You searched for: disfrutar and be safe (Spanska - Engelska)

"publish and be free.
"publish and be free".

and be broadly based
and be broadly based

sit down and be quiet!
sit down and be quiet!

i know how to listen and be naughty simultaneously.
i know how to listen and be naughty simultaneously.

if you work, you have the right to be safe and paid fairly.”
if you work, you have the right to be safe and paid fairly.”

a stick or pole in a slanting or leaning position shall indicate this and be the sign.
a stick or pole in a slanting or leaning position shall indicate this and be the sign.

although the united states is supposed to be “safe” many young people...
although the united states is supposed to be “safe” many young people...

i think everybody should be free to love who they love and be with who they want to spend their life with!
i think everybody should be free to love who they love and be with who they want to spend their life with!

i want you to trust me..am real, though am far from you.but we can work things out,and be together my love..
you're cute,and beautiful baby

e) fichas de bolsillo (llamadas "step up and be safe ") con consejos sobre cómo pueden encarar estudiantes evitar la intimidación y protegerse;
(e) step up and be safe pocket cards;

schnabel claims that he's "aiming at an emotional state, a state that people can literally walk into and be engulfed.
schnabel claims that he's "aiming at an emotional state, a state that people can literally walk into and be engulfed".

i was in it for the process, and i really resented having to go out and do a performance for an audience, because the process stopped; it had to freeze and be the same every night.
i was in it for the process, and i really resented having to go out and do a performance for an audience, because the process stopped; it had to freeze and be the same every night.

* "alcohol: how to give it up and be glad you did", with philip tate ph.d. see sharp press, 1996.
* "alcohol: how to give it up and be glad you did", with philip tate ph.d. see sharp press, 1996.

“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. %e2%80%9cjane%20eyre%e2%80%9d%20by%20charlotte%20bront%c3%ab
“jane eyre” by charlotte brontë (fragment pags. 267 y 268. traductor juan g. de luaces; introducción marta pessarrodona) “farewell!” was the cry of my heart as i left him. despair added, “farewell for ever!”. that night i never thought to sleep; but a slumber fell on me as soon as i lay down in bed. i was transported in thought to the scenes of childhood: i dreamt i lay in the red-room at gateshead; that the night was dark, and my mind impressed with strange fears. the light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glindingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling. i lifted up my head to look: the roof resolved to clouds, high and dim; the gleam was such as the moon imparts to vapours she is about to sever. i watched her come—watched with the strangest anticipation; as though some word of doom were to be written on her disk. she broke forth as never moon yet burst from cloud: a hand first penetrated the sable folds and waved them away; then, not a moon, but a white human form shone in the azure, inclining a glorious brow earthward. it gazed and gazed on me. it spoke to my spirit: immeasurably distant was the tone, yet so near, it whispered in my heart— “my daughter, flee temptation.” “mother, i will.” so i answered after i had waked from the trance-like dream. it was yet night, but july nights are short: soon after midnight, dawn comes. “it cannot be too early to commence the task i have to fulfil,” thought i. i rose: i was dressed; for i had taken off nothing but my shoes. i knew where to find in my drawers some linen, a locket, a ring. in seeking these articles, i encountered the beads of a pearl necklace mr. rochester had forced me to accept a few days ago. i left that; it was not mine: it was the visionary bride’s who had melted in air. the other articles i made up in a parcel; my purse, containing twenty shillings (it was all i had), i put in my pocket: i tied on my straw bonnet, pinned my shawl, took the parcel and my slippers, which i would not put on yet, and stole from my room. “farewell, kind mrs. fairfax!” i whispered, as i glided past her door. “farewell, my darling adèle!” i said, as i glanced towards the nursery. no thought could be admitted of entering to embrace her. i had to deceive a fine ear: for aught i knew it might now be listening. i would have got past mr. rochester’s chamber without a pause; but my heart momentarily stopping its beat at that threshold, my foot was forced to stop also. no sleep was there: the inmate was walking restlessly from wall to wall; and again and again he sighed while i listened. there was a heaven—a temporary heaven—in this room for me, if i chose: i had but to go in and to say— “mr. rochester, i will love you and live with you through life till death,” and a fount of rapture would spring to my lips. i thought of this. that kind master, who could not sleep now, was waiting with impatience for day. he would send for me in the morning; i should be gone. he would have me sought for: vainly. he would feel himself forsaken; his love rejected: he would suffer; perhaps grow desperate. i thought of this too. my hand moved towards the lock: i caught it back, and glided on. drearily i wound my way downstairs: i knew what i had to do, and i did it mechanically. i sought the key of the side-door in the kitchen; i sought, too, a phial of oil and a feather; i oiled the key and the lock. i got some water, i got some bread: for perhaps i should have to walk far; and my strength, sorely shaken of late, must not break down. all this i did without one sound. i opened the door, passed out, shut it softly. dim dawn glimmered in the yard. the great gates were closed and locked; but a wicket in one of them was only latched. through that i departed: it, too, i shut; and now i was out of thornfield. a mile off, beyond the fields, lay a road which stretched in the contrary direction to millcote; a road i had never travelled, but often noticed, and wondered where it led: thither i bent my steps. no reflection was to be allowed now: not one glance was to be cast back; not even one forward. not one thought was to be given either to the past or the future. the first was a page so heavenly sweet—so deadly sad—that to read one line of it would dissolve my courage and break down my energy. the last was an awful blank: something like the world when the deluge was gone by. i skirted fields, and hedges, and lanes till after sunrise. i believe it was a lovely summer morning: i know my shoes, which i had put on when i left the house, were soon wet with dew. but i looked neither to rising sun, nor smiling sky, nor wakening nature. he who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge; of the disseverment of bone and vein; of the grave gaping at the end: and i thought of drear flight and homeless wandering—and oh! with agony i thought of what i left. i could not help it. i thought of him now—in his room—watching the sunrise; hoping i should soon come to say i would stay with him and be his. i longed to be his; i panted to return: it was not too late; i could yet spare him the bitter pang of bereavement. as yet my flight, i was sure, was undiscovered. i could go back and be his comforter—his pride; his redeemer from misery, perhaps from ruin. oh, that fear of his self-abandonment—far worse than my abandonment—how it goaded me! it was a barbed arrow-head in my breast; it tore me when i tried to extract it; it sickened me when remembrance thrust it farther in. birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. “jane eyre” by charlotte brontë