ellauri014.html on line 1698: And colored with the heaven’s own blue, taivaan oman sinen värittämä,
ellauri097.html on line 141: It is impossible to talk anything resembling discretion or judgment to a colored woman. They are all essentially child-like, and even hard experience does not teach them anything.
ellauri112.html on line 672: It is a series of humiliations. A goodlooking colored principal throws your son out of posh catholic school. Can it get any worse than that?
ellauri141.html on line 321: stercore fucatus crocodili iamque Subando & blush–colored in crocodile crap–blurring), capped
ellauri198.html on line 306: Police are calling on volunteers to aid in the search and are asking all residents to keep an eye out and report anything unusual they might have noticed, or believe might be relevant to the case. The actual transcript of the colored poetry session is here:
ellauri226.html on line 337: The crime reached its peak in the late 1960s and 1970s, until the colored
ellauri236.html on line 485: Captain Charles Brennan, City Police, a fat, red-faced man with blue hard eyes and sandy-colored hair, greying at the temples, reached across his desk to shake dicks with Fenner. Why do these policemen always have the same look and feel? I guess its natural selection. Chase has an unerring touch of the hackneyed and obvious.
ellauri238.html on line 881: My thoughts were like a bunch of colored balloons Mun ajatuxet oli kuin värikkäitä ilmapalloja
ellauri302.html on line 190: In the background of the basement brothel, several small compartments, separated from one another by thin partitions, and screened by thick black curtains. One of the curtains has been drawn aside; in the compartment are seen a bed, a wash-stand, a mirror and various toilet articles. A colored night-lamp sheds a dim light over the tiny room.
ellauri302.html on line 251: Manke, steals from her compartment into the basement. She is half-dressed, with a shawl thrown over her private parts. Her colored stockings are visible, and her hair is in disorder. Her eyes sparkle with wanton cunning. Her face is long, and insolently pretty; she is quite young. A lock of hair falls over her forehead. Her eyes blink as she speaks, and her whole body quivers. She looks about in surprise. What? Nobody here?
ellauri321.html on line 103: Among other books there fell into a guy named Hazlitt's hands a little volume of double interest to him by reason of his own early sojourn in America, and in a fitting connection he gave it a word of praise. In the Edinburgh Review for October, 1829, he speaks of it as giving one an idea “how American scenery and manners may be treated with a lively poetic interest. The pictures are sometimes highly colored, but they are vivid and strikingly characteristic.” “The author,” he continues, “gives not only the objects, but the feelings of a new country.” Hazlitt had read the book and had been delighted with it nearly a quarter of a century before he wrote of it, and in the earliest years of the century he had commended it warmly to his friends. In November, 1805, Lamb wrote: “Oh, tell Hazlitt not to forget the American Farmer. I dare say it is not so good as he fancies; but a book's a book.”* And it is this book, which not only gained the sympathies of Hazlitt and Charles Lamb, but also by its idealized treatment of American country life may possibly have stirred, as Professor Moses Coit Tyler thought, the imaginations of Byron and Coleridge.
ellauri334.html on line 118: Juu tällästä soopaa kazoo koirasapinat. Ja mikä kutittaa naaraspaviaanien perseitä? Tällä hetkellä se on misandria eli sarjat missä näytetään havainnollisesti miten kusipäitä miehet on, miten ne kusettavat naisia ja mätkivät niitä sitten sinipunaisixi apinan raivolla. Ezellasta viihdettä. No hopeaselät saavat mitä pyysivät. Esim se Enid Blytonin nelikko, jossa on vammanen britti isoäiti, laiha miehetön brittikuikelo, tanakka jenkki työväenluokan tyttö ja jyrsijännäköinen high yaller colored woman. Tämmöisiä tiimejä kyllä taas tarvitaan nyt kun Eurooppa on halennut ja kolonialistianglosaxien on pidettävä huoli toisistaan.
ellauri368.html on line 303: When he (Scrooge McDuck) gave a coin in alms to a poor man, he shouted at him this: 'Why do you sit with thy hands folded? The sleep of the laborer is sweet; go, then, till the earth and live with the labor of thine own hands. Thy hands are not bound, nor are thy feet put into fetters. By Jehovah, all of you are poor, because you hold your hands akimbo. If you had in your possession all the gold of my money bin, you would squander it. Do you perhaps wait for manna to come down from beaven, as it did for those who went out of Egypt, or for the earth to bring forth white bread and garments of fine wool, colored and embroidered, or do you wait for God to open windows in heaven?
ellauri384.html on line 385: After five seasons, 20 Emmy awards and plenty of Jewish jokes, the hit series “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel” will air its final episode on Friday. Lebanese Christian Adrian Monk played Midge's complaining dad in the first season. The acclaimed Amazon Prime show by creator Amy Sherman-Palladino has enveloped viewers in a shimmering, candy-colored version of New York during the late 1950s and early 1960s — a world in which "money" meant Jewish money, “humor” meant Jewish humor and “culture” meant Jewish culture.
ellauri390.html on line 432: The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors
ellauri412.html on line 212: “It represents natural religion, I guess,” says Sasha Saarikoski, 63, who dropped a dollar into an asherah bowl before ordering a blue-colored beverage at the bustling Octopus Bar. “It makes me feel connected to the earth and to spiritual energy. Maybe it will help me be lucky.”
ellauri425.html on line 459: Most of the Soviet workers had never tasted a Western-style hamburger. They practiced cooking using yellow cardboard squares in place of cheese and different colored poker chips in place of onions, tomatoes and pickles.
xxx/ellauri120.html on line 35: Novelist Bulwer-Lytton was a friend and contemporary of Charles Dickens and was one of the pioneers of the historical novel, exemplified by his most popular work, The Last Days of Pompeii. He is best remembered today for the opening line to the novel Paul Clifford, which begins "It was a dark and stormy night..." and is considered by some to be the worst opening sentence in the English language. However, Bulwer-Lytton is also responsible for well-known sayings such as "The penis mightier than the sword" from his play Richelieu. Despite being a very popular author with 19th-century readers, few people today are even aware of his prodigious body of literature spanning many genres. In the 21st century he is known best as the namesake for the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest (BLFC), sponsored annually by the English Department at San Jose State University, which challenges entrants "to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels", and the township of Lytton, or Camchin until the British nosey parkers came, saw and beat the copper-colored nlaka'pamuxes. Now their village got burned to ashes thanx to the industrial revolution.
xxx/ellauri124.html on line 567: All those differently colored emoji hearts allow us to express love in every color of the rainbow, and the Apple emoji keyboard has 12 different options for trains, which is arguably a higher number than the actual amount of trains I've spotted in my entire life. We're clearly an emoji-driven society, and our pictorial vocabulary has expanded accordingly.
xxx/ellauri130.html on line 585: So the other day, he blacked up as [black footballer] Lee for a sketch, complete with a pineapple to represent his hair. Boy that went down in the colored audience! Skinner has been that funny for as long as he can remember as far as he can remember. He has a masters in English literature; he is a practising Roman catholic. What a laugh. Skinner once had a chat with Eddie Izzard about what they could share about their lives on stage. It was fine for Izzard to discuss wearing women’s clothes, but as for Skinner’s own religious beliefs about God's knob? God, no. Too shameful.
xxx/ellauri179.html on line 520: While they walked along a narrow street through tall, colored buildings, it started to rain.
xxx/ellauri187.html on line 121: Freedman's Rilke, oddly enough, dwells on the dark underside of contemporary American life. Behind the mingled, multicolored yarn of his passions, obsessions, powerful yearnings, and self-interest--all wisely balanced in Donald Prater's majestic and definitive 1986 biography--Freedman sees only self-interest. Rilke is "hucksterish." His carefully cultivated literary success Freedman characterizes as a "relentless career." He refers to Rilke's "careerist standards." The places Rilke settles in for a time are not homes but Rilke's "bases."
xxx/ellauri193.html on line 458:
xxx/ellauri252.html on line 530: It is very hard to determine, given the facts at hand, whether or not MacArthur would have been right in dropping 30 nuclear bombs on China. I will say this, though; the rose-colored glasses of the present often change the shading of situations in the past. When you consider the decisions of MacArthur and Truman, remember that they lived in a different time with different values and ideas. And don't be afraid to make up your own mind.
xxx/ellauri394.html on line 350: WTF, yellow Rei (= colored Sujata) thinks he was a great man.
xxx/ellauri417.html on line 546: This is a sequel to 2020's The Morning Star, right? I must have asked myself that at least a dozen times during the first several hundred pages of "The Wolves of Eternity," because it's not at all apparent. At 666 pages, "The Morning Star" was stuffed full of characters. "The Wolves of Eternity," at 800 pages, is really only concerned with two, neither of whom was featured in the previous book. It's not until more than 700 pages in — 700! — that the same star appears in the sky, equally befuddling the characters of this second book. Up until that point, though, "The Wolves of Eternity" feels like it exists in an entirely separate universe from that first one. I'm sorry to say, that's not a good thing. This is the eighth work of fiction I've read by Karl Ove Knausgård, who, following the second entry in his "My Struggle" series, quickly became one of my favorite authors. I loved all six books in that series, and I loved the first entry in this one, the aforementioned "Morning Star." But this? This book feels as soggy as that one felt crisp. Insipid and light whereas that book felt meaningful and weighty. The first book is a thriller of the best sort, a Dostoevsky-like work full of moral dilemmas and gothic horror. This one feels meandering and pointless. An incredibly taxing number of words to no real purpose. If this had been the first book in the series, it would have been my last. Only because the first one was so good will I carry on and read the third part when it's released, but I'll do so warily, much less inclined to forgive than I was going into this one. I mentioned that while "The Morning Star" contained a whole plethora of characters, this one contains only two. Or maybe 2 1/2. There's a barely formed writer character who suddenly begins to be featured toward the end. We're even treated to one of her essays, although "treated" would be the wrong word. It's a bore. Otherwise, "The Wolves of Eternity" rotates entirely around two characters. We spend the first 450 or pages with Syvert in Norway, and 250 or so with Alevtina in Russia before flipping back to Syvert and then back again. It takes a good long while — i.e. 600+ pages — before we learn how these characters are connected but it doesn't really matter because neither one is particularly likable. Knausgård's writing around Syvert is better, which makes this part of the book slightly more readable (not that that's saying much) but Syvert still comes off as something of a charmless oaf. Alevtina, meanwhile, is even more unlikable. Prone to making rash emotional decisions, she's one of the more frustrating characters I've come across. I didn't like her part of the story at all, despite its arguably more interesting setting, and I was very eager to leave her behind. Another real axe I have to grind here concerns Martin Aitken's translation. It's terrible. Like, distractingly bad. For whatever reason, Aitken translates the entire book into what feels like British cockney. Why would a book set in Norway and Russia and consisting entirely of Norwegian and Russian characters have those characters — particularly Syvert — speaking like they're from East London? It doesn't make sense and it is never less than enraging. A book by a major literary star that feels like it was translated specifically for those who like their English in cockney? Why? The awful translation undoubtedly colored my view of the book, as I couldn't help but view Syvert as a lost character from Burgess' "Clockwork Orange." How did this milquetoast Alex DeLarge find himself in a Knausgård novel? I'm not sure I made it clear earlier, but I am a massive Knausgård fan. Truly. But this, for me, is a serious misfire. Perhaps, when the series is laid to rest, this second entry will be redeemed by dint of what comes after, but such redemption would be a miraculous turnaround — tantamount to the appearance of a huge new star in the sky. For now, though, I have to condemn this book not for being such a letdown, but simply for being such a massively dull book on its own. Bloated. Tired. Rudderless. A waterlogged corpse of a book.
xxx/ellauri427.html on line 171: I loved the way she made the "good" women---blonde & fair skinned, & Mehitabel, who personifies evil, as having black, medusa like hair, long crimson colored nails & lips, no emotions, & icy cold.
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