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时间:2020-12-05 03:52:45 作者:2020十大热词 浏览量:47782


“The clouds rippled and vanished, and there was once more before me, the vision of the swiftly leaping sun, and nights that came and went like shadows.

"Oh, do!" they all cried.

Et d’autres raisons de douter surgissent encore. Il y a toute une sphère d’adjectifs et d’attributs qui ne sont ni objectifs, ni subjectifs d’une manière exclusive, mais que nous employons tant?t d’une manière et tant?t d’une autre, comme si nous nous complaisions dans leur ambiguité. Je parle des qualités que nous apprécions, pour ainsi dire, dans les choses, leur c?té esthétique, moral, leur valeur pour nous. La beauté par exemple, où réside-t-elle? Est-elle dans la statue, dans la sonate, ou dans notre esprit? Mon collègue à Harvard, George Santayana, a écrit un livre d'esthétique,93 ou il appelle la beauté “le plaisir objectifié”; et en vérité, c’est bien ici qu’on pourrait parler de projection au dehors. On dit indifféremment une chaleur agréable, ou une sensation agréable de chaleur. La rareté, le précieux du diamant nous en paraissent des qualités essentielles. Nous parlons d’un orage affreux, d’un homme ha?ssable, d’une action indigne, et nous croyons parler objectivement, bien que ces termes n’expriment que des rapports à notre sensibilité émotive propre. Nous disons même un chemin pénible, un ciel triste, un coucher de soleil superbe. Toute cette manière animiste de regarder les choses qui parait avoir été la fa?on primitive de penser des hommes, peut très bien s’expliquer (et M. Santayana, dans un autre livre tout récent,94 l’a bien expliquée ainsi) par l’habitude d’attribuer à l’objet tout ce que nous ressentons en sa présence. Le partage du subjectif et de l’objectif est le fait d’une réflexion très avancée, que nous aimons encore ajourner dans beaucoup d’endroits. Quand les besoins pratiques ne nous en tirent pas forcement, il semble que nous aimons a nous bercer dans le vague.

Chapter 22

“I am ready, Mr. Clawbonny,” replied Bell; “and, as for material, there is enough for a town here with houses and streets.”

  境外输入无症状感染者2:倪某,男,26岁,吉林籍,俄罗斯旅游。 10月2日乘航班ZF1678抵厦。入境时无发热等呼吸道症状,机场核酸采样后,由专用车辆转送至定点酒店隔离。3日核酸检测结果阳性,结合流行病学史、临床症状、影像学表现和实验室检测结果,诊断其为新冠肺炎无症状感染者,由市定点医院隔离观察。其同航班旅客均已落实隔离医学观察措施。







"Nothin', mother."




James Bond and Felix Leiter made stammered acknowledgments. Justice Cargill rose to his feet and, in solemn tones, asked Bond and Leiter in turn, "Is this a true and correct account of what occurred between the given dates?"


How many times in the past had she and Blair gone to the bathroom together, talking and laughing while they peed? Too many times to count. And now Serena felt so uptight in Blair’s presence she couldn’t go? It was a total mindfuck. There was a quiet, awkward pause. Don’t you just hate awkward pauses? “Okay,” Serena heard Blair say before she left the bathroom. The door swung shut and Serena relaxed and started to pee. Cyrus caught Nate in the men’s room. “You and Blair have a fight?” Cyrus asked. He unzipped his pants and stood at the urinal. Lucky Nate. Nate shrugged as he washed his hands. “Kind of,” he said. “Let me guess, it was about sex, right?” Cyrus said. Nate blushed and pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser. “Well, sort of . . .” he said. He really didn’t want to get into it. Cyrus flushed the urinal and joined Nate at the sinks. He washed his hands and began fussing with his tie, which was bright pink with yellow lions’ heads on it. Very Versace. Read: tacky. “The only thing couples really fight about is sex and money,” Cyrus observed. Nate stood there with his hands in his pockets. “That’s all right, kid. I’m not going to give you a lecture or anything. This is my future stepdaughter we’re talking about. I’m sure as hell not going to tell you how to get into her pants.” Cyrus chuckled to himself and left the bathroom, leaving Nate to stare after him. He wondered if Blair knew Cyrus was planning on marrying her mother. Nate turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. He studied himself in the mirror. He’d been up late last night with the boys, playing stupid drinking games to Tomb Raider. Every time they saw Angelina Jolie’s nipples, they had to drink. He’d tried to drown his thoughts of Blair and Serena in as much booze as he could swallow, and now he was paying for it. His face was pale, there were brownish-purple circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow. He looked like shit. As soon as this damned brunch was over, he was heading into the park for a smoke in the sun and couple of tall-boys. The perfect cure-all. But first he’d have to flirt with Blair a little bit. Enough to make her want him again. Atta boy. Instead of going back to her table when she left the ladies’ room, Blair wound her way across the room, looking for Kati and Isabel’s table. “Blair! Over here!” Kati called, patting the empty chair next to her. Their parents and friends were working the room, socializing, so the girls had the table to themselves. “Here,” Isabel said, handing Blair a glass full of champagne and orange juice. “Thanks,” Blair said, taking a sip. “Jeremy Scott Tomkinson just came over and tried to get us to come to the park with him,” Kati said. She giggled. “He’s kind of cute, you know, in a Waspoid kind of way.” Hey, cool word! Isabel turned to Blair, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t this boring? How’s your table?” “Don’t ask,” Blair said. “Guess who I’m sitting with?” The other two girls sniggered; they didn’t have to guess. “Have you seen that billboard of her?” Isabel asked Blair. Blair nodded and rolled her eyes. “What’s it supposed to be, anyway?” Kati said. “Her belly button?” Blair still had no idea. “Who cares?” “She has no shame,” Isabel ventured. “I actually feel kind of sorry for her.” “Me too,” Kati agreed. “Well, don’t,” Blair said fiercely. Grrr. Nate pushed open the men’s room door at exactly the same time that Serena pushed open the ladies’. Together, they walked down the hallway back to the table. “Nate,” Serena said, smoothing her new brown suede skirt over her legs. “Can you please explain why you’re not talking to me?” “I’m not not talking to you,” Nate said. “See, I’m talking to you right now.” “Barely,” Serena said. “What happened? What’s wrong? Did Blair say something to you about me?” Instinctively, Nate reached into his jacket pocket and fingered the flask of whiskey that was hidden there. He looked down at the marble floor, avoiding Serena’s beautiful sad eyes. “We should get back,” Nate said, speeding up. “Fine,” Serena answered, trailing after him slowly. She had that sour salty taste in the back of her throat again, the taste of tears. She’d been holding them back for too many days now, and she could feel a tidal wave coming on. All of a sudden she would start sobbing, and she wouldn’t be able to stop. When Nate and Serena took their places at the table, Chuck smirked at them knowingly. How was it? his face seemed to say. Serena wanted to hit him. She ordered another cup of coffee and dumped four teaspoons of sugar in it and stirred and stirred, like she was trying to stir a hole through the cup, the saucer, the table, and the floor, burrowing her way into some old pharaoh’s tomb where she could cry and cry and no one would find her. Nate ordered a Bloody Mary. “Bottoms up!” Chuck said cheerfully, banging his glass against Nate’s and taking a big gulp. Blair was back at the table. She had already devoured her crème brulée and was working on her mother’s. It was full of chicken abortions, but she didn’t care—she was going to throw it all up in a minute anyway. “Hey Blair,” Nate said softly, causing Blair to drop her spoon with a clatter. He smiled and leaned across the table. “That looks awesome,” he said. “Can I have a bite?” Blair’s hand fluttered nervously to her heart. Sexy Nate. Her Nate. God, she wanted him. But she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She had her pride. Blair regained her composure and pushed her plate toward him, reaching for her drink and downing the rest of it in one big swallow. “You can have the rest,” she said, and stood up. “Excuse me.” Then she clacked away in her heels to stick her finger down her throat in the ladies’ room. Some lady. Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events havebeen altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me.

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