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on the look
tingnan ang brilliant side
Last Update: 2023-08-20
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the look is sticky
malagkit ang tingin
Last Update: 2021-05-25
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what's the look?
ano ang tungaw?
Last Update: 2020-06-09
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the look poem by sara teasdale
baliwayway tula sa pamamagitan na kumakawing
Last Update: 2017-10-07
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i miss the look on your face.
tawag ka sakin para makita ko mukha mo
Last Update: 2024-05-10
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i'm not looking at the look
hindi ako maganda, hindi din ako bumabase sa itsura importante alam kong mahalaga at mahal mo ako
Last Update: 2022-10-27
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i hope the look is fair is not unfair
i hope the look is fair is not unfair.
Last Update: 2022-07-12
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not the looks
hindi ito kung ano ang hitsura nito
Last Update: 2021-07-01
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i saw the look on that tight ends face the day after prom.
nakita ko itsura ng mukha nung tight end pagkatapos ng prom.
Last Update: 2016-10-27
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the looks and personality
personality
Last Update: 2022-09-15
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just because of the looks
dahil lang sa
Last Update: 2021-09-26
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protesters in estancia town meanwhile decried the continuing delay of compensation for residents affected by the oil spill caused by the running aground of a power barge at the height of typhoon haiyan.
samantala, pinuna ng mga nagprotesta sa bayan ng estancia ang nagpapatuloy na pagkaantala ng kompensasyon para sa mga residente na naapektuhan ng pagtagas ng langis dulot ng pagsadsad sa lupa ng isang lantsa ng kuryente sa kasagsagan ng bagyong haiyan.
Last Update: 2016-02-24
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phishing is typically carried out by email spoofing or instant messaging, and it often directs users to enter personal information at a fake website, the look and feel of which are identical to the legitimate one and the only difference is the url of the website in concern.
ang phishing ay isang uri ng online na panloloko kung saan sinusubukan ng isang taong linlangin ang biktima sa paglahad ng mga sensitibong detalye katulad ng isang username, password o mga detalye ng credit card, sa pamamagitan ng pagpapanggap bilang mapagkakatiwalaang entity sa isang elektronikong pakikipag ugnayan.
Last Update: 2018-02-06
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"the story of an hour" kate chopin (1894) knowing that mrs. mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death. it was her sister josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. her husband's friend richards was there, too, near her. it was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with brently mallard's name leading the list of "killed." he had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message. she did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. she wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. when the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. she would have no one follow her. there stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul. she could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. the delicious breath of rain was in the air. in the street below a peddler was crying his wares. the notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. there were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window. she sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. she was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. but now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. it was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought. there was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. what was it? she did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. but she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. she was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. when she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. she said it over and over under hte breath: "free, free, free!" the vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. they stayed keen and bright. her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. she did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. a clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. she knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. but she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely. and she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome. there would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. there would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. a kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination. and yet she had loved him--sometimes. often she had not. what did it matter! what could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being! "free! body and soul free!" she kept whispering. josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. "louise, open the door! i beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. what are you doing, louise? for heaven's sake open the door." "go away. i am not making myself ill." no; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window. her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. she breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. it was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long. she arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. there was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of victory. she clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. richards stood waiting for them at the bottom. some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. it was brently mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. he had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. he stood amazed at josephine's piercing cry; at richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife. when the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills.
Last Update: 2024-05-05
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