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Joseph Rudyard Kipling

The Jungle Book

The Jungle Book is a short collection of stories published by Kipling in various magazines between 1893 and 1894. Kipling spent both his early years and his late teenage years in India, and that upbringing is front and center in these stories — despite them being written while he was living in Vermont, in the United States.
The stories are fable-like, with most of them centering on the lives of anthropomorphised jungle animals and a few focused on human characters in India. The stories were popular from the start, and have since been adapted in countless ways in print, screen, and other media.
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Utisci

  • Michael Ralstonje podelio/la utisakпре 2 године

    I love this book it is my favorite book after I read this boom i am watching the movie after I read this book

  • Reader ☎️ not.prsn.je podelio/la utisakпрошле године

    Hi can you send ☑️ a shorter story

  • fira04je podelio/la utisakпре 2 године
    👍Vredna čitanja

    I was interesting!

Citati

  • Gurmehr Groverje citiraoпре 4 године
    , and it is un­sports­man­like to touch him. They say too—and it is true—that man-eaters be­come mangy, and lose their teeth.
    The purr grew louder, and ended in the full-throated “Aaarh!” of the tiger’s charge.
    Then there was a howl—an untiger­ish howl—from Shere Khan. “He has missed,” said Mother Wolf. “What is it?”
    Father Wolf ran out a few paces and heard Shere Khan mut­ter­ing and mum­bling sav­agely, as he tum­bled about in the scrub.
    “The fool has had no more sense than to jump at a wood­cut­ters’ camp­fi
  • Никол Тодороваje citiraoпре 1 сата
    But no sooner had he walked to the city wall than the mon­keys pulled him back, telling him that he did not know how happy he was, and pinch­ing him to make him grate­ful. He set his teeth and said noth­ing, but went with the shout­ing mon­keys to a ter­race above the red sand­stone reser­voirs that were half full of rain­wa­ter. There was a ru­ined sum­mer­house of white mar­ble in the cen­ter of the ter­race, built for queens dead a hun­dred years ago. The domed roof had half fallen in and blocked up the un­der­ground pas­sage from the palace by which the queens used to en­ter; but the walls were made of screens of mar­ble trac­ery—beau­ti­ful, milk-white fret­work, set with agates and cor­nelians and jasper and lapis lazuli, and as the moon came up be­hind the hill it shone through the open­work, cast­ing shad­ows on the ground like black-vel­vet em­broi­dery.
  • Никол Тодороваje citiraoпре 2 сата
    It was seven o’clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched him­self, yawned, and spread out his paws one af­ter the other to get rid of the sleepy feel­ing in the tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her four tum­bling, squeal­ing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the cave where they all lived. “Au­grh!” said Father Wolf, “it is time to hunt again”; and he was go­ing to spring down­hill when a lit­tle shadow with a bushy tail crossed the thresh­old and whined: “Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves; and good luck and strong white teeth go with the no­ble chil­dren, that they may never for­get the hun­gry in this world.”

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