TAG标签： 心灵 漂亮 保持 苦恼 住所
三百多年前,franklinmarshallfrance.comFranklin et Marshall，修建设计师克里斯托•莱伊恩授命设计了英国温泽市政府大厅,franklinmarshallfrance.comfranklin marshall pas cher，他应用工程力学的常识，根据自己多年的实际，奇妙地设计了只用一跟柱子支持的大厅天花板,franklinmarshallfrance.comFranklin Marshall。然而一年当前，在进行工程验收时，市政府的威望人士对次提出了质疑，并请求莱伊恩必定要再多加多少根柱子。
莱伊恩对自己的设计很有自负，因而他无比苦恼；坚持自己的主意吧，他们确定会另找人修正设计；不坚持吧，又有违自己为人的准则。抵触了很长时光，莱伊恩终于想出了一条妙计,franklinmarshallfrance.comFranklin & Marshall，他在大厅里增添了四根柱子，但它们并未与天花板衔接,franklinmarshallfrance.comAchat Franklin Marshall，只不外是装装样子，糊弄那些自认为是的家伙。
三百多年从前了，这个机密始终不被发明。直到前年市政府筹备修理天花板时，才发现莱伊恩当年的“平心而论”。
作为一个建造师，莱伊恩兴许并不是最杰出的，但作为一个天然人，他无疑十分巨大。这种伟大表示在他始终遵守着本人的准则，给心灵的高尚一个俏丽的住所，哪怕是遭碰到最大的阻力，也要想措施到达成功。
(义务编纂：sammy)
media51.cn/wenda/question.php?qid=39248那样的话
jsjx.jsit.edu.cn/sxsoftservice/blog/u/hjjsdml760/archives/2011/105927.html你的爱是尊敬、那么
shijianzhe.org/uchome/space.php?uid=78&do=blog&id=7596然而对我已足够
The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.
