These are my other two daughters, Dulce and Alondra.
The kids are in the next room.
Are wou pwoud of me?
Where are you going?
"What are you doing," he finally asked.
Why are you disappointed in me?
Are we getting close?
"Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?"
I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!
Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves.
"You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard.
"Where are you?" he asked.
There are bears near by.
But you must remember I'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone.
You are only a very little boy, and you will learn a great deal as you grow bigger.
"I really believe they are all here," said one.
They are getting ready to start this very night.
Watch, and as soon as the soldiers are ready to start, hang a lantern in the tower of the old North Church.
If they are to cross the river, hang two.
The soldiers are coming!
You are my hero.
Then there are the people who reason the future will be better.
We are already well on our way.
They are all about to vanish, courtesy of the Internet and its associated technologies.
While entertaining, they are never, ever correct.
I don't dispute the cliché, "Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it."
However, I often have thought that a second sentence should follow: "Also, those who do know history are doomed to repeat it."
I refer to history extensively in these pages because I believe historical people are exactly like us, only in different circumstances.
A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but "the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest."
Then in simpler words than these, which at that time I could not have understood, she explained: You cannot touch the clouds, you know; but you feel the rain and know how glad the flowers and the thirsty earth are to have it after a hot day.
How much more this difficulty must be augmented in the case of those who are both deaf and blind!
I feel that her being is inseparable from my own, and that the footsteps of my life are in hers.
Mr. Anagnos, in speaking of my composition on the cities, has said, "These ideas are poetic in their essence."
Likewise my compositions are made up of crude notions of my own, inlaid with the brighter thoughts and riper opinions of the authors I have read.
It seems to me that the great difficulty of writing is to make the language of the educated mind express our confused ideas, half feelings, half thoughts, when we are little more than bundles of instinctive tendencies.
I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more easily acquired than got rid of.
Why should they begin digging their graves as soon as they are born?
Some of you, we all know, are poor, find it hard to live, are sometimes, as it were, gasping for breath.
I have no doubt that some of you who read this book are unable to pay for all the dinners which you have actually eaten, or for the coats and shoes which are fast wearing or are already worn out, and have come to this page to spend borrowed or stolen time, robbing your creditors of an hour.
When we consider what, to use the words of the catechism, is the chief end of man, and what are the true necessaries and means of life, it appears as if men had deliberately chosen the common mode of living because they preferred it to any other.
Old people did not know enough once, perchance, to fetch fresh fuel to keep the fire a-going; new people put a little dry wood under a pot, and are whirled round the globe with the speed of birds, in a way to kill old people, as the phrase is.
Some things are really necessaries of life in some circles, the most helpless and diseased, which in others are luxuries merely, and in others still are entirely unknown.
Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes.
You are staying the whole evening, I hope?
They have decided that Buonaparte has burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours.
"I often think," she continued after a short pause, drawing nearer to the prince and smiling amiably at him as if to show that political and social topics were ended and the time had come for intimate conversation--"I often think how unfairly sometimes the joys of life are distributed.
But how are you to get that balance?
"You are off to the war, Prince?" said Anna Pavlovna.
So you, too, are in the great world? said he to Pierre.