Stray thought: 1
And no, there's nothing more to this thought: that was the entire thing. No explanation before or after, no real redeeming qualities. I just think it's interesting.
A bit of a think: notes from a dawdler
In fairness to J's car, it didn't try to kill her. Regarding "the whole front can get pushed back through the dashboard like that" - in fact it didn't, and perhaps couldn't. The driver's side of the engine was smashed, not the whole front (so technically it wasn't a head-on? I'm not sure) but nothing was pushed back through the dashboard. What's it bloody matter? Well, yes. But it was a great little car, and not the bad-design monster I suggested. Sorry, car.
Elizabeth Goudge, A Book of Peace: An Anthology (London: Michael Joseph Ltd, 1967) p.28.
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions - that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
- R.S. Thomas
Common Errors in EnglishIf, like me, you've always written "no-one", you'll discover that in fact it should be "no one" (two words). And all the times you've dithered about whether to use "enquire" or "inquire"? They're alternative spellings of the same word. D'oh... You idiot.
The aim of this site is to help you avoid low grades, lost employment opportunities, lost business, and titters of amusement at the way you write or speak.
How high the moon?He also uses the word "persnickety"... My hero.
It varies between 356,000 and 407,000 km in distance from the surface of the earth, its average distance being 384,400 km.
Looking eastward from the summit of the Pacheco Pass one shining morning, a landscape was displayed that after all my wanderings still appears as the most beautiful I have ever beheld. At my feet lay the Great Central Valley of California, level and flowery, like a lake of pure sunshine, forty or fifty miles wide, five hundred miles long, one rich furred garden of yellow Compositoe. And from the eastern boundary of this vast golden flower-bed rose the mighty Sierra, miles in height, and so gloriously colored and so radiant, it seemed not clothed with light, but wholly composed of it, like the wall of some celestial city. Along the top and extending a good way down, was a rich pearl-gray belt of snow; below it a belt of blue and lark purple, marking the extension of the forests; and stretching long the base of the range a broad belt of rose-purple; all these colors, from the blue sky to the yellow valley smoothly blending as they do in a rainbow, making a wall of light ineffably fine. Then it seemed to me that the Sierra should be called, not the Nevada or Snowy Range, but the Range of Light.