Word: mountain
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Still, to anyone familiar with the Disneyland experience elsewhere, the Hong Kong facility has its advantages: In Tomorrowland, the wait-time to get onto the park's single thrill ride, Space Mountain, hovered at around five minutes - a kid's fantasy, even if that's a company's nightmare. Kyle Smith, a casino performer in the nearby gambling mecca of Macau, waits for his friends near the ride's entrance. "I've been away from the States, so having this familiar place is nice," says the 24-year-old, visiting for the third time in less than a year...
...they are seeping into verbal communications,” she said. English professor Lawrence Buell echoed a similar sentiment, stating that he hasn’t noticed a presence of e-mail speak in his students’ formal writing. “This is the top of the mountain peak that you’re surveying as far as potential quality and smarts of the student group,” he said. “Maybe [Harvard] is unrepresentative of American human youth.” Richard Sterling, who chaired the advisory board for College Board?...
...years. “[Over time] they changed it because fewer students have a command of the language and the time to do it,” Taxin says. But translating from an ancient language wasn’t the only rock the HCC had to roll up the mountain. “We had some trouble with the male parts because there were a lot of all-male shows going up,” said Taxin, referring to the fact that all four main roles in “Adelphoe” are male characters. Still, Taxin finds that...
...ear.Still holding her pinned with one hand, he slid his other hand beneath her petticoats. He trailed his thumb slowly up her leg and began tracing lazy circles on the inside of her thigh. His fingers were rough and callused against her creamy skin.“Yes, my mountain flower,” she moaned. The Stable Boy’s tongue was everywhere.Just when she could no longer bear it, The Stable Boy made a guttural utterance, lifted Felicity, and tossed her over his shoulder. Her derrière bobbed helplessly in the air as he strode...
...live in a hundred-year-old house overlooking the harbor, the straits, and the bay. From the bedroom window, I see an island of ghosts. It is a peaked mountain shaped like a peasant's conical hat. A hundred years ago, the island was the quarantine station for Chinese immigrants, some detained so long they wrote poems about loneliness. No one lives on the island anymore. At night, it is a purple shadow. Sometimes I think about the young woman whose father built her this house a hundred years ago. She must have seen lanterns blaze on the island...