above the waves, dripping silver in the moonlight, old trees, giant trees, few now, thrust their heads among low clouds, the moss thick upon their boles and shadow deep around their roots. In these woods nights are quiet, save for the questing hoot of an owl, the satin stroke of fur against a twig, the tick and rasp of small claws climbing up, clambering down. In these woods, bear is the big boy, the top of the chain, but even he goes quietly and mostly by day. It is a place of mosses and liverworts and ferns, of filmy green that curtains the branches and cushions the soil, a wet place, a still place.

Grateful! Good God! Am I never to get away from the bleat of that filmy adjective? I don’t want gratitude. I don’t want kindness. I don’t want sentimentality. I don’t even want love—I could make you give me that—of a sort. I want common honesty.’ ‘Do you? But that’s what I’ve always wanted—I don’t think it’s to be got.’ ‘Listen, Harriet. I do understand. I know you don’t want either to give or to take. You’ve tried being the giver, and you’ve found that the giver is always fooled. And you won’t be the taker, because that’s very difficult, and because you know that the taker always ends by hating the giver. You don’t want ever again to have to depend for happiness on another person.’ ‘That’s true. That’s the truest thing you ever said.’ ‘All right. I can respect that. Only you’ve got to play the game. Don’t force an emotional situation and then blame me for it.’ ‘But I don’t want any situation. I want to be left in peace.’ ‘Oh! but you are not a peaceful person. You’ll always make trouble. Why not fight it out on equal terms and enjoy it? Like Alan Breck, I’m a bonny fighter.’ ‘And you think you’re sure to win.’ ‘Not with my hands tied.’ ‘Oh!—well, all right. But it all sounds so dreary and exhausting,’ said Harriet, and burst idiotically into tears. ‘Good Heavens!’ said Wimsey, aghast. ‘Harriet! darling! angel! beast! vixen! don’t say that.’ He flung himself on his knees in a frenzy of remorse and agitation. ‘Call me anything you like, but not dreary! Not one of those things you find in clubs! Have this one, darling, it’s much larger and quite clean. Say you didn’t mean it! Great Scott! Have I been boring you interminably for eighteen months on end? A thing any right-minded woman would shudder at I know you once said that if anybody ever married me it would be for the sake of hearing me piffle on, but I expect that kind of thing palls after a bit. I’m babbling—I know I’m babbling. What on earth am I to do about it?’ ‘Ass! Oh, it’s not fair. You always make me laugh. I can’t fight—I’m so tired. You don’t seem to know what being tired is. Stop. Let go. I won’t be bullied. Thank God! there’s the telephone.

I could not, I would not, confine my glances to the cliff; and, with a wild, indefinable emotion half of horror, half of a relieved oppression, I threw my vision far down into the abyss. For one moment my fingers clutched convulsively upon their hold, while, with the movement, the faintest possible idea of ultimate escape wandered, like a shadow, through my mind--in the next my whole soul was pervaded with a longing to fall; a desire, a yearning, a passion utterly uncontrollable. I let go at once my grasp upon the peg, and, turning half round from the precipice, remained tottering for an instant against its naked face. But now there came a spinning of the brain; a shrill-sounding and phantom voice screamed within my ears; a dusky, fiendish, and filmy figure stood immediately beneath me; and, sighing, I sunk down with a bursting heart, and plunged within its arms.

to look around. At first sight, the apartment was perfectly ordinary. He made a quick circuit of the living room, kitchenette, bathroom, and bedroom. The place was tidy enough, but with a few items strewn here and there, the sort of things that might be left lying around by a busy person—a magazine, a half-finished crossword puzzle, a book left open on a night table. Abby had the usual appliances—an old stove and a humming refrigerator, a microwave oven with an unpronounceable brand name, a thirteen-inch TV on a cheap stand, a boom box near a modest collection of CDs. There were clothes in her bedroom closet and silverware, plates, and pots and pans in her kitchen cabinets. He began to wonder if he’d been unduly suspicious. Maybe Abby Hollister was who she said she was, after all. And he’d taken a considerable risk coming here. If he was caught inside her apartment, all his plans for the evening would be scotched. He would end up in a holding cell facing charges that would send him back to prison for parole violation. All because he’d gotten a bug up his ass about some woman he hardly knew, a stranger who didn’t mean anything. He decided he’d better get the hell out. He was retracing his steps through the living room when he glanced at the magazine tossed on the sofa. Something about it seemed wrong. He moved closer and took a better look. It was People, and the cover showed two celebrities whose recent marriage had already ended in divorce. But on the cover the stars were smiling over a caption that read, Love At Last. He picked up the magazine and studied it in the trickle of light through the filmy curtains. The date was September of last year. He put it down and looked at the end tables flanking the sofa. For the first time he noticed a patina of dust on their surfaces. The apartment hadn’t been cleaned in some time. He went into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. It seemed well stocked, but when he opened the carton of milk and sniffed, he discovered water inside—which was just as well, since the milk’s expiration period had ended around the time that the People cover story had been new. Water in the milk carton. Out-of-date magazine on the sofa. Dust everywhere, even coating the kitchen counters. Abby didn’t live here. Nobody did. This apartment was a sham, a shell. It was a dummy address, like the dummy corporations his partner had set up when establishing the overseas bank accounts. It could pass inspection if somebody came to visit, assuming the visitor didn’t look too closely, but it wasn’t meant to be used. Now that he thought about it, the apartment was remarkable for what

Suicide Squad – İntihar Timi izle HD 2016 Dc firmasının en iyi komedi filmi İntihar Timi izle geliyor. Dc comics bildiğiniz gibi çizgi romanlarıyla ünlü. Şimdide sinema sektöründe ki zenginliği fark etmiş olacak ki tüm çizgi romanlarını yavaş yavaş sinemaya aktarıyor. İlk olarak superman ile başladı batman ile devam etti.Şimdi sıra 2016 filmleri kategorisinde olan yeni film Suicide Squad yani İntihar Timi filminde. Yapımın çizgi romanı bilmeyenler için belirtiyim en çok kötü karakter bulunan hikayesi. Tanıdık kötü filmde çok. Bazıları; Joker, Harley Quinn, Deadshot. Sizce bu kadar ünlü kötü karakterin çok olduğu bir yapım kötü olabilir mi ? Elbette hayır. Batman olarak filmde Ben Affleck, ezeli düşmanı Joker olarak ise Jared Leto var. Will Smith de Deadshot karakterine hayat vermiş. Vizyon tarihi 12 Ağustos 2016 olan İntihar Timi filmi tam bir yıldızlar kadrosu. Aksiyon filmleri arasında fragmanından gördüğümüz kadarıyla muhteşem bir yapım olacak. Bu muhteşem filmin yönetmenliğini David Ayer üstelenmiş. Yönetmen gerçekten işini harika yapan biri ve bu filmde yer alması gayet yerinde bir tercih. Çalışıcağı oyuncuları ekibi kendisi seçer. Yine seçtiği kadro yeteneğini gösteriyor. Suicide Squad izle yenler den yapımcıyı merak eden olduysa Dan Lin üstlenmiş. Oyuncuları ise Will Smith, Ben Affleck, Jared Leto, Jesse Eisenberg ve Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje. İntihar Timi izle isteyenler için sitemizde full ve 1080p olacak. İntihar Timi türkçe dublaj izle arayanlar ise biraz bekledikten sonra sitemizde bulabilecekler. İntihar Timi izle dikten sonra yorumlarınızı filmgo olarak bekliyoruz. İntihar Timi full izle için hazır bekliyoruz.

First came the flower girls, pretty little lasses in summery frocks, skipping down the aisle, tossing handfuls of petals and, in one case, the basket when it was empty. Next came the bridesmaids, Luna, strutting in her gown and heels, a challenging dare in her eyes that begged someone to make a remark about the girly getup she was forced to wear. Next came Reba and Zena, giggling and prancing, loving the attention. This time, Leo wasn’t thrown by Teena’s appearance, nor was he fooled. How could he have mistaken her for his Vex? While similar outwardly, Meena’s twin lacked the same confident grin, and the way she moved, with a delicate grace, did not resemble his bold woman at all. How unlike they seemed. Until Teena tripped, flailed her arms, and took out part of a row before she could recover! Yup, they were sisters all right. With a heavy sigh, and pink cheeks, Teena managed to walk the rest of the red carpet, high heels in hand— one of which seemed short a heel. With all the wedding party more or less safely arrived, there was only one person of import left. However, she didn’t walk alone. Despite his qualms, which Leo heard over the keg they’d shared the previous night, Peter appeared ready to give his daughter away. Ready, though, didn’t mean he looked happy about it. The seams of the suit his soon-to-be father-in-law wore strained, the rented tux not the best fit, but Leo doubted that was why he looked less than pleased. Leo figured there were two reasons for Peter’s grumpy countenance. The first was the fact that he had to give his little girl away. The second probably had to do with the snickers and the repetition of a certain rumor, “I hear he lost an arm-wrestling bet and had to wear a tie.” For those curious, Leo had won that wager, and thus did his new father-in-law wear the, “gods-damned-noose” around his neck. However, who cared about that sore loser when upon his arm rested a vision of beauty. Meena’s long hair tumbled in golden waves over her shoulders, the ends curled into fat ringlets that tickled her cleavage. At her temples, ivory combs swept the sides up and away, revealing the creamy line of her neck. The strapless gown made her appear as a goddess. The bust, tight and low cut, displayed her fantastic breasts so well that Leo found himself growling. He didn’t like the appreciative eyes in the crowd. Yet, at the same time, he felt a certain pride. His bride was beautiful, and it was only right she be admired. From her impressive breasts, the gown cinched in before flaring out. The filmy white fabric of the skirt billowed as she walked. He noted she wore flats. Reba’s suggestion so she wouldn’t get a heel stuck. Her gown didn’t quite touch the ground. Zena’s idea to ensure she wouldn’t trip on the hem. They’d taken all kinds of precautions to ensure her the smoothest chance of success. She might lack the feline grace of other ladies. She might have stumbled a time or two and been kept upright only by the smooth actions of her father, but dammit, in his eyes, she was the daintiest, most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. And she is mine.

There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth. It is a simple task, but the opportunities for satisfaction are many and profound: choosing the right bread for instance. The Sandwich Maker had spent many months in daily consultation and experiment with Grarp the baker and eventually they had between them created a loaf of exactly the consistency that was dense enough to slice thinly and neatly, while still being light, moist and having that fine nutty flavour which best enhanced the savour of roast Perfectly Normal Beast flesh. There was also the geometry of the slice to be refined: the precise relationships between the width and height of the slice and also its thickness which would give the proper sense of bulk and weight to the finished sandwich: here again, lightness was a virtue, but so too were firmness, generosity and that promise of succulence and savour that is the hallmark of a truly intense sandwich experience. The proper tools, of course, were crucial, and many were the days that the Sandwich Maker, when not engaged with the Baker at his oven, would spend with Strinder the Tool Maker, weighing and balancing knives, taking them to the forge and back again. Suppleness, strength, keenness of edge, length and balance were all enthusiastically debated, theories put forward, tested, refined, and many was the evening when the Sandwich Maker and the Tool Maker could be seen silhouetted against the light of the setting sun and the Tool Maker’s forge making slow sweeping movements through the air trying one knife after another, comparing the weight of this one with the balance of another, the suppleness of a third and the handle binding of a fourth. Three knives altogether were required. First there was the knife for the slicing of the bread: a firm, authoritative blade which imposed a clear and defining will on a loaf. Then there was the butter-spreading knife, which was a whippy little number but still with a firm backbone to it. Early versions had been a little too whippy, but now the combination of flexibility with a core of strength was exactly right to achieve the maximum smoothness and grace of spread. The chief amongst the knives, of course, was the carving knife. This was the knife that would not merely impose its will on the medium through which it moved, as did the bread knife; it must work with it, be guided by the grain of the meat, to achieve slices of the most exquisite consistency and translucency, that would slide away in filmy folds from the main hunk of meat. The Sandwich Maker would then flip each sheet with a smooth flick of the wrist on to the beautifully proportioned lower bread slice, trim it with four deft strokes and then at last perform the magic that the children of the village so longed to gather round and watch with rapt attention and wonder. With just four more dexterous flips of the knife he would assemble the trimmings into a perfectly fitting jigsaw of pieces on top of the primary slice. For every sandwich the size and shape of the trimmings were different, but the Sandwich Maker would always effortlessly and without hesitation assemble them into a pattern which fitted perfectly. A second layer of meat and a second layer of trimmings, and the main act of creation would be accomplished.

Nie potrzebujesz sumienia, kiedy jesteś świadomy, nie potrzebujesz sumienia, kiedy jesteś wrażliwy. Nie uciekasz się wtedy do przemocy, nie jesteś przepełniony strachem. Zapewne sądzicie, że jest to ideał nieosiągalny. No cóż, przeczytajcie tę książkę. Spotykam wszędzie osoby, które nagle poznały tę prawdę: korzenie zła są w tobie. Kiedy to wreszcie zrozumiesz – przestaniesz tyle od siebie żądać, tak wiele po sobie się spodziewać, zmuszać się, by rozumieć. Dbaj o siebie, dostarczaj sobie pełnowartościowego dobrego pokarmu. Nie myślę tu tylko o jedzeniu: myślę o zachodach słońca, o przyrodzie, o dobrym filmie i dobrej książce, o pracy dającej radość, o dobrym towarzystwie i... miejmy nadzieję, że uda ci się przełamać swoje uzależnienie od uczuć innych.

kurmaca bir “otomobil uygarlığı” hicviydi: Jean-Luc Godard’ın Weekend filmi (1967).

Jsou knihy, které by měl mít člověk zakázáno číst příliš brzy. Pak se s nimi mine nebo se ho nedotknou. Stejné je to s filmy. Měla by na nich být nálepka: Nevidět nebo nečíst, dokud něco neprožijete.

To jak słynna scena w filmie Matrix, kiedy Morfeusz podaje na dłoni dwie tabletki: niebieską i czerwoną, i uświadamia Neo, że po dokonaniu wyboru nie będzie mógł się wycofać: niebieska oznacza pozostanie we śnie w iluzji racjonalnego świata, czerwona to wyjście z matrixa i zobaczenie rzeczywistości oczami osoby przebudzonej.

A cough like a rake through gravel came from a man who’d taken the stool next to him. Arthur looked up to see the fiery-eyed stranger of the day before scrutinizing him closely. “I think about the past, too,” said the man, who had a disconsolate, cut-down look, as if aware of the anger in his eyes and regretted it and wanted to conceal a special power of judgment so as to conform to his surroundings. “Oh, the past,” Arthur said with a sigh. He felt as if he were speaking not with a stranger but with someone he’d known for many years. “Do you come here often?” “Two or three times a week,” Arthur admitted. “It will do until I find something better.” “There’s a lot worse places,” the stranger observed in an easy-going voice, like the whisper of a torch-singer on vacation. Arthur noticed that when they weren’t glowing like the pit of a volcano, the man’s eyes were veined and filmy and that the corners of his mouth were turned down, as if his outlook on life controlled the muscles of his face. “It’s only my second visit, but I’ve been in many places like it.” “About the newspaper you showed me yesterday,” Arthur said. “Mr. Gunderson hasn’t told us a thing about winning the sweepstakes.” “Apparently you didn’t check the date,” the man sniffed. “It’s two years in the future.” “I see,” Arthur said and tapped his teeth with the end of his pencil.

Outside the day is a filmy gray, the sky scudded with thickening clouds. Zoey

Mekanik 2 Diriliş izle 2016 HD Full Jason Statham ve Jessica Alba'nın başrolde olduğu, Dennis Gansel’in ise yönetmenliğini yaptığı aksiyon filmi Mekanik 2 Diriliş izle meniz için sizlerle. Yeryüzünde ki en korkunc ve azılı katillerden olan, para için öldüremeyeceği adam bulunmayan Arthur Bishop bu pis ama başarılı işini bırakmıştır. Sakin bir hayat yaşamaya çalışırken daha önceki işinden kalan düşmanları çok sevdiği aşkını kaçırır. Arthur'un yine işinin başına geçmesi ve dünyanın çeşitli yerlerindeki 3 öldürülmesi imkansız denilen kişiyi öldürmesi gerekmektedir. Sevdiğini kurtarması için tek seçenek budur. Mekanik 2 Diriliş filmi sizlerle vizyondan sonra türkçe dublaj olarak sunulacaktır. Jason Statham ve güzel oyuncu jessicanın bu aksiyon dolu filmini kaçırmamanızı tavsiye ederim. Mekanik 2 Diriliş izle filmden sonra yorumlarınızı bekliyoruz iyi seyirler.

Sekerat Son 2016 Full izle Sekerat Son Filmi ölümün anlatıldığı bir konuyla Haziran ayında vizyona girecek. Yerli korku filmleri nin ve gerilim filmlerinin oyuncuları olmuş Meltem Miraloğlu bu filmde başrol olarak karşımıza çıkıyor. Fİlmin yönetmenliğini ise Şeyda Şen hakkıyla üstlenmiş. Konusu ise şu şekilde; Seda kendi haline güzel yetenekli bir ressamdır. Fakat bu aralar yaşadığı üzücü olaylar nedeniyle sinir bozulması ve travmalar görülür. Ruh sağlığı bozulmak üzeredir ve bu alemden olmayan canlıların kendisine hükmektiğini düşünür. İsteği dışında şeyler yapan ve kendine hükmedemeyen Seda ölüm anında yaşanılanları ölmeden yaşamaya başlar. Sekerat Son izle sizlere korku ve gerilim dolu 95 dakika vaat ediyor. Korku severlere ölüm anını anlatmaya çalışan film diğer alemin olaylarını gözler önüne serecek.

Filmy Edgings . . . Adorn Pretty Undies with Handwork

One thing that has impressed me for years-and which was so poignantly displayed in Mel Gibson's gripping film-is the reality that one reason why the religious leaders in Christ's day rejected their Messiah was because they misunderstood the Old Testament prophecies predicting His arrival. Think about it. Because it happened once, couldn't it happen again?

W swoich późniejszych filmach reżyser zmienia taktykę i przechodzi z jednej prowokacji w drugą. Siłą napędową staje się przekonanie, że jeśli coś jest zakazane, trzeba ten zakaz naruszyć. - Takie samo zachowanie można zaobserwować u dzieci, które broją, żeby zasłużyć na naganę. Znacznie trudniej jest zrobić coś dobrego i próbować zwrócić na to uwagę otoczenia - mówi Peder Grøngaard. - Uważasz, że Lars von Trier się nie obnaża, ale ukrywa za ironią i prowokacją? - Tak. Kiedy dziecko zachowuje się niegrzecznie, wie doskonale, że rodzice będą się gniewać. Wtedy skarcenie tak bardzo nie boli. Lars von Trier powiedział nawet, że ma nadzieję, że ludzie zaczną go nienawidzić za jego filmy.

Ek Toh Kam Zindagani (Marjaavaan) Song Lyrics - Neha Kakkar, Yash Narvekar ft. Nora Fatehi Ek Toh Kum Zindagani Song Lyrics in Hindi from bollywood movie Marjaavaan sung by Neha Kakkar and Yash Narvekar. The hindi song Ek To Kum Zindagani is recreated and composed by Tanishk Bagchi. Ek Toh Kam Zindagani Song Lyrics - Ek Toh Kam Zindagani Us Se Bhi Kam Hai Jawani Ek Toh Kamm Zindagani Us Se Bhi Kam Hai Jawani Jab Tak Josh Mein Jawaani Jab Tak Khoon Mein Rawaani Jab Tak Josh Mein Jawaani Jab Tak Khoon Mein Rawaani Mujhe Hosh Mein Aane Na Do Pyar Do, Pyar Lo Read More visit on filmipanda.com

Spinners in the Sun THEY SPIN FOR life that is their need, They spin for life that looks like greed, They are unconscious as they spin Of the stuff they labour in, Save as it serves dear life to feed. In the autumnal air their nets They hang, and as September wets The web with dew, or shines in it Until the film with light is lit, The eye that looks on it forgets The reason why the work began; The wondering eye of child and man Sees only that the spinners’ pains Caught beauty in its filmy chains.

Seni ne kadar çok özledim. Bir sinema salonunda "hayata bağlandığımız bir filmi izlerken" avucuma bıraktığın şeffaf bir taş gibi.

Marszczę na niego brwi. - Co twoja ręka robi na moim ramieniu? Dean wygląda jak uosobienie niewinności. - Ja tak właśnie oglądam filmy. - Czyżby? Chcesz mi powiedzieć, że tak samo obejmujesz Garretta, gdy oglądasz z nim film? - Oczywiście. A jeśli jest dla mnie miły, czasem wsuwam mu rękę w spodnie.

On those nights the water was very calm, so silvery it looked like mercury, and the fish in it, violet-colored, unable to resist the Moon's attraction, rose to the surface, all of them, and so did the octopuses and the saffron medusas. There was always a flight of tiny creatures -- little crabs, squid, and even some weeds, light and filmy, and coral plants -- that broke from the sea and ended up on the Moon, hanging down from that lime-white ceiling, or else they stayed in midair, a phosphorescent swarm we had to drive off, waving banana leaves at them.

Yeryüzünde iki çeşit politikacı vardır: Özgürlükleri genişletenler ve özgürlükleri kısıtlayanlar! İkinci grubun bir zafer kazanma şansı yoktur ve daima bir korku filminden ürkütücü karakterler olarak hatırlanacaklardır!

The Fate of the Furious – Hızlı ve Öfkeli 8 izle 1080p Hızlı ve Öfkeli 8 izle yecekler için kadroya bir göz atmak istersek filmin yönetmenliğini Gary Gray'in üstlendiğini, oyuncular arasında ise Vin Diesel , Dwayne Johnson, Jason Statham, Lucas Black ve Kurt Russell gibi isimlerin yer aldığını görüyoruz. Film Türkiye de Öfkenin Kaderi ismi ile vizyona girecek. Tabi biz genel olarak 1080p Hızlı ve Öfkeli 8 diye bahsedeceğiz. Sizlere nisan ayında çıkması beklenen The Fate of the Furious için anlatakcaklarımız bu kadar. Tahminen vizyona girmesi ilee sitemizde altyazılı ve Türkçe dublaj olarak yayınlancak filmi kaçırmamanız için takipte kalmanızı tavsiye ederim.

The sun had lit up the top row of leadlight windows, and the family home, polished to within an inch of its life, was sparkling like a bejeweled old dame dressed for her annual opera outing. A great swelling wave of affection came suddenly upon Alice. For as long as she could remember, she'd been aware that the house and the gardens of Loeanneth lived and breathed for her in a way they didn't for her sisters. While London was a lure to Deborah, Alice was never happier, never quite as much herself, as she was here; sitting on the edge of the stream, toes dangling in the slow current; lying in bed before the dawn, listening to the busy family of swifts who'd built their nest above her window; winding her way around the lake, notebook always tucked beneath her arm. She had been seven years old when she realized that one day she would grow up and that grown-ups didn't, in the usual order of things, continue to live in their parents' home. She'd felt a great chasm of existential dread open up inside her then, and had taken to engraving her name whenever and wherever she could- in the hard English oak of the morning-room window frames, in the filmy grouting between the gunroom tiles, on the Strawberry Thief wallpaper in the entrance hall- as if by such small acts she might somehow tie herself to the place in a tangible and enduring way.

Tea gowns, or “teagies” as they were known, were worn without corsets at teatime—a time of day when gentlemen called on their mistresses—and they were filmy, pretty creations designed with just a hint of the boudoir.

He had just lifted a finger to his lips when a massive shape materialized from the darkness, glinting as it stepped into the sunlight. Emeline gaped up at it. A silver sharp-toothed snout emerged first, elegant nostrils sniffing the air. The snout alone was roughly the size of Emeline's hatchback. The rest of a head emerged, revealing filmy white eyes and gray tufts where ears should be. Was this... Claw? If so, he was definitely awake. His massive paws were tufted too and tipped in sharp nails, reminding Emeline of a lion. But his wings were like that of a snowy owl, tucked primly against his sides. Feathers and scales rippled over his body, the color of silver coins. A watchdog, Hawthorne had said. More like a watchdragon.

televizyonda Bogart Haftası var," diyorum kadınıma. "düşünsene, bir hafta boyunca her gece bir Bogart filmi!" "bugün çöp toplama günü," diyor, "çöpü dışarı çıkardın mı?" avuçlarımı bitiştirip bir sigara yakıyorum, dumanı içime çekiyorum, ona gözlerimi kısarak bakıp dumanı ağzımdan ve burnumdan yavaşça üflüyorum: "sen çıkar.

Omit the Mouth that Answers the scrub pine dropping needles in a hush. Omit the washer junked in the corner, mice making nests in its hose. Omit his key in the ignition. Omit exhaust. Omit the mouth that answers. Omit the barn cat curled asleep on a pile of kindling in the corner of the garage. Omit the bicycle noosed to its rack. Omit the saw blade's teeth, the workbench hammer, the uncut plywood beside the rake. Omit the work lamp with its filmy eye. Omit his face gone slack. Omit the mouth that answers. Omit the algebra book open on the seat. Omit the moonlight, the cottonwood's glut of hairy seeds. Omit the drag of the door. Omit the air let loose from his lungs. Omit the mouth that answers. Omit the rise of swallows: wing, beak and claw. Omit the phone call, the dial tone's skidding hum. Omit the daylight's questions. Omit our grieving tongues.

She stepped inside a vestibule with a silver bowl of pure, clear water set on a pedestal made of what Delphine could only assume was a very large, very sturdy zinnia. Was she supposed to wash in it, or was she firmly barred from touching it? She glanced in its shallow depth, and it began to pulse and swirl with pale light. She stepped away quickly. A filmy veil of light separated the interior; she held out a tentative finger, and the light brushed it like organza and separated for her. She stepped through into the Court, sprawling and open to the sky above, yet bound by the pale walls on all sides. Inside, the Court looked back at her. Dozens of Fae, gathered in twos and threes, beneath trees of gold and silver and around pools of deep azure blue, inside pavilions made of sheer flower petals and on carpets that must have been woven bird feathers. They all watched her, silently, unmoving. Each was almost painful to look at, beautiful and yet sharp and cold. All of them were arrayed in the spoils of their bargains, with sheer gowns of watercolor silk and robes of pliable silver, elaborate braids adorned with finely wrought metal and tautly bound silk, and even, on a few, wings and horns and talons refashioned from wood and bone and glass. Delphine was terrified of them, and yet also drawn to them. A great and terrible power hummed among them, just below the surface, a nearly tangible potential for change, for creation, for more than anything the world on her own side of the veil could offer.

Cassian was halfway up the dried riverbed when stones crunched and clacked behind him. He whirled to find Nesta facedown. Not moving. He swore, rushing down the stony path, and slid to his knees before her. The sharp stones bit his legs through his pants, but he didn't care, not as he turned her over, his heart thundering. She'd fainted. His relief was a primal thing in him, settling, but- He hadn't looked back at her in hours. Filmy white crusted her lips; her skin was flushed and sweaty. He grabbed for the canteen at his belt, unscrewing the cap, and pulled her head into his lap. 'Drink,' he ordered, opening her mouth for her, his blood roaring in his ears. Nesta stirred, but didn't fight him when he poured a little water down her throat. It was enough to have her opening her eyes. They were glazed. Cassian demanded, 'When was the last time you had water?' Her eyes sharpened. The first time she'd really looked at him in three solid days. But she only took the canteen and drank deep, draining it. When she'd finished, she groaned, pushing herself from his lap, but only onto her side. He snapped, 'You should have been drinking water throughout the day.' She stared at the rocks around them. He couldn't stand that look- the vacancy, the indifference, as if she no longer really cared whether she lived or died here in the wild. His stomach twisted. Instinct bellowed at him to wrap himself around her, to comfort and soothe, but another voice, an ancient and wise voice, whispered to keep going. One more mountain, that voice said. Just one more mountain.

I learnt, too, that when it’s the thoughts of a man that are distorted and flaming like a jungle it’s the wickedest and silliest thing you can do to give his mind complete rest. Then, like a spider, his Idea (for everyone has an Idea that is the driving-power of his whole mind) begins to work and weave, out of its own substance, a filmy web that grows and tangles the mind until——

- Onu unutmak istiyor musunuz? Bu dakikadan itibaren şuurunuzu, anlıyor musunuz, şuurunuzu bir sinema perdesi farz ediniz ve gene farz ediniz ki makineyi çeviren ve perdede filmi gösteren el, sizin iradenizdir. Anlıyorsunuz değil mi? “- Anlıyorum, ben lise on birinci sınıfa kadar tahsil gördüm. “- Baktınız ki perdede, yani şuurunuzda, ona ait hatıraların resimleri görünmeğe başlıyor; hemen eliniz, yani iradeniz evvelâ makineyi durdursun. Sonra o film yerine başkasını taksın. Yani başka şeyler düşünmeğe çalışınız. Bu oldukça güçtür; fakat büyük bir gayret sarf ederseniz, muvaffak olacağınız muhakkaktır.

I wouldn’t say I was like that kid in that film—“I see dead people”—since they only came to me every once in a great while now. Over the years, I’d learned the hard way how to turn them off, so I wasn’t bombarded with their nonsense.

- Z dwojga złego wolę książki - zadeklarowała Joanna. - Bo w filmie oglądam, jak wygląda strach widziany czyimiś oczami. W powieści patrzę na swój własny.

Oh,” I moaned, my headache vanishing, “how beautiful.” I sat in a high-backed armchair and gazed upward at the shelves, at the filmy cobwebs on the fine morocco, at the ancient, wheeled steps that would allow me access to the remotest corners of this precious and abandoned paradise.

Strategically placed spotlights illuminated the garden, and when she moved in front of one I could see the outline of her body through her filmy nightgown. She was curvy and woman-like, but her aura exuded innocence. In the past twenty-two days I had convinced myself that I was wrong, that it was curiosity or my quest for a story that fanned those sparks that had been dead in me for so long. But now, here, I knew it was a primal attraction I hadn't felt since Willa- the sleepless nights with her, the sleepless nights without her.

Bardzo trudno jest żyć w świecie nieopisanym- mówił w filmie Krzysztofa Wierzbickiego "I'm so-so" Kieślowski. -To troszkę tak, jakby żyć bez tożsamości. Wszystkie kłopoty, zmartwienia, cierpienia nie mają odbicia, w jakimś sensie się rozpływają, dotyczą tylko ciebie samego. W związku z tym nie masz poczucia, że masz oparcie gdziekolwiek. Nie możesz się do niczego odwołać, bo nic nie jest opisane, nie jest nazwane. Żyjesz sam.

Like a filmy soap bubble, her smile reached me leisurely and got busted on my face to liberate all the pressure it wombed through its way.

Like every year, the peach flowers began to blossom, draping the orchard like a filmy pink dress. Thousands of tiny pink petals fluttered in the breeze. And as quickly as they came, they disappeared. The blossoms withered to leave only shucks, and tiny, hard peaches broke through the shucks and began to grow.

Izzy uwielbiała filmy z cyklu Toy Story. Gabe uważał je za niewiarygodnie smutne. Koniec dzieciństwa. Strach, że staniemy się starzy i niepotrzebni. Świadomość. że życie posuwa się do przodu, a my zostajemy z tyłu

tape already marked the area around the body. A first responding officer jumped to his feet, holding the scene log on a clipboard. “Good morning, sir.” The young man spoke in the nasal voice of someone whose nose is blocked. Lei spotted white cotton sprouting from his nostrils. “Hey. Nice up here if it weren’t for the smell.” She took the clipboard, and each of them signed in. Passing the tape, Lei spotted the hand first, extended toward them from beneath the ferns, palm up. The tissue was swollen and discolored, masked in a filmy gray gauze of mold that seemed to be drawing the body down into the forest floor. Lei could imagine that in just a few weeks, the body would have been all but gone in the biology of the cloud forest. The victim lay on his stomach, his head turned away and facing into a fern clump, black hair already looking like just another lichen growing on the forest floor. The body was at the expansion phase, distending camouflage-patterned clothing as if inflated. A black fiberglass arrow fletched in plastic protruded from the man’s back. Lei and Pono stayed well back from the body. Lei unpacked the police department’s camera from her backpack, and Pono took out his crime kit. The modest quarter-karat engagement

Film kurgucularına öyle imrenirdi ki. Çektikleri binlerce metre filmi masa başında yeniden kurgulayarak istemedikleri sahneleri çıkarıp atmalarına. Keşke o da istemediği sahneleri hayatından çıkarıp atabilseydi. Bırakın kesip atmayı, o sahnenin hayalinde tekrar tekrar canlanmasına bile engel olamıyordu. Keşke. Hayatınızı cehenneme çeviren kelime.

And my niece—Amelia Jane—is now looking around with wide, navy-blue eyes, making little peeps of protest, her tiny body turning pinker by the second, as though she’s under some kind of cosmic light. She has a fringe of dark hair, and little arms and legs, and fingers and thumbs—all of your most important equipment—and she’s alert and aware. Her filmy eyes lock on to mine, and I am smitten, stunned, thinking: How can this be? How does such a thing happen around us every day—and we just go about our lives like it’s nothing out of the ordinary?

Reklama na Persil na zelených vozech byla poškrábaná nebo spálená a posetá bublinkami z ohnivých bouří, dřevěné sedačky vytrhané. Na zamlklých lidech byl patrný hlad, a také průvodčí měli kostnaté, hořem zachmuřené tváře. Ale tón zvonku, to dlouhé pronikavé cinkání, když zatahali za střešní šňůru, zněl stále stejně průzračně jako dřív. Před kinem Lito ve Fronhausenu, kde se nyní promítaly jenom anglicky mluvené filmy, se děti pokoušely z dlažby odlepit žvýkačky a Walter jel až ke klášteru a dál kráčel směrem ke Klopstockstrasse.

I think,” he said slowly, “that you should marry a man who would appreciate you.” She made a face. “Those are in short supply.” He smiled. “You don’t need a supply. You just need one.” He grasped Poppy’s shoulder, his hand curving over the illusion-trimmed sleeve of her gown until she felt its warmth through the fragile gauze. His thumb toyed with the filmy edge of fabric, brushing her skin in a way that made her stomach tighten. “Poppy,” he said gently, “what if I asked for permission to court you?” She went blank as astonishment swept through her. Finally, someone had asked to court her. And it wasn’t Michael, or any of the diffident, superior aristocrats she had met during three failed seasons. It was Harry Rutledge, an elusive and enigmatic man she had known only a matter of days. “Why me?” was all she could manage. “Because you’re interesting and beautiful. Because saying your name makes me smile. Most of all because this may be my only hope of ever having hotchpotch.” “I’m sorry, but . . . no. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all.” “I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had. Why can’t we?” Poppy’s mind was spinning. She could hardly stammer out a reply. “I-I don’t like courtship. It’s very stressful. And disappointing.” His thumb found the soft ridge of her collarbone and traced it slowly. “It’s arguable that you’ve ever had a real courtship. But if it pleases you, we’ll dispense with it altogether. That would save time.” “I don’t want to dispense with it,” Poppy said, increasingly flustered. She trembled as she felt his fingertips glide along the side of her neck. “What I mean is . . . Mr. Rutledge, I’ve just been through a very difficult experience. This is too soon.” “You were courted by a boy, who had to do as he was told.” His hot breath feathered against her lips as he whispered, “You should try it with a man, who needs no one’s permission.” A man. Well, he certainly was that. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting,” Harry continued. “Not when you’re so hell-bent on going back to Hampshire. You’re the reason I’m here tonight, Poppy. Believe me, I wouldn’t have come otherwise.” “You don’t like balls?” “I do. But the ones I attend are given by a far different crowd.” Poppy couldn’t imagine what crowd he was referring to, or what kind of people he usually associated with. Harry Rutledge was too much of a mystery. Too experienced, too overwhelming in every way. He could never offer the quiet, ordinary, sane life she longed for. “Mr. Rutledge, please don’t take this as an affront, but you don’t have the qualities I seek in a husband.” “How do you know? I have some excellent qualities you haven’t even seen yet.

He has a very strong sense of beauty, he has. You're to dress entirely in black and white and silver." "Why?" "Ask him yourself, miss. He'll be here in a minute." "He certainly won't!" Emma cried, leaping for the black dress and pulling it over her head, slapping away Mrs. Rumson's clumsy attempts to assist her. The gown was barely around her shoulders when the door opened, without so much as a knock. Beneath the yards of filmy material, Emma allowed herself a quiet snarl. "Arguing with Mrs. Rumson again, my angel?" Emma yanked the gown down, half hoping it would rip. It didn't, and the clinging black silk gauze settled around her curves perfectly. "I'm not used to dressing in front of an audience," she said sternly. Killoran had already availed himself of the most comfortable chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. "Accustom yourself, Emma," he said. "It is quite the fashion. Great beauties have their cicisbeis to guide their choices of jewelry and maquillage. Think of me as merely a servant to your exquisite loveliness." She scowled. "I am not a great beauty," she said, advancing on him as Mrs. Rumson struggled behind her, trying to fasten the myriad of tiny black buttons. "I don't wear maquillage, and I have no jewelry." She halted, her anger carrying her so far and no farther. She was already dangerously close to him, and he simply looked up at her, that cool, assessing expression on his face. He said nothing for a long moment, merely let his eyelids droop as he surveyed the length of her. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally. "You are no common beauty. You are, however, quite... magnificent." There was an undercurrent of heat in his words that terrified her, but a moment later it had vanished, and he was leaning back, watching her with detached interest.

The man's horrible curses; the howls of the dogs in the cellar; the wailing of the puppies in cages ; the sight of the blood and the torture; the shrieks of the animal that he kicked or beat, or forced into some wretched hole too small for it to turn in; the sad filmy eyes of the poor birds sitting moping with their feathers all in disarray; the piteous terrors of the woman every time her husband's savage glance lit on her, as though with every look she feared a blow,—all this was more dreadful to me than I can ever describe.

John Vernall lifted up his head, the milk locks that had given him his nickname stirring in the third floor winds, and stared with pale grey eyes out over Lambeth, over London. Snowy's dad had once explained to him and his young sister Thursa how by altering one's altitude, one's level on the upright axis of this seemingly three-planed existence, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the elusive fourth plane, the fourth axis, which was time. Or was at any rate, at least in Snowy's understanding of their father's Bedlam lectures, what most people saw as time from the perspective of a world impermanent and fragile, vanished into nothingness and made anew from nothing with each passing instant, all its substance disappeared into a past that was invisible from their new angle and which thus appeared no longer to be there. For the majority of people, Snowy realised, the previous hour was gone forever and the next did not exist yet. They-were trapped in their thin, moving pane of Now: a filmy membrane that might fatally disintegrate at any moment, stretched between two dreadful absences. This view of life and being as frail, flimsy things that were soon ended did not match in any way with Snowy Vernall's own, especially not from a glorious vantage like his current one, mucky nativity below and only reefs of hurtling cloud above. His increased elevation had proportionately shrunken and reduced the landscape, squashing down the buildings so that if he were by some means to rise higher still, he knew that all the houses, churches and hotels would be eventually compressed in only two dimensions, flattened to a street map or a plan, a smouldering mosaic where the roads and lanes were cobbled silver lines binding factory-black ceramic chips in a Miltonic tableau. From the roof-ridge where he perched, soles angled inwards gripping the damp tiles, the rolling Thames was motionless, a seam of iron amongst the city's dusty strata. He could see from here a river, not just shifting liquid in a stupefying volume. He could see the watercourse's history bound in its form, its snaking path of least resistance through a valley made by the collapse of a great chalk fault somewhere to the south behind him, white scarps crashing in white billows a few hundred feet uphill and a few million years ago. The bulge of Waterloo, off to his north, was simply where the slide of rock and mud had stopped and hardened, mammoth-trodden to a pasture where a thousand chimneys had eventually blossomed, tarry-throated tubeworms gathering around the warm miasma of the railway station. Snowy saw the thumbprint of a giant mathematic power, untold generations caught up in the magnet-pattern of its loops and whorls. On the loose-shoelace stream's far side was banked the scorched metropolis, its edifices rising floor by floor into a different kind of time, the more enduring continuity of architecture, markedly distinct from the clock-governed scurry of humanity occurring on the ground. In London's variously styled and weathered spires or bridges there were interrupted conversations with the dead, with Trinovantes, Romans, Saxons, Normans, their forgotten and obscure agendas told in stone. In celebrated landmarks Snowy heard the lonely, self-infatuated monologues of kings and queens, fraught with anxieties concerning their significance, lives squandered in pursuit of legacy, an optical illusion of the temporary world which they inhabited. The avenues and monuments he overlooked were barricades' against oblivion, ornate breastwork flung up to defer a future in which both the glorious structures and the memories of those who'd founded them did not exist.

- Czuję się ostatnio jak w filmie - stwierdziłem. - Ja też, choć wolałabym, żeby był to film porno, a nie kryminał.

Of course, of course.” The male’s filmy eyes swept around the room. “I can have my beauties up and running within a few minutes.” He hobbled toward the walkway and braced a hand on the iron rail as he began the ascent. Bryce glanced back to the three mystics in their tubs, their thin bodies, their pale, soggy skin. Built into the floor beside them was a panel covered in a language she had never seen. “Pay them no heed, miss,” the old male called, still winding his way toward a platform about halfway up the room, filled with dials and wheels. “When they’re not in use, they drift. Where they go and what they see is a mystery, even to me.” It wasn’t that the mystics could see all worlds—no, the gift wasn’t the unnerving thing. It was what they gave up for it. Life. True life.

The rootlets branched like a small tree and their surface was covered with a filmy layer which appeared fresh and sticky. It was these delicate structures I wanted to examine. From these roots, a fungal network laced out into the soil and around the roots of nearby trees. Without this fungal web my tree would not exist. Without similar fungal webs no plant would exist anywhere. All life on land, including my own, depended on these networks. I tugged lightly on my root and felt the ground move.

Filmy light landed on piles of books; it was like going back in time. And for a moment I could breathe again, I felt inspired in only the way you can be when you’re surrounded by books.