検索キーワード： ナレーター "A. Mason" すべてのカテゴリー

I made quite an exhibition of myself. I'm usually so shy I fade into the background, take my place at the end of the queue, stand in the corner of the room watching what other people do.

Decision-making is more than just choosing between options. Awaken the remarkable decision maker within you, and make more strategic, creative, and original choices. Decision-Making Done is your wake-up call and makes the "how" part easy. Looking for the perfect gift for the people you care about? This book offers practical insights that can be easily implemented, making it an ideal choice.

15th February Morning: I have been looking forward to being here so much and now it hardly seems real. The view from my bedroom window is of fields and sheep and a hill that is almost a mountain.

A collection of eight short stories from American author, journalist, and social activist Jack London. Written during his 'Klondike' period, the title story 'Love of Life' follows the trek of a prospector across the Canadian tundra.

The scent of lilac wafted across the garden. Melissa raised her head and watched as the zephyr lifted the skirts of the columbines and ruffled the blowsy peonies. The murmur of the bees did its best to lull her back into lethargy, but it was time to rouse herself: she had been lying in the sun too long.

Selena lived on the other side of town, several miles away from Karl's house. Karl had not seen her for some days, and, however many times he rang, she was not answering her phone.

At the edges of everyday life, on geographical boundaries and in the margins of society, certainties and realities can wear thin. And if we find ourselves in such occult and outland territory late at night, we might glimpse phenomena out of the corner of our eye that cannot possibly be there. At such times even the past, apparently fixed and unchanging in memories and dreams, cannot be relied upon. But what happens if we find ourselves passing beyond even these frayed perimeters of life? Can others follow us, or are we on our own?

I first came across the boy in the supermarket; he was eating an apple from the pile. I said 'You are supposed to pay for that,' and then realised what a killjoy that made me.

There are times in life when something affects you deeply and alters the way you look at the world.

A group of adventurers travel the world and discover dangerous creatures and amazing treasures. They end up going from the frozen North to the western shores, finding gold and friendships that will last a lifetime.

I'm good at exactly two things: motocross racing and casual sex. Or I was good at the second one until I met Lucy Salcido. She's a reporter for MotoRacer magazine, and she's been "embedded" with my team ever since I came out of nowhere to lead the championship series this year. Having her around all the time has definitely put a crimp in my style. It's tough to pick up a new girl after every race when Lucy's there, watching me. Judging me. And it doesn't help that she's the girl I really want.

Apparently, conservative Midwestern voters want more than my brains, connections, and good looks to vote me in as a congressman. That's right, to appear as the all-American family man they want . . . I need a wife. ASAP. The lovely Odette Hastings seems to fit the bill. She's a wholesome small-town girl, and conveniently in need of cash. I'll give her the money to take care of her elderly parents, and she'll be the political arm candy I need. We both win, right? The only problem is Odette is a little too beautiful, a little too intelligent, and way too distracting.

I’ve done the unthinkable. I’ve crossed over to the dark side and teamed up with the Reaper Rejects, all in the name of taking down the Antonelli’s. We have a plan. A scary, dangerous plan. It could be a suicide mission or the salvation Black Creek desperately needs. As if taking on the ruling mafia family of the West Coast isn’t enough, my heart and mind are in a constant struggle for control of my emotions.

The message is hand written on a scrap of paper stuffed in an envelope. It reads: 'Are you blind to the truth?' I study the shaky capitals, attempting to winkle out some clue about the sender, then I stow it in the filing drawer with the others. The messages are delivered when I'm out. They lie on the doormat waiting for me in their cheap manila envelopes, the flap tucked in rather than stuck down.

Henry was back in his childhood bedroom for the first time in ten years and it was as though he had never been away.

I'm not unique; there are hundreds like me, and others who lost limbs or were killed outright. No matter how alert you were, it could happen at any time. Suicide bombers and improvised explosive devices were almost as common as the flies that continually plagued us.

Marianne had no choice but to take the position of night porter at the St. Denis Hotel; it was either that or have her job-seeker's allowance cut because she had already turned down too many other offers of work.

David knew that there would come a time when he would have to meet Salvatore Ruiz. After all, Toledo is a small city and they had several mutual friends and acquaintances. However, David did not expect to meet the man at Matías's flat, and certainly not on a Friday evening for one of their all-night card sessions.

Jack London (born John Griffith Chaney, January 12, 1876 - November 22, 1916) was an American author, journalist, and social activist. NEGORE, THE COWARD: He had followed the trail of his fleeing people for eleven days, and his pursuit had been in itself a flight; for behind him he knew full well were the dreaded Russians, toiling through the swampy lowlands and over the steep divides, bent on no less than the extermination of all his people.

They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks. They were tired and weak, and their faces had the drawn expression of patience which comes of hardship long endured. They were heavily burdened with blanket packs which were strapped to their shoulders. Head-straps, passing across the forehead, helped support these packs. Each man carried a rifle. They walked in a stooped posture, the shoulders well forward, the head still farther forward, the eyes bent upon the ground.