Usa "guidebook" in una frase
guidebook frasi di esempio
guidebook
1. guidebook said that it’s a “must” for the children
2. guidebook, your map and your compass that will lead
3. There is a great book on this cal ed Are You Poisoning Your Pets? A Guidebook to Pet
4. Sometimes I feel like I am collecting the lessons each faction has to teach me, and storing them in my mind like a guidebook for moving through the world
5. clasping sheaves of wheat to my bosom--became my guidebook to all that was
6. Stewart Underwood recalls the massive effort and complexity of dismantling the guidebook program by Procter & Gamble
7. This became a guidebook for a lot of African-American leaders, including Rev
8. No guidebook for the persecuted
9. Lives on the coast, was in town updating a guidebook he had written a few years ago
10. There was much done to it to change it from its original format which was intended to be a symbolic guidebook and positive reference for the people of the time
11. I finished writing my workaholics’ guidebook in August 2001
12. As we know, any machine has a guidebook (manual) which contains the instructions and the perfect way of using it
13. Grist for the Mill (with Steven Levine); The only Dance There Is; Remember Be Here Now; and Journey of Awakening: a Mediator’s Guidebook
14. You will learn things that you wouldn't get out of your guidebook as well as where these activities are cheaper
15. Besides, there is a guidebook (a way-map) in his other hand that leads him in order not to mistake the right path
16. Besides this, there is a guidebook (or a map) in their other hand that they follow so that they do not make a mistake and stray from the right path
17. where most treated the King James Bible as t h e guidebook to righteous living, and that to “spare
18. A blonde Swede brushed her teeth while studying the notices tacked to a decaying corkboard; a black backpacker with bright red braids kicked back reading a Lonely Planet guidebook; and a waif of a girl who looked like she couldn’t have been more than sixteen pecked out an e-mail at an aging computer terminal
19. The authors of my guidebook had warned me about the snow I might encounter in the High Sierras, and I’d come prepared
20. The guidebook assured me that in a regular year most of the snow would be melted by the time I hiked the High Sierras in late June and July
21. My feet on fire, my flesh rubbed raw, my muscles and joints aching, the finger that had been denuded of its skin when the bull charged me throbbing with a mild infection, my head broiling and abuzz with random bits of music, at the end of the blistering tenth day of my hike I practically crawled into a shady grove of cottonwoods and willows that my guidebook identified as Spanish Needle Creek
22. Unlike many of the places my guidebook listed that had falsely promising names that included the word creek, Spanish Needle Creek truly was one, or at least it was good enough for me—a few inches of water shimmered over the rocks on the creek’s shaded bed
23. On my trailside breaks that day, in the hundred-plus-degree heat, I flipped through the pages of my guidebook to see if it said anything about how to use an ice ax
24. Perhaps the impulse to purchase the PCT guidebook months before had been a primal grab for a cure, for the thread of my life that had been severed
25. My guidebook explained that the campground was another three miles farther on and I assumed that’s where I’d find them, along with Doug and Tom eventually
26. Greg paged through his guidebook at the end of the table near me, where I stood beside my pack, still marveling at its transformation
27. I wrote Lisa a letter, asking her to purchase and send me a PCT guidebook for the Oregon section of the trail using the bit of money I’d left with her, and reordering the boxes she’d be mailing me for the rest of California
28. “Or at least that’s what the guidebook says
29. I unfolded the guidebook pages and read what the authors of The Pacific Crest Trail, Volume 1: California had to say about this portion of the trail
30. So mostly I relied on the narrative descriptions in my guidebook, reading them over and over, matching them up with my maps, attempting to divine the intent and nuance of every word and phrase
31. I pushed from ridge to ridge, feeling relieved when I spotted bare ground in the patches where the sun had melted the snow clean away; quivering with joy when I identified a body of water or a particular rock formation that matched what the map reflected or the guidebook described
32. I’d read about Packer Lake Lodge in my guidebook days before
33. I paged through my guidebook instead, trying yet again to hatch a new plan
34. I returned to Christine’s car and studied my guidebook to get my bearings
35. After days of constant vigilance, I was tired of checking the guidebook and checking again
36. I read the fresh pages that I’d ripped from my guidebook as I walked the paved loops of the campground, straining to see the words in the dying light
37. I studied my guidebook as I ate my breakfast the next morning
38. So I almost fell out of my chair in joy and relief when Trina returned from the post office with the news that southbound hikers had written in the trail register that the tank mentioned in the guidebook was there and that it had water in it
39. I pulled the ripped-out guidebook pages from my shorts pocket and read them again
40. Instead, I took a short detour off the trail to Cassel, where my guidebook promised there would be a general store
41. I reached for my pack, got my guidebook, and found the address for Castle Crags
42. I’d read the section in my guidebook about the trail’s history the winter before, but it wasn’t until now—a couple of miles out of Burney Falls, as I walked in my flimsy sandals in the early evening heat—that the realization of what that story meant picked up force and hit me squarely in the chest: preposterous as it was, when Catherine Montgomery and Clinton Clarke and Warren Rogers and the hundreds of others who’d created the PCT had imagined the people who would walk that high trail that wound down the heights of our western mountains, they’d been imagining me
43. I scanned the maps in my guidebook for the hundredth time that day, feeling frustrated and uncertain
44. My guidebook explained that, as usual, I wouldn’t exactly be arriving at a town
45. Afterwards, Rex went for a swim and Stacy and I walked without our packs down the steep trail toward a jeep road our guidebook said was there
46. I had a new guidebook now
47. My first night out of Ashland, I paged through the book before falling asleep, reading bits here and there, the same as I had with the California guidebook in the desert on my first night on the PCT
48. I let Portland roll around in my mind through the days, as I passed out of the Sky Lakes Wilderness into the Oregon Desert—a high dusty flat plain of lodgepole pines that my guidebook explained had been smattered with lakes and streams before they were buried beneath the tons of pumice and ash that had fallen on them when Mount Mazama erupted
49. My guidebook had been correct: my first sight of it was one of disbelief
50. A couple of days after I’d said goodbye to the Three Young Bucks, I took a detour a mile off the trail to the Elk Lake Resort, a place mentioned in my guidebook
