ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jack The Giant Killer, by Percival LeighThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Jack The Giant KillerAuthor: Percival LeighIllustrator: John LeechRelease Date:February 26, 2014 [EBook #45021]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKJACK THE GIANT KILLER ***Produced by David Widger from images generously providedby The InternetArchiveJACK THE GIANT KILLER.By Percival LeighThe Author Of "The Comic Latin Grammar."WithIllustrations by JOHN LEECH1853[Illustration: 013]{001}THE ARGUMENT.            I sing the deeds offamous Jack,                The doughty Giant Killer hight;            How he did various monsters"whack,"                And so became a gallant knight.             In Arthur's days of splendidfun                (His Queen was Guenever the Pliant),--             Ere Britain's sorrows hadbegun;                When every cave contained its giant;             When griffins fierce as bats wererife;                 And till a knight had slain his dragon,              At trifling risk of limbs andlife,                He did n't think he'd much to brag on;{002}     When wizards o'er the welkin flew;     Erescience had devised balloon;     And 'twas a common thing to view     A fairy ballet by the moon;--     Ourhero played his valiant pranks;     Earned loads of _kudos, vulgÃ´_ glory,     A lady, "tin," and lots ofthanks;--         Relate, oh Muse! his wondrous story.OF GIANTS IN GENERAL.     A Giant was, I shouldpremise,     A hulking lout of monstrous size;     He mostly stood--I know you 'll laugh--     About as highas a giraffe.     His waist was some three yards in girth:     When he walked he shook the earth.     Hiseyes were of the class called "goggle,"     Fitter for the scowl than ogle.     His mouth, decidedlycarnivorous,     Like a shark's,--the Saints deliver us!     He yawned like a huge sarcophagus,     For hewas an Anthropophagus,     And his tusks were huge and craggy;     His hair, and his brows, and hisbeard, were shaggy.{003}     I ween on the whole he was aught but a Cupid,     And exceedingly fierce,and remarkably stupid;              His brain partaking strongly of lead,              How well soe'er he was offfor head;              Having frequently one or two              Crania more than I or you.              He wasbare of arm and leg,              But buskins had, and a philabeg;              Also a body-coat ofmail              That shone with steel or brazen scale,              Like to the back of a crocodile'stail;                        A crown he wore,                        And a mace he bore              That was knobbedand spiked with adamant;                        It would smash the skull                        Of the mountainbull,              Or scatter the brains of the elephant.         His voice than the tempest was louder andgruffer--         Well; so much for the uncouth "buffer."JACK'S BIRTH, PARENTAGE, EDUCATION, ANDEARLY PURSUITS.               Of a right noble race was Jack,               For kith and kin he did notlack,                    Whom tuneful bards have puffed;               The Seven bold Champions rankedamong               That highly celebrated throng,                    And Riquet with the Tuft.{004}          Jackof the Beanstalk, too, was one;          And Beauty's Beast; and Valour's son,              Sir Amadis deGaul:          But if I had a thousand tongues,          A throat of brass, and iron lungs,              I could notsing them all.     His sire was a farmer hearty and free;     He dwelt where the Land's End frowns on thesea,     And the sea at the Land's End roars again,     Tit for tat, land and main.     He was a worthywight, and so     He brought up his son in the way he should go;     He sought not--not he!--to make hima "muff;"     He never taught him a parcel of stuff;     He bothered him not with trees and plants,     Nortold him to study the manners of ants.     He himself had never been     Bored with the SaturdayMagazine;     The world might be flat, or round, or square,     He knew not, and he did not care;     Norwished that a boy of his should be     A Cornish "Infant Prodigy."     But he stored his mind with learningstable,     The deeds of the Knights of the famed Round Table;     Legends and stories, chants andlays,     Of witches and warlocks, goblins and fays;             How champions of might             Defendedthe right,{005}     Freed the captive, and succoured the damsel distrest              Till Jack wouldexclaim--     "If I don't do the same,     An' I live to become a man,--_I'm blest!_"     Jack lightly reckedof sport or play              Wherein young gentlemen delight,     But he would wrestle any day,     Box, or


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Border, Breed Nor Birth, by Dallas McCord ReynoldsThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Border, Breed Nor BirthAuthor: Dallas McCord ReynoldsIllustrator:SchoenherrRelease Date: December 9, 2009 [EBook #30639]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BORDER, BREED NOR BIRTH ***Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, GregWeeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                         Transcriber's Note:  This etext was produced from Analog ScienceFact & Fiction July 1962.  Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.  copyright onthis publication was renewed.                       Border, Breed nor Birth     Part 1 of Two. Kipling said thosethings didn't count when     two strong men stood face to face. But ... do they count     when two strongideologies stand face to face...?                           by Mack Reynolds                      Illustrated bySchoenherr       *       *       *       *       *IEl Hassan, would-be tyrant of all North Africa, was on therun.His followers at this point numbered six, one of whom was a wisp of atwenty-four year old girl.Arrayed against him and his dream, he knew,was the combined power of the world in the form of theReunitedNations, and, in addition, such individual powers as the United Statesof the Americas, the SovietComplex, Common Europe, the FrenchCommunity, the British Commonwealth and the Arab Union,working bothtogether and unilaterally.Immediate survival depended upon getting into the Great Erg oftheSahara where even the greatest powers the world had ever developedwould have their work cut outlocating El Hassan and his people.       *       *       *       *       *Bey-ag-Akhamouk who was riding nextto Elmer Allen in the lead aircushion hover-lorry, held a hand high. Both of the solar powereddesertvehicles ground to a halt.Homer Crawford vaulted out of the seat of the second lorry before ithad settledto the sand. "What's up, Bey?" he called.Bey pointed to the south and west. They were in the vicinityofTessalit, in what was once known as French Sudan, and immediately tothe south of Algeria. They weredeliberately avoiding what littleexisted in this area in the way of trails, the Tanezrouft route whichcrossedthe Sahara from Colomb-BÃ©char to Gao, on the Niger, was somefifty miles to the west.Homer Crawfordstared up into the sky in the direction Bey pointed andhis face went wan.The others were piling out of thevehicles."What is it?" Isobel Cunningham said, squinting and trying to catchwhat the others had alreadyspotted."Aircraft," Bey growled. "A rocket-plane.""Which means the military in this part of the world,"Homer said.The rest of them looked to him for instructions, but Bey suddenly tookover. He said toHomer, "You better get on over beneath thatoutcropping of rock. The rest of us will handle this."Homerlooked at him.Bey said, flatly, "If one of the rest of us gets it, or even if all ofus do, the El Hassanmovement goes on. But if something happens toyou, the movement dies. We've already taken our standand too much isat stake to risk your life."Homer Crawford opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Hereachedinside the solar-powered lorry and fetched forth a Tommy-Noiseless andstarted for the rockoutcropping at a trot. Having made his decision,he wasn't going to cramp Bey-ag-Akhamouk's style withneedlesspalaver.Isobel Cunningham, Cliff Jackson, Elmer Allen and Kenny Ballalougathered around thetall, American educated Tuareg."What's the plan?" Elmer said. Either he or Kenny Ballalou couldhavetaken over as competently, but they were as capable of taking ordersas giving them, a desirabletrait in fighting men.Bey was still staring at the oncoming speck. He growled, "We can'teven hope hehasn't seen the pillars of sand and dust these vehiclesthrow up. He's spotted us all right. And we've got tofigure he'slooking for us, even though we can hope he's not."The side of his mouth began to tic,characteristically. "He'll makethree passes. The first one high, as an initial check. The second timehe'llcome in low just to make sure. The third pass and he'll clobberus."The aircraft was coming on, high butnearer now."So," Elmer said reasonably, "we either get him the second pass hemakes, or we've had it."The young Jamaican's lips were thinned backover his excellent teeth, as always when he went intocombat."That's it," Bey agreed. "Kenny, you and Cliff get the flac rifle, andhave it handy in the back ofthe second truck. Be sure he doesn't seeit on this first pass. Elmer, get on the radio and check anything


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zuleika Dobson, by Max BeerbohmThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Zuleika Dobson       or, An Oxford Love StoryAuthor: Max BeerbohmPostingDate: November 25, 2008 [EBook #1845]Release Date: August, 1999Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZULEIKA DOBSON ***Produced by Judy BossZULEIKA DOBSONor,AN OXFORD LOVE STORYBy Max Beerbohm         NOTE to the 1922 edition         I was in Italy when thisbook was first published.         A year later (1912) I visited London, and I found         that most of myfriends and acquaintances spoke to         me of Zu-like-a--a name which I hardly recognised         andthoroughly disapproved. I had always thought         of the lady as Zu-leek-a. Surely it was thusthat         Joseph thought of his Wife, and Selim of his Bride?         And I do hope that it is thus that anyreader of         these pages will think of MissDobson.                                              M.B.                                              Rapallo, 1922.ILLI ALMAEMATRIZULEIKA DOBSONIThat old bell, presage of a train, had just sounded through Oxfordstation; andthe undergraduates who were waiting there, gay figures intweed or flannel, moved to the margin of theplatform and gazed idlyup the line. Young and careless, in the glow of the afternoon sunshine,they strucka sharp note of incongruity with the worn boards they stoodon, with the fading signals and grey eternalwalls of that antiquestation, which, familiar to them and insignificant, does yet whisper tothe tourist thelast enchantments of the Middle Age.At the door of the first-class waiting-room, aloof and venerable,stoodthe Warden of Judas. An ebon pillar of tradition seemed he, in his garbof old-fashioned cleric. Aloft,between the wide brim of his silk hatand the white extent of his shirt-front, appeared those eyeswhichhawks, that nose which eagles, had often envied. He supported his yearson an ebon stick. He alonewas worthy of the background.Came a whistle from the distance. The breast of an engine wasdescried,and a long train curving after it, under a flight of smoke. It grewand grew. Louder and louder, itsnoise foreran it. It became a furious,enormous monster, and, with an instinct for safety, all menrecededfrom the platform's margin. (Yet came there with it, unknown to them,a danger far more terriblethan itself.) Into the station it cameblustering, with cloud and clangour. Ere it had yet stopped, the doorofone carriage flew open, and from it, in a white travelling dress, in atoque a-twinkle with fine diamonds,a lithe and radiant creature slippednimbly down to the platform.A cynosure indeed! A hundred eyes werefixed on her, and half as manyhearts lost to her. The Warden of Judas himself had mounted on his noseapair of black-rimmed glasses. Him espying, the nymph darted in hisdirection. The throng made way forher. She was at his side."Grandpapa!" she cried, and kissed the old man on either cheek. (Not ayouththere but would have bartered fifty years of his future for thatsalute.)"My dear Zuleika," he said,"welcome to Oxford! Have you no luggage?""Heaps!" she answered. "And a maid who will find it.""Then,"said the Warden, "let us drive straight to College." He offeredher his arm, and they proceeded slowly tothe entrance. She chattedgaily, blushing not in the long avenue of eyes she passed through. Alltheyouths, under her spell, were now quite oblivious of the relativesthey had come to meet. Parents, sisters,cousins, ran unclaimed aboutthe platform. Undutiful, all the youths were forming a serried suite totheirenchantress. In silence they followed her. They saw her leap intothe Warden's landau, they saw theWarden seat himself upon her left. Norwas it until the landau was lost to sight that they turned--howslowly,and with how bad a grace!--to look for their relatives.Through those slums which connect Oxfordwith the world, the landaurolled on towards Judas. Not many youths occurred, for nearly all--itwas theMonday of Eights Week--were down by the river, cheering thecrews. There did, however, come spurringby, on a polo-pony, a verysplendid youth. His straw hat was encircled with a riband of blue andwhite, andhe raised it to the Warden."That," said the Warden, "is the Duke of Dorset, a member of my College.Hedines at my table to-night."Zuleika, turning to regard his Grace, saw that he had not reined in andwasnot even glancing back at her over his shoulder. She gave a littlestart of dismay, but scarcely had her lipspouted ere they curved to asmile--a smile with no malice in its corners.As the landau rolled into "the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Castle of Otranto, by Horace Walpole,Edited by Henry MorleyThiseBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You maycopy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBookor online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Castle of OtrantoAuthor: Horace WalpoleEditor: HenryMorleyRelease Date: May 5, 2012  [eBook #696][This file was first posted on October 22,1996]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKTHE CASTLE OF OTRANTO***Transcribed from the 1901 Cassell and Company edition by DavidPrice,email ccx074@pglaf.org                        CASSELLâS NATIONALLIBRARY                               (New Series)                                * * * **                                   THE                            CASTLE OF OTRANTO.                                * * * **                                    BY                             HORACE WALPOLE.                      [Picture: Decorativegraphic]                       CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED                _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK& MELBOURNE_                                   1901INTRODUCTIONHORACE WALPOLE was the youngest son ofSir Robert Walpole, the greatstatesman, who died Earl of Orford.  He was born in 1717, the year inwhichhis father resigned office, remaining in opposition for almostthree years before his return to a long tenureof power.  Horace Walpolewas educated at Eton, where he formed a school friendship with ThomasGray,who was but a few months older.  In 1739 Gray wastravelling-companion with Walpole in France andItaly until they differedand parted; but the friendship was afterwards renewed, and remained firmto theend.  Horace Walpole went from Eton to Kingâs College, Cambridge,and entered Parliament in 1741,the year before his fatherâs finalresignation and acceptance of an earldom.  His way of life was madeeasyto him.  As Usher of the Exchequer, Comptroller of the Pipe, and Clerk ofthe Estreats in theExchequer, he received nearly two thousand a year fordoing nothing, lived with his father, and amusedhimself.Horace Walpole idled, and amused himself with the small life of thefashionable world to which hewas proud of belonging, though he had aquick eye for its vanities.  He had social wit, and liked to put ittosmall uses.  But he was not an empty idler, and there were seasons whenhe could become a sharpjudge of himself.  âI am sensible,â he wrote tohis most intimate friend, âI am sensible ofhaving more follies andweaknesses and fewer real good qualities than most men.  I sometimesreflect onthis, though, I own, too seldom.  I always want to beginacting like a man, and a sensible one, which Ithink I might be if Iwould.â  He had deep home affections, and, under many politeaffectations, plentyof good sense.Horace Walpoleâs father died in 1745.  The eldest son, who succeeded tothe earldom,died in 1751, and left a son, George, who was for a timeinsane, and lived until 1791.  As George left nochild, the title andestates passed to Horace Walpole, then seventy-four years old, and theonly uncle whosurvived.  Horace Walpole thus became Earl of Orford,during the last six years of his life.  As to the title,he said that hefelt himself being called names in his old age.  He died unmarried, inthe year 1797, at theage of eighty.He had turned his house at Strawberry Hill, by the Thames, nearTwickenham, into a Gothicvillaâeighteenth-century Gothicâand amusedhimself by spending freely upon its adornment withsuch things as werethen fashionable as objects of taste.  But he delighted also in hisflowers and histrellises of roses, and the quiet Thames.  When confinedby gout to his London house in Arlington Street,flowers from StrawberryHill and a bird were necessary consolations.  He set up also atStrawberry Hill aprivate printing press, at which he printed his friendGrayâs poems, also in 1758 his ownâCatalogue of the Royal and NobleAuthors of England,â and five volumes of âAnecdotes ofPainting inEngland,â between 1762 and 1771.Horace Walpole produced _The Castle of Otranto_ in1765, at the matureage of forty-eight.  It was suggested by a dream from which he said hewaked onemorning, and of which âall I could recover was, that I hadthought myself in an ancient castle (a verynatural dream for a head likemine, filled with Gothic story), and that on the uppermost banister of agreatstaircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.  In the evening I satdown and began to write, without knowingin the least what I intended tosay or relate.â  So began the tale which professed to be translatedbyâWilliam Marshal, gentleman, from the Italian of Onuphro Muralto, canonof the Church of St.


<title>Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, The Script at IMSDb.</title><metaname="description" content="Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, The script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, The script, Best ExoticMarigold Hotel, The movie script, Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, The film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><metahttp-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Filmscripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane GreyThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Riders of the Purple SageAuthor: Zane GreyPosting Date: November 7,2009  [Etext #1300]Release Date: April, 2000Last updated: February 3, 2011Last updated: June 23,2013Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE***Produced by Bill Brewer and Rick FaneRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGEBy Zane GreyCHAPTER I.LASSITERA sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and cloudsof yellow dust driftedfrom under the cottonwoods out over the sage.Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope withdreamy andtroubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message thatheld her thoughtful andalmost sad, awaiting the churchmen who werecoming to resent and attack her right to befriend aGentile.She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to thelittle village of Cottonwoods wasto involve her. And then she sighed,remembering that her father had founded this remotest bordersettlementof southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all theground and many of thecottages. Withersteen House was hers, and thegreat ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and the swiftesthorses ofthe sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdureand beauty to the villageand made living possible on that wild purpleupland waste. She could not escape being involved bywhatever befellCottonwoods.That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually cominginthe lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze--StoneBridge--Sterling, villages to the north,had risen against theinvasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had beenopposition tothe one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoodshad begun to wake and bestir itself and grownhard.Jane prayed that the tranquillity and sweetness of her life would not bepermanently disrupted. Shemeant to do so much more for her people thanshe had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral daysto last always.Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community wouldmake her unhappy.She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poorand unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go ondoing good and beinghappy. And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She lovedit all--thegrove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tintedwater, and the droves of shaggy, dustyhorses and mustangs, the sleek,clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle andthelean, sun-browned riders of the sage.While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untowardchange. Thebray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortinglysuggestive of thedrowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the greenalfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purplesage-slope as itrolled before her. Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up tothe west. Dark, lonelycedar-trees, few and far between, stood outstrikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Fartheron, up thegradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purpleand stretching itssolitary, mystic way, a wavering line that fadedin the north. Here to the westward was the light and colorand beauty.Northward the slope descended to a dim line of canyons from which rosean up-flinging of theearth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purpleuplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls,castle-crowned cliffs, andgray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waningafternoonshadows.The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question athand. A group ofriders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threwtheir bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull,the leader, a tall,dark man, was an elder of Jane's church."Did you get my message?" he asked,curtly."Yes," replied Jane."I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down tothe village.He didn't come.""He knows nothing of it;" said Jane. "I didn't tell him. I've beenwaiting here foryou.""Where is Venters?""I left him in the courtyard.""Here, Jerry," called Tull, turning to his men, "takethe gang and fetchVenters out here if you have to rope him."The dusty-booted and long-spurred ridersclanked noisily into the groveof cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade."Elder Tull, what do you meanby this?" demanded Jane. "If you mustarrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leavesmyhome. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It'sabsurd to accuse Venters of being


<title>It Happened One Night Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="It Happened One Night script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><metaname="keywords" content="It Happened One Night script, It Happened One Night movie script, ItHappened One Night film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"/><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><metaname=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><metaname=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


<title>Interstellar Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="Interstellar script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="Interstellar script, Interstellar movie script, Interstellar film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><metahttp-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Filmscripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cousin Henry, by Anthony TrollopeThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Cousin HenryAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: January 1, 2008  [eBook#24103]Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN HENRY***E-textprepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.COUSIN HENRYbyANTHONY TROLLOPEFirst published in serialform in the _Manchester Weekly Times_ andthe _North British Weekly Mail_ in the spring of 1879 and inbookform in October, 1879CONTENTS       I. Uncle Indefer      II. Isabel Brodrick     III. CousinHenry      IV. The Squire's Death       V. Preparing for the Funeral      VI. Mr Apjohn's Explanation     VII.Looking for the Will    VIII. The Reading of the Will      IX. Alone at Llanfeare       X. Cousin Henry Dreamsa Dream      XI. Isabel at Hereford     XII. Mr Owen    XIII. The _Carmarthen Herald_     XIV. An Actionfor Libel      XV. Cousin Henry Makes Another Attempt     XVI. Again at Hereford    XVII. MrCheekey   XVIII. Cousin Henry Goes to Carmarthen     XIX. Mr Apjohn Sends for Assistance      XX.Doubts     XXI. Mr Apjohn's Success    XXII. How Cousin Henry Was Let Off Easily   XXIII. Isabel'sPetition    XXIV. ConclusionCHAPTER IUncle Indefer"I have a conscience, my dear, on this matter," saidan old gentlemanto a young lady, as the two were sitting in the breakfast parlour ofa country housewhich looked down from the cliffs over the sea on thecoast of Carmarthenshire."And so have I, UncleIndefer; and as my conscience is backed by myinclination, whereas yours is not--""You think that I shallgive way?""I did not mean that.""What then?""If I could only make you understand how very strong ismyinclination, or disinclination--how impossible to be conquered,then--""What next?""Then you wouldknow that I could never give way, as you call it, andyou would go to work with your own conscience tosee whether it beimperative with you or not. You may be sure of this,--I shall neversay a word to you inopposition to your conscience. If there be aword to be spoken it must come from yourself."There was along pause in the conversation, a silence for an hour,during which the girl went in and out of the roomand settled herselfdown at her work. Then the old man went back abruptly to the subjectthey haddiscussed. "I shall obey my conscience.""You ought to do so, Uncle Indefer. What should a man obey buthisconscience?""Though it will break my heart.""No; no, no!""And will ruin you.""That is a flea's bite. Ican brave my ruin easily, but not yourbroken heart.""Why should there be either, Isabel?""Nay, sir; haveyou not said but now, because of our consciences?Not to save your heart from breaking,--though I thinkyour heartis dearer to me than anything else in the world,--could I marrymy cousin Henry. We must dietogether, both of us, you and I, orlive broken-hearted, or what not, sooner than that. Would I notdoanything possible at your bidding?""I used to think so.""But it is impossible for a young woman with arespect for herselfsuch as I have to submit herself to a man that she loathes. Do asyour conscience bidsyou with the old house. Shall I be less tenderto you while you live because I shall have to leave the placewhenyou are dead? Shall I accuse you of injustice or unkindness inmy heart? Never! All that is only anoutside circumstance to me,comparatively of little moment. But to be the wife of a man Idespise!" Thenshe got up and left the room.A month passed by before the old man returned to the subject, whichhe didseated in the same room, at the same hour of the day,--atabout four o'clock, when the dinner things hadbeen removed."Isabel," he said, "I cannot help myself.""As to what, Uncle Indefer?" She knew very wellwhat was the matterin which, as he said, he could not help himself. Had there beenanything in which hisage had wanted assistance from her youth therewould have been no hesitation between them; nodaughter was ever moretender; no father was ever more trusting. But on this subject it wasnecessarythat he should speak more plainly before she could reply tohim."As to your cousin and theproperty.""Then in God's name do not trouble yourself further in looking forhelp where there is none tobe had. You mean that the estate ought togo to a man and not to a woman?""It ought to go to aJones.""I am not a Jones, nor likely to become a Jones.""You are as near to me as he is,--and so muchdearer!""But not on that account a Jones. My name is Isabel Brodrick. A womannot born to be a Jonesmay have the luck to become one by marriage,but that will never be the case with me.""You should not


<title>Charlie's Angels Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="Charlie's Angels script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="Charlie's Angels script, Charlie's Angels movie script, Charlie's Angels film script"><metaname="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><metahttp-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Filmscripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Skylark of Space, by Edward Elmer Smithand Lee HawkinsGarbyThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg Licenseincludedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Skylark of SpaceAuthor: Edward ElmerSmith and Lee Hawkins GarbyRelease Date: March 21, 2007  [eBook #20869]Most recently updated April18, 2011Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SKYLARK OFSPACE***E-text prepared by Greg Weeks, L. N. Yaddanapudi, David Dyer-Bennet, andthe ProjectGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net)Note: Project Gutenberg also hasan HTML version of this      file which includes the original illustrations.      See 20869-h.htm or 20869-h.zip:      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/8/6/20869/20869-h/20869-h.htm)      or      (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/8/6/20869/20869-h.zip)      +----------------------------------------------------------+      | Transcriber's note                                       |      |                                                          |      |This etext was produced from Amazing Stories August,     |      | September and October 1928. Extensiveresearch did not   |      | uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this     |      | publication wasrenewed.                                 |      |                                                          |      | Other notes and alist of corrections made will be found |      | at the end of thebook.                                  |      +----------------------------------------------------------+THE SKYLARKOF SPACEbyEDWARD ELMER SMITHIn Collaboration withLEE HAWKINS GARBY[Illustration: CoverPage]    +--------------------------------------+    |                                      |    | _Perhaps it is a bitunethical and   |    | unusual for editors to voice their   |    | opinion of their own wares, but when |    |such a story as "The Skylark of      |    | Space" comes along, we just feel as  |    | if we must shout fromthe housetops  |    | that this is the greatest            |    | interplanetarian and space flying    |    | storythat has appeared this year.   |    | Indeed, it probably will rank as one |    | of the great space flyingstories    |    | for many years to come. The story is |    | chock full, not only of excellent    |    | science,but woven through it there  |    | is also that very rare element, love |    | and romance. This element inan      |    | interplanetarian story is often apt  |    | to be foolish, but it does not seem  |    | so in thisparticular story._        |    |                                      |    | _We know so little about             |    |intra-atomic forces, that this       |    | story, improbable as it will appear  |    | in spots, will readcommonplace      |    | years hence, when we have atomic     |    | engines, and when we have solved the|    | riddle of the atom._                 |    |                                      |    | _You will follow thehair-raising    |    | explorations and strange ventures    |    | into far-away worlds with bated      |    |breath, and you will be fascinated,  |    | as we were, with the strangeness of  |    | it all._                             |    |                                      |    +--------------------------------------+CHAPTER IThe Occurrenceof the ImpossiblePetrified with astonishment, Richard Seaton stared after the coppersteam-bath uponwhich he had been electrolyzing his solution of "X," theunknown metal. For as soon as he had removedthe beaker the heavy bathhad jumped endwise from under his hand as though it were alive. It hadflownwith terrific speed over the table, smashing apparatus and bottlesof chemicals on its way, and was evennow disappearing through the openwindow. He seized his prism binoculars and focused them upon theflyingvessel, a speck in the distance. Through the glass he saw that it didnot fall to the ground, butcontinued on in a straight line, only itsrapidly diminishing size showing the enormous velocity with whichit wasmoving. It grew smaller and smaller, and in a few moments disappearedutterly.The chemist turnedas though in a trance. How was this? The copper bathhe had used for months was gone--gone like a shot,with nothing to makeit go. Nothing, that is, except an electric cell and a few drops of theunknownsolution. He looked at the empty space where it had stood, atthe broken glass covering his laboratorytable, and again stared out ofthe window.He was aroused from his stunned inaction by the entrance of hiscoloredlaboratory helper, and silently motioned him to clean up the wreckage."What's happened,Doctah?" asked the dusky assistant."Search me, Dan. I wish I knew, myself," responded Seaton,absently,lost in wonder at the incredible phenomenon of which he had just been awitness.Ferdinand


<title>Shrek Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Shrek scriptat the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Shrek script, Shrek moviescript, Shrek film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"/><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><metaname=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><metaname=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        <a


<title>Big White, The Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="BigWhite, The script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Big White,The script, Big White, The movie script, Big White, The film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><metahttp-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Filmscripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wheels of Chance, by H. G. WellsThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Wheels of Chance       A Bicycling IdyllAuthor: H. G. WellsRelease Date:April, 1998  [Etext #1264]Posting Date: November 10, 2009 [EBook #1264]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHEELS OF CHANCE ***Produced by DianneBeanTHE WHEELS OF CHANCE; A BICYCLING IDYLLBy H.G. Wells1896I. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER INTHE STORYIf you (presuming you are of the sex that does such things)--if you hadgone into the DraperyEmporium--which is really only magnificent forshop--of Messrs. Antrobus & Co.--a perfectly fictitious"Co.," bythe bye--of Putney, on the 14th of August, 1895, had turned to theright-hand side, where theblocks of white linen and piles of blanketsrise up to the rail from which the pink and blue prints depend,youmight have been served by the central figure of this story that is nowbeginning. He would have comeforward, bowing and swaying, he would haveextended two hands with largish knuckles and enormouscuffs over thecounter, and he would have asked you, protruding a pointed chin andwithout the slightestanticipation of pleasure in his manner, what hemight have the pleasure of showing you. Under certaincircumstances--as,for instance, hats, baby linen, gloves, silks, lace, or curtains--hewould simply havebowed politely, and with a drooping expression, andmaking a kind of circular sweep, invited you to "stepthis way,"and so led you beyond his ken; but under other and happierconditions,--huckaback, blankets,dimity, cretonne, linen, calico, arecases in point,--he would have requested you to take a seat,emphasisingthe hospitality by leaning over the counter and gripping a chair back ina spasmodic manner,and so proceeded to obtain, unfold, and exhibithis goods for your consideration. Under which happiercircumstances youmight--if of an observing turn of mind and not too much of a housewifeto beinhuman--have given the central figure of this story less cursoryattention.Now if you had noticedanything about him, it would have been chiefly tonotice how little he was noticeable. He wore the blackmorning coat, theblack tie, and the speckled grey nether parts (descending into shadowand mysterybelow the counter) of his craft. He was of a pallidcomplexion, hair of a kind of dirty fairness, greyish eyes,and askimpy, immature moustache under his peaked indeterminate nose.His features were all small, butnone ill-shaped. A rosette of pinsdecorated the lappel of his coat. His remarks, you would observe,wereentirely what people used to call cliche, formulae not organic to theoccasion, but stereotyped agesago and learnt years since by heart."This, madam," he would say, "is selling very well." "We are doingavery good article at four three a yard." "We could show you somethingbetter, of course." "No trouble,madam, I assure you." Such were thesimple counters of his intercourse. So, I say, he would havepresentedhimself to your superficial observation. He would have danced aboutbehind the counter, haveneatly refolded the goods he had shown you,have put on one side those you selected, extracted a littlebook witha carbon leaf and a tinfoil sheet from a fixture, made you out a littlebill in that weak flourishinghand peculiar to drapers, and have bawled"Sayn!" Then a puffy little shop-walker would have come intoview,looked at the bill for a second, very hard (showing you a partingdown the middle of his headmeanwhile), have scribbled a still moreflourishing J. M. all over the document, have asked you iftherewas nothing more, have stood by you--supposing that you were payingcash--until the central figureof this story reappeared with the change.One glance more at him, and the puffy little shop-walker wouldhave beenbowing you out, with fountains of civilities at work all about you. Andso the interview wouldhave terminated.But real literature, as distinguished from anecdote, does not concernitself withsuperficial appearances alone. Literature is revelation.Modern literature is indecorous revelation. It is theduty of theearnest author to tell you what you would not have seen--even at thecost of some blushes.And the thing that you would not have seen aboutthis young man, and the thing of the greatest momentto this story, thething that must be told if the book is to be written, was--let us faceit bravely--theRemarkable Condition of this Young Man's Legs.Let us approach the business with dispassionateexplicitness. Let usassume something of the scientific spirit, the hard, almost professorialtone of the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Variable Man, by Philip K. DickThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Variable ManAuthor: Philip K. DickIllustrator: Alex EbelRelease Date: April27, 2010 [EBook #32154][Last updated: May 4, 2011]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE VARIABLE MAN ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and theOnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net    This etext was produced from SpaceScience Fiction September    1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the    U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.[Illustration]THE VARIABLE MANBY PHILIP K.DICKILLUSTRATED BY EBEL    He fixed things--clocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and    destinies. But hehad no business in the future, where the    calculators could not handle him. He was Earth'sonly    hope--and its sure failure!Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front stepsandentered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside andhe entered the familiar place ofgreat whirring machines. His thinface rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up atthecentral SRB computer, studying its reading."Straight gain for the last quarter," observed Kaplan, thelaborganizer. He grinned proudly, as if personally responsible. "Not bad,Commissioner.""We're catchingup to them," Reinhart retorted. "But too damn slowly.We must finally go over--and soon."Kaplan was in atalkative mood. "We design new offensive weapons, theycounter with improved defenses. And nothing isactually made!Continual improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can stop designinglong enough tostabilize for production.""It will end," Reinhart stated coldly, "as soon as Terra turns out aweapon forwhich Centaurus can build no defense.""Every weapon has a defense. Design and discord.Immediateobsolescence. Nothing lasts long enough to--""What we count on is the _lag_," Reinhart brokein, annoyed. His hardgray eyes bored into the lab organizer and Kaplan slunk back. "Thetime lag betweenour offensive design and their counter development.The lag varies." He waved impatiently toward themassed banks of SRBmachines. "As you well know."At this moment, 9:30 AM, May 7, 2136, the statisticalratio on the SRBmachines stood at 21-17 on the Centauran side of the ledger. All factsconsidered, theodds favored a successful repulsion by ProximaCentaurus of a Terran military attack. The ratio was basedon thetotal information known to the SRB machines, on a gestalt of the vastflow of data that poured inendlessly from all sectors of the Sol andCentaurus systems.21-17 on the Centauran side. But a monthago it had been 24-18 in theenemy's favor. Things were improving, slowly but steadily. Centaurus,olderand less virile than Terra, was unable to match Terra's rate oftechnocratic advance. Terra was pullingahead."If we went to war now," Reinhart said thoughtfully, "we would lose.We're not far enough along torisk an overt attack." A harsh, ruthlessglow twisted across his handsome features, distorting them intoastern mask. "But the odds are moving in our favor. Our offensivedesigns are gradually gaining on theirdefenses.""Let's hope the war comes soon," Kaplan agreed. "We're all on edge.This damn waiting...."Thewar would come soon. Reinhart knew it intuitively. The air wasfull of tension, the _elan_. He left the SRBrooms and hurried downthe corridor to his own elaborately guarded office in the Securitywing. It wouldn'tbe long. He could practically feel the hot breath ofdestiny on his neck--for him a pleasant feeling. His thinlips set ina humorless smile, showing an even line of white teeth against histanned skin. It made him feelgood, all right. He'd been working at ita long time.First contact, a hundred years earlier, had ignitedinstant conflictbetween Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Flashfights, suddeneruptions of fire and energy beams.And then the long, dreary years of inaction between enemieswherecontact required years of travel, even at nearly the speed of light.The two systems were evenlymatched. Screen against screen. Warshipagainst power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Terra,an ironring that couldn't be broken, rusty and corroded as it was. Radicalnew weapons had to beconceived, if Terra was to break out.Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could seeendlessbuildings and streets, Terrans hurrying back and forth. Bright specksthat were commute ships,little eggs that carried businessmen andwhite-collar workers around. The huge transport tubes that shot


<title>My Week with Marilyn Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="My Week with Marilyn script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="My Week with Marilyn script, My Week with Marilyn movie script, My Week with Marilyn filmscript"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><metaname="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttypeCONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=SubjectCONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


<title>Hitchcock Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Hitchcockscript at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Hitchcock script,Hitchcock movie script, Hitchcock film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width,initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><metaname=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><metaname=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Age of Innocence, by Edith WhartonThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Age of InnocenceAuthor: Edith WhartonPosting Date: August 12, 2008[EBook #541]Release Date: May, 1996Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK THE AGE OF INNOCENCE ***Produced by Judith Boss and Charles Keller.  HTML version by AlHaines.The Age of InnocencebyEdith WhartonJTABLE 6 18 1JTABLE 6 16 19Book II.On a January eveningof the early seventies, Christine Nilsson wassinging in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.Thoughthere was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitandistances "above the Forties," of a newOpera House which shouldcompete in costliness and splendour with those of the great Europeancapitals,the world of fashion was still content to reassemble everywinter in the shabby red and gold boxes of thesociable old Academy.Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thuskeeping outthe "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread andyet be drawn to; and the sentimental clungto it for its historicassociations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always soproblematic a qualityin halls built for the hearing of music.It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and whatthedaily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionallybrilliant audience" had gathered tohear her, transported through theslippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spaciousfamilylandau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupe." To come tothe Opera in a Browncoupe was almost as honourable a way of arrivingas in one's own carriage; and departure by the samemeans had theimmense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion todemocratic principles) toscramble into the first Brown conveyance inthe line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congestednose ofone's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy.  It wasone of the greatlivery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to havediscovered that Americans want to get away fromamusement even morequickly than they want to get to it.When Newland Archer opened the door at theback of the club box thecurtain had just gone up on the garden scene.  There was no reason whytheyoung man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven,alone with his mother and sister, andhad lingered afterward over acigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcasesandfinial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs.Archer allowed smoking.  But, inthe first place, New York was ametropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not thething"to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "thething" played a part as important in NewlandArcher's New York as theinscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of hisforefathers thousandsof years ago.The second reason for his delay was a personal one.  He had dawdledover his cigar becausehe was at heart a dilettante, and thinking overa pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfactionthan itsrealisation.  This was especially the case when the pleasure was adelicate one, as his pleasuresmostly were; and on this occasion themoment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite inqualitythat--well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the primadonna's stage-manager he could nothave entered the Academy at a moresignificant moment than just as she was singing:  "He lovesme--heloves me not--HE LOVES ME!--" and sprinkling the falling daisy petalswith notes as clear asdew.She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since anunalterable and unquestioned law ofthe musical world required that theGerman text of French operas sung by Swedish artists shouldbetranslated into Italian for the clearer understanding ofEnglish-speaking audiences.  This seemed asnatural to Newland Archeras all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as theduty ofusing two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blueenamel to part his hair, and of neverappearing in society without aflower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole."M'ama ... non m'ama ..."the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!", with afinal burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelleddaisy toher lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance ofthe little brown Faust-Capoul,who was vainly trying, in a tight purplevelvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as hisartlessvictim.Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box,turned his eyes from


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Playboy of the Western World, by J. M. SyngeThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Playboy of the Western WorldAuthor: J. M. SyngePosting Date: August 27,2008 [EBook #1240]Release Date: March, 1998Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD ***Produced by Judy BossTHE PLAYBOY OFTHE WESTERN WORLDA COMEDY IN THREE ACTSBy J. M. SyngePREFACEIn writing THE PLAYBOY OF THEWESTERN WORLD, as in my other plays, Ihave used one or two words only that I have not heard amongthe countrypeople of Ireland, or spoken in my own nursery before I could read thenewspapers. A certainnumber of the phrases I employ I have heard alsofrom herds and fishermen along the coast from Kerry toMayo, orfrom beggar-women and ballad-singers nearer Dublin; and I am glad toacknowledge how much Iowe to the folk imagination of these fine people.Anyone who has lived in real intimacy with the Irishpeasantry willknow that the wildest sayings and ideas in this play are tame indeed,compared with thefancies one may hear in any little hillside cabin inGeesala, or Carraroe, or Dingle Bay. All art is acollaboration; andthere is little doubt that in the happy ages of literature, strikingand beautiful phraseswere as ready to the story-teller's or theplaywright's hand, as the rich cloaks and dresses of his time. Itisprobable that when the Elizabethan dramatist took his ink-horn and satdown to his work he used manyphrases that he had just heard, as he satat dinner, from his mother or his children. In Ireland, those of uswhoknow the people have the same privilege. When I was writing "The Shadowof the Glen," some yearsago, I got more aid than any learning couldhave given me from a chink in the floor of the old Wicklowhouse whereI was staying, that let me hear what was being said by the servant girlsin the kitchen. Thismatter, I think, is of importance, for in countrieswhere the imagination of the people, and the languagethey use, is richand living, it is possible for a writer to be rich and copious in hiswords, and at the sametime to give the reality, which is the rootof all poetry, in a comprehensive and natural form. In themodernliterature of towns, however, richness is found only in sonnets, orprose poems, or in one or twoelaborate books that are far away from theprofound and common interests of life. One has, on one side,Mallarmeand Huysmans producing this literature; and on the other, Ibsen and Zoladealing with the realityof life in joyless and pallid words. On thestage one must have reality, and one must have joy; and that iswhy theintellectual modern drama has failed, and people have grown sick of thefalse joy of the musicalcomedy, that has been given them in place ofthe rich joy found only in what is superb and wild in reality.In a goodplay every speech should be as fully flavoured as a nut or apple, andsuch speeches cannot bewritten by anyone who works among people whohave shut their lips on poetry. In Ireland, for a few yearsmore, wehave a popular imagination that is fiery and magnificent, and tender; sothat those of us whowish to write start with a chance that is not givento writers in places where the springtime of the local lifehas beenforgotten, and the harvest is a memory only, and the straw has beenturned into bricks. J. M. S.January 21st, 1907.PERSONS     CHRISTOPHER MAHON.     OLD MAHON, his father, asquatter.     MICHAEL JAMES FLAHERTY (called MICHAEL JAMES), a publican.     MARGARET FLAHERTY(called PEGEEN MIKE), his daughter.     WIDOW QUIN, a woman of about thirty.     SHAWN KEOUGH, hercousin, a young farmer.     PHILLY CULLEN AND JIMMY FARRELL, small farmers.     SARA TANSEY, SUSANBRADY, AND HONOR BLAKE, village girls.     A BELLMAN.     SOME PEASANTS.The action takes place neara village, on a wild coast of Mayo. Thefirst Act passes on an evening of autumn, the other two Acts onthefollowing day.THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLDACT I.SCENE: [Country public-house orshebeen, very rough and untidy. Thereis a sort of counter on the right with shelves, holding many bottlesandjugs, just seen above it. Empty barrels stand near the counter. At back,a little to left of counter, thereis a door into the open air, then,more to the left, there is a settle with shelves above it, with morejugs,and a table beneath a window. At the left there is a large openfire-place, with turf fire, and a small doorinto inner room. Pegeen, awild looking but fine girl, of about twenty, is writing at table. She isdressed inthe usual peasant dress.]PEGEEN -- [slowly as she writes.] -- Six yards of stuff for to make ayellow


<title>Zerophilia Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="Zerophilia script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="Zerophilia script, Zerophilia movie script, Zerophilia film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly"content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><metahttp-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><metaname=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Filmscripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distribution content=Global><metaname=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Persuasion, by Jane AustenThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: PersuasionAuthor: Jane AustenRelease Date: June 5, 2008 [EBook #105]LastUpdated: February 15, 2015Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKPERSUASION ***Produced by Sharon Partridge and Martin Ward. HTML versionby AlHaines.PersuasionbyJane Austen(1818)Chapter 1Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, wasa man who,for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; therehe foundoccupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressedone; there his faculties were roused intoadmiration and respect, bycontemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; thereanyunwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturallyinto pity and contempt as heturned over the almost endless creationsof the last century; and there, if every other leaf werepowerless, hecould read his own history with an interest which never failed.  Thiswas the page at whichthe favourite volume always opened:           "ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL."Walter Elliot, born March 1,1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the countyofGloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, bornJune 1, 1785; Anne, bornAugust 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5,1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."Precisely such hadthe paragraph originally stood from the printer'shands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for theinformation ofhimself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--"Married, December 16,1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles Musgrove,Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset," and byinserting mostaccurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.Then followed the historyand rise of the ancient and respectablefamily, in the usual terms; how it had been first settled inCheshire;how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,representing a borough in threesuccessive parliaments, exertions ofloyalty, and dignity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II, withallthe Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether twohandsome duodecimo pages, andconcluding with the arms andmotto:--"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county of Somerset," andSirWalter's handwriting again in this finale:--"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandsonof thesecond Sir Walter."Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character;vanity ofperson and of situation.  He had been remarkably handsome inhis youth; and, at fifty-four, was still avery fine man.  Few womencould think more of their personal appearance than he did, nor couldthe valetof any new made lord be more delighted with the place he heldin society.  He considered the blessing ofbeauty as inferior only tothe blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who unitedthese gifts, wasthe constant object of his warmest respect anddevotion.His good looks and his rank had one fair claim onhis attachment; sinceto them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to anything deservedby his own.  Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman,sensible and amiable; whose judgement andconduct, if they might bepardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot, had neverrequiredindulgence afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, orconcealed his failings, and promoted his realrespectability forseventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the worldherself, had foundenough in her duties, her friends, and her children,to attach her to life, and make it no matter ofindifference to herwhen she was called on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldestsixteen and fourteen,was an awful legacy for a mother to bequeath, anawful charge rather, to confide to the authority andguidance of aconceited, silly father.  She had, however, one very intimate friend, asensible, deservingwoman, who had been brought, by strong attachmentto herself, to settle close by her, in the village ofKellynch; and onher kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best helpand maintenance ofthe good principles and instruction which she hadbeen anxiously giving her daughters.This friend, and SirWalter, did not marry, whatever might have beenanticipated on that head by theiracquaintance.  Thirteen years hadpassed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they were stillnearneighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower, the othera widow.That Lady Russell,


<title>Saving Private Ryan Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description"content="Saving Private Ryan script at the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords"content="Saving Private Ryan script, Saving Private Ryan movie script, Saving Private Ryan filmscript"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><metaname="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttypeCONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=SubjectCONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <a


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sea Fairies, by L. Frank BaumThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Sea FairiesAuthor: L. Frank BaumPosting Date: July 26, 2009 [EBook#4358]Release Date: August, 2003First Posted: January 14, 2002Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA FAIRIES ***Produced by Charles Aldarondo.  HTML version by AlHaines.TO JUDITH OF RANDOLPH MASSACHUSETTSTHE SEA FAIRIESBY L. FRANK BAUMAUTHOR OF THEEMERALD CITY OF OZ, DOROTHY AND THEWIZARD IN OZ, OZMA OF OZ, THE ROAD TO OZ,THE LAND OFOZ, ETC.ILLUSTRATED BYJOHN R. NEILLTHE oceans are big and broad. I believe two-thirds of theearth'ssurface is covered with water. What people inhabitthis water has always been a subject of curiosity totheinhabitants of the land. Strange creatures come from the seasat times, and perhaps in the oceandepths are many, more strangethan mortal eye has ever gazed upon.This story is fanciful. In it the seapeople talk and actmuch as we do, and the mermaids especially are not unlike thefairies with whom wehave learned to be familiar. Yet theyare real sea people, for all that, and with the exception of ZogtheMagician they are all supposed to exist in the ocean's depths.I am told that some very learned peopledeny that mermaidsor sea-serpents have ever inhabited the oceans, but it would bevery difficult for themto prove such an assertion unless they hadlived under the water as Trot and Cap'n Bill did in this story.Ihope my readers who have so long followed Dorothy'sadventures in the Land of Oz will be interested inTrot's equallystrange experiences. The ocean has always appealed to me asa veritable wonderland, andthis story has been suggested to memany times by my young correspondents in their letters. Indeed,agood many children have implored me to "write somethingabout the mermaids," and I have willinglygranted the request.Hollywood, 1911.L. FRANK BAUM.LIST OF CHAPTERSCHAPTER   1  TROT AND CAP'NBILL   2  THE MERMAIDS   3  THE DEPTHS OF THE DEEP BLUE SEA   4  THE PALACE OF QUEENAQUAREINE   5  THE SEA-SERPENT   6  EXPLORING THE OCEAN   7  THE ARISTOCRATIC CODFISH   8  ABANQUET UNDER WATER   9  THE BASHFUL OCTOPUS  10  THE UNDISCOVERED ISLAND  11  ZOG THETERRIBLE AND HIS SEA DEVILS  12  THE ENCHANTED ISLAND  13  PRISONERS OF THE SEAMONSTER  14  CAP'N JOE AND CAP'N BILL  15  THE MAGIC OF THE MERMAIDS  16  THE TOP OF THEGREAT DOME  17  THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN SWORD  18  A DASH FOR LIBERTY  19  KING ANKO TO THERESCUE  20  THE HOME OF THE OCEAN MONARCH  21  KING JOE  22  TROT LIVES TO TELL THETALECHAPTER 1TROT AND CAP'N BILL"Nobody," said Cap'n Bill solemnly, "ever sawr a mermaid an'livedto tell the tale.""Why not?" asked Trot, looking earnestly up into the old sailor'sface.They wereseated on a bench built around a giant acacia tree thatgrew just at the edge of the bluff. Below themrolled the blue wavesof the great Pacific. A little way behind them was the house, a neatframe cottagepainted white and surrounded by huge eucalyptus andpepper trees. Still farther behind that--a quarter ofa mile distantbut built upon a bend of the coast--was the village, overlooking apretty bay.Cap'n Bill andTrot came often to this tree to sit and watch theocean below them. The sailor man had one "meat leg"and one "hickoryleg," and he often said the wooden one was the best of the two. OnceCap'n Bill hadcommanded and owned the "Anemone," a trading schoonerthat plied along the coast; and in those daysCharlie Griffiths, whowas Trot's father, had been the Captain's mate. But ever since Cap'nBill's accident,when he lost his leg, Charlie Griffiths had beenthe captain of the little schooner while his old masterlivedpeacefully ashore with the Griffiths family.This was about the time Trot was born, and the old sailorbecamevery fond of the baby girl. Her real name was Mayre, but when shegrew big enough to walk, shetook so many busy little steps everyday that both her mother and Cap'n Bill nicknamed her "Trot," andsoshe was thereafter mostly called.It was the old sailor who taught the child to love the sea, to loveitalmost as much as he and her father did, and these two, whorepresented the "beginning and the end oflife," became firm friendsand constant companions."Why hasn't anybody seen a mermaid and lived?"asked Trot again."'Cause mermaids is fairies, an' ain't meant to be seen by us mortalfolk," replied Cap'nBill."But if anyone happens to see 'em, what then, Cap'n?""Then," he answered, slowly wagging his head,


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Metal Monster, by A. MerrittThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Metal MonsterAuthor: A. MerrittRelease Date: September, 2002  [Etext#3479]Posting Date: October 12, 2009Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK THE METAL MONSTER ***Produced by Judy BossTHE METAL MONSTERBy A.MerrittPROLOGUEBefore the narrative which follows was placed in my hands, I had neverseen Dr. WalterT. Goodwin, its author.When the manuscript revealing his adventures among the pre-historicruins of theNan-Matal in the Carolines (The Moon Pool) had been givenme by the International Association of Sciencefor editing and revisionto meet the requirements of a popular presentation, Dr. Goodwin had leftAmerica.He had explained that he was still too shaken, too depressed,to be able to recall experiences that mustinevitably carry with themfreshened memories of those whom he loved so well and from whom, hefelt, hewas separated in all probability forever.I had understood that he had gone to some remote part of Asia topursuecertain botanical studies, and it was therefore with the liveliestsurprise and interest that I receiveda summons from the President ofthe Association to meet Dr. Goodwin at a designated place andhour.Through my close study of the Moon Pool papers I had formed a mentalimage of their writer. I hadread, too, those volumes of botanicalresearch which have set him high above all other Americanscientists inthis field, gleaning from their curious mingling of extremelytechnical observations andminutely accurate but extraordinarily poeticdescriptions, hints to amplify my picture of him. It gratifiedme tofind I had drawn a pretty good one.The man to whom the President of the Association introducedme wassturdy, well-knit, a little under average height. He had a broad butrather low forehead thatreminded me somewhat of the late electricalwizard Steinmetz. Under level black brows shone eyes ofclear hazel,kindly, shrewd, a little wistful, lightly humorous; the eyes both of adoer and a dreamer.Notmore than forty I judged him to be. A close-trimmed, pointed bearddid not hide the firm chin and theclean-cut mouth. His hair was thickand black and oddly sprinkled with white; small streaks and dotsofgleaming silver that shone with a curiously metallic luster.His right arm was closely bound to his breast.His manner as he greetedme was tinged with shyness. He extended his left hand in greeting, andas Iclasped the fingers I was struck by their peculiar, pronounced, yetpleasant warmth; a sensation, indeed,curiously electric.The Association's President forced him gently back into his chair."Dr. Goodwin," he said,turning to me, "is not entirely recovered asyet from certain consequences of his adventures. He willexplain to youlater what these are. In the meantime, Mr. Merritt, will you read this?"I took the sheets hehanded me, and as I read them felt the gaze of Dr.Goodwin full upon me, searching, weighing,estimating. When I raised myeyes from the letter I found in his a new expression. The shyness wasgone;they were filled with complete friendliness. Evidently I hadpassed muster."You will accept, sir?" It was thepresident's gravely courteous tone."Accept!" I exclaimed. "Why, of course, I accept. It is not only oneofthe greatest honors, but to me one of the greatest delights to act as acollaborator with Dr.Goodwin."The president smiled."In that case, sir, there is no need for me to remain longer," he said."Dr.Goodwin has with him his manuscript as far as he has progressedwith it. I will leave you two alone foryour discussion."He bowed to us and, picking up his old-fashioned bell-crowned silk hatand his quaint,heavy cane of ebony, withdrew. Dr. Goodwin turned to me."I will start," he said, after a little pause,"from when I met RichardDrake on the field of blue poppies that are like a great prayer-rug atthe grayfeet of the nameless mountain."The sun sank, the shadows fell, the lights of the city sparkled out,forhours New York roared about me unheeded while I listened to the taleof that utterly weird, stupendousdrama of an unknown life, of unknowncreatures, unknown forces, and of unconquerable human heroismplayedamong the hidden gorges of unknown Asia.It was dawn when I left him for my own home. Nor wasit for manyhours after that I laid his then incomplete manuscript down and soughtsleep--and found atroubled sleep.A. MERRITTCHAPTER I. VALLEY OF THE BLUE POPPIESIn this great crucible of life we callthe world--in the vaster one wecall the universe--the mysteries lie close packed, uncountable as grainsof


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pilot and his Wife, by Jonas LieThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Pilot and his WifeAuthor: Jonas LieRelease Date: April 8, 2005 [EBook#15588]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PILOT AND HIS WIFE***Produced by Clare Boothby, Jim Wiborg and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.THE PILOT ANDHIS WIFE_TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF_JONAS LIEBYG.L. TOTTENHAMWILLIAMBLACKWOOD AND SONSEDINBURGH AND LONDONMDCCCLXXVIITHE PILOT AND HIS WIFE.CHAPTERI.On the stern, pine-clad southern coast of Norway, off thepicturesquely-situated town of Arendal, standplanted far out into thesea the white walls of the Great and Little Torungen Lighthouses, eachon its barerock-island of corresponding name, the lesser of whichseems, as you sail past, to have only just room forthe lighthouse andthe attendant's residence by the side. It is a wild and lonelysituation,--the spray, instormy weather, driving in sheets against thewalls, and eagles and sea-birds not unfrequently dashingthemselves todeath against the thick glass panes at night; while in winter allcommunication with the landis very often cut off, either by drift orpatchy ice, which is impassable either on foot or by boat.These,however, and others of the now numerous lights along thatdangerous coast, are of comparatively recenterection. Many persons nowliving can remember the time when for long reaches the only lighting wasthegleam of the white breakers themselves. And the captain who hadpassed the OxÃ¶ light off Christiansandmight think himself lucky if hesighted the distant Jomfruland up by KragerÃ¶.About a score of yearsbefore the lighthouse was placed on LittleTorungen there was, however, already a house there, if it couldbedignified by that name, with its back and one side almost up to the eaveof the roof stuck into a heap ofstones, so that it had the appearanceof bending forward to let the storm sweep over it. The lowentrance-dooropened to the land, and two small windows looked out upon the sea, andupon the boat,which was usually drawn up in a cleft above the sea-weedoutside.When you entered, or, more properlyspeaking, descended into it, therewas more room than might have been expected; and it containedsundryarticles of furniture, such as a handsome press and sideboard, which noone would have dreamt offinding under such a roof. In one corner therestood an old spinning-wheel covered with dust, and with asmoke-blackenedtuft of wool still hanging from its reel; from which, and from othersmall indications, itmight be surmised that there had once been a womanin the house, and that tuft of wool had probablybeen her last spin.There sat now on the bench by the hearth a lonely old man, of aflint-hard andsomewhat gloomy countenance, with a mass of white hairfalling over his ears and neck, who wasgenerally occupied with somecobbling work, and who from time to time, as he drew out the thread,wouldmake some remark aloud, as if he thought he still had the partnerof his life for audience. The lookaskance over his brass spectacleswith which he greeted any casual stranger who might come into thehousehad very little welcome in it, and an expression about his sunken mouthand sharp chin said plainlyenough that the other might state hisbusiness at once and be gone. He sought no company; and the onlytime hehad ever been seen at church was when he came rowing over to TromÃ¶ withhis wife's body inher coffin. When the pastor sprinkled earth upon it,it was observed that the tears streamed down hischeeks, and it was longafter dark before he quitted the churchyard to return. He had become aproverbfor obstinacy for miles beyond his own residence; and people whodealt with him for fish in the harbour, ifthey once began to bargain,were as likely as not to see him without a word just quietly row away.All thatwas known further about "Old Jacob," as he was called, was thathe had once been a pilot, and that hehad had a son who had taken todrinking, through whose fault it had been eventually that the fatherhadlost his certificate; and it was thought that on the occasion inquestion the father had taken the son'sblame upon himself. Since thenhe had shunned society, and had retired with his wife to hispresenthabitation, whither, after their son was drowned, they had brought theirlittle orphangranddaughter, who now was his sole companion. His onlyostensible means of living were byshoemaking, and by fishing, theproduce of which he generally disposed of to passing ships, and,


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Sea-Wolf, by Jack LondonThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Sea-WolfAuthor: Jack LondonRelease Date: December 24, 2010  [eBook#1074]First released: October 15, 1997Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8***START OFTHE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SEA-WOLF***Transcribed from the 1917 William Heinemannedition by David Price, emailccx074@pglaf.org                               THESEA-WOLF                                    BY                               JACK LONDON                                AUTHOROF               âTHE CALL OF THE WILD,â âTHE FAITH OFMEN,â                                   ETC.                                * * * * *                            _POPULAREDITION_.                                * * * * *                                  LONDON                            WILLIAMHEINEMANN                                   1917                                * * * * *_First published_, _November_1904._New Impression_, _December_ 1904, _April_ 1908._Popular Edition_, _July_ 1910; _NewImpressions_, _March_ 1912,_September_ 1912, _November_ 1913, _May_ 1915, _May_ 1916, _July_1917.                                * * * * *             _Copyright_, _London_, _William Heinemann_,1904CHAPTER II scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place thecause of it all toCharley Furusethâs credit.  He kept a summer cottagein Mill Valley, under the shadow of MountTamalpais, and never occupiedit except when he loafed through the winter months and read NietzscheandSchopenhauer to rest his brain.  When summer came on, he elected to sweatout a hot and dustyexistence in the city and to toil incessantly.  Hadit not been my custom to run up to see him everySaturday afternoon andto stop over till Monday morning, this particular January Monday morningwouldnot have found me afloat on San Francisco Bay.Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the_Martinez_ was a newferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run betweenSausalito and SanFrancisco.  The danger lay in the heavy fog whichblanketed the bay, and of which, as a landsman, I hadlittleapprehension.  In fact, I remember the placid exaltation with which Itook up my position on theforward upper deck, directly beneath thepilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog to lay hold ofmyimagination.  A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time I was alone inthe moist obscurityâyet notalone, for I was dimly conscious of thepresence of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in theglasshouse above my head.I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labourwhichmade it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation,in order to visit my friendwho lived across an arm of the sea.  It wasgood that men should be specialists, I mused.  The peculiarknowledge ofthe pilot and captain sufficed for many thousands of people who knew nomore of the seaand navigation than I knew.  On the other hand, insteadof having to devote my energy to the learning ofa multitude of things, Iconcentrated it upon a few particular things, such as, for instance, theanalysis ofPoeâs place in American literatureâan essay of mine, by theway, in the current_Atlantic_.  Coming aboard, as I passed through thecabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stoutgentleman reading the_Atlantic_, which was open at my very essay.  And there it was again, thedivisionof labour, the special knowledge of the pilot and captain whichpermitted the stout gentleman to read myspecial knowledge on Poe whilethey carried him safely from Sausalito to San Francisco.A red-faced man,slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping out onthe deck, interrupted my reflections, though Imade a mental note of thetopic for use in a projected essay which I had thought of callingâTheNecessity for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist.â  The red-faced man shot aglance up at thepilot-house, gazed around at the fog, stumped across thedeck and back (he evidently had artificial legs),and stood still by myside, legs wide apart, and with an expression of keen enjoyment on hisface.  I wasnot wrong when I decided that his days had been spent on thesea.âItâs nasty weather like thishere that turns heads grey before theirtime,â he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house.âI hadnot thought there was any particular strain,â I answered.  âItseems as simple as A, B, C.  Theyknow the direction by compass, thedistance, and the speed.  I should not call it anything more


<title>Buried Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Buried scriptat the Internet Movie Script Database."><meta name="keywords" content="Buried script, Buried moviescript, Buried film script"><meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"/><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type"content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><metaname=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTS CONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><metaname=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><metaname=distribution content=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><linkhref="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><tablewidth="99%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" class="body">

The Internet Movie Script Database(IMSDb)

     <imgsrc="/images/logo_middle.gif" border="0">
      <imgsrc="/images/logo_bottom.gif" width="170" border="0">
 <spanclass="smalltxt">The web's largest
movie script resource!

        <tableclass=body border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2 width="100%">
           Search IMSDb
<form method="post" action="/search.php">            <tdwidth="180">
                <input type="text" name="search_query"maxlength="255" size="15">                <input type="submit" value="Go!"name="submit">
	</form>

Alphabetical<tralign="center">        #         <ahref="/alphabetical/A">A        B        <ahref="/alphabetical/C">C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        <ahref="/alphabetical/G">G        H<tralign="center">         I        <ahref="/alphabetical/J">J        K        <ahref="/alphabetical/L">L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        <ahref="/alphabetical/P">P        Q<tralign="center">         R        <ahref="/alphabetical/S">S        T        <ahref="/alphabetical/U">U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        <a