Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 25, 2025
The wish to end all comes to some natures like a lightning flash from a clear sky. It comes, it goes, often without leaving a sign. Chance was the real accessory to this death by suicide. Oswald, let us realise it as such and accept our sorrow as a mutual burden and turn to what remains to us of life and labour. Work is grief's only consolation. Then let us work."
Grief nodded. "And that's the curse of it," Aloysius lamented. "I really believe I won't want to. I see the point. But I'm going to go right on and shape myself up just the same." The warm, sunburn glow in Grief's face seemed to grow warmer. His hand went out. "Pankburn, I love you right now for that." Aloysius grasped the hand, and shook his head in sad sincerity.
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop? Pain brings us more than pleasure; Tears comfort more than wine; Grief's hands are full of treasure, And sorrow is divine. The nightingale that's making Night happy with his strain, His little heart is breaking: He sings to still its pain.
A sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer linen in the French embroidery of which stuck a needle, tokened a woman's presence. By screen and veranda the blinding sunshine was subdued to a cool, dim radiance. The sheen of pearl push-buttons caught Grief's eye. "Storage batteries, by George, run by the windmill!" he exclaimed as he pressed the buttons. "And concealed lighting!"
The Prince was accused of aiming at the sovereignty of the whole country, and one of his grief's against the Advocate was that he had begged the Princess-Widow, Louise de Coligny, to warn her son-in-law of the dangers of such ambition.
"Won't you join us?" was Grief's invitation. The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted. "I'm sticky with sweat," he said. "Can I wash?" Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the precious quart of water was wasted on the ground. "The dog is thirsty," Raoul said.
Pain trembled in his weary limbs, Pain filled his patient eye, Pain-crushed amid the shadowy fern His branchy crown did lie. Where were his comrades? where his mate? All from his death-bed gone! And he, thus struck and desolate, Suffered and bled alone. Did he feel what a man might feel, Friend-left, and sore distrest? Did Pain's keen dart, and Grief's sharp sting Strive in his mangled breast?
"Beyond the sphere of time, And sin, and grief's control, Serene in changeless prime Of body and of soul." To write of one's own "adventures among books" may be to provide anecdotage more or less trivial, more or less futile, but, at least, it is to write historically.
One tree they saw snap off halfway up, three persons clinging to it, and whirl away by the wind into the lagoon. Two detached themselves from it and swam to the Tahaa. Not long after, just before darkness, they saw one jump overboard from that schooner's stern and strike out strongly for the Malahini through the white, spitting wavelets. "It's Tai-Hotauri," was Grief's judgment.
The Prince was accused of aiming at the sovereignty of the whole country, and one of his grief's against the Advocate was that he had begged the Princess-Widow, Louise de Coligny, to warn her son-in-law of the dangers of such ambition.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking