We never pay anyone Dane-geld, no matter how trifling the cost. For the end of that game is oppression and shame and the nation that plays it is lost!
Rudyard KiplingMark my trail...
Rudyard KiplingBody and spirit, I surrendered whole, To harsh Instructors- and received a soul.
Rudyard KiplingNosotros no nos hemos separado por completo, pero aún no ha llegado el momento de que volvamos juntos a la carretera. Ahora está adquiriendo conocimientos en otro lugar. No tenemos más remedio que esperar.
Rudyard KiplingIt was seven o’clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched himself, yawned, and spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. "Augrh!” said Father Wolf. “It is time to hunt again.” He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: “Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world.
Rudyard KiplingE Harvey, essendo tutt'altro che ottuso, cominciò ad apprezzare e a godere l'aspro coro delle onde, quando le loro creste si infrangono una dietro l'altra, in un incessante scroscio; la fretta del vento che liberava gli immensi spazi, ammassando le ombre azzurrine e purpuree delle nubi; la splendente aurora, quando il sole si leva in un'aureola di fiamma; le spirali delle nebbie mattutine e il loro lento dissolversi come muraglie che collino a una a una, sulla candida distesa; lo splendido e salmastro riverbero del meriggio; il bacio della pioggia su miglia e miglia di acqua morta e liscia; il frettoloso oscurarsi del mondo al calar della sera; l'infinito scintillare del mare sotto il chiaro di luna, quando il bompresso aguzzava, solenne, la cima verso lontane stelle, e Harvey scendeva dal cuoco per un dolce.
Rudyard KiplingThe Irish move to the sound of the guns like salmon to the sea
Rudyard KiplingWhen the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.
Rudyard KiplingI have my own matches and sulphur, and I'll make my own hell.
Rudyard KiplingA thin grey fog hung over the city, and the streets were very cold; for summer was in England.
Rudyard KiplingTag: seasons fog summer england city cold
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