L Sterne Quotes

Jeez, how old are you?” I total y knew how old he was, but I wanted to pick. Aiden cracked his neck. “I turn twenty-one in October.” “Huh.” I shook the bottle. “So have you always been so… mature?” His brows furrowed. “Mature?” “Yeah, you sound like a dad.” I deepened my voice and tried to look stern. “‘Don’t look at me that way’ or else.” Aiden blinked slowly. “I don’t sound like that and I didn’t say ‘or else.’” “But if you had, what would the ‘or else’ be?” I hid my grin with the bottle.

A very old-fashioned idea, to my mind,” Jane and Michael heard the stern voice say. “Very old-fashioned. Quite out of date, as you might say.

The making of miracles to edification was as ardently admired by pious Victorians as it was sternly discouraged by Jesus of Nazareth. Not that the Victorians were unique in this respect. Modern writers also indulge in edifying miracles though they generally prefer to use them to procure unhappy endings, by which piece of thaumaturgy they win the title of realists.

Du weißt doch: So unendlich wie das Weltall..." "Und so warm wie das Licht der Sterne." Ein Lächeln huscht über meine Lippen. Er hat sie nicht vergessen, die Bedeutung einer tiefen Freundschaft. Unserer Freundschaft.

Parlare di casa nostra, dei nostri cari, delle nostre ragazze, dei nostri monti; degli amici. Ti ricordi, Rino, quella volta che l’insegnante di francese ci disse: – Una mela guasta può far marcire una mela sana, ma una mela sana non può sanare una mela guasta?

Come, Paul!" she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman. I thought he receded; I thought he would go. Pierced deeper than I could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression, I cried - "My heart will break!" What I felt seemed literal heart-break; but the seal of another fountain yielded under the strain: one breath from M. Paul, the whisper, "Trust me!" lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many a deep sob, with thrilling, with icy shiver, with strong trembling, and yet with relief - I wept. "Leave her to me; it is a crisis: I will give her a cordial, and it will pass," said the calm Madame Beck. To be left to her and her cordial seemed to me something like being left to the poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly - "Laissez-moi!" in the grim sound I felt a music strange, strong, but life-giving. "Laissez-moi!" he repeated, his nostrils opening, and his facial muscles all quivering as he spoke. "But this will never do," said Madame, with sternness. More sternly rejoined her kinsman - "Sortez d'ici!" "I will send for Père Silas: on the spot I will send for him," she threatened pertinaciously. "Femme!" cried the Professor, not now in his deep tones, but in his highest and most excited key, "Femme! sortez à l'instant!" He was roused, and I loved him in his wrath with a passion beyond what I had yet felt. "What you do is wrong," pursued Madame; "it is an act characteristic of men of your unreliable, imaginative temperament; a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent - a proceeding vexatious, and not estimable in the view of persons of steadier and more resolute character." "You know not what I have of steady and resolute in me," said he, "but you shall see; the event shall teach you. Modeste," he continued less fiercely, "be gentle, be pitying, be a woman; look at this poor face, and relent. You know I am your friend, and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts, you well and deeply know I may be trusted. Of sacrificing myself I made no difficulty but my heart is pained by what I see; it must have and give solace. Leave me!" This time, in the "leave me" there was an intonation so bitter and so imperative, I wondered that even Madame Beck herself could for one moment delay obedience; but she stood firm; she gazed upon him dauntless; she met his eye, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort; I saw over all M. Paul's face a quick rising light and fire; I can hardly tell how he managed the movement; it did not seem violent; it kept the form of courtesy; he gave his hand; it scarce touched her I thought; she ran, she whirled from the room; she was gone, and the door shut, in one second. The flash of passion was all over very soon. He smiled as he told me to wipe my eyes; he waited quietly till I was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself - re-assured, not desperate, nor yet desolate; not friendless, not hopeless, not sick of life, and seeking death. "It made you very sad then to lose your friend?" said he. "It kills me to be forgotten, Monsieur," I said.

What’s ‘at supposed tae mean?” He asked insulted. “Everyone always has an ulterior motive.” I replied. “Well I dinnae, an’ I’m nae claimin’ tae be innocent. I was lookin’ fur ye, as per yer mother’s request. Nae hidden agenda here!” He said sternly. “Besides, if I wanted ye dead, you’d be dead.” He stressed out the last part.

Like it?” Jake asks. I nod. “Do you like it?” he asks again in a stern voice, and I know he wants me to use my words. I just keep staring ahead, only able to whisper. “l love it.

I heard a rumor that you make a killer chicken potpie.” “Is getting your ass kicked making you hungry?” He lifted his middle finger, but smiled to lessen the insult. “I love chicken potpie.” “You’re goofy.” His smile turned into a stern line, but his eyes were still laughing. “I’m scary as fuck.” “Okay. You’re scary.

Che bello! Silenzio, niente televisione, poche macchine per le strade, casa tiepida. È quasi come l'anno che scrissi la "Storia di Tonle", quando una grande nevicata fece cadere la linea telefonica e quella elettrica. E in casa ero ben fornito di tutto: libri, legna, farina, patate, crauti, carne, vino... Ecco: questo "buiofuori" potrebbe far accendere la "lucedentro". Si può vivere senza tanti artifizi; per anni l'ho provato e con la mente si possono superare e trovare soluzioni che sembrano impossibili.

The Coroner, a medical man of precise habits and unimaginative aspect, arrived punctually, and looking peevishly round at the crowded assembly, directed all the windows to be opened, thus letting in a stream of drizzling fog upon the heads of the unfortunates on that side of the room. This caused a commotion and some expressions of disapproval, checked sternly by the Coroner, who said that with the influenza about again an unventilated room was a death-trap; that anybody who chose to object to open windows had the obvious remedy of leaving the court, and further, that if any disturbance was made he would clear the court.

Laissons aux critiques le soin de maltraiter à volonté les effusions de fantaisie et, chaque fois que parait un nouveau roman, le loisir d'aligner des formules rebattues sur les insanités qui font se lamenter la presse actuellement. (...) Par orgueil, ignorance ou snobisme, nos ennemis sont presque aussi nombreux que nos lecteurs. L'habileté du neuf-centième compilateur de l'Histoire d'Angleterre ou de quiconque rassemble et publie douze lignes de Milton, Pope et Prior en même temps qu'un article du Spectator et un chapitre de Sterne est encensé par un millier de plumes, tandis qu'il semble y avoir un consensus quasi général pour décrier le talent et sous-estimer le travail du romancier, et pour dénigrer des oeuvres que peuvent recommander seulement le génie, le style et le bon goût.

El sol ja s'havia post just darrere el perfil de les muntanyes, a través dels arbres encesos per la llum daurada del seu voltant traspuaven uns rajolins de llum molt prims, d'un singular to rosat, que queien sobre la vall. Era un espectacle meravellós. Al cel hi havia una llum rogenca, com un incendi que cremés a la llunyania, i molt al fons, damunt la ciutat, la calitja formava una cúpula d'intensos colors resplendents, com una esfera púrpura. I tots els sorolls es perdien en el capvespre en una plàcida harmonia: el cant llunyà acompanyat d'una harmònica dels excursionistes que tornaven a casa, el ric-ric clar dels grills, cada vegada més fort, i el brunzit i el cruixit i el brogit imprecisos que habitaven a totes les fulles, murmuraven a totes les branques i fins i tot semblaven brumir en l'aire.

build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar--except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole. When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else. When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at. Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke. It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly. Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the

up, his features stern with disapproval. “I

È lui più padrone di tutti i padroni del mondo messi insieme; ché nessuno comandava e neanche lui, ma ogni cosa era più sua di ogni altro perché la terra, l'aria l'acqua non hanno padroni ma sono di tutti gli uomini o meglio di chi sa farsi terra, aria, acqua e sentirsi parte di tutto il creato.

Il bosco. Cattedrale del creato: le luci che filtrano dall'alto, i fruscii, i suoni, gli odori, i colori sono mezzi per far diventare preghiera le tue sensazioni da offrire senza parole a un dio che non si sa. Forse da qui sono nati per la prima volta nell'uomo l'idea, il pensiero, la riflessione.

Con tutti questi lavori: invernare le api, mettere in ordine i libri nei nuovi scaffali, raccogliere i prodotti della terra, travasare il vino, dovrò anche trovare il tempo per portarmi giù la legna dal bosco, non servirà per questo inverno ma per quello successivo. Procurarsela così è differente che comperarla, e poi ripulisco il bosco. Il calore della legna è più naturale e più salubre di quello del gasolio; se anche dovesse venire molta neve e isolarmi (com'è accaduto l'inverno scorso), cadere la linea che porta la corrente elettrica e quella del telefono, avrò sempre caldo e lume, e cibo e vino, e romanzi e poemi da leggere e forse, anche storie da scrivere.

What can you tell me about this ship?” “She’s one hundred fifteen feet in length, with a beam of twenty-eight, and a depth of sixteen—” “I meant, more generally, what can you tell me about the ship?” “We were a whaler, came sailing around Cape Horn, where we put in at Paita in Peru. The captain received an urgent letter from the American consulate there, enjoining him to pick up passengers and cargo at Panama and bring them to San Francisco. We sold off or unloaded all our stores right there, and converted the ship as well as we might en route to Panama. Once we got here, the captain decided to run the ship aground at high tide. . . .” Again, not exactly what I need to know. “Maybe it would just be better to take us on a tour.” “I can do that,” he says. “Olive! Andrew!” calls out Becky. “Gather around. We’re going to take a tour of the ship.” Our group, which had been wandering and inspecting independently, converges at the center of the deck. Melancthon points to the front of the ship. “That’s the foaksul . . .” “Pardon me, the what?” asks Tom. “Could you spell that please?” “F-O-R-E-C-A-S-T-L-E.” “Ah,” says Tom, as if this makes perfect sense. “Forecastle?” I ask. “That’s what I said!” Melancthon points in the other direction. “And that’s the quarter deck, and there in the rear, that’s the poop deck.” Olive turns to her mother. “Ma, did he just say poop deck?” “I’m certain you misheard,” Becky says. “It’s from la poupe, the French word for the stern of the ship,” Henry explains. “Which, in turn, is derived from the Latin word puppis.” “La poop, la poop, la poop,” Andrew says. His mother turns scarlet. This is all going terribly off track. “Maybe I can just tell you what I want, and you can tell me if it can be done, and, if so, how fast you can do it.” “Yes, ma’am,” Melancthon says.

Sempre di più sono gli orti abbandonati alle ortiche e sempre più disordine si nota attorno alle case della gente perché è molto più semplice andare a fare la spesa di ortaggi e frutta nei negozi-boutique dove fanno bellissima apparenza verdure insapori, o entrare in certe sofisticate fiorerie dove luci multicolori e zampilli d'acqua trasfigurano i fiori che poi portati in casa durano poche ore. Tutto questo perché è sempre meno faticoso che piegare la schiena e mettere le mani nella terra; come l'aprire una scatoletta è più facile che fare una minestra.

Manchmal vergesse ich, wer du bist, aber dann sehe ich die Sterne und weiß es wieder.

When he took out his math notebook an hour later, he found a mass of long purple worms crawling around near the binding and between the pages. The kids sitting near him saw them and started pointing and screaming. “Todd,” Mr. Hargrove, the math teacher, said sternly, “I think we saw enough of your worms at the Science Expo. I know you’re attached to them. But do you have to bring them to math class?” Everyone laughed. Todd could feel his face growing hot. “Todd’s saving them for lunch!” Danny exclaimed from two rows behind him.” Everyone laughed even louder. Thanks a bunch, Danny, Todd thought angrily. He scooped the worms up, carried them to the window, and lowered them to the ground.

My initial instinct is to handcuff these women to the park’s chainlink fence and give them a stern lecture about propositioning members of the town’s police force, but even in my shitty mood, I realize that that would be a unethical. Plus these women look like they might actually enjoy getting handcuffed.

Seth joined the group of very stern-looking men, and they immediately started talking, their voices too low for me to hear, but it didn’t stop me from trying. I learned fairly quickly that I sucked at reading lips. Everything looked like they were saying “tomatoes” or “I love you” and I doubted that was what was being said.

Jonathan Haidt, a social psychologist at the NYU Stern School of Business, made the case for why in an essay in The American Interest on July 10, 2016, entitled “When and Why Nationalism Beats Globalism.” “Having a shared sense of identity, norms, and history generally promotes trust … Societies with high trust, or high social capital, produce many beneficial outcomes for their citizens: lower crime rates, lower transaction costs for businesses, higher levels of prosperity, and a propensity toward generosity, among others … The trick … is figuring out how to balance reasonable concerns about the integrity of one’s own community with the obligation to welcome strangers, particularly strangers in dire need.” Minnesota

Fra poco ci sarà la nostra apertura di caccia ma prima, per il censimento della selvaggina, lo porterò sull'odore dei forcelli e sono certo che non sfigurerà nella sua prima vera ferma. Poi verranno le beccacce... No, non sogno carnieri abbondanti, ma un andare lento nel bosco d'autunno con lui che sarà il mio ultimo cane da caccia, che ancora una volta mi porterà una beccaccia che rinchiuderà in sé foreste, spazi, cieli lontani e misteri della vita. Paesi e sogni di giovinezza per me, ora che il mio tempo scende al tramonto.

sternly.

Dirò semplicemente che secondo me – non è una conclusione empirica, ahimè, ma solo teorica – per uno che ha letto molto Dickens sparare su un proprio simile in nome di una qualche idea è impresa un tantino più problematica che per uno che Dickens non l’ha letto mai. E parlo proprio di lettura di Dickens, Sterne, Stendhal, Dostoevskij, Flaubert, Balzac, Melville, Proust, Musil e via dicendo; cioè di letteratura, non di alfabetismo o di istruzione.

Et plus haut encore, surplombant tout le défilé, incroyablement énormes face aux minuscules visages des minuscules manifestants du bas (que, ou plutôt dont l'une d'eux, Petworth regarde), se trouvent les plus grands visages, certains barbichés et d'autres lorgnonnés, certains moustahus et d'autres barbus, certains austères et glabres, de Marx, Lénine, Engels et Grigoric, Brejnev et Vulcani, ceux qui ont écrit l'histoire, sans qui l'occasion présente ne se serait pas présentée. [And higher still, over the whole display, unbelievably big against the tiny faces of the marchers down below (at whom, or rather at one of whom, Petworth is looking), are the greater faces, some goatee-ed and some pince-nez-ed, some moustached and some bearded, some stern and clean-shaven, of Marx and Lenin, Engels and Grigoric, Brezhnev and Vulcani, those writers of history without whom the present occasion would not have been possible.]

Word of exactly what the L.A. authorities had on the Stalker quickly passed up the chain of command in San Francisco to Mayor Dianne Feinstein (now Senator Feinstein). She ordered a news conference at City Hall, boldly took the podium, and, tight-lipped and stern-faced, told the press about the evidence they had linking the Night Stalker to San Francisco, focusing on the Avia sneakers and ballistics. She assured the public that everything possible was being done to capture him and described the large task force which she had ordered put together. She added $10,000 to the reward money being offered, saying, “Somewhere in the Bay Area, someone is renting a room, an apartment, or a home to this vicious killer. If you know who he is or have seen him, if you know anything, please contact the task force. We’ll have him, and we’ll have him soon.

God, he’s a stern Christmas daddy.

Ogni luogo della Terra una vicenda. Un fatto che ci lega al passato: la storia letta nelle cose. Qui, poi, dove si sono vissuti tanti dolori e tante fatiche, ogni piega del terreno, ogni sasso, ogni piccola sorgente hanno da raccontarmi qualcosa.

The dimples in the water appeared and disappeared subtly in our wake, as otters swam and played off our stern. It was all so beautiful while going down the Elynlyr, and nothing could have surpassed it except the view of our great city.

Forse in quel giovane soldato bruciato dal sole dei ghiacciai vedeva il mitico alpino delle canzoni e della retorica di allora e io, per una ragazza così bella che viveva in un’Italia così bella, pensavo che forse era pure bello dare la vita.