Poor wretches, what evil has come on you? Your heads and faces and the knees underneath you are shrouded in night and darkness; a sound of wailing has broken out, your cheeks are covered with tears, and the walls bleed, and the fine supporting pillars. All the forecourt is huddled with ghosts, the yard is full of them as they flock down to the underworld and the darkness. The sun has perished out of the sky, and a foul mist has come over.
...no new system can impose itself upon a previous one without incorporating many of the elements to be found in the latter... ...to institute an effective totalitarian system or indeed any system at all, you must offer some benefits and freedoms, at least to a privileged few, in return to those you remove...
Non riuscivo a perdonarlo e neanche trovarlo simpatico, ma capii che dal suo punto di vista ciò che aveva fatto era pienamente giustificato. Era stato tutto molto sbadato e pasticciato. Erano gente sbadata, Tom e Daisy: sfracellavano cose e persone e poi si ritiravano nel loro denaro o nella loro ampia sbadataggine o in ciò che comunque li teneva uniti, e lasciavano che altri mettessero a posto il pasticcio che avevano fatto.
I don’t know, Robert Jordan said. When I get very tired sometimes I speak English.Or when I get very disgusted. Or baffled, say. When I get highly baffled I just talk English to hear the sound of it. It’s a reassuring noise. You ought to try it sometime.What do you say, Inglés? Pilar said. It sounds very interesting but I do not understand.Nothing, Robert Jordan said. I said, ‘nothing’ in English.
There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. With little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of transit, a thin red circle in the water.It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener saw Wilson’s body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was complete.
But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far way, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.