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Henry Ford – In Collaboration With Samuel Crowther
0On May 31, 1921, the Ford Motor Company turned out Car No. 5,000,000. It is out in my museum along with the gasoline buggy that I began work on thirty years before and which first ran satisfactorily along in the spring of 1893. I was running it when the bobolinks came to Dearborn and they always come on April 2nd. There is all the difference in the world in the appearance of the two vehicles and almost as much difference in construction and materials, but in fundamentals the two are curiously alike—except that the old buggy has on it a few wrinkles that we have not yet quite adopted in our modern car. For that first car or buggy, even though it had but two cylinders, would make twenty miles an hour and run sixty miles on the three gallons of gas the little tank held and is as good to-day as the day it was built. The development in methods of manufacture and in materials has been greater than the development in basic design. The whole design has been refined; the present Ford car, which is the “Model T,” has four cylinders and a self starter—it is in every way a more convenient and an easier riding car. It is simpler than the first car. But almost every point in it may be found also in the first car. The changes have been brought about through experience in the making and not through any change in the basic principle—which I take to be an important fact demonstrating that, given a good idea to start with, it is better to concentrate on perfecting it than to hunt around for a new idea. One idea at a time is about as much as any one can handle.
It was life on the farm that drove me into devising ways and means to better transportation. I was born on July 30, 1863, on a farm at Dearborn, Michigan, and my earliest recollection is that, considering the results, there was too much work on the place. That is the way I still feel about farming. There is a legend that my parents were very poor and that the early days were hard ones. Certainly they were not rich, but neither were they poor. As Michigan farmers went, we were prosperous. The house in which I was born is still standing, and it and the farm are part of my present holding.
There was too much hard hand labour on our own and all other farms of the time. Even when very young I suspected that much might somehow be done in a better way. That is what took me into mechanics—although my mother always said that I was born a mechanic. I had a kind of workshop with odds and ends of metal for tools before I had anything else. In those days we did not have the toys of to-day; what we had were home made. My toys were all tools—they still are! And every fragment of machinery was a treasure.
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Hope(less)
0I stood at the entrance of the park while the bus pulled away with a screech of hydraulics. Dusk had already settled, casting shadows. Before walking my usual path through the park, I opened my senses to make sure it was as deserted as it seemed.
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Journey to Centre of the Earth
0What human power could restore me to the light of the sun by rending asunder the huge arches of rock which united over my head, buttressing each other with impregnable strength? Who could place my feet on the right path, and bring me back to my company?
“Oh, my uncle!” burst from my lips in the tone of despair.
It was my only word of reproach, for I knew how much he must be suffering in seeking me, wherever he might be.
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Kalinski Art – Avalon and Robots
0Jan produced hundreds of oil and acrylic paintings and illustrations which globally reside in galleries, private collections and occasionally find their way back into the public domain through art auctions. In fact he was generous to many by giving away lots of his paintings and featured in this collection are works published for the first time and many that have never been seen before.
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Peter Pan (but not as you know it!)
0Archie shook a leg and caught up. Peter holds a folded umbrella in his hand as though it were a walking stick. Trees cast large shadows. White swans guiding gracefully over the Serpentine. It was the perfect day for a walk. Clouds covered the sky from one horizon to the other. Peter wandered aimlessly. All the while listening to the birds singing. His footsteps sounding upon the gravel path.
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Primrose Cottage
0The villagers of Muddlecombe-cum-Snoring were perplexed as load of strangers went into Primrose Cottage: the Head of the Russian Mafia; his minder Boris “Seven Bellies” Slobovitch; two undercover CID policewomen; a London Solicitor and a young fresh Indian doctor.
And what was Captain Creighky O?Riley MC doing on a murder charge in Moscow together with the village idiot “Dense” Dimmock? And what was his Mum, Mrs Dimmock, going to do for her committee meetings in lieu of Primrose Cottage?
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Readers Are Leaders: Reviving The Reading Culture In Our Nation
0Knowledge is Power! A knowledgeable person cannot be easily deceived. Someone who doesn’t read wallows in ignorance and is like a time bomb waiting to explode. Someone once said, “Your position in five years from now will be determined by two things: first, the books you read; and second, the friends you keep.” There are three categories of people in life where reading is concerned: Those who don’t read, those who buy books but don’t read it, and those who buy and read the book. If I may ask: to which category do you belong? A man who can read but chooses not to read, is not better than a man who cannot read. The world belongs to those who “know”.
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Scary Mary
0Mary just wants to be left alone, but the cheerleaders, jocks, and ghosts won’t stop harassing her. When new student Cyrus starts school, he tries to befriend her. That’s a rare thing for the school freak, but her unusual abilities put a rift in their budding friendship when she has to tell him that his home is haunted and not by Casper, the friendly ghost.
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The adventures of “Dense” Dimmock and Boris “Seven Bellies” Slobovitch
0Once upon a time in a far off land called Azerbaijan during the time of Perestroika, whoever she was, a young Scottish petro chemical engineer was minding his own business drinking a glass of watered down vodka in the “Pink Pussy” night club in downtown Baku.
And on a lovely summer’s afternoon in a quaint chocolate box village somewhere in the middle of England called Muddlecombe-cum-Snoring, Boris, a retired KGB assassin and Dense, the village idiot working for British Intelligence, were enjoying a pint of their favourite bitter in their local pub minding their own business.
So, just as everybody was starting to live happily ever after, who should turn up, yes, the shit fairy!
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The Edge of Doom
0The introduction of Jane into the love twist between her and John threw her out of the picture. She was determined to let go, to move away from the pain of seeing the love of her life with another woman. But where was she headed? A heavily pregnant 20 year old? To life or to destruction?