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There is or was a stone preserved in the château of Torigni, in the arrondissement of Saint Lô, in the department of Manche, which contains the inscription " ORDO CIVITATIS VIDVCAS ".
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There and is
`` There isn't anything left to say, is there, Keith ''??
There was a measure of protection in its concrete walls and ceiling, but the engineers who hastily installed it were well aware that concrete is not much better than prayer, if as efficacious, when a direct hit comes along.
There is nothing for you '', Matsuo said.
There is much truth in both these charges, and not many Bourbons deny them.
There is unceasing pressure, but its sources are immediate.
There is little time for the men in the command centers to reflect about the implications of these clocks.
There is no room for error or waste.
There is a New South emerging, a South losing the folksy traditions of an agrarian society with the rapidity of an avalanche -- especially within recent decades.
There is a haunting resemblance between the notion of cause in Copernicus and in Freud.
There is still the remote possibility of planetoid collision.
There is the unexplainable, and there art raises questions that it does not attempt to answer ''.
There is nothing holy in wedlock.
There is no more `` plot '' than that ; ;
There is a legend ( Hawthorne records it in his `` English Notebooks ''.
It consists of fragmentary personal revelations, such as `` The Spark '': `` There is a spark dwells deep within my soul.
There is only one catch to this idyllic arrangement: Adam Smith was wrong.
Harris J. Griston, in Shaking The Dust From Shakespeare ( 216 ), writes: `` There is not a word spoken by Shylock which one would expect from a real Jew ''.
There is no justification for such misrepresentation.
There is no socially existential answer to the question.
There is no selectivity ; ;
There is probably some significance in the fact that two of the best incest stories I have encountered in recent years are burlesques of the incest myth.
There is no necessity, I suppose, to assert that Mr. Faulkner is Southern.
There is evidence to suggest, in fact, that many authors of the humorous sketches were prompted to write them -- or to make them as indelicate as they are -- by way of protesting against the artificial refinements which had come to dominate the polite letters of the South.
There may be a case of this sort, but it is not one we wish to argue, here.
There and was
There was more to this than Jones had told him.
There was no one but me.
There was a ragged volley.
There was only one place where Jake Carwood's description had gone badly awry: the peace and quiet.
There was brush, and stands of pine that no grass could grow under, and places so steep that cattle wouldn't stop to graze.
There was an artificial lake just out of sight in the first stand of trees, fed by a half dozen springs that popped out of the ground above the hillside orchard.
There was no chance.
There was no moon.
There a dozen giant monitors played their seventy-five-foot jets of water against the huge seam of tertiary gravel which was the mountainside.
There was only one place where the mountain might receive her -- that unnamed, unnameable pool harbored in its secret bosom.
There was a peculiar density about it, a thick substance that could be sensed but never identified, never actually perceived.
There was some idle talk, a listless discussion of this or that small happening during the day's drive.
There was to be no gunplay.
There was a light in Black's front room, but drawn curtains prevented any view of the interior.
There was no lock on the door, only an iron hook which he unfastened.
There was raw fury in his eyes, and the veins of his neck were swollen.
There was a feeling that this mission would be canceled like all the others and that this muddy wet dark world of combat would go on forever.
There was not enough room to make the usual vertical bomb run.
There was, of course, no way for the other planes to get by them.
There was no time to pick out a penny ; ;
There was a blur just under my focus of vision, a crash ; ;
There had been a good second or two during which my muffler had been blowing out, and now I was certain I'd seen her somewhere before.
There was something about the contour of her face, her smile that was like New Orleans sunshine, the way she held her head, the way she walked -- there was scarcely anything she did which did not fascinate me.
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