Books Book Reading Literature Bed Read Collection

[blockquote source_title=”Friska Max” source_url=””]”Why, don’t you know?” she returned, in surprise. “No, indeed. I don’t know anything. You see, I am stuffed, so I have no brains at all,” he answered sadly. “Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m awfully sorry for you.”[/blockquote]

“Do you think,” he asked, “if I go to the Emerald City with you, that Oz would give me some brains?” “I cannot tell,” she returned, “but you may come with me, if you like. If Oz will not give you any brains you will be no worse off than you are now.” “That is true,” said the Scarecrow. “You see,” he continued confidentially, “I don’t mind my legs and arms and body being stuffed, because I cannot get hurt. If anyone treads on my toes or sticks a pin into me, it doesn’t matter, for I can’t feel it.

But I do not want people to call me a fool, and if my head stays stuffed with straw instead of with brains, as yours is, how am I ever to know anything?” “I understand how you feel,” said the little girl, who was truly sorry for him.  “If you will come with me I’ll ask Oz to do all he can for you.” “Thank you,” he answered gratefully. They walked back to the road.  Dorothy helped him over the fence, and they started along the path of yellow brick for the Emerald City. Toto did not like this addition to the party at first.  He smelled around the stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a nest of rats in the straw, and he often growled in an unfriendly way at the Scarecrow. “Don’t mind Toto,” said Dorothy to her new friend.  “He never bites.” “Oh, I’m not afraid,” replied the Scarecrow.  “He can’t hurt the straw. Do let me carry that basket for you.  I shall not mind it, for I can’t get tired.  I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued, as he walked along.

“There is only one thing in the world I am afraid of.” “What is that?” asked Dorothy; “the Munchkin farmer who made you?” “No,” answered the Scarecrow; “it’s a lighted match.” After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks, which were here very uneven.  Sometimes, indeed, they were broken or missing altogether, leaving holes that Toto jumped across and Dorothy walked around.  As for the Scarecrow, having no brains, he walked straight ahead, and so stepped into the holes and fell at full length on the hard bricks.  It never hurt him, however, and

Dorothy would pick him up and set him upon his feet again, while he joined her in laughing merrily at his own mishap. The farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were farther back.  There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and the farther they went the more dismal and lonesome the country became.

At noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and Dorothy opened her basket and got out some bread.  She offered a piece to the Scarecrow, but he refused. “I am never hungry,” he said, “and it is a lucky thing I am not, for my mouth is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I could eat, the straw I am stuffed with would come out, and that would spoil the shape of my head.” Dorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and went on eating her bread. “Tell me something about yourself and the country you came from,” said the Scarecrow, when she

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Moby-Dict Sitting on Library Reading New Released Books

“And you have once in your life passed a holy church in Cape-Town, where you doubtless overheard a holy parson addressing his hearers as his beloved fellow-creatures, have you, cook! And yet you come here, and tell me such a dreadful lie as you did just now, eh?” said Stubb. “Where do you expect to go to, cook?” “Go to bed berry soon,” he mumbled, half-turning as he spoke. “Avast! heave to! I mean when you die, cook. It’s an awful question. Now what’s your answer?” “When dis old brack man dies,” said the negro slowly, changing his whole air and demeanor, “he hisself won’t go nowhere; but some bressed angel will come and fetch him.” “Fetch him? How? In a coach and four, as they fetched Elijah? And fetch him where?” “Up dere,” said Fleece, holding his tongs straight over his head, and keeping it there very solemnly. “So, then, you expect to go up into our main-top, do you, cook, when you are dead? But don’t you know the higher you climb, the colder it gets? Main-top, eh?” “Didn’t say dat t’all,” said Fleece, again in the sulks. “You said up there, didn’t you? and now look yourself, and see where your tongs are pointing. But, perhaps you expect to get into heaven by crawling through the lubber’s hole, cook; but, no, no, cook, you don’t get there, except you go the regular way, round by the rigging. It’s a ticklish business, but must be done, or else it’s no go. But none of us are in heaven yet. Drop your tongs, cook, and hear my orders.

Do ye hear? Hold your hat in one hand, and clap t’other a’top of your heart, when I’m giving my orders, cook. What! that your heart, there?—that’s your gizzard! Aloft! aloft!—that’s it—now you have it. Hold it there now, and pay attention.” “All ‘dention,” said the old black, with both hands placed as desired, vainly wriggling his grizzled head, as if to get both ears in front at one and the same time. “Well then, cook, you see this whale-steak of yours was so very bad, that I have put it out of sight as soon as possible; you see that, don’t you? Well, for the future, when you cook another whale-steak for my private table here, the capstan, I’ll tell you what to do so as not to spoil it by overdoing. Hold the steak in one hand, and show a live coal to it with the other; that done, dish it; d’ye hear? And now to-morrow, cook, when we are cutting in the fish, be sure you stand by to get the tips of his fins; have them put in pickle. As for the ends of the flukes, have them soused, cook.

There, now ye may go.” But Fleece had hardly got three paces off, when he was recalled. “Cook, give me cutlets for supper to-morrow night in the mid-watch. D’ye hear? away you sail, then.—Halloa! stop! make a bow before you go.—Avast heaving again! Whale-balls for breakfast—don’t forget.” “Wish, by gor! whale eat him, ‘stead of him eat whale. I’m bressed if he ain’t more of shark dan Massa Shark hisself,” muttered the old man, limping away; with which sage ejaculation he went to his hammock. That mortal man should feed upon the creature that feeds his lamp, and, like Stubb, eat him by his own light, as you may say; this seems so outlandish a thing that one must needs go a little into the history and philosophy of it.

It is upon record, that three centuries ago the tongue of the Right Whale was esteemed a great delicacy in France, and commanded large prices there. Also, that in Henry VIIIth’s time, a certain cook of the court obtained a handsome reward for inventing an admirable sauce

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The Scarlet Teach How to Live Better

The old man looked at him and silently began to cry. The weak tears of  age rolled down his cheeks and all the feebleness of his eighty-seven  years showed in his grief-stricken countenance. “Sit down,” Edwin counselled soothingly. “Granser’s all right. He’s just  gettin’ to the Scarlet Death, ain’t you, Granser? He’s just goin’ to  tell us about it right now. Sit down, Hare-Lip. Go ahead, Granser.” The old man wiped the tears away on his grimy knuckles and took up the  tale in a tremulous, piping voice that soon strengthened as he got the  swing of the narrative. “It was in the summer of 2013 that the Plague came. I was twenty-seven  years old, and well do I remember it. Wireless despatches—”

Hare-Lip spat loudly his disgust, and Granser hastened to make amends. “We talked through the air in those days, thousands and thousands of  miles. And the word came of a strange disease that had broken out in  New York. There were seventeen millions of people living then in that  noblest city of America. Nobody thought anything about the news. It was  only a small thing. There had been only a few deaths. It seemed, though,  that they had died very quickly, and that one of the first signs of  the disease was the turning red of the face and all the body. Within  twenty-four hours came the report of the first case in Chicago.

And on  the same day, it was made public that London, the greatest city in the  world, next to Chicago, had been secretly fighting the plague for two  weeks and censoring the news despatches—that is, not permitting the  word to go forth to the rest of the world that London had the plague. “It looked serious, but we in California, like everywhere else, were  not alarmed. We were sure that the bacteriologists would find a way to  overcome this new germ, just as they had overcome other germs in the  past. But the trouble was the astonishing quickness with which this germ  destroyed human beings, and the fact that it inevitably killed any  human body it entered. No one ever recovered.

There was the old Asiatic  cholera, when you might eat dinner with a well man in the evening, and  the next morning, if you got up early enough, you would see him being  hauled by your window in the death-cart. But this new plague was quicker  than that—much quicker. “From the moment of the first signs of it, a man would be dead in an  hour. Some lasted for several hours. Many died within ten or fifteen  minutes of the appearance of the first signs. “The heart began to beat faster and the heat of the body to increase.  Then came the scarlet rash, spreading like wildfire over the face and  body. Most persons never noticed the increase in heat and heart-beat,  and the first they knew was when the scarlet rash came out. Usually,  they had convulsions at the time of the appearance of the rash.

But  these convulsions did not last long and were not very severe. If one  lived through them, he became perfectly quiet, and only did he feel a  numbness swiftly creeping up his body from the feet. The heels became  numb first, then the legs, and hips, and when the numbness reached  as high as his heart he died. They did not rave or sleep. Their minds  always remained cool and calm up to the moment their heart numbed and  stopped. And another strange thing was the rapidity of decomposition. No  sooner was a person dead than the body seemed to fall to pieces, to  fly apart, to melt away

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Help, help, I’m being repressed!

It’s art! A statement on modern society, ‘Oh Ain’t Modern Society Awful?’! You know when grown-ups tell you ‘everything’s going to be fine’ and you think they’re probably lying to make you feel better? Sorry, checking all the water in this area; there’s an escaped fish. It’s a fez. I wear a fez now. Fezes are cool. No, I’ll fix it. I’m good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I’m the Doctor. Don’t call me the Rotmeister.

You hit me with a cricket bat. No, I’ll fix it. I’m good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I’m the Doctor. Don’t call me the Rotmeister. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.…hey.…the good things don’t always soften the bad things; but vice-versa the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

  • Stop talking, brain thinking. Hush.
  • I hate yogurt. It’s just stuff with bits in.
  • Heh-haa! Super squeaky bum time!
  • I hate yogurt. It’s just stuff with bits in.

Father Christmas. Santa Claus. Or as I’ve always known him: Jeff. All I’ve got to do is pass as an ordinary human being. Simple. What could possibly go wrong? They’re not aliens, they’re Earth…liens! No… It’s a thing; it’s like a plan, but with more greatness.

I hate yogurt. It’s just stuff with bits in. No, I’ll fix it. I’m good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I’m the Doctor. Don’t call me the Rotmeister. I am the Doctor, and you are the Daleks!

  1. You know how I sometimes have really brilliant ideas?
  2. I’m the Doctor, I’m worse than everyone’s aunt. *catches himself* And that is not how I’m introducing myself.
  3. *Insistently* Bow ties are cool! Come on Amy, I’m a normal bloke, tell me what normal blokes do!

I am the last of my species, and I know how that weighs on the heart so don’t lie to me! I am the last of my species, and I know how that weighs on the heart so don’t lie to me! All I’ve got to do is pass as an ordinary human being. Simple. What could possibly go wrong? It’s a fez. I wear a fez now. Fezes are cool. No, I’ll fix it. I’m good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I’m the Doctor. Don’t call me the Rotmeister.

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