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Brothers Grimm "The 12 dancing princesses"

Дневник

Воскресенье, 12 Февраля 2012 г. 21:36 + в цитатник
reginana (Learning_English) все записи автора


There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve beds all in one room and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up. However, every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night. Nobody could find out how it happened, or where the princesses had been.

So the king made it known to all the land that if any person could discover the secret and find out where it was that the princesses danced in the night, he would have the one he liked best to take as his wife, and would be king after his death. But whoever tried and did not succeed, after three days and nights, they would be put to death. 

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Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

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Somerset Maugham, "The man with a scar"

Дневник

Суббота, 04 Февраля 2012 г. 19:46 + в цитатник
reginana (Learning_English) все записи автора

Итак, в эти выходные предлагаю вам для чтения небольшой рассказ С. Моэма "Человек со шрамом". Текст адаптирован до уровня Advanced. Приятного чтения! И не забываем о комментариях!

It was on account of the scar that I first noticed him, for it ran, broad and red, from his temple to his chin. This scar spoke of a terrible wound and I wondered whether it had been caused by a sabre or by a fragment of shell. It was unexpected on that round, fat and good-humoured face. He had small features and his face went oddly with his large and fat body. He was a powerful man of more than common height. I never saw him in anything, but a very shabby grey suit, a khaki shirt and an old sombrero. He was far from clean. He used to come into the Palace Hotel at Guatemala City every day at cocktail time and tried to sell lottery tickets. I never saw anyone buy, but now and then I saw him offered a drink. He never refused it. He walked among the tables, pausing at each table, with a little smile offered the lottery tickets and when no notice was taken of him with the same smile passed on. I think he was the most part a little drunk.

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Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

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В субботу вечером

Дневник

Суббота, 20 Августа 2011 г. 17:03 + в цитатник
Аноним (Learning_English) все записи автора Предлагаю отвлечься от тяжелых мыслей и немного почитать.
Например, отрывок отрывок из романа Next Джеймса Хайнса. В 2010 году за это произведение автор получил премию американского интернет-журнала Salon за лучшее описание секса в литературе. Думаю, что данный текст из, в общем-то, знакомых всем слов будет интересен и поднимет настроение.
See you!
:)
___________________


The porch railing creaks under their weight, and even drunk and excited Kevin wonders about the farmhouse's craftsmanship and hopes the Philosopher's Daughter's father is as good a handyman as he is a philosopher. He worries about toppling backward into the bushes, he worries about splinters, but the beer and the anxiety are making him last longer, otherwise he might have come the instant he was inside her. Then Lynda murmurs "Wait" right in his ear, and as he clutches her waist under her dress she unbends first one leg and then the other over the railing, settling tightly against him, taking him in even deeper. She tightens her calves against the railing and squeezes with her thighs, and he groans, because he's deeper inside this girl than he's ever been inside any girl before, and he presses his open mouth against the long, salty curve of her neck. He's inhaling her humidity, she's panting like an animal just above the top of his head. They can't move much -- if she thrusts too hard against him she'll topple them into the bushes -- but the song has finished with words and now it's just a driving sax, and they rock together to the beat, her sweat dripping into the dress bunched at her waist, her hands kneading his back, his face pressed between her salty breasts, her heart thumping against his lips. He can't move much, he can hardly breathe, but he can't stop now, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, her hair scratching his nose and filling his mouth, and through it he can see the red window where the music's pouring out, he can see pumping limbs and torsos in the red light, hair swinging, heads shaking. There's someone in the window, he can't make out who in the darkness, just a silhouette against the red glow, catching a breeze through the screen, breathing in something other than sweat and beer and marijuana. Kevin wants it to be her, and he thinks, look at me, but he can't be sure, it's just a shape in the window, it might not be her, it might be someone else. Now the music is circling and building, just the rhythm section and an insinuating solo guitar, and as Lynda rocks against him, he surges with each bar of the solo, almost cresting but not quite, and he thinks, I want you to see me. He hopes this lasts forever, he hopes that it doesn't and that he comes like a waterfall, but either way he wants her to know, he wants her to see him. His heart hammers, his breath rasps through Lynda's hair. Turn around, he wills the silhouette in the window, this could have been us.

(The cab idles impatiently at the corner of Fifth and Congress. The cabbie breathes heavily through his nose; he has the phone in hand again, and he's staring at the little screen, as if willing it to ring.)

Now the guitar and the saxophone are trading off, leading each other on, and Lynda starts thrusting harder against him, faster than the beat, gasping like a runner. Kevin tries to grip her tighter, but she's so slippery under her dress and she's moving so urgently it's all he can do to keep them both on the railing. His thighs ache and his back hurts, and under his hands he can feel every muscle in her body pulling tighter. All he can do is hold on tight and flex his buttocks. Now her gasps are highpitched and squeaky and he hopes they finish before the song does because he doesn't want her to come out loud in the gap between the songs when everybody could hear them. Only her, he thinks, hanging on to Lynda for dear life, I only want her to know. Lynda digs her nails into the back of his neck, and he sinks his teeth into the taut curve of her throat to keep from groaning aloud. Her sweat pours over his fingers, and now she's whimpering rhythmically, chirping like a bird, and through the window the guitar and the saxophone are winding tightly round and round each other, and Kevin thinks, Turn around, just about to come himself, look this way.

(As the cab turns onto Congress, the cell phone sings, and the cabbie exclaims aloud, inclining his head toward the red phone like a tiny heart in his palm. There's a torrent of speech, both ends of the conversation talking excitedly over each other. The cabbie sounds like he's about to cry.)

Lynda sucks in her breath and her cunt seizes tightly around Kevin's cock and Kevin feels it all the way up his spine and down to his toes, blood pounding in his temples, his heart squeezing tighter than a fist, as if it will never relax again. He clenches his arms around her back, digging his fingers into her; he groans wordlessly into the salty flesh of her shoulder. He can feel his balls pumping into her. Then Lynda goes slack, her head drooping over his shoulder, her ass sagging back against his knees. His own limbs turn rubbery and he can barely hold her up, her sweat pooling under his palms. Through her tangled hair he sees bodies thumping in the living room, limned in red light. Nobody's in the window anymore. It's another song now, they fucked right past the end of the last one. Lynda's pulse is still pounding, she's panting against his cheek. His own heart is beating again, slow and hard, and he feels postcoital lassitude spreading through him like a barbiturate. Lynda sighs and rocks back, counting on him to keep her from sliding off his lap to the porch. Her breasts gleam in dark, and she lifts her elbows one more time and brushes back her sweat-stringy strands of hair and gives him the slowest, dirtiest smile he's ever seen, before or since, the same smile she'll give him a month or so later, when he finds her in bed with another guy.

"Hey, mister." The cabbie is looking right at Kevin through the gap between the minivan's bucket seats.

So what if I didn't love her -- she didn't love me, no big deal.
________________

Excerpted from the book "Next" by James Hynes. Copyright © 2010 by James Hynes.
Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы
Interesting/Интересное
Library/Библиотека

Метки:  

Terry Pratchett-2

Дневник

Среда, 20 Октября 2010 г. 16:11 + в цитатник
Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

Terry Pratchett-1

Дневник

Четверг, 23 Сентября 2010 г. 17:38 + в цитатник
Nastyu_Bel (Learning_English) все записи автора Всем привет!

Буду потихоньку выкладывать Пратчета.

Надеюсь, будет полезно.
Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

God's time and money...

Дневник

Вторник, 22 Июня 2010 г. 20:21 + в цитатник
Rucci (Learning_English) все записи автора

A preacher went into his church and he was praying to God .
While he was praying , he asked God: "How long is 10 million years to you?"
He replied , "1 second."
The next day the preacher asked God: "God , how much is 10 million dollars to you?"
And God replied , "A penny ."
Then finally the next day the preacher asked God: "God , can I have one of your pennies ?"
And God replied: "Just wait a sec ."


Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы
Interesting/Интересное

Salesman...

Дневник

Вторник, 21 Июля 2009 г. 14:21 + в цитатник
angryrat (Learning_English) все записи автора

A preacher concluded that his church was getting into very serious financial troubles. While checking the church storeroom, he discovered several cartons of new Bibles that had never been opened and distributed.
So at his Sunday sermon, he asked for three volunteers from the congregation who would be willing to sell the Bibles door-to-door for $10 each to raise the desperately-needed money for the church.
Jack, Paul and Louie all raised their hands to volunteer for the task.
The minister knew that Jack and Paul earned their living as salesmen and were likely capable of selling some Bibles. But he had serious doubts about Louie who was a local farmer, who had always kept to himself because he was embarrassed by his speech impediment. Poor Louis stuttered badly. But, not wanting to discourage Louis, the minister decided to let him try anyway.
He sent the three of them away with the back seat of their cars stacked with Bibles. He asked them to meet with him and report the results of their door-to-door selling efforts the following Sunday.
Anxious to find out how successful they were, the minister immediately asked Jack, 'Well, Jack, how did you make out selling our Bibles last week?'
Proudly handing the minister an envelope, Jack replied, 'Using my sales prowess, I was able to sell 20 Bibles, and here's the $200 I collected on behalf of the church.'
'Fine job, Jack!' The minister said, vigorously shaking his hand. 'You are indeed a fine salesman and the Church is indebted to you.'
Turning to Paul, 'And Paul, how many Bibles did you sell for the church last week?'
Paul, smiling and sticking out his chest, confidently replied, 'I am a professional salesman. I sold 28 bibles on behalf of the church, and here's $280 I collected.'
The minister responded, 'That's absolutely splendid, Paul. You are truly a professional salesman and the church is indebted to you.'
Apprehensively, the minister turned to Louie and said, 'And Louie, did you manage to sell any Bibles last week?' Louie silently offered the minister a large envelope.
The minister opened it and counted the contents. 'What is this?' the minister exclaimed. 'Louie, there's $3200 in here! Are you suggesting that you sold 320 Bibles for the church, door to door, in just one week?'
Louie just nodded. That's impossible!' both Jack and Paul said in unison. 'We are professional salesmen, yet you claim to have sold 10 times as many Bibles as we could...'
'Yes, this does seem unlikely,' the minister agreed. 'I think you'd better explain how you managed to accomplish this, Louie.'
Louie shrugged. 'I-I-I re-re-really do-do-don't kn-kn-know f-f-f-for sh-sh-sh-sure,' he stammered.
Impatiently, Peter interrupted. 'For crying out loud, Louie, just tell us what you said to them when they answered the door!'
'A-a-a-all I-I-I s-s-said wa-wa-was,' Louis replied, 'W-w-w-w-would y-y-y-you l-l-l-l-l-like t-t-to b-b-b-buy th-th-th-this b-b-b-b-bible F-f-for t-t-ten b-b-b-bucks ---o-o-o-or--- wo-wo-would yo-you j-j-j-just l-like m-m-me t-t-to st-st-stand h-h-here and r-r-r-r-r-read it t-to y-y-you??'


Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

Dye in Rushes...

Дневник

Вторник, 21 Июля 2009 г. 14:17 + в цитатник
angryrat (Learning_English) все записи автора

In London an old priest lay dying in the hospital. For years he had faithfully served the people of the nation's capital. He motioned for his nurse to come near.
"Yes, Father ?" said the nurse.
"I would really like to see Prime Minister and the Chancellor before I die", whispered the priest.
"I'll see what I can do, Father", replied the nurse.
The nurse sent the request to Parliament and waited for a response.
Soon the word arrived; Prime Minister Gordon Brown and Darling would be delighted to visit the priest.
As they went to the hospital, Gordon commented to Darling, "I don't know why the old priest wants to see us, but it will certainly will help our images and might even get me re~elected Prime Minister. After all, I'm IN IT TO WIN IT".
Darling agreed that it was a good thing.
When they arrived at the priest's room, the priest took Gordon's hand in his right hand and Alistair's hand in his left.
There was silence and a look of serenity on the old priest's face.
Finally Gordon spoke. "Father, of all the people you could have chosen, why did you choose us to be with you as you near the end ?"
The old priest slowly replied, "I have always tried to pattern my life after our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ."
"Amen", said Gordon. "Amen", said Alistair.
The old priest continued, "Jesus died between two lying thieves; I would like to do the same."


Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

The sharing of marriage...

Дневник

Вторник, 21 Июля 2009 г. 13:24 + в цитатник
angryrat (Learning_English) все записи автора

The old man placed order for one hamburger, French fries and a drink. He unwrapped the plain hamburger and carefully cut it in half, placing one half in front of his wife. He then carefully counted out the French fries, dividing them into two piles and neatly placed one pile in front of his wife.
He took a sip of the drink, his wife took a sip and then set the cup down between them . As he began to eat his few bites of hamburger, the people around them were looking over and whispering.
Obviously they were thinking, 'That poor old couple - all they can afford is one meal for the two of them.'
As the man began to eat his fries a young man came to the table and politely offered to buy another meal for the old couple. The old man said, they were just fine - they were used to sharing everything..
People closer to the table noticed the little old lady hadn't eaten a bite. She sat there watching her husband eat and occasionally taking turns sipping the drink.
more


Рубрики:  Stories/Истории и рассказы

A blonde trying to commit suicide...

Дневник

Вторник, 21 Июля 2009 г. 13:23 + в цитатник
angryrat (Learning_English) все записи автора

A blonde hurried into the emergency room late one night with the tip of her index finger shot off. 'How did this happen?' the emergency room doctor asked her. 'Well, I was trying to commit suicide,' the blonde replied. 'What?' sputtered the doctor. 'You tried to commit suicide by shooting off your finger?' 'No, Silly' the blonde said. 'First I put the gun to my chest, and then I thought, 'I just paid $6,000.00 for these
implants. I'm not shooting myself in the chest.' 'So then?' asked the doctor. 'Then I put the gun in my mouth, and I thought, 'I just paid $3,000.00 to get my teeth straightened. I'm not shooting myself in the mouth.' 'So then?' 'Then I put the gun to my ear, and I thought: 'This is going to make a loud noise. So I put my finger in my other ear before I pulled the trigger.


Рубрики:  Jokes/Шутки
Stories/Истории и рассказы


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