Chances are you are looking for improving your English language comprehension through reading books.
Feel like upping your game and start catching the slightest subtleties of English?
Look no further.
However, there is a catch.
Who is this article intended for?
For English language learners, as they, all too often, tend to skip a lot of subtleties while reading books / reading stories / reading comics / watching movies /watching game movies, thus slowing down and negating their language progress. I
The catch has to do with the “THE HARD WAY” of learning English, right?
I can’t promise improving your English through this article will be easy, but I promise it will be worth it, provided you work through ALL THE SENTENCES down below. And by the way, to make it even more challenging for you, no answers are given and you are to find them on your own. There’s a reason this article is called “Learn English the Hard Way”, don’t you think?
Still no clue what I’m supposed to do…
If you’re still not really sure what’s going on here, I highly recommend you read the description of “Learn English the Hard Way” challenge.
Для чего эта статья и что нужно здесь делать?
По своему опыту могу сказать, что когда в освоении английского приходишь на всё готовенькое, то интеллектуально расслабляешься и не особо вникаешь в детали и тонкости языка.
А вот когда, мы “пропускаем язык через себя”…
- внимательное чтение книг, просмотр фильмов, т.д… не знаем, что то или то означает, почему так написано, вообще не догоняем, что происходит, значит отмечаем находку
- анализ “любопытных” предложений, конструкций, выражений (грамматика и прагматика наши лучшие друзья)
- прогонка проработанного материала через правое полушарие
- задействование “освоенных” предложений, конструкций, выражений на письме, в устной речи (идеально, с носителями языка)
…то результаты будут совершенно иными, нежели чем “со всем готовеньким”.
А именно, выработка силы воли, языковой интуиции, внимательности, любопытства и реальное улучшение навыка английского языка.
Ниже представлены предложения, которые заинтриговали меня при прочтении книги / прочтении рассказа / прочтении комикса / просмотре фильма / просмотре игрофильма. То есть, я сделал первый пункт из четырех выше и поделился результатами с Вами. За Вами остаются остальные три.
If you feel like up to the challenge, then below is my list of 285 cherry-picked sentences with curious grammar and vocabulary findings from the book “Bluebeard”.
I think not only of the mudpies of art, but of children’s games as well—running, jumping, catching, throwing.
since it was the theory of someone in the Army that we would be especially good at camouflage. And so we were!
I promised you an autobiography, but something went wrong in the kitchen. It turns out to be a diary of this past troubled summer, too!
and she was past childbearing when I transmogrified her from being Mrs. Richard Fairbanks, Jr., into being Mrs. Rabo Karabekian instead
“Who gives a damn!” | Excuse this outburst.
Those who survived I have never seen or heard from since. It may be that they were not as fond of me as I was of them.
having been killed by everything from mere old age to suicide
I may have been a lousy painter, but what a collector I turned out to be!
was a hermit for eight years. How is that for a full-time job for a wounded vet?
I don’t think he writes much anymore.
Paul—why don’t you sell your house and get a little walking-around money, and move in here?
So move in! I won’t bother you, and you won’t bother me. What could make more sense?
I went down for my afternoon dip, | and there she was, fully dressed, and doing what Paul Slazinger does so much of: sitting on sand and staring out to sea.
What Father might have made of that movie, which was about cod fishermen in the North Atlantic
he would have had no hesitation in razzing his own son, in razzing me
During that war we had a word for extreme man-made disorder which was fubar, an acronym for “fucked up beyond all recognition.”
“I’ve done it a hundred times already,” I said. “This time I’m going to be smart and get a receipt.”
“Maybe with clouds,” she said.
“Easily supplied,” I said.
Slazinger preened himself as a man who had published eleven novels
“Don’t tell me | it’s a crime to try,” she said.
But if you’re really serious, you’ll find out quick enough that it’s the hardest thing there is.
“The rich marry the rich. Where have you been all your life?”
And then his only son “Little John” was killed by a land mine in the Vietnam War. One war to a customer.
So everybody alive must have the Survivor’s Syndrome. It’s that or death.
She was right: I had to endure no more pain in the war than a civilian experiences in a dentist’s chair.
although they seem, now that I have started looking around for them, as available as packs of chewing gum.
The formidable widow Berman told me the plot of The Underground, which is this: Three girls,
She really thinks that she is the cat’s pajamas, and that everybody else is dumb, dumb, dumb!
Good riddance of bad rubbish. It was rotting your brain because it was about absolutely nothing. Now give the rest of them the old heave-ho!
and that she had more or less invited herself, and that I would be glad when she returned to Baltimore.
He said his knowledge of bears came from his father, who, at the age of sixty, was treed by a grizzly in Yellowstone Park.
“I’ll say this for that bear—” said John, “it got the old man reading books again.”
mean—she comes in here and reads what is in my typewriter without feeling the need to ask permission first.
and I have never got around to doing that. So there it sits in the basement after all these years.
And, yes, there is something in there. This is no shaggy dog story
which I was keeping off the market in order to raise the value of relatively unimportant paintings in the house here. Not true
But then the pit, a small one, would fill up again. Fair was fair. I certainly enjoyed their company, especially since they treated me as though I were a painter, too.
In the Art World, as elsewhere, | opportunists are opportunists and thieves are thieves.
Imagine fighting for a country where the only civilian you know is a Chinese laundryman!
And then one day I and my platoon of artists were ordered into combat, to contain, if we could, the last big German breakthrough of World War Two
I concluded that my mind was so ordinary, which is to say empty, that I could never be anything but a reasonably good camera
But I still enjoyed engaging in the blather of art, since I could talk if not paint pictures as well as anyone.
I could talk as well as the best of them, and drink as much as they could
Best of all, I could pick up the check at the end of the evening
Look: think about something else, anything else.
“How much education did she have?” she asked.
“One year of high school,” I said. Mrs. Berman shook her head in wonder. “What a year that must have been,”
Dorothy, remarried soon after our divorce, remarried happily, from all accounts
If I killed anybody in the war, and I just might have, it would have been during the few seconds before
I was the best draughtsman they had ever seen in the rinky-dink public school system of San Ignacio, which wasn’t saying much.
He could still be the champ | , living or dead.
So my mother said to me, and I hardly recognized her, so sly and witchlike had her face become
You must tell him that you want to be an artist half as good as he is
This wearied me, but then, almost everything about the modern world wearies me.
“An audience of one?” I said.
“That’s all she needed,” she said. “That’s all anybody needs. Just look at how her handwriting improved and her vocabulary grew.
Reading matter for young people before the Second World War was a dozen universes removed from
If I do say so myself, I had become one hell of a good artist for a kid in any case.
as soon as she realized you were hanging on every word.
That’s the secret of how to enjoy writing and how to make yourself meet high standards,” said Mrs. Berman. “You don’t write for the whole world, and you don’t write for ten people, or two. You write for just one person.”
That’s why they seem so strong and trustworthy to young people, why I don’t sound like one dumb teenager talking to another one.
because I would look into his eyes, and there wasn’t anybody home anymore.
You really are an artist, and you have to get out of here or you’ll shrivel up like a raisin.
He’s a perfectly contented, self-sufficient zombie, if you’ll pardon my saying so
“If I had my way,” he said, “American geography books would call those European countries by their right names: “The Syphilis Empire,”
“There!” he said. “I’ve spoiled Europe for you, and you haven’t even seen it yet
War is hell, all right, but the only way a boy can become a man is in a shoot-out of some kind, preferably, but by no means necessarily, on a battlefield.
And could Dan Gregory ever paint pictures of railroad trains!
He couldn’t have been nicer to his own son, if he had had a son.
When he visited Marilee in the hospital the first time, all shamefaced, he told her he was sorry
“I’m in the middle of a sentence,” I said.
“Who isn’t?” she said.
having read what is in my typewriter without asking if I minded. | I mind a lot!
Ironies go right over her head, and especially those relating to privacy, but I tried one anyway.
“I’m all ears,” I said.
I was the best technician by far among the Abstract Expressionists, but I never amounted to a hill of beans
I need an apprentice about as much as I need a squire or a troubadour.
“All that anybody needs to know about a Gorgon,” she said, “is that there is no such thing.”
Serve ‘em right! They were nothing. We were everything.
You think you’re going to set this city on its ear as an artist, do you?
Everybody should be buried with somebody else, just about anybody else, whenever feasible.
She has been here for two months and a little more
But don’t mention foyers to me! More about that in a little bit! All things in good time.
So there is one storytelling fizzle | for you, dear Reader
and it was easy to see that she had been very beautiful at one time.
I locked my gaze to hers, and a flash of recognition went off in my skull
He had lost touch with her | years ago, had no idea where she lived.
She hadn’t done a movie or a play for a long, long time, but there she was.
What would I have had to say to her? “Paul is fine and sends his best”? Or how about this one: “Tell me how your parents died”?
I asked him if he had ever heard of the Polly Madison books and he asked me if I had ever heard of the Atlantic Ocean.
Pomerantz talked some about picking up the pieces of his life and trying to put them back together again.
He thought people might be interested in his side of the story about what happened to him at the network.
and investment bankers and golden handshakers and platinum parachutists
how many millions they had stolen legally in how short a time.
He can’t stand it that I inherited a piece of the Cincinnati Bengals
“Think what you want,” she said. The truth be told, we had never been close. “I like how it looks,” she said.
“Do you!” I said.
“You think it looks better than it did?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well—” I said, “isn’t this just wonderful!
“So I gathered up as many rolls of wallpaper as I could,” he said, “and ran out into the kitchen and hid them in the deep freeze. How’s that for friendship?”
“God bless you!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, and G– **** you,” he said.
“She’s in a different league from you anyway,” I said.
“That’s right,” he said. “She’s richer and she’s better.”
“Not better, surely,” I said.
Let me tell you about the foyer I had every right to expect to see.
To my left should have been a Matisse of a woman holding a black cat in her arms
On my right should have been a Hans Hofmann which Terry Kitchen got from Philip Guston in trade for one of his own pictures
And was I, the great Rabo Karabekian, the mastermind behind this happy marriage of the old and the new?
So by God if it wasn’t Edith who called in the contractors, and had them strip off all the wallpaper right down to bare plaster
a scene so shocking enveloped me that, word of honor, I thought an axe murder had happened there. I am not joking! I thought I was looking at blood and gore
wallpaper featuring red roses as big as cabbages against a field of black, babyshit-brown baseboards, trim and doors
The minute I was out of the house, Mrs. Berman called in the painters and paperhangers, did she?
She used to be a professional paperhanger! Can you beat it?
My most secret disfigurement was in plain view of the cook and her daughter! And now Paul Slazinger came into the foyer in time to see it, too.
“I thought it might really be a life-and-death situation,” he went on, “and that I had better take some direct physical action.” This
and she called me a freeloader and ‘the spit-filled penny whistle of American literature.’
‘Who are you to talk about literature?’ I asked her.
Shake hands, | Buster, | with Polly Madison, Literary Middleweight Champion of the World!
There I was all summer, reading her books and admiring the hell out of them, and meanwhile treating her like a half-wit, not knowing who she was.
The minute I stepped outside, two policemen grabbed me for hard questioning.
“All that anybody could tell us about him,” one of them said to me, “was that his suit was babyshit brown.”
And here is what Kitchen, arguably the most important artist ever to paint in the Hamptons
“What have you done to this foyer?” I said.
“That’s what I’d like to discuss with you, and the hell with your clothes!”
“Make it fast,” she said.
But since you, Mrs. Berman, have called for speed and clarity in my mode of self-expression, because your concupiscent shrink will be arriving in his Ferrari at any moment, try this: Get the hell out of here, and never come back again!”
“Bushwa,” she said.
“It is the most horrible scar! I have never seen such disgusting disfigurement.” I wouldn’t have taken that from anybody else, but I had to take it from him
“…you’re going to realize what a favor I did you with this foyer alone.”
“Favor? Did you say favor?” I jeered.
“…and your personal hygiene was so careless that I almost didn’t come to supper. I was afraid I might get leprosy.”
“You’re too kind,” I said.
“That was a big joke, too, I guess,” I said.
“Big joke like what?” she said.
“Like this foyer,” I said.
Her name again, and may her soul rest in peace: the Normandie.
My date will be here at any time.
What you have done here is not only an unforgivable insult to the history of art, but you have spit on the grave of my wife!
You knew perfectly well that she created this foyer, not I.
The cook’s daughter laughed, and I asked her loftily | what she thought was funny.
She said, “Everybody’s got the dropsies today.”
You know what these pictures are to anybody with half a grain of sense about art? They are a negation of art!
“I was quite content in June,” I said, “and then you appeared.”
All Jesus did for Lazarus was bring him back to life.
These pictures are twice as serious as yours, if you give them half a chance,
Do you know the meaning of the word “kitsch”?
“What made you decide so suddenly?” I asked.
“Nothing sudden about it,” she said.
“I’ll never see Slazinger again,” I said.
“What do you care?” she said. “He never liked you and you never liked him. Don’t you know that?”
NO SOONER had the snarl and burble of the psychiatrist’s Ferrari died away in the sunset than the cook said she and her daughter would be leaving too.
“What could I do to persuade you to stay?” I mean: my God—they already had rooms with ocean views, and Celeste’s young friends had the run of the property, and no end of free snacks and refreshments.
I just want to be a human being and not a nobody and a nothing
What had I done to deserve this?
And now, as I stood in the midst of a life she had ruined, she was off | hobnobbing in Southampton with Jackie Kennedy!
I had broached a subject which was a lot easier to discuss
As far as I know, he has the only such collection, for which he has built a large private museum.
So there I was all alone downstairs. I was afraid to go upstairs.
Go to bed, Mr. Karabekian. All’s well with the world.
I want you to say that out loud and with just that degree of conviction
which, using nothing but wind power, was faster than most freighters are today! Think of that!
Any line in the rigging I care to point to: I expect you to tell me its name and what its function is.
since so much senseless bloodshed had been caused by cockeyed history lessons
Dan Gregory kept me around as long as he did, about three years, because I was servile and because he needed company
He felt it sufficed to let me know that she had fallen downstairs somewhere. What did it matter where?
Every so often they will get it into their heads that they understand what you’re doing better than you do yourself,
They’ve got their jobs and we’ve got ours.
I considered my mother faithless, since she had up and died on me. Maybe so.
I DON’T KNOW where this fits into my story, and probably it doesn’t fit in at all.
I don’t think he would have stopped working if the house were on fire.
He had told me to make a painting of his studio, but once he himself got back to work, I think he forgot all about it.
Somebody who desperately needed a job, any kind of job, must have been
she had not caused me to be brought all the way from the West Coast for purposes of hanky-panky
Back when we all lived in New York City, Pollock and Kitchen and I, heavy drinkers all, were known in the Cedar Tavern as the “Three Musketeers.”
“She should have stayed home and made the best of things.”
“No soul,” he said complacently. So there I was in the thrall of the new Imperial engraver Beskudnikov!
“However, not bad is another term for disappointing or worse, wouldn’t you say?”
Oh, I know: I bad-mouthed Gregory’s works a while back
But he was sure a better painter than I could ever hope to be
came from a painter named Syd Solomon, a man about my age who summers not far from here
But we would also have to get through another World War before real life could get going again. Don’t you love it? This is real life we are now experiencing.
The orgastic moment for me is when I hand a manuscript to my publisher
“Pst—you, the cocky little Armenian kid. Yes, you.
Whatever the explanation, Gregory did not mind at all that Marilee and I took long walks all over Manhattan
If you missed the rest of it, I certainly wouldn’t cry for you.
I have indicated that there would have been no lovemaking if it hadn’t been for the confrontation. Not so.
since women and children are now free to discuss their bodies without shame, and so to take care of themselves more intelligently. I said to her, “Maybe so. But don’t you think all this frankness has also caused a collapse of eloquence?”
Do I care? Doesn’t everybody?
“How long did the feeling last?”
“Oh—maybe half an hour,” I said. And he leaned back in his chair and he said with deep satisfaction: “And there you are.”
whereas I was about to go into the real world, ready or not, and try to stand on my own two feet!
Then as now, even black people and Orientals and Hasidic Jews were wearing something green in order not to provoke arguments with Roman Catholic Irishmen
planted himself in front of us, his feet far apart, his hands balled into fists
You ingrates! You rotten-spoiled little kids!
“That’s why I made that very simple, very modest, very easily complied-with request: ‘Stay out of the Museum of Modern Art.’”
Only now do I realize that Dan Gregory caught us at a moment when
“I have treated you as a son,” he said to me, “and you like a daughter,” he said to Marilee, “and this is the thanks I get.
She, it turns out, has read them all since moving in. I own them all. They have a little shelf of honor in the library
She asked me point blank if it had anything to do with what was in the barn.
So we were feeling each other up and liking each other terrifically all the way home.
He’s holding you and me and everybody else by the scruff of the neck practically constantly.
in order to be a painter, even though he couldn’t draw for sour apples
“Something’s just got to be worth doing!” he said.
It was done at Terry’s insistence by a hack illustrator with the unlikely name of Rabo Karabekian.
“Where did you ever learn to shoot pool like that?” I asked her.
Two dandified young German businessmen from Frankfurt came to see my wonderful collection yesterday afternoon
which might make it easy for them to diddle me out of my priceless beachfront
What are the rest of us, after all, but sub-human aborigines?
She stopped dressing to look me straight in the eyes. I still had two. “This never happened.”
But the Great Depression soon made clear to me that I would never amount to anything
was frequently a bum among bums in soup kitchens and shelters for the homeless
…why should they give one to anyone as unlike themselves as an Armenian? Let the Armenians take care of their own unemployed.
I was caricaturing willing sitters in Central Park—for the price of a cup of coffee and little more
What a coincidence! But that is all it is. One mustn’t take such things too seriously.
to squire her to every public dance she hears about within thirty miles of here
She is after me to take ballroom dancing lessons
What a time to be alive!
Now you see him, now you don’t.
You’ve rejected me on the basis of some high-flown theory you just made up
Shoup said about my writing that I wasn’t going to get very far until I became more enthusiastic about describing the looks of things
He is sound asleep here now in an upstairs bedroom. When he wakes up, we shall see what we shall see.
“Useful, frank, and intelligent, but as literature hardly more than workmanlike.” So there it is. If Paul Slazinger wants to keep out of the nuthouse, it certainly isn’t going to help his case if he says he spent this past summer reading all the Polly Madison Books.
“It’s all so clear to me now,” he said. “I understand everything.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” I reminded him.
“… her books will still be read and people will still be discussing Slazinger’s Theory of Revolution.”
“That’s nice to think about,” I said.
“What do you know about the potato barn?” I said.
“Nothing—word of honor: nothing.
“It’s the emptiest and yet the fullest of all human messages,” I said.
“Which is?” he said.
“‘Good-bye,’” I said.
I would have to say that the widow Berman was a lot scarier than Slazinger
I am from another planet. I have no way of caring what you are or what you want or what you do. Buster, you have been colonized.
There is a good chance that I had never been in that bathroom before.
The scales dropped from my eyes! So much was suddenly explicable—the strange salutation when we first met on the beach
They were apparently samples from drug salesmen which her late doctor husband had accumulated over decades! The medicine cabinet couldn’t begin to hold them all!
to be a crack, since he was so rapt when he said it. He called her “the Homer of the bubblegum crowd.”
He was seemingly born not only with a gift for language, but with a particularly nasty clock which makes him go crazy every three years or so. Beware of gods bearing gifts!
“But why does an old man lock up anything so tight, so tight, unless he’s saving the best for last?” he said. “It takes a molecule to know a molecule.”
Let me say now that Labor Day was two weeks ago, just like the stock-market crash. So zingo! There goes prosperity! And zingo! There goes another summertime!
Working alone, depending solely on his own shallow ideas, he would be regarded as being as full of shit as a Christmas turkey
He says that if you can’t get a cast like that together, you can forget changing anything in a great big way.
Just think! This one house by the seaside, so empty and dead only a few months ago, is now giving birth to a book about how to revolt successfully
I know little more about him than his name is Franklin Cooley, and that he drives an old, babyshit-brown Cadillac Coupe de Ville, and has six kids.
So much I only now realize!
“Would you turn your head the least little bit to the left?”
Did such a sly and smarmy and Levantine seduction work?
And, if that weren’t enough for a person to see and then marvel about for a lifetime, listen to this:
His name? Hold on to your hats; his name is Leo Mamigonian
collection of Abstract Expressionist paintings, which was the best in Europe, and second in the world only to mine.
She had no way of knowing that I was on the brink of writing about Florence
He attended no parties and gave none when an adult
“So, my faithless little Armenian protégé,” she said, “we meet again.”
Now here you are back like a bad penny: expecting what? Expecting to get laid again.
No! You jerk! You jerk! You incomparable jerk!
I would very much like to have you stay for the tea I promised you
She said to him that the whole world suddenly seemed to be going crazy. He commented that there was nothing sudden about it, that it had belonged in a prison or a lunatic asylum for quite some time.
She, too, thought him a weakling and a fool, but forgave him that since they lived so well and he was so nice to her
So when he told me that he was a British spy, that was just more of the junk jewelry of warfare.
“Oh, please—not the arts again,”
When I was all talked out, she sighed, and she shook her head.
“Act like a man with a wife and family who’ll be forty before he knows it, and nobody will give him a job doing anything but sacking groceries or pumping gas.”
“That’s really laying it on the line, isn’t it?” I said.
“Everything about life is a joke,” I said. “Don’t you know that?”
“No,” he said.
“Most of you are painters,” he echoed. “Aha! So the simplest thing would be for you to tell me who isn’t one.” Finkelstein and Slazinger so identified themselves.
“But you like women?” said the old gentleman. He was putting that question to a man who before the end of the war was one of the planet’s greatest cocksmen.
The old man stood. “I thank you for being so frank and polite with me,” he said.
“I try,” said Kitchen.
There was Hell to pay when I got home from Florence.
“Why do you have to go conquer them? What did they ever do to you?”
He had slashed all his paintings with an ivory-handled straight razor inherited from his paternal grandfather, who had been president of the New York Central Railroad. The Art World certainly wasn’t any the poorer for what he had done.
My sleeping buddy had also outranked me in the Army, as a lieutenant colonel in the Paratroops, and in deeds of derring-do
He was a tailor. His name was Isadore Finkelstein, and his shop was right above the tavern. After a couple of drinks, he could talk painting | as well as anyone
Nobody else had any money, so, in character, I made everybody’s down payment with the traveler’s checks I had left over from my trip to Florence.
Finkelstein declared himself eager to solve the clothing problem of anybody who thought he had one
He would do it for a small down payment and a manageable installment plan. So the next thing I knew, Painters X, Y and Z and I and Kitchen were all upstairs in Finkelstein’s shop, getting measured for suits.
His young widow Rachel, who looked a lot like Circe Berman, now that I think about it, gave him a one-man show in his shop before she closed it up forever.
distinguished gentleman, about sixty years old. I had never seen him before, and neither had any of the others, as nearly as I could tell.
he picked one of the few fields where he could not help being a hopeless bungler
Kitchen said as much to his questioner. “Painting is my Mount Everest,”
I asked him if he had the least idea who the old gentleman who had questioned him so closely could have been.
“Tell me: if he was simply a good imitator of my father, what could his game have been?”
“You’re not going to put them in the new house, are you?” she said. That is what I had intended to do. I have never been famous for thinking far ahead.
“Flense?” he said. “What’s flense?”
“It’s what whalers used to do to whale carcasses when they got them on board,”
“Where would you ever come across a word like flense?” he said.
And I said: “In an edition of Moby Dick illustrated by Dan Gregory.”
I hadn’t had the nerve to tell her I had rented a potato barn. But she’d found out about it someway.
Nor did I overcome my habit of helping painter pals in trouble with whatever cash I had or could lay my hands on, and accepting pictures in return. At least Dorothy did not have to look at the detritus of this habit
He had grown up with chauffeurs, so he didn’t think twice when he got in on the passenger side.
“Three years out of our lives,” he said about the war.
I told him, only half joking, about how I imagined the soul of each person, myself included, as being a sort of flexible neon tube inside
“You’re not that old,” she said.
“Old enough!” I said.
“Jesus!” he said. “I had no idea you could draw like that!”
“You’re looking at a man who has options,” I said.
she was certain right then that, before the night was over, one way or another, she was damn well going to see what was in the potato barn.
I wowed the grade school and then the high school in San Ignacio, California
Fiasco in which a person causes total destruction of own work and reputation through stupidity, carelessness or both
“Are you going to sign it?” she said.
“That would spoil it,” I replied. “A flyspeck would spoil it.”
“I am a stubborn little old gentleman,” I said, “clinging to his dignity and self-respect as best he can.”
she was simply expressing her reluctance to see anything go to waste
That may seem like a simple question to you, but it’s a biggie to me.
To me it’s as though you called me up out of the blue on a day like any other day, and asked me if I was grown up yet.
making it far whiter than I would have believed white could ever be
Was I crazy? You bet.
“She’s the only one who’s all alone,” said Circe. “Or is she?”
and then the earliest works of the first Abstract Expressionists, and then the perfectly tremendous whatchamacallit in the potato barn
They just don’t look much like women anymore. They aren’t what you might call ‘movie stars.
“My goodness,” she said, “it’s like a display in a museum of natural history.” So it was.
“Was your father proud of you when he saw you for the first time in a uniform?” Circe asked me.
“He didn’t live to see it,”
“I’m here to tell you this is a terribly important painting someway.” “I think maybe it’s terribly important the same way a head-on collision is important,” I said. “There’s undeniable impact. Something has sure as hell happened.”
So there we were back in the doorway again, and I had my hand on the light switch.
I did not have to wait for the neighbors and Celeste’s schoolmates to arrive before knowing that it was going to be the most popular painting in my collection
“His meat did that, and your meat made the picture in the potato barn,” she said.
“Sounds right,” I said. “My soul didn’t know what kind of picture to paint, but my meat sure did.”
He was a local character about sixty years old. Everybody out this way knows Gerald Hildreth and his taxicab.
Wow, it seems you’ve made it to the end of this new-vocabulary-grammar-intensive article… But did you actually work through all the findings? No shirking? Sweet! That’s what I call being persistent at mastering English!
Вы дочитали и проработали статью до конца? Так держать!
Если Вы дочитали до конца эту статью, то я уверен, что Вы узнали много нового про английский язык (при условии, что Вы действительно проработали предложения выше).
Проработать так много материала это совсем не шутки, а вполне серьёзный подход к делу.
Теперь же дело за малым: эффективно всё перенести в речевой актив и начать всласть применять новые знания на практике (пункт 3 и 4, соответсвенно).
Спасибо за то, что уделили время.
Удачи в Вашем языковом путешествии!
Did you know that you are more than encouraged to go ahead and tell me in the comments section below how the whole process went?
With that, thanks for taking your time accepting the challenge, reading and working through the article.
Until next time!