By André Gide
'Là, entre les lourds piliers sans variety de l. a. salle peu éclairée, des femmes dansent, grandes, non aspect tant belles qu'étranges, et excessivement parées. Elles se meuvent avec lenteur. los angeles volupté qu'elles vendent est grave, uniqueness et secrète comme los angeles mort. Près du café, sur une cour commune pleine de clarté de lune ou de nuit, chacune a sa porte entreclose. Leur lit est bas. On y descend comme dans un tombeau. - Des Arabes songeurs regardent sinuer l. a. danse qu'une musique, constante comme le bruit d'une onde coulante conduit. - Le cafetier apporte le café dans une très petite tasse où l'on croirait boire l'oubli.'
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Even after crossing the Atlantic ocean on a rowing boat in 2006, Alex Bellini nonetheless felt the urge to problem himself once more. So, on twenty first February 2008, he climbed back into his boat to move the Pacific ocean by myself, on a trip from Peru to Australia. He had to move 10 time zones, 17,000 km and do greater than five million row strokes. A actual, and particularly psychological, problem. An event that's virtually mythical, within which Alex was once capable by no means to believe thoroughly on my own, because of the consistent aid of millions of people who him through the internet, the radio, and particularly the sensation of entire team spirit with the encircling ocean. An ocean than used to be no longer consistently friendly.
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Additional info for Amyntas
I forget quite how we left it, but I shall never forget how we resumed that conversation. What it is to be twenty-four, and fairly new to London, and cutting your first little swath through town. I’d had a few Fleet Street and television jobs and gigs, and had just been hired by one of the best-known literary-political weeklies in the Englishspeaking world, and was lying in bed one morning with a wonderful new girlfriend when the telephone rang to disclose, as I lifted the receiver, the voice of an old girlfriend.
As time 20 progressed, it was the bogus refulgences of Kahlil Gibran and the sickly tautologies of The Prophet. As I say, she could take some raillery about this from me, at least when it was about unwanted poundage or unreadable verses. But (and this is very often the awful fate of the one who teases) I did not realize how much unhappiness was involved, and I did not remotely appreciate how much damage had been done, until it was far too late. Allow me to relate this to you as it unfolded itself to me.
It was better if there were guests, or other relatives, or at least a pet animal to which we could all address ourselves. I’ll close this reflection with a memory that I cannot omit. We had been for a family holiday — I think it may have been the last one we all had together — on the Devonshire coast at the John Betjeman–style resort of Budleigh Salterton. I hadn’t thought it had been too tense by Hitchens standards, but on the last day my father announced that the men of the family would be going home by train.