Resultado de "A. A. Christian" em Todas as categorias

There was once a perfect gentleman whose whole household goods consisted of one bootjack and a comb. But he also had one of the most remarkable shirt collars in the world. I'll tell you a story about it.

There were once five peas in one shell, they were green, the shell was green, and so they believed that the whole world must be green also, which was a very natural conclusion. The shell grew, and the peas grew, they accommodated themselves to their position, and sat all in a row.

There is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is called "Hysken" street. Where the name came from, and what it means is very uncertain. It is said to be German, but this is unjust to the Germans, for it would then be called "Hauschen," and not "Hysken." "Hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted only of a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden booths we see in the market places at a fair time.

There was once a king's son, no one had so many beautiful books as he. In them he could read of everything that had ever happened in this world, and he could see it all pictured in fine illustrations. He could find out about every race of people and every country, but there was not a single word about where to find the Garden of Paradise, and this, just this, was the very thing that he thought most about.

In the German country of Württemberg, where the beautiful acacia trees bloom beside the highways, and the apple and pear trees bend down in autumn under the weight of their ripe blessings, there lies the little town of Marbach. It belongs to the class of quite unimportant towns, but it is located in a beautiful spot near the Neckar, the river that flows swiftly past towns and green vineyards and old knights' castles, to join its waters with those of the proud Rhine.

There is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him.

Have you ever heard the story of the old Street Lamp? It's really not very amusing, but you might listen to it for once. - It was such an honest lamp, which had done its duty for many, many years and which was now going to be discarded. It was the last evening it hung on its post and gave light to the street beneath it. The Lamp felt like an old ballet dancer who is performing for the last time and who knows that tomorrow she will be in a cold garret.

Now I'm going to tell you a story that I heard when I was a little fellow and that I like better and better the more I think of it. For it's the same with stories as with many people; the older they grow, the nicer they grow, and that is delightful.

The storks tell many, many stories to their young ones, all about the bogs and marshes. In general each story is suited to the age and sense of the little storks. While the youngest ones are satisfied with, "Kribble-krabble, plurry-murry," and think it a very fine story, the older ones demand something with more sense to it, or at least something about the family.

I am a poor lad, and live in one of the narrowest of lanes; but I have plenty of light: my room is high up in the house, and there is a good prospect over the roofs of the opposite houses. During the first few days I lived in the town, I felt very lonely and low-spirited. Instead of the forest and the green hills of the country, I had nothing but black chimney-pots on the horizon of my view. And then I had not a single friend, nor one familiar face to greet me.

Somewhere in the street stood an old old house; it was almost three hundred years old, as you could tell from the date cut into the great beam. Tulips and hopbines and also whole verses of poetry were carved into the wood as people used to do in those days, and over every window a mocking face was cut into the beam. The second story hung way out over the ground floor, and right under the eaves was a leaden spout with a dragon's head. Rain water was supposed to run out of the dragon's mouth, but it came from his belly instead, for there was a hole in it.

In the city of Florence, not far from the Piazza del Granduca, there is a little cross street which I think is called Porta Rossa. In front of a sort of market in this street, where vegetables are sold, stands an artificial but beautifully fashioned metal pig. A fountain of fresh clear water gushes out of the animal's mouth. Age has turned it dark green; only its snout shines as if it had been polished, and so it has by the many hundreds of children and poor people who take hold of it with their hands when they put their mouths to its mouth to drink the water.

The Neighbouring Families: One would certainly think that something quite unusual had happened in the duckpond to cause such a commotion, but nothing really had happened.

In a poet's study, somebody made a remark as he looked at the inkstand that was standing on the table: "It's strange what can come out of that inkstand! I wonder what the next thing will be. Yes, it's strange!"

The Emperor of China is a Chinaman, as you most likely know, and everyone around him is a Chinaman too. It's been a great many years since this story happened in China, but that's all the more reason for telling it before it gets forgotten.

There were so many toys in the nursery. On the top of the cabinet stood the penny bank, made of clay in the shape of a little pig. Of course, he had a slit in his back, which had been enlarged with a knife so that silver dollars also could be put in; and two such dollars had been slipped into the box, along with a great number of pennies. The Money Pig was stuffed so full he could no longer rattle, which is the highest honor a Money Pig can attain. There he stood, high up on the shelf, looking down on everything else in the room.

Le 5 septembre 1972, la prise d'otages des Jeux olympiques de Munich révèle la montée en puissance d'une nouvelle forme de terrorisme à laquelle les forces de l'ordre ne sont guère préparées. Quelques mois plus tard, le 3 novembre 1973, vingt-cinq gendarmes sélectionnés sur dossier se présentent à Maisons-Alfort pour y passer des épreuves d'un genre nouveau afin d'intégrer le GIGN n°1, une unité d'élite de la gendarmerie que le jeune lieutenant Christian Prouteau a été chargé de mettre en place.

Löschen, retten, helfen: Flo, das kleine Feuerwehrauto, ist ein echter Helfer in der Not. Mit dem Feuerwehrmann Bruno lebt Flo in Plätscherbach. Jeden Tag trifft Flo den Krankenwagen Milla und Leopold, das Polizeiauto. Mit ihnen erlebt er viele Abenteuer. So auch, als Lukas und Lilly etwas ganz Besonderes vorhaben: Sie wollen eine große Klettertour machen. Bergführer Beppo erklärt den beiden, wie alles funktioniert. Lukas und Lilly haben viel Freude am Klettern und erklimmen den Berg immer schneller. Doch dann stürzt Lilly plötzlich ab. Ein Sicherheitshaken kann sie gerade noch halten.

Thematisch geht es in diesem Buch neben der Kommunikation auch um die Beschreibung des Geschäftsprozesses im Network Marketing. Wörter können entweder überzeugen oder im Geiste des Empfängers verblassen. Oder anders ausgedrückt: Kommunikation ist wie ein Dosenöffner. Sobald du weißt, wie der funktioniert, kannst du jede Dose öffnen! Hier wird beschrieben, wie du Interessenten findest und anschließend am besten einlädst. Wie wäre es, wenn du einfache Formulierungen zur Hand hättest, die dir dazu verhelfen, dass du Interessenten wie am Fließband generierst?

This is a story of the sand dunes of Jutland, but it doesn't begin there; no, it begins far away to the south, in Spain. The ocean is the highway between the two countries. So now let your thoughts journey to Spain!