�� : �� - ��

�� : �� (Fellowship of the Ring)

probelov — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 23:59:10 +0400

This tale grew in the telling, until it became a history of the Great War of the Ring and included many glimpses of the yet more ancient history that preceded it. It was begun soon after The Hobbit was written and before its publication in 1937; but I did not go on with this sequel, for I wished first to complete and set in order the mythology and legends of the Elder Days, which had then been taking shape for some years. I desired to do this for my own satisfaction, and I had little hope that other people would be interested in this work, especially since it was primarily linguistic in inspiration and was begun in order to provide the necessary background of 'history' for Elvish tongues.

�� (Pride and Prejudice)

probelov — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 23:44:19 +0400

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. "My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?" Mr. Bennet replied that he had not. "But it is, returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it. Mr. Bennet made no answer. "Do you not want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently. "YOU want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it." This was invitation enough.

�� (Bridget Jones�s Diary)

probelov — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 11:16:58 +0400

New Year's Resolutions
I will not.
Drink more than fourteen alcohol units a week.

Smoke.
Waste money on: pasta-makers, ice-cream machines or other culinary devices which will never use; books by unreadable literary authors to put impressively on shelves; exotic underwear, since pointless as have no boyfriend.

Behave sluttishly around the house, but instead imagine others are watching.

Spend more than earn.
Allow in-tray to rage out of control.

Fall for any of following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, people with girlfriends or wives, misogynists, megalomaniacs, chauvinists, emotional fuckwits or freeloaders, perverts.

Get annoyed with Mum, Una Alconbury or Perpetua.

Get upset over men, but instead be poised and cool ice-queen.

Have crushes on men, but instead form relationships based on mature assessment of character.

Bitch about anyone behind their backs, but be positive about everyone.
Obsess about Daniel Cleaver as pathetic to have a crush on boss in manner of Miss Moneypenny or similar.

Sulk about having no boyfriend, but develop inner poise and authority and sense of self as woman of substance, complete without boyfriend, as best way to obtain boyfriend.

�� (City of bones)

probelov — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 10:47:09 +0400

The old lady had changed her mind about dying but by then it was too late. She had dug her fingers into the paint and plaster of the nearby wall until most of her fingernails had broken off. Then she had gone for the neck, scrabbling to push the bloodied fingertips up and under the cord. She broke four toes kicking at the walls. She had tried so hard, shown such a desperate will to live, that it made Harry Bosch wonder what had happened before. Where was that determination and will and why had it deserted her until after she had put the extension cord noose around her neck and kicked over the chair? Why had it hidden from her? These were not official questions that would be raised in his death report. But they were the things Bosch couldn't avoid thinking about as he sat in his car outside the Splendid Age Retirement Home on Sunset Boulevard east of the Hollywood Freeway. It was 4:20 p.m. on the first day of the year. Bosch had drawn holiday call-out duty.

�� (Letters to His Son by the Earl of Chesterfield)

probelov — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 23:34:10 +0400

DEAR BOY: Your distresses in your journey from Heidelberg to Schaffhausen, your lying upon straw, your black bread, and your broken 'berline,' are proper seasonings for the greater fatigues and distresses which you must expect in the course of your travels; and, if one had a mind to moralize, one might call them the samples of the accidents, rubs, and difficulties, which every man meets with in his journey through life. In this journey, the understanding is the 'voiture' that must carry you through; and in proportion as that is stronger or weaker, more or less in repair, your journey will be better or worse; though at best you will now and then find some bad roads, and some bad inns. Take care, therefore, to keep that necessary 'voiture' in perfect good repair; examine, improve, and strengthen it every day: it is in the power, and ought to be the care, of every man to do it; he that neglects it, deserves to feel, and certainly will feel, the fatal effects of that negligence.

�� (The Lost World)

probelov — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 23:11:10 +0400

Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon earth,--a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self. If anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the thought of such a father-in-law. I am convinced that he really believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an authority.

�� (Forrest Gump)

probelov — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 22:56:52 +0400

Let me say this: bein a idiot is no box of chocolates. People laugh, lose patience, treat you shabby. Now they says folks sposed to be kind to the afflicted, but let me tell you�it ain�t always that way. Even so, I got no complaints, cause I reckon I done live a pretty interestin life, so to speak.

�

I been a idiot since I was born. My IQ is near 70, which qualifies me, so they say. Probly, tho, I�m closer to bein a imbecile or maybe even a moron, but personally, I�d rather think of mysef as like a halfwit, or somethin�an not no idiot�cause when people think of a idiot, more�n likely they be thinkin of one of them Mongolian idiots�the ones with they eyes too close together what look like Chinamen an drool a lot an play with theyselfs.

�� (Fight Club)

probelov — Thu, 08 May 2008 18:42:23 +0400

Tyler gets me a job as a waiter, after that Tyler�s pushing a gun in my mouth and saying, the first step to eternal life is you have to die. For a long time though, Tyler and I were best friends. People are always asking, did I know about Tyler Durden.

The barrel of the gun pressed against the back of my throat, Tyler says �We really won�t die.�

With my tongue I can feel the silencer holes we drilled into the barrel of the gun. Most of the noise a gunshot makes is expanding gases, and there�s the tiny sonic boom a bullet makes because it travels so fast. To make a silencer, you just drill holes in the barrel of the gun, a lot of holes. This lets the gas escape and slows the bullet to below the speed of sound.

You drill the holes wrong and the gun will blow off your hand.

�

�� (the old man and the sea)

probelov — Thu, 08 May 2008 18:29:32 +0400

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy's parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unlucky, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast. The sail was patched with Hour sacks and, furled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.

�� (The red-headed league)

probelov — Thu, 08 May 2008 18:14:15 +0400

I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.

"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson," he said cordially.

"I was afraid that you were engaged."

"So I am. Very much so."

"Then I can wait in the next room."

"Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also."

�

The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small fat-encircled eyes.

������� �����: ���������� ����� - �������� ����������� �����

��������� �����: �������� ������ (Fellowship of the Ring)

�������� � ������������� (Pride and Prejudice)

������� ������� ����� (Bridget Jones�s Diary)

����� ������ (City of bones)

����������� � ������� �� ���� (Letters to His Son by the Earl of Chesterfield)

���������� ��� (The Lost World)

������� ���� (Forrest Gump)

���������� ���� (Fight Club)

������ � ���� (the old man and the sea)

���� ����� (The red-headed league)