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Read through the most famous quotes by topic #bra
The harvest of the years awaits you here, Culled with slow toil, and heaped with bloody sweat, The truths that men have died to bring to light Are laid before you in these quiet halls. Upon these shelves your eager hands shall find The keys to open doors not yet unlocked, The torch to kindle new and brighter lamps, The chart to plot your course beyond the stars, The clues to all the labyrinths of thought. Here you shall meet the men whose names are carved Deep-hewn forever on the rocks of time... You shall be guests of all the greatest minds. ↗
But what's left on earth that I haven't tried?" Prince Lír demanded. "I have swum four rivers, each in full flood and none less than a mile wide. I have climbed seven mountains never before climbed, slept three nights in the Marsh of the Hanged Men, and walked alive out of that forest where the flowers burn your eyes and the nightingales sing poison. I have ended my betrothal to the princess I had agreed to marry — and if you don't think that was a heroic deed, you don't know her mother. I have vanquished exactly fifteen black knights waiting by fifteen fords in their black pavilions, challenging all who come to cross. And I've long since lost count of the witches in the thorny woods, the giants, the demons disguised as damsels; the glass hills, fatal riddles, and terrible tasks; the magic apples, rings, lamps, potions, swords, cloaks, boots, neckties, and nightcaps. Not to mention the winged horses, the basilisks and sea serpents, and all the rest of the livestock." He raised his head, and the dark blue eyes were confused and sad. "And all for nothing," he said. "I cannot touch her, whatever I do. For her sake, I have become a hero — I, sleepy Lír, my father's sport and shame — but I might as well have remained the dull fool I was. My great deeds mean nothing to her. ↗
Men are men, unfortunately, no matter what their shape, and inclined to sin. ↗
#ray-bradbury #sin #truth #men
Pilkington, at Mombasa, had produced individuals who were sexually mature at four and full grown at six and a half. A scientific triumph. But socially useless. Six-year-old men and women were too stupid to do even Epsilon work. And the process was an all-or-nothing one; either you failed to modify at all, or else you modified the whole way. They were still trying to find the ideal compromise between adults of twenty and adults of six. So far without success. Mr Foster sighed and shook his head. ↗
