The Short Stories of Robert Louis StevensonC. Scribner's sons, 1923 - 538 من الصفحات |
طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
The Short Stories Of Robert Louis Stevenson <span dir=ltr>Robert Louis Stevenson</span> لا تتوفر معاينة - 2012 |
عبارات ومصطلحات مألوفة
Anastasie Aros Asdis asked beach began Berthelini boat boatswain bottle bottle imp Bright House called Casimir Cassilis centimes Clara cold concertina copra cried dark dead dear Desprez devil doctor door Elvira eyes face Falesá fear feet Felipe fell Fettes Finnward fire frae girl gone hand Haole head hear heard heart heaven holoku Huddlestone Hygieia island Jean-Marie Kalamake Kanakas Keawe Keola knew Kokua lantern laughed Léon light lived looked Lopaka Macfarlane Madame Markheim marriage mind Molokai morning never night Northmour Olalla once passed pavilion poor replied returned Rorie round schooner seemed seen ship side silence singing smile soul Soulis stood strange sure Tabary talk tell thing Thorgunna thought told took trees turned uncle Villon voice walked wife wind window woman wood word young
مقاطع مشهورة
الصفحة 311 - ... which he beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and unframed, standing, with their faces to the wall; a fine Sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry hangings. The windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him from the neighbours.
الصفحة 313 - ... prove a reader of the heart. And yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! Think of it; my acts! I was born and I have lived in a land of giants; giants have dragged me by the wrists since I was born out of my mother - the giants of circumstance. And you would judge me by my acts! But can you not look within? Can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? Can you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded? Can...
الصفحة 309 - Markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. The shadow still palpitated loosely on the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and drew back the door. The faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the yellow panels of...
الصفحة 4 - ... the cemetery of St. John. Yet there was a small house, backed up against the cemetery wall, which was still awake, and awake to evil purpose, in that snoring district. There was not much to betray it from without; only a stream of warm vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints at the door. But within, behind the shuttered windows, Master Francis Villon the poet, and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted, were keeping...
الصفحة 316 - I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen years ago you would have started at a theft. Three years back you would have blenched at the name of murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil ?—five years from now I shall detect you in the fact! Downward, downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death avail to stop you.
الصفحة 23 - He thoughtfully emptied his cup. "I wish I could add you were intelligent," he went on, knocking on his head with his knuckles. "Age! age! the brains stiff and rheumatic." The old man preceded him from a point of self-respect; Villon followed, whistling, with his thumbs in his girdle. "God pity you," said the lord of Brisetout at the door. "Good-bye, papa," returned Villon, with a yawn. "Many thanks for the cold mutton.
الصفحة 19 - you cannot separate the soldier from the brigand; and what is a thief but an isolated brigand with circumspect manners? I steal a couple of mutton chops, without so much as disturbing people's sleep; the farmer grumbles a bit, but sups none the less wholesomely on what remains. You come up blowing gloriously on a trumpet, take away the whole sheep, and beat the farmer pitifully into the bargain. I have no trumpet; I am only Tom, Dick, or Harry; I am a rogue and a dog, and hanging's too good for me...
الصفحة 19 - If I were turned from my house tomorrow, hundreds would be proud to shelter me. Poor people would go out and pass the night in the streets with their children, if I merely hinted that I wished to be alone. And I find you up, wandering homeless, and picking farthings off dead women by the wayside! I fear no man and nothing; I have seen you tremble and lose countenance at a word. I wait God's summons contentedly in my own house, or, if it please the king to call me out again, upon the field of battle.
الصفحة 307 - Here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of London multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent innocence — his bed.
الصفحة 84 - ... in the field. Of all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the valley ; but at last one of the commanders pushed an army over the pass by forced marches, and for three days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and standard, kept pouring downward past the mill. All day the child stood and watched them on their passage — the rhythmical stride, the pale, unshaven faces tanned...