English example sentences with "Arthur"

Arthur is one of the students that redid their year.
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Arthur was in his early fifties.
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President Arthur vetoed the bill.
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Chester Arthur had been a successful lawyer.
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President Arthur wanted to reduce the tariffs.
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Kate Middleton is now Her Royal Highness Princess William Arthur Philip Louis, Duchess of Cambridge, Countess of Strathearn, Baroness Carrickfergus, Master of Arts.
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"You might come to our garden party on Wednesday fortnight." "Quite impossible," Arthur Berkeley answered.
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Morgan le Fay was a powerful sorceress and the half-sister of King Arthur.
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Mordred betrayed King Arthur.
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Uther Pendragon was the father of King Arthur.
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I like "The Appassionata", played by Arthur Rubinstein.
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Arthur isn't as happy as Mike.
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It's been so hectic around here lately I don't know whether I'm Arthur or Martha.
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It is as impossible for man to demonstrate the existence of God as it would be for even Sherlock Holmes to demonstrate the existence of Arthur Conan Doyle.
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In 1920, British astronomer Arthur Eddington proposed that the Sun and other stars are powered by nuclear reactions.
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Arthur is playing the bad guy.
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I auditioned for Arthur Fox.
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"Arthur would rather that we spoke the truth," the girl answered firmly.
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Poor Alice was so frightened that she shrunk away from him, but he caught her by the wrist and endeavoured to draw her towards the door. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room.
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When I did look up, I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand.
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My brothers' names are Axel, Hatus and Arthur Kalel.
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Arthur didn't stop talking to Jennifer.
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The Gairdner Foundation, established in 1957 by James Arthur Gairdner, is Canada's most prestigious science award.
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Arthur Brand is an art detective.
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Arthur Brand is known as the Indiana Jones of the Art World.
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Arthur just stares at a blank wall for meditation.
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Arthur Bernardes was elected senator in the year nineteen hundred and twenty-seven.
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"Arthur, one of my hobbies is geofiction." "Jon, let me guess. It's about creating your own imaginary land, with maps." "Yeah, you sort of get the idea."
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Igider translated into the Kabyle language well-known poems such as Jugurtha and The Drunken boat by Arthur Rimbaud, El Desdichado by Gérard de Nerval, The Lake and The isolation by Alphonse de Lamartine, The poetic art by Paul Verlaine, Sea Breeze by Stéphane Mallarmé, The Clock by Charles Baudelaire, Tomorrow at dawn by Victor Hugo and other poems by other poets.

Arthur plays the role of the villain.

You're a pain in the arse, Arthur.

Arthur C. Clarke was a British sci-fi author, who lived to his last years in Sri Lanka, a Buddhist country. He thought, though, that "3" was Hindu, and he wrote about threesomes in some of his novels.

Arthur C. Clarke, a British, and Samuel R. Delany, a mulatto American, both wrote sci-fi literature envisioning centuries of colonization within the Solar System. Although they also wrote about interstellar travel, they thought that interstellar travel would be difficult for humans to attain and would take a long time to attain.

Arthur Lee Samuel, an American computer scientist, was a pioneer in the fields of computer games, artificial intelligence, and machine learning.

The knighted sci-fi writer Arthur C. Clarke spent his last years in Sri Lanka, where there are many Buddhists and Hindus.

The novel Childhood's End by Arthur C. Clarke has intrigued me for a long time. Sinister ships from outer space appear over the cities of Earth. Soon, the outworlders administer human affairs. They help humankind to its next level.

Arthur C. Clarke envisioned radical stages in the evolution of a civilized species, from biological, to machine postbiological, and finally, to incorporeality.

Some sci-fi writers, such as Arthur C. Clarke, did not envision a world war, but the continuing saga of space exploration and colonization.

Amongst sci-fi authors, Arthur C. Clarke and Samuel R. Delany did not write about a future big war on just Earth, but Delany wrote a story that entailed a damaging war between Earth and its colonies elsewhere in the Solar System.

Samuel R. Delany is a mulatto American sci-fi writer. His interesting writings often entail sexual issues in an outer space setting. Whilst the writings of the British knighted sci-fi writer Arthur C. Clarke are less titillating, he ventures into cryptic sexual symbolisms.

Bratislav, of Croatian ancestry, is not a sci-fi fan, but he is intrigued by my anecdotes about Piers Anthony's Cluster stories about spy technology wherein the astral body can be extricated out of the physical body and transmigrated into a physical body of an extraterrestrial on some distant world, or about Arthur C. Clarke's novel Imperial Earth wherein the Makenzie (no "c") family become wealthy by mining methane on Saturn's moon Titan and propagate themselves generationally by cloning, the clone cloning himself. Bratislav's ufology is not like my sci-fi. Sci-fi is fictional dramatization, but Bratislav is looking for something factual in ufology. He is searching for a reality.

It is now the 26th of November of 2013. I am undecided if I am more like Arthur C. Clarke, Samuel R. Delany, Olaf Stapledon, Gargantia on the Verdurous Planet, or Larry Niven, but I prefer these scenarios depicted as futurology. Somewhere amongst them is the near truth.

"Eh! hello, who's there?" and Arthur jumps from his warm bed, and starts, shivering, to open the window-shutter; but ere he can reach it, another thump from without, and the rattle of a broken snow-ball on the tin roof of the veranda greets his ears.

Arthur Rubinstein playing Chopin and Glenn Gould playing Bach – for me, the ultimate in piano music.

Tom Wilkinson plays the passionate, bullheaded Arthur, who teeters between brilliance and lunacy.

Kalman encouraged the children to watch "Arthur."

The 2018 Nobel Prize for Physics has been awarded to Arthur Ashkin of the United States, France's Gerard Mourou and Donna Strickland of Canada for their "groundbreaking inventions in the field of laser physics."

In 1960, Goulet achieved stardom for his role in the Lerner and Loewe musical "Camelot", where he starred alongside Richard Burton as King Arthur and Julie Andrews as Queen Guenevere. Goulet played a French knight, Sir Lancelot, who falls in love with Guenevere. His role in "The Happy Time" earned Goulet the 1968 Tony Award for Best Actor in a Musical. In 1993, Goulet appeared in a Broadway revival of "Camelot," that time in the role of King Arthur.

If extraterrestrials were sufficiently advanced—say, possessing technology or abilities far beyond human comprehension—some might perceive them as gods. This idea echoes Arthur C. Clarke’s famous third law: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." Historically, humans have sometimes deified beings or phenomena they couldn’t explain, like natural forces or powerful rulers (e.g., pharaohs or emperors). An extraterrestrial species with mastery over space-time, biology, or consciousness could inspire awe and worship, especially if they intervened in human affairs.

After a dinner of 4 fresh green figs, some refrigerated pickled fig pieces, and microwaved spaghetti Alfredo, eaten on the balcony under a blue sky, I sipped my iced lime water whilst watching the still street below and the big tall conifer beyond. I've been talking to Michael the Dane-French ufologist in recent days about lots of things: My university was like a vacation of smart people, Zen gardens, stone libraries, and so forth. It's different from the suburbia here. We wondered if people staring addictively for hours on their smartphone would ruin their "mind's eye"—inhibiting one's own imagination. He noticed that their device distraction did ruin social gatherings in cafés. I just people-watch and meditate in the café: It reminds me of Arthur the Japanese-American software engineer in my software workplace in Japan; he could just sit on a counter whilst just staring at a wall for a long time. Lately, I've been asking Artificial Intelligence to write ballads and travelogues in Elizabethan English and nostalgic Tagalog. I pick blackberries on the walking way to Tim Hortons café: "¡Moras!" (Blackberries!), I often exclaim in Spanish. An Ecuadorian friend has "Mora" as his surname. He is partly Amerindian, maybe Incan. Today is the 3rd of August of 2025, here on Lulu Island. I went to Kin's Farm Market to buy a bag of 4 lemons, not limes, this time.

It's Lulu Island, 3 August 2025. After supper—green figs tender with sunlight, sweet vinegar from yesterday’s pickled jar, and reheated Alfredo—I sat on the balcony and watched the conifer. Stillness below, a street without cars, without haste. My lime water, iced, caught the light. Michael, the Franco-Danish ufologist, has been in my conversations lately. We speak of inner things: the trance of smart devices, the mind’s eye dwindling. He says cafés aren’t cafés anymore. People forget how to look, how to linger. I tell him of Arthur in Japan—how he'd stare into blank walls like a monk gazing at emptiness. Lately I ask machines to speak like poets, and they do. They mimic Elizabethan verses and the old wistful lilt of Tagalog ballads. I pick blackberries along the path to Tim Hortons. "¡Moras!" I shout like a child. My friend Mora, whose blood flows with Andes mist, would smile. Today, I bought lemons. I meant limes, but lemons are all right. / blackberry morning— / a fig's ghost on my fingers / and the street still sleeps