This was simple prudence, white men being so much alike at a distance that he could not tell who I might be.
Sympathy is a form of fear, above the vulgar conception of time.
He sealed the utterance with that smile of his, as though it had been a door opening into a darkness he had in his keeping.
We stopped, and the silence driven away by the stamping of our feet flowed back again from the recesses of the.
It was the stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention.
No, no es modestia exactamente. No estoy nada seguro de ser modesto;.
He knew the magic monotony of existence between sky and water: he had to bear the criticism of men, the exactions of the sea, and the prosaic severity of the daily task that gives bread1 – but whose only reward is in the perfect love of the work.
He ought to have been clapping his hands and stamping his feet on the bank, instead of which he was hard at work, a thrall to strange witchcraft, full of improving knowledge.
Before it stopped running with a muffled rattle, a cry, a very loud cry, as of infinite desolation, soared slowly in the opaque air. It ceased. A complaining clamour, modulated in savage discords, filled our ears. The sheer unexpectedness of it made my hair stir under my cap. I don’t know how it struck the others: to me it seemed as though the mist itself had screamed, so suddenly, and apparently from all sides at once, did this tumultuous and mournful uproar arise.
At present he was answering questions that did not matter though they had a purpose, but he doubted whether he would ever again speak out as long as he lived.
Hadn’t I been told in all the tones of jealousy and admiration that he had collected, bartered, swindled, or stolen more ivory than all the other agents together?
It is very difficult to tell the truth, and young people are rarely capable of it.
I had to keep a lookout for the signs of dead wood we could cut up in the night for next day’s steaming. When you have to attend to things of that sort, to the mere incidents of the surface, the reality – the reality, I tell you – fades.
There was no sign on the face of nature of this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggested to me in desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupted phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs.
I seemed at one bound to have been transported into some lightless region of subtle horrors, where pure, uncomplicated savagery was a posi-tive relief, being something that had a right to exist – obviously – in the sunshine.
No, it’s impossible. It’s impossible to tell anyone what it feels like to be you. It’s impossible. We live the same way that we dream – alone.
And they all struggled and suffered and tormented one another and injured their souls, their eternal souls, for the attainment of benefits which endure but for an instant.
We had enlisted some of these chaps on the way for a crew. Fine fellows – cannibals – in their place. They were men one could work with, and I am grateful to them. And, after all, they did not eat each other before my face:.
When Germans start being accurate, there’s no end to it!
At such times his thoughts would be full of valorous deeds: he loved these dreams and the success of his imaginary achievements.