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1:Now gathering Now scattering Fireflies over the river. ~ Natsume Soseki, 1867-1916,

2:mushrooms gathering on an old maple stump autumn rain ~ Ogawa,

3:As a bee gathering nectar does not harm or disturb the color and fragrance of the flower; so do the wise move through the world." ~ Buddha,

4:now gathering now scattering fireflies over the river ~ Soseki, @BashoSociety

5:Bare your forehead, waiting for the first blessing of light, and sing with the bird of the morning in glad faith. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fruit Gathering,

6:I never knew a sorrow that an hour of reading could not assuage, a great man had once said. Let's put it to the test. ~ Anna Gavalda, Hunting and Gathering,

7:mushrooms gathering on an old maple stump autumn rain ~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety

8:a gathering in the red leaves mountain deer ~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety

9:a gathering of stars children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren ~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety

10:I saw you last night in the gathering, but could not take you openly in my arms, so I put my lips next to your cheek, pretending to talk privately. ~ Jalaluddin Rumi, @Sufi_Path

11:And by sleep the human example teaches us that we mean not a suspension of consciousness, but its gathering inward away from conscious physical response to the impacts of external things. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine 1.10-14,

12:The method of gathering of the mind is not an easy one. It is better to watch and separate oneself from the thoughts till one becomes aware of a quiet space within into which they come from outside. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,

13:Those who have succeeded in attaching or detaching their minds at will have succeeded in Pratyahara, which means gathering towards, checking the outgoing powers of the mind, freeing it from the thralldom of the senses. When we can do this, we shall really possess character; then alone we shall have taken a long step towards freedom. Before that, we are mere machines. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

14:Concentration is a gathering together of the consciousness and either centralising at one point or turning on a single object, e.g. the Divine-there can also be a gathered condition throughout the whole being, not at a point. In meditation it is not indispensable to gather like this, one can simply remain with a quiet mind thinking of one subject or observing what comes in the consciousness and dealing with it.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,

15:The supramental Yoga is at once an ascent towards God and a descent of Godhead into the embodied nature.    The ascent can only be achieved by a one-centered all-gathering upward aspiration of the soul and mind and life and body; the descent can only come by a call of the whole being towards the infinite and the eternal Divine. If this call and this aspiration are there, or if by any means they can be born and grow constantly and seize all the nature, then and then only a supramental uplifting and transformation becomes possible.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Essays Divine And Human, [T2],

16:What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

17:all is the method of God's workings; all life is Yoga :::    Thirdly, the divine Power in us uses all life as the means of this integral Yoga. Every experience and outer contact with our world-environment, however trifling or however disastrous, is used for the work, and every inner experience, even to the most repellent suffering or the most humiliating fall, becomes a step on the path to perfection. And we recognize in ourselves with opened eyes the method of God in the world, His purpose of light in the obscure, of the might in the weak and fallen, of delight in what is grievous and miserable. We see the divine method to be the same in the lower and in the higher working; only in the one it is pursued tardily and obscurely through the subconscious in Nature, in the other it becomes swift and self-conscious and the instrument confesses the hand of the Master. All life is a Yoga of Nature seeking to manifest God within itself. Yoga marks the stage at which this effort becomes capable of self-awareness and there for right completion in the individual. It is a gathering up and concentration of the movements dispersed and loosely combined in the lower evolution.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Conditions of the Synthesis [47] [T1],

18:This is the real sense and drive of what we see as evolution: the multiplication and variation of forms is only the means of its process. Each gradation contains the possibility and the certainty of the grades beyond it: the emergence of more and more developed forms and powers points to more perfected forms and greater powers beyond them, and each emergence of consciousness and the conscious beings proper to it enables the rise to a greater consciousness beyond and the greater order of beings up to the ultimate godheads of which Nature is striving and is destined to show herself capable. Matter developed its organised forms until it became capable of embodying living organisms; then life rose from the subconscience of the plant into conscious animal formations and through them to the thinking life of man. Mind founded in life developed intellect, developed its types of knowledge and ignorance, truth and error till it reached the spiritual perception and illumination and now can see as in a glass dimly the possibility of supermind and a truthconscious existence. In this inevitable ascent the mind of Light is a gradation, an inevitable stage. As an evolving principle it will mark a stage in the human ascent and evolve a new type of human being; this development must carry in it an ascending gradation of its own powers and types of an ascending humanity which will embody more and more the turn towards spirituality, capacity for Light, a climb towards a divinised manhood and the divine life.    In the birth of the mind of Light and its ascension into its own recognisable self and its true status and right province there must be, in the very nature of things as they are and very nature of the evolutionary process as it is at present, two stages. In the first, we can see the mind of Light gathering itself out of the Ignorance, assembling its constituent elements, building up its shapes and types, however imperfect at first, and pushing them towards perfection till it can cross the border of the Ignorance and appear in the Light, in its own Light. In the second stage we can see it developing itself in that greater natural light, taking its higher shapes and forms till it joins the supermind and lives as its subordinate portion or its delegate.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Essays In Philosophy And Yoga, Mind of Light, 587,

19:Ekajaṭī or Ekajaṭā, (Sanskrit: "One Plait Woman"; Wylie: ral gcig ma: one who has one knot of hair),[1] also known as Māhacīnatārā,[2] is one of the 21 Taras. Ekajati is, along with Palden Lhamo deity, one of the most powerful and fierce goddesses of Vajrayana Buddhist mythology.[1][3] According to Tibetan legends, her right eye was pierced by the tantric master Padmasambhava so that she could much more effectively help him subjugate Tibetan demons. Ekajati is also known as "Blue Tara", Vajra Tara or "Ugra Tara".[1][3] She is generally considered one of the three principal protectors of the Nyingma school along with Rāhula and Vajrasādhu (Wylie: rdo rje legs pa). Often Ekajati appears as liberator in the mandala of the Green Tara. Along with that, her ascribed powers are removing the fear of enemies, spreading joy, and removing personal hindrances on the path to enlightenment. Ekajati is the protector of secret mantras and "as the mother of the mothers of all the Buddhas" represents the ultimate unity. As such, her own mantra is also secret. She is the most important protector of the Vajrayana teachings, especially the Inner Tantras and termas. As the protector of mantra, she supports the practitioner in deciphering symbolic dakini codes and properly determines appropriate times and circumstances for revealing tantric teachings. Because she completely realizes the texts and mantras under her care, she reminds the practitioner of their preciousness and secrecy.[4] Düsum Khyenpa, 1st Karmapa Lama meditated upon her in early childhood. According to Namkhai Norbu, Ekajati is the principal guardian of the Dzogchen teachings and is "a personification of the essentially non-dual nature of primordial energy."[5] Dzogchen is the most closely guarded teaching in Tibetan Buddhism, of which Ekajati is a main guardian as mentioned above. It is said that Sri Singha (Sanskrit: Śrī Siṃha) himself entrusted the "Heart Essence" (Wylie: snying thig) teachings to her care. To the great master Longchenpa, who initiated the dissemination of certain Dzogchen teachings, Ekajati offered uncharacteristically personal guidance. In his thirty-second year, Ekajati appeared to Longchenpa, supervising every ritual detail of the Heart Essence of the Dakinis empowerment, insisting on the use of a peacock feather and removing unnecessary basin. When Longchenpa performed the ritual, she nodded her head in approval but corrected his pronunciation. When he recited the mantra, Ekajati admonished him, saying, "Imitate me," and sang it in a strange, harmonious melody in the dakini's language. Later she appeared at the gathering and joyously danced, proclaiming the approval of Padmasambhava and the dakinis.[6] ~ Wikipedia,

20:Concentration is a gathering together of the consciousness and either centralising at one point or turning on a single object, e.g., the Divine; there can be also be a gathered condition throughout the whole being, not at a point. In meditation it is not indispensable to gather like this, one can simply remain with a quiet mind thinking of one subject or observing what comes in the consciousness and dealing with it. ... Of this true consciousness other than the superficial there are two main centres, one in the heart (not the physical heart, but the cardiac centre in the middle of the chest), one in the head. The concentration in the heart opens within and by following this inward opening and going deep one becomes aware of the soul or psychic being, the divine element in the individual. This being unveiled begins to come forward, to govern the nature, to turn it and all its movements towards the Truth, towards the Divine, and to call down into it all that is above. It brings the consciousness of the Presence, the dedication of the being to the Highest and invites the descent into our nature of a greater Force and Consciousness which is waiting above us. To concentrate in the heart centre with the offering of oneself to the Divine and the aspiration for this inward opening and for the Presence in the heart is the first way and, if it can be done, the natural beginning; for its result once obtained makes the spiritual path far more easy and safe than if one begins the other ways.    That other way is the concentration in the head, in the mental centre. This, if it brings about the silence of the surface mind, opens up an inner, larger, deeper mind within which is more capable of receiving spiritual experience and spiritual knowledge. But once concentrated here one must open the silent mental consciousness upward and in the end it rises beyond the lid which has so long kept it tied in the body and finds a centre above the head where it is liberated into the Infinite. There it begins to come into contact with the universal Self, the Divine Peace, Light, Power, Knowledge, Bliss, to enter into that and become that, to feel the descent of these things into the nature. To concentrate in the head with the aspiration for quietude in the mind and the realisation of the Self and Divine above is the second way of concentration. It is important, however, to remember that the concentration of the consciousness in the head in only a preparation for its rising to the centre above; otherwise, one may get shut up in one's own mind and its experiences or at best attain only to a reflection of the Truth above instead of rising into the spiritual transcendence to live there. For some the mental concentration is easier, for some the concentration in the heart centre; some are capable of doing both alternatively - but to begin with the heart centre, if one can do it, is the most desirable.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,

21:DHARANA NOW that we have learnt to observe the mind, so that we know how it works to some extent, and have begun to understand the elements of control, we may try the result of gathering together all the powers of the mind, and attempting to focus them on a single point.    We know that it is fairly easy for the ordinary educated mind to think without much distraction on a subject in which it is much interested. We have the popular phrase, "revolving a thing in the mind"; and as long as the subject is sufficiently complex, as long as thoughts pass freely, there is no great difficulty. So long as a gyroscope is in motion, it remains motionless relatively to its support, and even resists attempts to distract it; when it stops it falls from that position. If the earth ceased to spin round the sun, it would at once fall into the sun. The moment then that the student takes a simple subject - or rather a simple object - and imagines it or visualizes it, he will find that it is not so much his creature as he supposed. Other thoughts will invade the mind, so that the object is altogether forgotten, perhaps for whole minutes at a time; and at other times the object itself will begin to play all sorts of tricks.    Suppose you have chosen a white cross. It will move its bar up and down, elongate the bar, turn the bar oblique, get its arms unequal, turn upside down, grow branches, get a crack around it or a figure upon it, change its shape altogether like an Amoeba, change its size and distance as a whole, change the degree of its illumination, and at the same time change its colour. It will get splotchy and blotchy, grow patterns, rise, fall, twist and turn; clouds will pass over its face. There is no conceivable change of which it is incapable. Not to mention its total disappearance, and replacement by something altogether different!    Any one to whom this experience does not occur need not imagine that he is meditating. It shows merely that he is incapable of concentrating his mind in the very smallest degree. Perhaps a student may go for several days before discovering that he is not meditating. When he does, the obstinacy of the object will infuriate him; and it is only now that his real troubles will begin, only now that Will comes really into play, only now that his manhood is tested. If it were not for the Will-development which he got in the conquest of Asana, he would probably give up. As it is, the mere physical agony which he underwent is the veriest trifle compared with the horrible tedium of Dharana.    For the first week it may seem rather amusing, and you may even imagine you are progressing; but as the practice teaches you what you are doing, you will apparently get worse and worse. Please understand that in doing this practice you are supposed to be seated in Asana, and to have note-book and pencil by your side, and a watch in front of you. You are not to practise at first for more than ten minutes at a time, so as to avoid risk of overtiring the brain. In fact you will probably find that the whole of your willpower is not equal to keeping to a subject at all for so long as three minutes, or even apparently concentrating on it for so long as three seconds, or three-fifths of one second. By "keeping to it at all" is meant the mere attempt to keep to it. The mind becomes so fatigued, and the object so incredibly loathsome, that it is useless to continue for the time being. In Frater P.'s record we find that after daily practice for six months, meditations of four minutes and less are still being recorded.    ~ Aleister Crowley, Liber ABA,

22:There is a true movement of the intellect and there is a wrong movement: one helps, the other hinders." Questions and Answers 1929 - 1931 (5 May 1929)    What is the true movement of the intellect? What exactly do you understand by intellect? Is it a function of the mind or is it a part of the human being? How do you understand it?    A function of the mind. A function of the mind? Then it is that part of the mind which deals with ideas; is that what you mean? Not ideas, Mother. Not ideas? What else, then? Ideas, but... There is a part of the mind which receives ideas, ideas that are formed in a higher mind. Still, I don't know, it is a question of definition and one must know what exactly you mean to say. It is intellect that puts ideas in the form of thoughts, gathering and organising the thoughts at the same time. There are great ideas which lie beyond the ordinary human mentality, which can put on all possible forms. These great ideas tend to descend, they want to manifest themselves in precise forms. These precise forms are the thoughts; and generally it is this, I believe, that is meant by intellect: it is this that gives thought-form to the ideas. And then, there is also the organisation of the thoughts among themselves. All that has to be put in a certain order, otherwise one becomes incoherent. And after that, there is the putting of these thoughts to use for action; that is still another movement. To be able to say what the true movement is, one must know first of all which movement is being spoken about. You have a body, well, you don't expect your body to walk on its head or its hands nor to crawl flat on its belly nor indeed that the head should be down and the legs up in the air. You give to each limb a particular occupation which is its own. This appears to you quite natural because that is the habit; otherwise, the very little ones do not know what to do, neither with their legs nor with their hands nor with their heads; it is only little by little that they learn that. Well, it is the same thing with the mind's functions. You must know which part of the mind you are speaking about, what its own function is, and then only can you say what its true movement is and what is not its true movement. For example, for the part which has to receive the master ideas and change them into thought, its true movement is to be open to the master ideas, receive them and change them into as exact, as precise, as expressive a thought as possible. For the part of the mind which has the charge of organising all these thoughts among themselves so that they might form a coherent and classified whole, not a chaos, the true movement is just to make the classification according to a higher logic and in a thoroughly clear, precise and expressive order which may be serviceable each time a thought is referred to, so that one may know where to look for it and not put quite contradictory things together. There are people whose mind does not work like that; all the ideas that come into it, without their being even aware of what the idea is, are translated into confused thoughts which remain in a kind of inner chaos. I have known people who, from the philosophical point of view - although there is nothing philosophical in it - could put side by side the most contradictory things, like ideas of hierarchic order and at the same time ideas of the absolute independence of the individual and of anarchism, and both were accepted with equal sympathy, knocked against each other in the head in the midst of a wild disorder, and these people were not even aware of it!... You know the saying: "A question well put is three-fourths solved." So now, put your question. What do you want to speak about? I am stretching out a helping hand, you have only to catch it. What is it you are speaking about, what is it that you call intellect? Do you know the difference between an idea and a thought?    ~ The Mother, Questions And Answers 1953, 107,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:My thoughts ran a wool-gathering. ~ miguel-de-cervantes, @wisdomtrove

2:The crowd is the gathering place of the weakest; true creation is a solitary act. ~ charles-bukowski, @wisdomtrove

3:The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; and gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove

4:Help me to fling my life like a flaming firebrand into the gathering darkness of the world. ~ albert-schweitzer, @wisdomtrove

5:Healing comes from gathering wisdom from past actions and letting go of the pain that the education cost you. ~ caroline-myss, @wisdomtrove

6:I like photographers - you don't ask questions. (To a gathering of the White House News Photographers Association) ~ ronald-reagan, @wisdomtrove

7:Healing comes from gathering wisdom from past actions and letting go of the pain that the education cost you. ~ norman-vincent-peale, @wisdomtrove

8:Can you collect chaos? Not collecting, that is the ultimate gathering. What can you gather without gathering yourself. ~ frank-herbert, @wisdomtrove

9:A man is a method, a progressive arrangement; a selecting principle, gathering his like to him; wherever he goes. ~ ralph-waldo-emerson, @wisdomtrove

10:Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence. ~ john-odonohue, @wisdomtrove

11:For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove

12:That's right," said Eeyore. "Sing. Umty-tiddly, umty-too. Here we go gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself." "I am," said Pooh. ~ a-a-milne, @wisdomtrove

13:But my thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman, who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back. ~ miguel-de-cervantes, @wisdomtrove

14:Merely gathering knowledge may become the most useless work a man can do. What can you do to help and heal the world? That is the educational test. ~ henry-ford, @wisdomtrove

15:Cocktail party: A gathering held to enable forty people to talk about themselves at the same time. The man who remains after the liquor is gone is the host. ~ fred-allen, @wisdomtrove

16:When one is building a ship, one does not begin with gathering timber and cutting planks, but rather by arousing in people the yearning for the great wide sea. ~ antoine-de-saint-exupery, @wisdomtrove

17:I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read. ~ mary-oliver, @wisdomtrove

18:When politics and religion are intermingled, a people is suffused with a sense of invulnerability, and gathering speed in their forward charge, they fail to see the cliff ahead of them ~ frank-herbert, @wisdomtrove

19:Every gathering of Americans-whether a few on the porch of a crossroads store or massed thousands in a great stadium-is the possessor of a potentially immeasurable influence on the future. ~ dwight-eisenhower, @wisdomtrove

20:All through your life your soul takes care of you... your soul is alive and awakened, gathering, sheltering and guiding your ways and days in the world. In effect, your soul is your secret shelter. ~ john-odonohue, @wisdomtrove

21:Give me the judgment of balanced minds in preference to laws every time. Codes and manuals create patterned behavior. All patterned behavior tends to go unquestioned, gathering destructive momentum. ~ frank-herbert, @wisdomtrove

22:The Puritanical nonsense of excluding children and therefore to some extent women from pubs has turned these places into mere boozing shops instead of the family gathering places that they ought to be. ~ george-orwell, @wisdomtrove

23:Without a quest, life is quickly reduced to bleak black and wimpy white, a diet too bland to get anybody out of bed in the morning. A quest fuels our fire. It refuses to let us drift downstream gathering debris. ~ charles-r-swindoll, @wisdomtrove

24:As television beamed the image of this extraordinary gathering across the border oceans, everyone who believed in man's capacity to better himself had a moment of inspiration and confidence in the future of the human race. ~ martin-luther-king, @wisdomtrove

25:And the people listened, and their faces were quiet with listening. The story tellers, gathering attention into their tales, spoke in great rhythms, spoke in great words because the tales were great, and the listeners became great through them. ~ john-steinbeck, @wisdomtrove

26:It's like a pulsar inside me. There is this great burst of energy, forcing me to write, and then the star goes quiet for a time, and I think it's gone, but it's gathering energy for another burst. And I seem to be almost unwilling participants in this. ~ richard-bach, @wisdomtrove

27:The real axis of social change is not horizontal, but vertical. We don’t need a whole bunch of people gathering to think shallow thoughts together. What we need is for as many people as are ready to go there, to gather and think deep thoughts together. ~ marianne-williamson, @wisdomtrove

28:What do we tell our children? Haste makes waste. Look before you leap. Stop and think. Don't judge a book by its cover. We believe that we are always better off gathering as much information as possible and spending as much time as possible in deliberation. ~ malcolm-gladwell, @wisdomtrove

29:The Paris slums are a gathering-place for eccentric people - people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent. Poverty frees them from ordinary standards of behavior, just as money frees people from work. ~ george-orwell, @wisdomtrove

30:As the gloom and shadow thickened behind him, in that place where it had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, - or out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process - not to be traced by any human sense, - an awful likeness of himself! ~ charles-dickens, @wisdomtrove

31:Our jobs make relentless calls on a narrow band of our faculties, reducing our chances of achieving rounded personalities and leaving us to suspect (often in the gathering darkness of a Sunday evening) that much of who we are, or could be, has gone unexplored. ~ alain-de-botton, @wisdomtrove

32:People easily understand that ‘primitives’ cement their social order by believing in ghosts and spirits, and gathering each full moon to dance together around the campfire. What we fail to appreciate is that our modern institutions function on exactly the same basis. ~ yuval-noah-harari, @wisdomtrove

33:So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. ~ henry-wadsworth-longfellow, @wisdomtrove

34:Deep beneath the surface of the Sun, enormous forces were gathering. At any moment, the energies of a million hydrogen bombs might burst forth in the awesome explosion... . Climbing at millions of miles per hour, an invisible fireball many times the size of Earth would leap from the Sun and head out across space. ~ arthur-c-carke, @wisdomtrove

35:I learned to build bookshelves and brought books to my room, gathering them around me thickly. I read by day and into the night. I thought about perfectibility, and deism, and adjectives, and clouds, and the foxes, I locked my door, from the inside, and leaped from the roof and went to the woods, by day or darkness. ~ mary-oliver, @wisdomtrove

36:The whole sphere of air that surrounds us, Alma, is alive with invisible attractions ‚ electric, magnetic, fiery and thoughtful. There is a universal sympathy all around us.¶ When we cease all argument and debate ‚ both internal and external ‚ our true questions can be heard and answered. ¶That is the gathering of magic. ~ elizabeth-gilbert, @wisdomtrove

37:Two Soviets . . . were talking to each other. And one of them asked, "What's the difference between the Soviet Constitution and the United States Constitution?" And the other one said, "That's easy. The Soviet Constitution guarantees freedom of speech and freedom of gathering. The American Constitution guarantees freedom after speech and freedom after gathering." ~ ronald-reagan, @wisdomtrove

38:Those who have succeeded in attaching or detaching their minds at will have succeeded in Pratyahara, which means gathering towards, checking the outgoing powers of the mind, freeing it from the thralldom of the senses. When we can do this, we shall really possess character; then alone we shall have taken a long step towards freedom. Before that, we are mere machines. ~ swami-vivekananda, @wisdomtrove

39:Spiritual superiority only sees the individual. But alas, ordinarily we human beings are sensual and, therefore, as soon as it is a gathering, the impression changes - we see something abstract, the crowd, and we become different. But in the eyes of God, the infinite spirit, all the millions that have lived and now live do not make a crowd, He only sees each individual. ~ soren-kierkegaard, @wisdomtrove

40:It proved you had survived another year with its wars, inflation, unemployment, smog, presidents. It was a grand neurotic gathering of clans: loud drunks, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, screaming children, would-be suicides. And don't forget indigestion. I wasn't different from anyone else: There sat the 18-pound bird on my sink, dead, plucked, totally disemboweled. Iris would roast it for me. ~ charles-bukowski, @wisdomtrove

41:The best recipe for happiness and contentment I've seen is this: dig a big hole in the garden of your thoughts and put into it all your disillusions, disappointments, regrets, worries, troubles, doubts, and fears. Cover well with the earth of fruitfulness. Water it from the well of contentment. Sow on top the seeds of hope, courage, strength, patience, and love. Then when the time for gathering comes, may your harvest be a rich and fruitful one. ~ zig-ziglar, @wisdomtrove

42:I do my best writing between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m.. Almost every friend I have who is a consistently productive writer, does their best writing between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. My quota is two crappy pages per day. I keep it really low so I'm not so intimidated that I never get started. I will do the gathering of interviews and research throughout the day. I'll get all my notes and materials together and then I'll do the synthesis between 10 p.m. to bed, which is usually 4 or 5 a.m. ~ tim-ferris, @wisdomtrove

43:Surely, it is only when the mind is creatively empty that it is capable of finding out whether there is an ultimate reality or not. But, the mind is never creatively empty; it is always acquiring, always gathering, living on the past or in the future, or trying to be focused in the immediate present: it is never in that state of creativeness in which a new thing can take place. As the mind is a result of time, it cannot possibly understand that which is timeless, eternal. ~ jiddu-krishnamurti, @wisdomtrove

44:It is not enough to say that we cannot know or judge because all the information is not in. The process of gathering knowledge does not lead to knowing. A child's world spreads only a little beyond his understanding while that of a great scientist thrusts outward immeasurably. An answer is invariably the parent of a great family of new questions. So we draw worlds and fit them like tracings against the world about us, and crumple them when we find they do not fit and draw new ones. ~ john-steinbeck, @wisdomtrove

45:Love has to spring spontaneously from within And it is no way amenable to any form of inner or outer force. Love and coercion can never go together; But though love cannot be forced on anyone, It can be awakened in him through love itself. Love is essentially self communicative; Those who do not have it catch it from those who have it. True love is unconquerable and irresistible, And it goes on gathering power and spreading itself, Until eventually it transforms everyone whom it touches. ~ meher-baba, @wisdomtrove

46:Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead. ~ alice-walker, @wisdomtrove

47:Unexplained pain may sometimes direct our attention to something unacknowledged, something we are afraid to know or feel. Then it holds us to our integrity, claiming the attention we withhold. The thing which calls our attention may be a repressed experience or some unexpressed and important part of who we are. Whatever we have denied may stop us and dam the creative flow of our lives. Avoiding pain, we may linger in the vicinity of our wounds, sometime for many years, gathering the courage to experience them. ~ rachel-naomi-remen, @wisdomtrove

48:Our life of contemplation shall retain the following characteristics: Missionary: by going out physically or in spirit in search of souls all over the universe. Contemplative: by gathering the whole universe at the very center of our hearts where the Lord of the universe abides, and allowing the pure water of divine grace to flow plentifully and unceasingly from the source itself, on the whole of his creation. Universal: by praying and contemplating with all and for all, especially with and for the spiritually poorest of the poor. ~ mother-teresa, @wisdomtrove

49:GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who's to say where The harvest shall stop? ~ robert-frost, @wisdomtrove

50:Nothing can be sadder or more profound than to see a thousand things for the first and last time. To journey is to be born and die each minute... All the elements of life are in constant flight from us, with darkness and clarity intermingled, the vision and the eclipse; we look and hasten, reaching out our hands to clutch; every happening is a bend in the road... and suddenly we have grown old. We have a sense of shock and gathering darkness; ahead is a black doorway; the life that bore us is a flagging horse, and a veiled stranger is waiting in the shadows to unharness us. ~ victor-hugo, @wisdomtrove

51:What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. ~ saint-augustine, @wisdomtrove

52:Jesus! it is the name which moves the harps of heaven to melody. Jesus! the life of all our joys. If there be one name more charming, more precious than another, it is this name. It is woven into the very warp and woof of our psalmody. Many of our hymns begin with it, and scarcely any, that are good for anything, end without it. It is the sum total of all delights. It is the music with which the bells of heaven ring; a song in a word; an ocean for comprehension, although a drop for brevity; a matchless oratorio in two syllables; a gathering up of the hallelujahs of eternity in five letters. ~ charles-spurgeon, @wisdomtrove

53:Funerals, in fact, are one of the most powerful examples of collective pain. They feature in a surprising finding from my research on trust. When I asked participants to identify three to five specific behaviors that their friends, family, and colleagues do that raise their level of trust with them, funerals always emerged in the top three responses. Funerals matter. Showing up to them matters. And funerals matter not just to the people grieving, but to everyone who is there. The collective pain (and sometimes joy) we experience when gathering in any way to celebrate the end of a life is perhaps one of the most powerful experiences of inextricable connection. Death, loss, and grief are the great equalizers. ~ brene-brown, @wisdomtrove

54:While people in today’s affluent societies work an average of forty to forty-five hours a week, and people in the developing world work sixty and even eighty hours a week, hunter-gatherers living today in the most inhospitable of habitats – such as the Kalahari Desert – work on average for just thirty-five to forty-five hours a week. They hunt only one day out of three, and gathering takes up just three to six hours daily. In normal times, this is enough to feed the band. It may well be that ancient hunter-gatherers living in zones more fertile than the Kalahari spent even less time obtaining food and raw materials. On top of that, foragers enjoyed a lighter load of household chores. They had no dishes to wash, no carpets to vacuum, no floors to polish, no nappies to change and no bills to pay. ~ yuval-noah-harari, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:This is a gathering of Lovers. ~ Rumi,

2:gathering flowers so very delicate a girl ~ Sappho,

3:My thoughts ran a wool-gathering. ~ Miguel de Cervantes,

4:The owls are gathering; find out why soon. ~ J K Rowling,

5:Intelligence Gathering and Crime Analysis, ~ Charles Wheelan,

6:gathering wholesome young people around her. ~ Danielle Steel,

7:Moments. All gathering towards this one. ~ Jenny Downham,

8:What is a gathering without unseemly drunkenness? ~ Jonathan Stroud,

9:Dherran kissed her and took his leave. Gathering ~ Jean Lowe Carlson,

10:History was gathering itself to deliver another blow ~ Douglas Adams,

11:Saddam Hussein's regime is a gray and gathering danger. ~ George W Bush,

12:Old wisdom out of the cluster of gathering shadows. ~ George Mackay Brown,

13:An alcoholic at a small gathering is called an intervention. ~ Amy Sedaris,

14:Beg your pardon," the gunslinger said. "I was wool-gathering. ~ Stephen King,

15:Beg your pardon,' the gunslinger said. 'I was wool-gathering. ~ Stephen King,

16:It is not a mere gathering of people; Christ is present ~ D Martyn Lloyd Jones,

17:I have certainly amassed many historical research gathering skills. ~ Iris Chang,

18:Gathering news in Russia was like mining coal with a hat pin. ~ Mary Heaton Vorse,

19:The wolves of war are gathering. They sing a song of rotten bones. ~ Ryan Graudin,

20:The world revolves like ancient women, gathering fuel in vacant lots. ~ T S Eliot,

21:practice living without limits by gathering virtue and modeling it. ~ Wayne W Dyer,

22:We are a nation equally afraid of gathering together and being alone. ~ Mira Grant,

23:Lights blind you; there's a lot you miss by gathering at the fireside. ~ Sarah Moss,

24:and we will possess tomorrow what we are gathering today. ~ Francisco C ndido Xavier,

25:War is the worst way of gathering knowledge about a foreign culture. ~ Stanis aw Lem,

26:The gathering with Sam and Beth’s parents had gone relatively well, ~ Debbie Macomber,

27:Community is gathering around a fire and listening to someone tell a story. ~ Bill Maher,

28:Leaks and whispers are a daily routine of news-gathering in Washington. ~ William Greider,

29:No big league team is having a gathering like this 2 days before the season ~ Felipe Alou,

30:That's the trouble with gathering truth. It's never neat and tidy... ~ Emma Jane Holloway,

31:Like the bee gathering honey from the different flowers, the wise person ~ Mahatma Gandhi,

32:The only failure is quitting. Everything else is just gathering information. ~ Jen Sincero,

33:It's only gossip if you repeat it. Until then, it's gathering information. ~ Mercedes Lackey,

34:The dusk was performing its customary intransitive operation of "gathering". ~ Flann O Brien,

35:Babe,” Ranger said, wrapping his arms around me, gathering me close to him. ~ Janet Evanovich,

36:Zion is where the pure in heart are gathered; that gathering creates a Zion. ~ Henry B Eyring,

37:The FBI conducts criminal investigations in addition to gathering intelligence. ~ Bob Woodward,

38:assuredly gathering that the Lord had called us for to preach the gospel unto them. ~ Anonymous,

39:Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. ~ Robert Burns,

40:What do they call that, distance viewing? - In colorado, we call it wool gathering ~ Regina Duke,

41:If there's one thing I'm good at, it's gathering people together to do something fun. ~ Dave Grohl,

42:Money is just a symbol we use to facilitate te gathering of memories and experiences. ~ Stuart Wilde,

43:Now is not about gathering courage, it's about staying one step ahead of my fear. ~ Courtney Summers,

44:The crowd is the gathering place of the weakest; true creation is a solitary act. ~ Charles Bukowski,

45:Olivia felt nothing but relief that the dreadful gathering would soon come to an end. ~ Callie Hutton,

46:The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. ~ Susan Orlean,

47:The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; and gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ~ John Keats,

48:Now they were gathering because the world was unbearable, and they themselves were not. ~ Meg Wolitzer,

49:Set’s storm is gathering,” Amos said with a twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we drive into is? ~ Rick Riordan,

50:The ability comes naturally, the proficiency does not." (Kell, A Gathering of Shadows) ~ Victoria Schwab,

51:i want to interrupt a game of magic the gathering by busting through a wall on a motorcycle ~ Megan Boyle,

52:But any gathering of eight human beings has an astounding potential for complication. ~ David James Duncan,

53:The gathering disorder of their lives might still be sorted out and made to fit these rooms ~ Richard Yates,

54:Sleep.” His arm flexed, gathering her tight. “I’ll keep you warm and safe. I’ll keep you always. ~ Tessa Dare,

55:Join our weekly gathering and conversations, Sunday May 24 at 9amET ~ Topic: Living Memorials ~ in #SpiritChat,

56:Help me to fling my life like a flaming firebrand into the gathering darkness of the world. ~ Albert Schweitzer,

57:I live for books that produce a mood of gathering creepy fascination, a true descent in the Weird. ~ Gemma Files,

58:I want to see a UN that enables a gathering of energies in which business plays its proper role. ~ Mary Robinson,

59:Bring me new words when we meet again so I know the book and brain ain’t gathering dust, ~ Kim Michele Richardson,

60:It's never a good idea for a celebrity to sign autographs or take pictures if a crowd is gathering. ~ Chevy Chase,

61:The investigators are gathering evidence all the time and they've put together a package of evidence. ~ Doug Graham,

62:Without the gospel, a gathering of people, though they claim otherwise, cannot be an authentic church. ~ R C Sproul,

63:His eyes are a hazy swirl of gray, like a thick mass of clouds gathering before an impending storm ~ Elle Kennedy,

64:The Los Angeles Police Department was surrounding their neighborhood like a gathering thunderstorm. A ~ Robert Crais,

65:Where the guests at a gathering are well-acquainted, they eat 20 per cent more than they otherwise would. ~ E W Howe,

66:She had a nasty feeling that forces beyond her control were gathering and preparing to shake her world. ~ M J Arlidge,

67:And the space where his legend was gathering up words grew larger. Because this story was not over yet. ~ Laini Taylor,

68:Freak-outs were a lot like snowballs. If something stuck, it was easy to keep gathering up more worries. ~ Amanda Hamm,

69:I too turned to Webster's Dictionary and it defined Harvard University as a season for gathering crops. ~ Andy Samberg,

70:When you die, there is nothing--only a life that will be forgotten." -from "Gathering Ashes ~ Yasunari Kawabata,

71:[I]t may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering. ~ Jennifer Egan,

72:We (the FBI) are a fact-gathering organization only. We don't clear anybody. We don't condemn anybody. ~ J Edgar Hoover,

73:skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his ~ James Joyce,

74:There are three certainties in life, death, taxes, and the cold dread of attending another family gathering. ~ L H Cosway,

75:the term diabalein (to throw apart). If God is a great gathering force, then sin is a scattering power. ~ Robert E Barron,

76:Consistency in any endeavor, despite external distraction, is the recipe for gathering personal willpower. ~ Michael Brown,

77:I hate partying. If I'm forced to go to a party or a social gathering, I go in at 9:30 and leave at 10 P.M. ~ Akshay Kumar,

78:Her interest in natural history was confined to observation of the crows' feet gathering around her eyes. ~ Nicolas Bentley,

79:If you keep gathering those reins, lass, you and the horse are going to end up back where you came from. ~ Maya Banks,

80:I'm calling for dialogue. I'm gathering attention for dialogue which is what you do in a struggle for power. ~ Tupac Shakur,

81:Healing comes from gathering wisdom from past actions and letting go of the pain that the education cost you. ~ Caroline Myss,

82:This is why people cooked food-to create the perfect meal for a table like this-for people gathering together. ~ Sarina Bowen,

83:This world's existence is one night long. There's a great lively gathering that night, but some people sleep through it. ~ Rumi,

84:Good try, ya bugging shank. The Gathering elects Runners, and if you think I'm tough, they'd laugh in your face. ~ James Dashner,

85:I'm a great believer in gathering together all your obsessions and seeing if you can make a novel out of them. ~ Scarlett Thomas,

86:We possess today what we gathered yesterday and we will possess tomorrow what we are gathering today. ~ Francisco C ndido Xavier,

87:Afterwards, I limped around gathering rocks and built a small crap cairn, burying the evidence before hiking on. ~ Cheryl Strayed,

88:Men are physically stronger than women, but they are rarely more ruthless or as effective at gathering information. ~ Dave Duncan,

89:Books should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf ~ Christopher Paolini,

90:I like photographers - you don't ask questions. (To a gathering of the White House News Photographers Association) ~ Ronald Reagan,

91:I would like to see every newspaper and every magazine have a network of bureaus all over the world, gathering news. ~ Nancy Gibbs,

92:The more difficult information gathering is, the more likely it is that you will rely on the decisions of others. ~ Barry Schwartz,

93:Campaigns to let doctors help the suffering and terminally ill to die are gathering momentum across the West 4357 words ~ Anonymous,

94:My friends, this body - perhaps more than any other gathering in human history - now faces that difficult task. ~ Leonardo DiCaprio,

95:Morgan is a magical librarian from the time of King Arthur. She travels through time and space, gathering books. ~ Mary Pope Osborne,

96:The short stories tend to be a journalistic gathering of anecdotes that are put together to make something larger. ~ Chuck Palahniuk,

97:When you're feeling lost, take heart. It's just your brain gathering the information it needs to make good decisions. ~ Josh Kaufman,

98:Picking up the pieces of a broken relationship is like gathering up shards of glass with bear hands and eyes closed. ~ Michael Faudet,

99:Second-order mindfulness recognizes that there is no right answer. Decision making is independent of data gathering. ~ Ellen J Langer,

100:Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots. ~ T S Eliot,

101:Can you collect chaos? Not collecting, that is the ultimate gathering. What can you gather without gathering yourself. ~ Frank Herbert,

102:Drop by drop is the water pot filled. Likewise, the wise man, gathering it little by little, fills himself with good. ~ Gautama Buddha,

103:I think it's time to travel, start gathering some real right-in-there experiences with street musicians around the world. ~ Jimmy Page,

104:War on terror is far less of a military operation and far more of an intelligence-gathering, law-enforcement operation. ~ John F Kerry,

105:A man is a method, a progressive arrangement; a selecting principle, gathering his like to him; wherever he goes. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,

106:There is nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling, as gathering the vegetables one has grown. ~ Alice B Toklas,

107:As the United States attorney in Manhattan, I have come to worry about few things as much as the gathering cyber threat. ~ Preet Bharara,

108:Bits of the World: gathering up bits of the world & setting them out in an order that her children can understand ~ Brian Andreas,

109:Gathering every item in one place is essential to this process because it gives you an accurate grasp of how much you have. ~ Marie Kond,

110:To protect us from terrorism, we must have the best, absolutely the best gathering of intelligence anywhere in the world. ~ Donald Trump,

111:For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear. ~ Lord Byron,

112:God had been intentional in each gathering. He used these encounters to uncover a deep need and satiate a deep hunger. ~ Margaret Feinberg,

113:The Church, as Jesus seems to be defining it, is the gathering of accepted brokenness. It’s not the gathering of the saved. ~ Richard Rohr,

114:The gathering of believers should be an opportunity for wonder, anticipation and imagination; not drudgery, duty or routine. ~ Ross Parsley,

115:Gamble everything for love, if you are a true human being. If not, leave this gathering. Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty. ~ Rumi,

116:One of the many sad ironies of African-American life is that every banal dysfunctional social gathering is called a “function. ~ Paul Beatty,

117:That's right," said Eeyore. "Sing. Umty-tiddly, umty-too. Here we go gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself." "I am," said Pooh. ~ A A Milne,

118:The only way to rise is by doing the duty next to us, and thus gathering strength go on until we reach the highest state. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

119:A drop of poison on that gathering snow. That moment in the fairy tale when we know what just happened but the princess doesn’t. ~ Deb Caletti,

120:books should go where they will be most appreciated, not sit unread, gathering dust on a foreign shelf, don't you agree? ~ Christopher Paolini,

121:Living’s for those of us who failed. Greedy God, gathering in the good ones, leaving the world to the rest of us, to rot. ~ Colleen McCullough,

122:On being invited to the Jaipur Festival, I was naturally nervous about attempting an opening address to such an elite gathering. ~ Amartya Sen,

123:As a bee gathering nectar does not harm or disturb the color & fragrance of the flower; so do the wise move through the world. ~ Gautama Buddha,

124:As the arrow endures the string, and in the gathering momentum becomes more than itself. Because to stay is to be nowhere. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,

125:I have inherited a belief in community, the promise that a gathering of the spirit can both create and change culture. ~ Terry Tempest Williams,

126:That's right," said Eeyore. "Sing. Umty-tiddly, umty-too. Here we go gathering Nuts and May. Enjoy yourself." "I am," said Pooh. ~ A A Milne,

127:There he goes, gathering up the pieces of me and tucking them away next to his heart. I let him because that’s where they belong. ~ Jewel E Ann,

128:this is a very fair gathering--circumspect, calm, accustomed to disturbance, acquainted with blows! Peste! I have been lucky. ~ Alexandre Dumas,

129:now the word trodde is gathering associations that it wouldn’t have if I had learned it off a list of vocabulary to be memorized. ~ John Freeman,

130:She stole glimpses of him again and again, like gathering unsatisfying crumbs in hopes they could be re-formed into a cake. When ~ Marissa Meyer,

131:Storm clouds of terror and dictatorship are gathering over the whole country... They must not be allowed to bring eternal night. ~ Boris Yeltsin,

132:Any culture which can put a man on the Moon is capable of gathering all the nations of the earth in peace, justice and concord. ~ Richard M Nixon,

133:One of the many sad ironies of African-American life is that every banal dysfunctional social gathering is called a “function.” And ~ Paul Beatty,

134:You can't be afraid of getting old. Old is good, if you're gathering in life. Our band is good at understanding that equation. ~ Bruce Springsteen,

135:Book should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, don't you agree? ~ Christopher Paolini,

136:But my thoughts ran a wool-gathering; and I did like the countryman, who looked for his ass while he was mounted on his back. ~ Miguel de Cervantes,

137:...that once were urgent and necessary for an orderly world and now were buried away, gathering dust and of no use to anyone. ~ Patricia A McKillip,

138:Books should go where they will be most appreciated, and not sit unread, gathering dust on a forgotten shelf, don't you agree? ~ Christopher Paolini,

139:I can’t even take a stroll through a park. As soon as women see my face they start gathering up their children and running for home. ~ Timothy Carey,

140:Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind. ~ Lauren Oliver,

141:Death is the only physician, the shadow of his valley the only journeying that will cure us of age and the gathering fatigue of years. ~ George Eliot,

142:Near the kiosk the old lady who sold refreshments seemed slowly to be gathering all the shadows of evening about her skirts. ~ Louis Ferdinand C line,

143:The years after the millennium will see gathering conflict all over the world to the point where the United Nations will be overwhelmed. ~ David Icke,

144:All you really need to do is focus on building quality relationships instead of trying to be a social butterfly at every social gathering.  ~ S J Scott,

145:As a former attorney general. I have the greatest respect for the criminal justice system. But it is not good at intelligence gathering. ~ Kelly Ayotte,

146:I read my books with diligence, and mounting skill, and gathering certainty. I read the way a person might swim, to save his or her life. ~ Mary Oliver,

147:suddenly he’s forced to wonder if each Jawa is just a fraternity of wet rats gathering together under brown robes and a black face veil. ~ Chuck Wendig,

148:The first gathering of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel like a mother about her baby - how could anything so beautiful be mine? ~ Alice B Toklas,

149:but she was old, and old women do tend to get pushed aside at big gatherings—even when they have footed the bill for that gathering. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

150:Sol found their tracts the usual combination of double talk and navel lint-gathering common to most religions. ~ Dan Simmons, Hyperion (1989), Chapter 4,

151:Bare your forehead, waiting for the first blessing of light, and sing with the bird of the morning in glad faith. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fruit Gathering,

152:His wife's a brand of Christian that forbids a gathering that involves young women dancing in the streets but not races where men die ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

153:If no cat has more to say, we should end this Gathering,” Firestar meowed. “Fine by me,” Blackstar replied. Onestar and Leopardstar nodded. ~ Erin Hunter,

154:I hate being the only mortal in a gathering full of Immortals who think killing each other cleverly is the height of good manners. ~ Michelle Sagara West,

155:Thanks to social media such as Facebook and Twitter, a far wider range of people take part in gathering, filtering and distributing news. ~ Lionel Barber,

156:But there was no room at the inn"; the inn is the gathering place of public opinion; so often public opinion locks its doors to the King. ~ Fulton J Sheen,

157:In the end, Dodd proved to be exactly what Roosevelt had wanted, a lone beacon of American freedom and hope in a land of gathering darkness. ~ Erik Larson,

158:Lady Simms?" he whispered. "Yes?" He swallowed hard, gathering the courage to say what he must.  "You . . . you won't leave me, will you? ~ Danelle Harmon,

159:Observation and experiment for gathering material, induction and deduction for elaborating it: these are are only good intellectual tools. ~ Francis Bacon,

160:Or maybe that was just the swiftly gathering sense of motion that had me now, the drug-like grip of a decision taken and what it meant. ~ Richard K Morgan,

161:She would have given up every Gathering from now until she went to join StarClan, if only she could have been sure that her sister was safe. ~ Erin Hunter,

162:Hume came to warn us against such knowledge, and to stress the need for some rigor in the gathering and interpretation of knowledge ~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb,

163:We end up gathering with allies—actual, perceived, or potential—as a way of feeling justified in our own accusing views of others. ~ The Arbinger Institute,

164:Where Hans Hubermann and Erik Vandenburg were ultimately united by music, Max and Liesel were held together by the quiet gathering of words. ~ Markus Zusak,

165:I never knew a sorrow that an hour of reading could not assuage, a great man had once said. Let's put it to the test. ~ Anna Gavalda, Hunting and Gathering,

166:Mastery is not something that strikes in an instant, like a thunderbolt, but a gathering power that moves steadily through time, like weather. ~ John Gardner,

167:Scientists who think science consists of unprejudiced data-gathering without speculation are merely cows grazing on the pasture of knowledge. ~ Peter Medawar,

168:Where is this?” I asked. It wasn’t a continent I recognized. David looked up from gathering a pile of laundry. “Oh. Um, that’s Middle Earth. ~ Rachel Hawkins,

169:I did not attend her anniversary gathering. I knew it would not bring her back. I didn’t want to remember anymore. It was too painful. The ~ Tess Uriza Holthe,

170:It is manifest that all government of action is to be gotten by knowledge, and knowledge best, by gathering many knowledges, which is reading. ~ Philip Sidney,

171:The unpleasant sound Bush is emitting as he traipses from one conservative gathering to another is a thin, tinny "arf" - the sound of a lap dog. ~ George Will,

172:it wasn’t the girls you saw at all, only a gathering of distended abdomens, overinflated balloons from which small wisps of girls were attached. ~ Ann Patchett,

173:Letters becoming words, words gathering meaning, becoming thoughts outside my head becoming sentences written by Jacqueline Amanda Woodson ~ Jacqueline Woodson,

174:Mastery is not something that strikes in an instant, like a thunderbolt, but a gathering power that moves steadily through time, like weather. ~ John W Gardner,

175:Earth, the mother of all, Moves on her stedfast way, Gathering, flinging, sowing. Mortals, we live in her day, She in her children is growing. ~ George Meredith,

176:If we had complete knowledge, you wouldn't need any intelligence gathering whatsoever. The president isn't god. We do have intelligence gathering. ~ Ann Coulter,

177:Merely gathering knowledge may become the most useless work a man can do. What can you do to help and heal the world? That is the educational test. ~ Henry Ford,

178:Every gathering has its moment. As an adult, I distract myself by trying to identify it, dreading the inevitable downsing that is sure to follow. ~ David Sedaris,

179:If a great thing can be done, it can be done easily, but this ease is like the of ease of a tree blossoming after long years of gathering strength. ~ John Ruskin,

180:intelligence is far less the gathering of information than being able to find the two or three tiny useful bits in the mountains of useless data. ~ W E B Griffin,

181:It doesn't always make sense, how you go about loving someone. Sometimes loving means gathering them back, sometimes it means sending them away. ~ Ramona Ausubel,

182:Let's call me a shadow child, overlooked rather than broken. I'm the teddy bear gathering dust bunnies under the bed, not the one-legged soldier. ~ Dot Hutchison,

183:Let’s call me a shadow child, overlooked rather than broken. I’m the teddy bear gathering dust bunnies under the bed, not the one-legged soldier. ~ Dot Hutchison,

184:We don't want to hurt you "That's a shame." I cracked my neck. Behind me, several more were gathering. " I have no problem hurting you ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

185:The primal substance of our thoughts is an extremely rich gathering of information that’s accumulated, exchanged, and continually elaborated. Even ~ Carlo Rovelli,

186:The science hangs like a gathering fog in a valley, a fog which begins nowhere and goes nowhere, an incidental, unmeaning inconvenience to passers-by. ~ H G Wells,

187:The ideas that emerged on Notes Day, in other words, were not gathering dust in a drawer. They were changing Pixar—meaningfully and for the better. The ~ Ed Catmull,

188:Making disciples isn’t about gathering pupils to listen to your teaching. The real focus is not on teaching people at all–the focus is on loving them. ~ Francis Chan,

189:Order is the public façade we’re called upon to wear, the politeness of a gathering of civilized strangers, and the thin ice on which we all skate. ~ Jordan Peterson,

190:The thoughts start gathering, butting up against the caution tape surrounding my brain, strategizing and preparing to rush in and take over. I ~ Tamara Ireland Stone,

191:For Donald Trump to dismiss out of hand the intelligence community's fact gathering is, frankly - doesn't bode well for him protecting our country. ~ Claire McCaskill,

192:Young people live in a society in which every institution becomes an "inspection regime" - recording, watching, gathering information and storing data. ~ Henry Giroux,

193:Costello must have been the guiding genius behind the 1929 Atlantic City gathering when Al Capone came to confer with the bootleggers of the East Coast. ~ Robert Lacey,

194:Death, in its silent sure march is fast gathering those whom I have longest loved, so that when he shall knock at my door, I will more willingly follow. ~ Robert E Lee,

195:Order is the public façade we’re called upon to wear, the politeness of a gathering of civilized strangers, and the thin ice on which we all skate. ~ Jordan B Peterson,

196:The retina absorbs the light via sensitive light-gathering cells ... In humans these cells make up about 70 percent of all the sensory cells in our body. ~ Neil Shubin,

197:"As a bee gathering nectar does not harm or disturb the color and fragrance of the flower; so do the wise move through the world." ~ Teachings of the Buddha, Dhammapada,

198:Raindrops felt his cheeks with blind, questing fingers...the black trunks of the trees were like iron bars against the gray of gathering pools." Radigan ~ Louis L Amour,

199:She Instagrams methodically, clinically, as if she’s gathering evidence for defense, like her entire life is dedicated to proving that she has a life. ~ Caroline Kepnes,

200:Who's the subject?" "The psychiatrist - Dr. Hannibal Lecter," Crawford said. A brief silence follows the name, always, in any civilized gathering. ~ Thomas Harris,

201:Details. Evidence gathering. Surveillance. It's the basis of everything. You've got to settle down and watch long enough and hard enough to get what you need. ~ Lee Child,

202:If you have reduced your possessions but feel no joy at home, try gathering selected items that you really love in one spot to create your own special space. ~ Marie Kond,

203:Cocktail party: A gathering held to enable forty people to talk about themselves at the same time. The man who remains after the liquor is gone is the host. ~ Fred Allen,

204:Disaster was an avalanche, gathering speed with such acceleration that you worried more about getting out of its path, not finding the pebble at its center. ~ Jodi Picoult,

205:Nilekani's technocratic obsession with gathering data is consistent with that of Bill Gates, as though lack of information is what is causing world hunger. ~ Arundhati Roy,

206:I feel the old dark gathering, the solitude preparing, by which I know myself, and the call of that ignorance which might be noble and is mere poltroonery. ~ Samuel Beckett,

207:Margaret Thatcher, like George W. Bush and Tony Blair after her, never hesitated to augment the repressive and information-gathering arms of central government. ~ Tony Judt,

208:Nobody made the sign of the cross, indicating that this was entirely a Protestant gathering. Nobody cried or wailed, indicating that it was entirely non-Irish. ~ Rhys Bowen,

209:Come athwart my hawse and I shall ride you down, you half-baked son of an Egyptian fart,’ to a wool-gathering jolly-boat; and art echoed from either shore. ~ Patrick O Brian,

210:We must cease to think of the church as a gathering of institutions and organizations, and we must get back to the notion that we are the people of God. ~ Martyn Lloyd Jones,

211:But having mastered the art of descending the stairs to a gathering of admirers, she had yet to master the art of ascending the stairs alone. Perhaps no one has. ~ Amor Towles,

212:I'm really enjoying learning new ideas because eventually I want to become a manager myself so I'm gathering all this information from managers now and previously. ~ John Terry,

213:In any case, this is how we ended up making our friends--by pushing away the people we thought brutal, and gathering to ourselves those we thought kind and subtle. ~ Jesse Ball,

214:True love is unconquer able and irresistable; and it goes on gathering power and spreading itself, until eventually it transforms everyone whom it touches. Meher Baba ~ Ram Dass,

215:He immediately laid Zane out, settling between his legs, gathering up Zane’s wrists to hold him and kiss him soundly. “Every night,” he repeated in a whisper. Zane ~ Abigail Roux,

216:Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity. ~ Emile Zola,

217:Over all crowds there seems to float a vague distress, an atmosphere of pervasive melancholy, as if any large gathering of people creates an aura of terror and pity. ~ mile Zola,

218:The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever. ~ Susan Orlean,

219:Thus, the apostles' adventure began as a gathering of persons who open to one another reciprocally. A direct knowledge of the Teacher began for the disciples. ~ Pope Benedict XVI,

220:Our overriding environmental challenge tonight is the worldwide problem of climate change, global warming, the gathering crisis that requires worldwide action. ~ William J Clinton,

221:We are most probably here for local information-gathering and local-Universe problem-solving in support of the integrity of eternally regenerative Universe. ~ R Buckminster Fuller,

222:We can only know each other the way we know distant stars: by observing years-old light, gathering outdated information, running calculations and making inferences. ~ Gabriel Roth,

223:room was crowded with officers bringing reports or collecting orders, or simply gathering gossip. At one end of the room was a very venerable, ornate and crumbling ~ Susanna Clarke,

224:Theological work and real pastoral fellowship can only grow in a life which is governed by gathering round the Word morning and evening and by fixed times of prayer. ~ Eric Metaxas,

225:When the Buddha gave a talk to a large gathering of businessmen, the core of his message to them was, “It is possible to live happily right in the present moment. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh,

226:My bounce-around life had taught me that dreams where dangerous things - they look solid in your mind, but you just try to reach for them. It's like gathering clouds. ~ Kirby Larson,

227:All the things she could do, other than sit here, were gathering in the cool shadows of the house behind her, watching through the window. She was nailed to the chair. ~ Lauren Groff,

228:The comfortable and comforting people are those who look upon the bright side of life; gathering its roses and sunshine and making the most that happens seem the best. ~ Dorothy Dix,

229:To put it in a few words, the true malice of man appears only in the state and in the church, as institutions of gathering together, of recapitulation, of totalization. ~ Paul Ricoeur,

230:Yeah, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes," Riq said. "If you mean that I'm good at gathering clues for my brilliant deductions, then I take that as a compliment! ~ Jennifer A Nielsen,

231:10And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good. 11And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, ~ Anonymous,

232:Evolution doesn't give a damn about your happiness, but will use the promise of happiness (using dopamine rushes) to keep you hunting, gathering, working, and wooing. ~ Kelly McGonigal,

233:The church is the gathering of God's children, where they can be helped and fed like babies and then guided by her motherly care, grow up to manhood in maturity of faith. ~ John Calvin,

234:Ostracization is an extreme form of punishment in the Amazon, where social cooperation is necessary for protection, for help in hunting and gathering food, and so on. ~ Daniel L Everett,

235:"Gathering the pain that dropped into the unconscious and bringing it to consciousness while suffering it fully is the only way to cope with it." ~ Susan Schwartz, Ph.D., Jungian analyst,

236:It is familiarity with life that makes time speed quickly. When every day is a step in the unknown, as for children, the days are long with gathering of experience . . . ~ George Gissing,

237:When one is building a ship, one does not begin with gathering timber and cutting planks, but rather by arousing in people the yearning for the great wide sea. ~ Antoine de Saint Exupery,

238:you don't want to wait until May, read The Gathering --which won the 2007 Booker Prize--about a family (eight kids!) returning to Dublin for the wake of their brother Liam.   ~ Anonymous,

239:All those statistics that you are gathering about your own experiences and about others are only about how somebody has flowed Energy. It isn't about any hard fast reality. ~ Esther Hicks,

240:I'm not a religious person, and I'm not too interested in being a part of a religion, but I do like having some sort of communal gathering, and having some sense of peoples. ~ Ian MacKaye,

241:Finally, slowly, like a newly lighted oil lamp gathering kerosene up into its wick, Wally’s face began to glow. He turned to Mack Fulton. “Mack, you know what’s on my mind? ~ Clive Cussler,

242:Gathering God, draw us out beyond our cramped circles of care. Draw us toward the neighbor, the other, the outsider, the hurting one. May we practice compassion. Amen. ~ Walter Brueggemann,

243:The most elementary of good manners . . . at a social gathering one does not bring up the subject of personalities, sad topics or unfortunate facts, religion, or politics. ~ Laura Esquivel,

244:We need a safe place, a reserve of truth, a place where words kindle ideas and set ideas sparking off in others, a word sanctuary. Poetry is this gathering place of words. ~ Allison Mackie,

245:And did I pass?" The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, "You don't pass or fail at being a person, dear. ~ Neil Gaiman,

246:I was drinking a whiskey at my sister’s baby shower in Cedar Falls, Iowa, awaiting the arrival of Jell-O salad, cheesy potatoes, BBQ chicken, the family-gathering favorites. ~ Chrissy Teigen,

247:Most of us who work as professional futurists never really stop gathering information - you never know when a provocative, potentially disruptive new development might appear. ~ Jamais Cascio,

248:I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read. ~ Mary Oliver,

249:You can't run a government from one single person. What instead matters is that leadership be about gathering around extraordinary individuals and getting the best out of them. ~ Justin Trudeau,

250:It’s not just the adage ‘write what you know,’ it’s about gathering up all of the knowledge and experience you’ve collected up to now to help you dive into the things you don’t know. ~ Sarah Kay,

251:Some people say they're gathering DNA. Perhaps they're gathering it for the future when the human race is stronger or weaker, who knows. That's science fiction and mere speculation. ~ Alex Jones,

252:t’s all going … Darkness is gathering me into its arms. Farewell wife, children, family, the things of my heart … Farewell me, cherished me, now so hazy, so indistinct... ~ Alphonse Daudet,

253:During the war, in which several of our embedded correspondents were able to report from moving vehicles crossing the Iraqi desert, the use of technology made news gathering safer. ~ Jim C Walton,

254:Entitlement breeds laziness, which in turn breeds decline. But of course with enough money, it is possible not to notice for decades that your family name is gathering dust. ~ Matthew FitzSimmons,

255:The power of Satan will blast you into hell,' the boy bellowed, gathering his remaining strength. 'You keep saying that!' I said. 'And it keeps not happening, as we can all see! ~ Anne Rice,

256:God, who is himself uncreated, creates everything. Gathering no materials, pinning no swatches to mood boards, consulting no color wheels, God speaks, and the universe leaps into being. ~ Jen Wilkin,

257:How easily we get trapped in that which is not essential - in looking good, winning at competition, gathering power and wealth - when simply being alive is the gift beyond measure. ~ Parker J Palmer,

258:It's really encouraging and inspiring to be around a gathering of so many people ... who really are committed to that vision." (While addressing the American Socialist Party, 2011) ~ Glenn Greenwald,

259:I write a good amount. I've been gathering up a backlog of stuff and maybe I'll do something with it someday, but I don't want to talk about it just yet because that would jinx it. ~ Macaulay Culkin,

260:The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mate less play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away. ~ Emily Bronte,

261:A good soup attracts chairs. This is an African proverb. I can hear the shuffling and squeaking on the wood floor, the gathering 'round. This, from just five well-chosen words. ~ Amy Krouse Rosenthal,

262:A slow feeling of gathering sadness as each familiar place flashes by the window and disappears and becomes part of the past. Time is made visible, and it moves as the landscape moves. ~ Paul Theroux,

263:He pulls me over the railing and against his chest, gathering me into his arms, easing an arm under my knees. I press my face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence. ~ Veronica Roth,

264:When you read the New Testament, you see the Holy Spirit was supposed to change everything so that this gathering of people who call themselves Christians had this supernatural element ~ Francis Chan,

265:Gathering Blue' was a separate book. I wanted to explore what a society might become after a catastrophic world event. Only at the end did I realize I could make it connect to 'The Giver. ~ Lois Lowry,

266:I don't want to start a movement that mirrors religion. I don't want to create the church of the non-believers where I'm the preacher and we're all gathering together and reciting things. ~ Bill Maher,

267:It’s not hard to figure out who has the power in any large gathering in our mediated culture: they are the ones with a microphone, their image projected larger than life above the crowd. ~ Andy Crouch,

268:There is already a mountain of evidence that Saddam Hussein is gathering weapons for the purpose of using them. And adding additional information is like adding a foot to Mount Everest ~ Ari Fleischer,

269:When politics and religion are intermingled, a people is suffused with a sense of invulnerability, and gathering speed in their forward charge, they fail to see the cliff ahead of them ~ Frank Herbert,

270:Kung Fu, like any art, is a practical affair, not just a question of gathering knowledge. In other words, one becomes proficient through hard, regular practice, not by reading about it. ~ Wong Kiew Kit,

271:In England especially, I've found that if you bring up King Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson at a dinner party or a social gathering, it's like throwing a Molotov cocktail into the room. ~ Madonna Ciccone,

272:My first impulse, when presented with any spanking-new piece of computer hardware, is to imagine how it will look in ten years’ time, gathering dust under a card table in a thrift shop. ~ William Gibson,

273:Perhaps human intelligence gathering was a version of network penetration, and he could better integrate into social situations by inviting humans to see an illusory version of himself. ~ Annalee Newitz,

274:Too often, a company’s strategy sits on a shelf, gathering dust. A strategy that doesn’t influence critical decisions on a day-to-day basis, however, is not a strategy—it is a book report. ~ Donald Sull,

275:I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night ~ Khaled Hosseini,

276:Magic: The Gathering, Gossamer Phantom. I asked him, 'Do you believe it's real?' He almost started crying and said, 'Yes, I do think it's real' and I said, 'Then that's all that matters.' ~ Selena Gomez,

277:Negotiation serves two distinct, vital life functions—information gathering and behavior influencing—and includes almost any interaction where each party wants something from the other side. ~ Chris Voss,

278:Science that leads over the horizon depends on gathering the best minds and enabling them to do what the best minds naturally seek to do: pursue the most thrilling questions of the time. ~ James D Watson,

279:The pastor ought to have two voices: one, for gathering the sheep; and another, for warding off and driving away wolves and thieves. The Scripture supplies him with the means of doing both. ~ John Calvin,

280:It was possible he had no idea his head was gathering material fit for a squirrel’s nest; it was also possible he knew and thought it made him more attractive in a rustic, manly sense ~ Michael J Sullivan,

281:I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night. ~ Khaled Hosseini,

282:I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night. ~ Khaled Hosseini,

283:America must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud. ~ George W Bush,

284:IBM is helping to greatly advance and expedite quality sampling while providing our project investigators peace of mind that the information they are gathering is securely stored and protected. ~ H G Wells,

285:I spoke in front of a huge gathering in Seattle, and someone got up and said, "I'm just so afraid." I said, "The only way not to be afraid is to join with other people who are also afraid." ~ Lynne Stewart,

286:They looked for all the world like miniaturized rose petals drained of their color. These pale petals were gathering in the wind like flocking birds—thousands of them, like a spring snowstorm. ~ John Green,

287:measurement is information gathering, a measurement outcome is something that has meaning, is in fact a representation of what is measured, and that point does not reduce to a physical condition ~ Anonymous,

288:Persons of quality had devoted yester evening and much of the night to liquidating their holdings in the South Sea Company and gathering in clubs and coffeehouses to misinform one another. ~ Neal Stephenson,

289:We have seen an unprecedented gathering of the leaders of black America coming together to speak with one voice, ... The whole spectrum of black thought was represented on this stage ... . ~ Louis Farrakhan,

290:Filmmaking became a possible way for me to combine my interest in photography and in gathering stories, as well as my interest in journalism and political science and international relations. ~ Joshua Marston,

291:Nothing matters except for the harvest, the gathering in, the adding up, the bringing together, the whole story, the way it happens and happens and goes on happening. (from "Collision") ~ Carol Shields,

292:We also kept hens for their eggs, which I was in charge of gathering from the chicken coop. I often amused myself by climbing up to the nest-box, where I liked to perch and cluck like a hen!   ~ Dalai Lama XIV,

293:Every gathering of Americans-whether a few on the porch of a crossroads store or massed thousands in a great stadium-is the possessor of a potentially immeasurable influence on the future. ~ Dwight D Eisenhower,

294:I witness with pleasure the supreme achievement of memory, which is the masterly use it makes of innate harmonies when gathering to its fold the suspended and wandering tonalities of the past. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,

295:This is the hope the Maoists offered, the hope of dark clouds gathering over parched, fractured soil; it could rain or it could not, but they brought something new into their lives: possibility. ~ Neel Mukherjee,

296:... and Lynn is dead inside, like a corpse. She Instagrams methodically, clinically, as if she's gathering evidence for defense, like her entire life is dedicated to proving that she has a life. ~ Caroline Kepnes,

297:The dirty little secret of the intelligence-gathering job is that information doesn’t just want to be free—it wants to hang out on street corners wearing gang colors and terrorizing the neighbors. ~ Charles Stross,

298:“Think not lightly of evil, saying, “It will not come to me.” Drop by drop is the water pot filled. Likewise, the fool, gathering it little by little, fills himself with evil.” ~ Buddha#buddha #buddhaquote #Dharma,

299:While we are a coffee company at heart, Starbucks provides much more than the best cup of coffee—we offer a community gathering place where people come together to connect and discover new things. ~ Howard Schultz,

300:Give me the judgment of balanced minds in preference to laws every time. Codes and manuals create patterned behavior. All patterned behavior tends to go unquestioned, gathering destructive momentum. ~ Frank Herbert,

301:Anning would spend the next thirty-five years gathering fossils, which she sold to visitors. (She is commonly held to be the source for the famous tongue twister “She sells seashells on the seashore.”) ~ Bill Bryson,

302:A proper cover was like a shield. The typical undercover Office field agent spent far more time maintaining his cover than actually gathering intelligence. Cover, they told her, was everything. During ~ Daniel Silva,

303:In a groundbreaking move, the Associated Press, the largest news-gathering organization in the World, will no longer use the term 'illegal immigrant'. They will now use the phrase 'undocumented democrat'. ~ Jay Leno,

304:Sometimes you feel some artists are doing the same thing that you're doing but in a different field. But they have the same approach. Their method of research and gathering data is the same as yours. ~ Missy Mazzoli,

305:A crowd, whether it be a dangerous mob, or an amiably joyous gathering at a picnic is not a community. It has a mind, but no institutions, no organizations, no coherent unity, no history, no traditions. ~ Josiah Royce,

306:I'm also developing my own narrative, because I'm the son of a widow. And so, while working with women and gathering their oral histories, I'm taking a step back to do my own art book and visual work. ~ Chath Piersath,

307:The Puritanical nonsense of excluding children and therefore to some extent women from pubs has turned these places into mere boozing shops instead of the family gathering places that they ought to be. ~ George Orwell,

308:In other words, journalists should not seek and report facts as news, but launder their news gathering priorities and the facts themselves through a progressive ideology to give them meaning and purpose. ~ Mark R Levin,

309:It is often when night looks darkest, it is often before the fever breaks that one senses the gathering momentum for change; when one feels that resurrection of hope in the midst of despair and apathy. ~ Hillary Clinton,

310:Swan renders the gathering amusingly, depicting the vile android Brainiac, scourge of the galaxy, sitting on Clark’s ottoman and chatting away with Luthor as if he’s at some kind of Stitch-n-Bitch-of-Doom. ~ Glen Weldon,

311:The bar is the male kingdom. For centuries it was the bastion of male privilege, the gathering place for men away from their women, a place where men could go to freely indulge in The Bull Session. ~ Shulamith Firestone,

312:There seemed to be too much gathering of data for their own sake without any thought of practical application—an inevitable development in a statistical and evaluation office unless sternly controlled. ~ Gordon W Prange,

313:There was no near sound - no steam-engine at work with beat and pant - no click of machinery, or mingling and clashing of many sharp voices; but far away, the ominous gathering roar, deep-clamouring. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell,

314:here we have the perfect gift to share with the world, just bursting to be opened, and we keep it sitting there, wrapped tightly in a box, growing old and gathering dust. Oh the waste! The agony! Meanwhile, ~ Jen Sincero,

315:Consequently, racism is the most slovenly of predictive models. It is powered by haphazard data gathering and spurious correlations, reinforced by institutional inequities, and polluted by confirmation bias ~ Cathy O Neil,

316:Every woman who enters the sea carries a coffin on her back,” she warned the gathering. “In this world, in the undersea world, we tow the burdens of a hard life. We are crossing between life and death every day. ~ Lisa See,

317:If a couple has their picture taken at a wedding or other social gathering, and the woman looks hot, her guy could be blinking, chewing, or even mid-sneeze, and she’ll still display it on her desk at work. ~ Brian P Cleary,

318:In the action of gathering, there is a visceral training of our imagination that shapes how we subsequently think about our identity and our calling as human, in relation to God and in relation to others. ~ James K A Smith,

319:He had led missions inside China before, but always for the purpose of sabotage or intelligence gathering, or “involuntary high officer force reduction,” Peter’s mostly-ironic euphemism for assassination. ~ Orson Scott Card,

320:NBC is excited about the investment in WWF Entertainment. The WWF is widely recognized as having created a leading brand and has done a remarkable job gathering large audiences in the coveted male demographics. ~ Bob Wright,

321:After tea it's back to painting - a large poplar at dusk with a gathering storm. From time to time instead of this evening painting session I go bowling in one of the neighbouring villages, but not very often. ~ Gustav Klimt,

322:I don't feel like I'm taking pictures, I feel like I'm just gathering them in. They're all out there. I know where they'll be; I just have to get out of bed early enough to bring them home. Like lost kittens. ~ Simon Norfolk,

323:I have inherited a belief in community, the promise that a gathering of the spirit can both create and change culture. In the desert, change is nurtured even in stone by wind, by water, through time. ~ Terry Tempest Williams,

324:No synonym for God is so perfect as Beauty. Whether as seen carving the lines of the mountains with glaciers, or gathering matter into stars, or planning the movements of water, or gardening - still all is Beauty! ~ John Muir,

325:The Mormons even baptized Anne Frank. It took Ernest Michel, then chairman of the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors, three years to get Mormons to agree to stop proxy-baptizing Holocaust victims. ~ Maureen Dowd,

326:Assumptions block direct experience and prevent us from gathering information that could bring us comfort and relief, or information that, though saddening and painful, will allow us to make better decisions. ~ Sharon Salzberg,

327:Where have I been while this person is leading my life with her patience, will and order? In the garden; on the bee and under the bee; in the crown gathering cumulus and flensing it from the boughs ~ Sharon Olds,

328:Closing Sohrab’s door, I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night. ~ Khaled Hosseini,

329:There comes a time when deceit and defiance must be seen for what they are. At that point, a gathering danger must be directly confronted. At that point, we must show that beyond our resolutions is actual resolve. ~ Dick Cheney,

330:All of us possess a reading vocabulary as big as a lake but draw from a writing vocabulary as small as a pond. The good news is that the acts of searching and gathering always expand the number of usable words. ~ Roy Peter Clark,

331:For I must wander On the deep sea bed Showering pearls on dead man Gathering shells And sweeping the shadows of passing boats With my falling hair Across the sliding sands into the mouth of hell ~ Joyce Mansour,

332:Give me the judgment of balanced minds in preference to laws every time. Codes and manuals create patterned behavior. All patterned behavior tends to go unquestioned, gathering destructive momentum. —Darwi Odrade ~ Frank Herbert,

333:In the gathering gloom only his white Nike headband and his white Nike shoes and the white stripe down the side of his dark Nike running suit were visible, as though there were no man at all among the trademarks. ~ Thomas Harris,

334:I ran through the store gathering together some basic foods. Bread, cheese, Tastykakes, peanut butter, cereal, milk, Tastykakes, eggs, frozen pizza, Tastykakes, orange juice, apples, lunch meat, and Tastykakes. ~ Janet Evanovich,

335:It was all collecting inside there, gathering like dust, building, building up, until someday there would be enough for some part to pierce the surface of her silence and gasp out a piece of what lay beneath. ~ Alexandra Kleeman,

336:And by sleep the human example teaches us that we mean not a suspension of consciousness, but its gathering inward away from conscious physical response to the impacts of external things. ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Life Divine 1.10-14,

337:In some perfect world where human nature is less messy and history less fraught, any and all people who had ever suffered discrimination would find common cause, gathering together under one big anti-bigotry banner. ~ Frank Bruni,

338:Once we form a belief, we immediately start gathering evidence to support the belief, whether it is positive or negative. Therefore, begin consciously creating the pictures you want to become your future reality. ~ T J Hoisington,

339:Americans are gathering the courage to just say no. We are saying no to addictive consumer lifestyles. We are saying no to wars and corporate takeover and the IMF loans that gobble up people and their resources. ~ Cynthia McKinney,

340:And then a frightful red Eye opened in the dark: vulpine, eldritch. The Eye terrified him yet held him. The Eye beckoned him. To the west, where the shadows were even now gathering, in their twilight dance of death. ~ Stephen King,

341:If wearing this rag will in any way speed the process of gathering my furture soldiers, then I will waer it. But if it doesn't..." Vollrath bowed. "I will subject myself to your temper." You'll have no choice. ~ Frank Beddor,

342:a different kind of fragrance comes from the gathering of lovers a different kind of drunkenness comes from those wise in love the knowledge you learned in school is different love is something else altogether ~ Rumi,

343:He became hyperalert at any gathering like this, saw all the tiny details of normal life humming right along. This was when the bombs came and ripped through crowds. At funerals and weddings and religious celebrations. ~ Hugh Howey,

344:relationships between debtors and creditors brokered or ‘intermediated’ by increasingly numerous institutions called banks. The core function of these institutions was now information gathering and risk management. ~ Niall Ferguson,

345:Human beings were human beings anatomically for several hundred thousand years, wandering around, hunting and gathering. And then suddenly, at the same time they started painting in caves they started multiplying. ~ Howard Rheingold,

346:This is a gathering of Lovers. In this gathering there is no high, no low, no smart, no ignorant, no special assembly, no grand discourse, no proper schooling required. There is no master, no disciple. ~ Rumi,

347:Getting the prime minister for a Dalit gathering is not difficult in our society. But for Dalit entrepreneurs, taking a photograph with Tata and Godrej over lunch and tea is an aspiration—and proof that they have arrived, ~ Anonymous,

348:The life of faith is less about gathering information than it is about expanding imagination. The movement Jesus started was a movement of dreamers and visionaries, not a movement of academics and theologians. ~ Erwin Raphael McManus,

349:Give me a small intimate gathering of five people, a dinner party, where one-on-one conversations can be had, where people talk about current events, good books, good food, and weird news. That was my idea of a good time. ~ Penny Reid,

350:A few steps from the dais, we stop. I see flashes of stunned faces on both sides of the aisle, and most of all, I see the Imperator suddenly frozen in his golden chair, his expression turned to stone, a frown gathering. ~ Vera Nazarian,

351:He that is not with me is against me” (Mat 12:30). If you are not gathering, then you are scattering. If you are not walking in light, then you are walking in darkness! There is no neutral position;  there is no middle ground! ~ Ken Ham,

352:Now that I've said this, I can't help but say more, can't help but speak the words that have been gathering in my head like dark clouds before the storm, building pressure and growing, and rolling over themselves in chaos. ~ Carrie Ryan,

353:Time and again I hear how important the darker environment is to those at our vintage-faith worship gathering. Attenders feel they can freely pray in a corner by themselves without feeling that everyone is staring at them. ~ Dan Kimball,

354:Today much of what we call education is merely knowledge gathering and remembering. Problem solving and thinking, never strong parts of our educational system, have been downgraded in all but a few scientific subjects. ~ William Glasser,

355:People often ask why I left CNN.....I didn’t like management. I liked my colleagues in the news gathering but the corporate culture that seized management when AOL came in (Steve Case and Gerry Levin) was disgusting. ~ Greta Van Susteren,

356:The method of gathering of the mind is not an easy one. It is better to watch and separate oneself from the thoughts till one becomes aware of a quiet space within into which they come from outside. ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,

357:Thus the Guild of Villainous Reformation has three new apprentices.” Ivan resisted the urge to groan inwardly at the Guild’s full name. He always thought it sounded like cult, more than a gathering of like-minded people. ~ Drew Hayes,

358:I've heard people, usually writers, say that no one wrote a great book after winning the Booker, but I honestly did not feel any big pressure. The Gathering did hang over me in that it was darker than I thought at the time. ~ Anne Enright,

359:The library serves as a gathering place for friends who share the love of books. It further serves as a resource for those who escape the pressure of everyday life, doing it by losing themselves in the written word. ~ Kristen Ashley,

360:When you are with Marines gathering to eat, you will notice that the most junior are served first and the most senior are served last. When you witness this act, you will also note that no order is given. Marines just do it. ~ Simon Sinek,

361:And although in many cases these unions proved happy enough, sailors being excellent husbands, often away and handy about the house when ashore, it did make for a curious gathering when the spouses were invited to a ball. ~ Patrick O Brian,

362:Look, I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see that  p the fields are white for harvest. 36Already the one who reaps is receiving wages and gathering fruit for eternal life, so that  q sower and  r reaper  s may rejoice together. ~ Anonymous,

363:The flow of the river is ceaseless; and its water is never the same. The foam that floats in the pools Now gathering, now vanishing Never lasts long. So it is with man and all his dwelling places on this earth. ~ Kamo no Ch mei,

364:They both groaned into that first kiss. Four months and more of longing released in a frantic rush that started out fast and rolled into something more, faster than the gathering storm and threatening to do far more damage. And ~ S E Jakes,

365:I am merely an operative for an outside government, who adopted an undercover persona and entered restricted territory through subterfuge for the purpose of discreetly gathering information that might be of use to my superiors. ~ Peter David,

366:It was tedious gathering the firewood; but it was grand when the fire blazed up and they began producing the damp and smeary parcels of bear-meat which would have been so very unattractive to anyone who had spent the day indoors. ~ C S Lewis,

367:Vaccination is pretty special because you can do a vaccination campaign anywhere in the world. All you are doing is gathering women from the villages, getting them the vaccines and asking them to go around and find the children. ~ Bill Gates,

368:Gorgeous, glowing rays of light...This was what true beauty and goodness looked like-- a spectral, luminescent gathering of beings so pure it hurt to look directly at them, like the most glorious eclipse, or maybe Heaven itself. ~ Lauren Kate,

369:I cannot get myself interested in video games. I've been given video game players and they just sit there connected to my TVs gathering dust until eventually I unplug them so I can put in another special-region DVD player. ~ Quentin Tarantino,

370:In the library, time is dammed up-- not just stopped but saved. The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who came to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever. ~ Susan Orlean,

371:Though poor, he had succeeded in gathering together, through patience, self-denial, and time, a valuable collection of rare volumes of every genre. He never went out without a book under his arm, and he often came back with two. ~ Victor Hugo,

372:At the house, the gathering broke up quickly. Sarai announced that she had a headache and needed to lie down. Without her to hold them together, the young nobles chose to go home. The gloss had been stripped from the afternoon. ~ Tamora Pierce,

373:The sustainability revolution will, hopefully, be the third major social and economic turning point in human history, following the Neolithic Revolution - moving from hunter-gathering to farming - and the Industrial Revolution ~ Prince Charles,

374:Every spare moment was spent tromping about in the exploration, pursuit, and gathering of elusive living things; or, when the weather was too stormy, reading about the exploration, pursuit, and gathering of elusive living things. We ~ Rick Bass,

375:His girlfriend of eight years, Lindsay Mills, joined him in June on Oahu, which means ‘the gathering place’. Mills grew up in Baltimore, graduated from Maryland Institute College of Art, and had been living with Snowden in Japan. ~ Luke Harding,

376:As television beamed the image of this extraordinary gathering across the border oceans, everyone who believed in man's capacity to better himself had a moment of inspiration and confidence in the future of the human race. ~ Martin Luther King Jr,

377:Weep not for me. Rather let your tears flow for the sorrows of the multitude. My work is done. Like a ripe fruit I admit the gathering. Death has no terrors for it is a wise law of nature. I am ready whenever the summons may come. ~ Lucretia Mott,

378:A hook shot kisses the rim and hangs there, helplessly, but doesn't drop and for once our gangly starting center boxes out his man and times his jump perfectly, gathering the orange leather/from the air like a cherished possession. ~ Edward Hirsch,

379:Here, then, is one way in which we would do well to go a little native: backward, or perhaps it is forward, to a time and place where the gathering and preparing and enjoying of food were closer to the center of a well-lived life. ~ Michael Pollan,

380:I want to help you "fly right" in the gathering storms of the last days. You are the pilots. You are responsible to think about the consequences of every choice you make. Your righteous choices will keep you from getting off course. ~ Robert D Hales,

381:Off in the distance there were galleons of shock-white cumulus coulds gathering in the wide sky's cerulean harbor, and their azure shadows floated over the flatlands. Billy surprised himself by saying: "I love it here. I'll never leave. ~ Ron Hansen,

382:The behaviour of the human nervous system in certain altered states creates the illusion of dissociation from one’s body (less commonly understood in hunting and gathering shamanistic societies as possession by spirits). ~ James David Lewis Williams,

383:Theosophy has no code of morals, being itself the embodiment of the highest morality; it presents to its students the highest moral teachings of all religions, gathering the most fragrant blossoms from the gardens of the world-faiths. ~ Annie Besant,

384:It saddens me that a historic event like this is being misconstrued by a small but vocal group of critics trying to spread the notion that the UN gathering is really the work of radicals and atheists bent on destroying our families. ~ Hillary Clinton,

385:Okay, so anagrams. That’s one. Got any other charming talents?” she asked, and now he felt confident. Finally, Colin turned to her, gathering in his gut the slim measure of courage available to him, and said, “Well, I’m a fair kisser. ~ John Green,

386:Airports in major cities, like LAX, are trippy environments. It is at once a national and international gathering of those in transition: The euphoric, emerging from planes, their journey at an end, and the determined, about to depart. ~ Henry Rollins,

387:No lowlander horse could clear this wall, but Havok stood at twenty-six hands—almost twice the height and mass of the lowlander breeds—and, muscles bunching, legs gathering, the huge destrier leapt, sailing over the wall effortlessly. ~ Steven Erikson,

388:Well, read! Read on!” Jaedis flicked her hand impatiently. Maelyn shook her head. “The hour is over.” “NO!” the princesses cried together. Maelyn chuckled and shut the book. “At least I’ll have no trouble gathering you tomorrow.” “That’s ~ Anita Valle,

389:But these last months had turned him around and now Gen saw there could be as much virtue in letting go of what you knew as there had ever been in gathering new information. He worked as hard at forgetting as he had ever worked to learn. ~ Ann Patchett,

390:A castaway in the sea was going down for the third time when he caught sight of a passing ship. Gathering his last strength, he waved frantically and called for help. Someone on board peered at him scornfully and shouted back, "Get a boat! ~ Daniel Quinn,

391:Beyond a certain point, gathering further evidence of the hurtfulness and shortcomings of one’s family, employer, et cetera is like eating the same poisonous mushroom over and over and expecting that sooner or later it will be nutritious. ~ Mark Vonnegut,

392:This truth of the gathering together of God's children is in Scripture seen realised in various localities, and in each central locality the Christians resident therein composed but one body: Scripture is perfectly clear on that head. ~ John Nelson Darby,

393:Do what you do because Jesus is watching, not so you'll end up on some top 100 church list or be the envy of the next pastors gathering. That stuff doesn't matter. Be innovative because you believe people matter and you want to please Jesus. ~ Tim Stevens,

394:It was tiring, all that smiling and sharing and speculating about the weather, and she always left a gathering, no matter how intimate, feeling depleted, as if she’d accidentally left behind some vital layers of herself she’d never get back. ~ Kate Morton,

395:Twitter and Facebook are brilliant- tools, the journalistic uses of which are still being plumbed. They are great for disseminating interesting material. They are useful for gathering information, including from places that are inaccessible. ~ Bill Keller,

396:Half-Heartedness Gamble everything for love, if you are a true human being. If not, leave this gathering. Half-heartedness does not reach into majesty. You set out to find God, but then you keep stopping for long periods at mean-spirited roadhouses. ~ Rumi,

397:Our intelligence communities spend a lot of time and effort gathering a lot of strands and a lot of data [on Russian hacking]. There are times where they're very cautious and they say, "We think this is what happened, but we're not certain." ~ Barack Obama,

398:was as charged as if a storm were brewing. It was a storm, she told herself, and one her father had seen gathering for years. Still, it humbled her to watch an old captain like Tenira announce that he would call the first bolt down on himself. ~ Robin Hobb,

399:Do not say, “Personally, I am as worthless as a bolt, but if I stop being an isolated bolt and start gathering with my equally undistinguished and boltlike neighbors, we are, collectively, a big sack of bolts that can hit things harder.” You ~ Cintra Wilson,

400:How great it would be if our bad memories could be stored in our skin rather than our brains, and we could lather than up, scrubbing incessantly until they sloughed off the surface, gathering at the drain of the tun, completely washed away. ~ Brooklyn James,

401:Loneliness as a desire for closeness, for joining up, joining in, joining together, for gathering what has otherwise been sundered, abandoned, broken or left in isolation. Loneliness as a longing for integration, for a sense of feeling whole. ~ Olivia Laing,

402:The drops of rain had fallen thousands of feet, gathering speed and size before they smashed into the ground.  Some, the very biggest, were smashing into the back of my head.  Those particular drops were also, I’m pretty sure, the coldest. The ~ John Conroe,

403:When I look back over my life so far, I see all that junk on the beach. It's how my life has always been. Gathering up the junk, sorting through it, and then casting it off somewhere else. All for no purpose, leaving it to wash away again. ~ Haruki Murakami,

404:That is normal human behavior. We tend to go with strong hunches. System 1 follows a primitive psycho-logic: if it feels true, it is. In the Paleolithic world in which our brains evolved, that’s not a bad way of making decisions. Gathering ~ Philip E Tetlock,

405:Gathering is peculiar, because you see nothing but what you're looking for. If you're picking raspberries, you see only what's red, and if you're looking for bones you see only the white. No matter where you go, the only thing you see is bones. ~ Tove Jansson,

406:And I also know that pain can seem like an endless ribbon. You pull it and you pull it. You keep gathering it towards you, and as it collects, you really can’t believe that there’s something else at the end of it. Something that isn’t just pain. ~ Meg Wolitzer,

407:Benevolence is a world of itself -- a world which mankind, as yet, have hardly begun to explore. We have, as it were, only skirted along its coasts for a few leagues, without penetrating the recesses, or gathering the riches of its vast interior. ~ Horace Mann,

408:In the event of some sort of gathering, if one of the bossy, over bearing, possessive, fur balls has not flipped his switch and attacked some poor young pup in some misguided attempt to protect his woman's virtue, then the night is not yet over. ~ Quinn Loftis,

409:…The shocking thing about any stripper gathering, I discovered, was that you have never heard women talk so fast and so explicitly about money in all your life. They make the guys on the trading floor on Wall Street look like a bunch of pansies. ~ Susie Bright,

410:And the people listened, and their faces were quiet with listening. The story tellers, gathering attention into their tales, spoke in great rhythms, spoke in great words because the tales were great, and the listeners became great through them. ~ John Steinbeck,

411:A single decision by the chairman of Royal Dutch/Shell has a greater impact on the health of the planet than all the coffee-ground-composting, organic-cotton-wearing ecofreaks gathering in Washington D.C., for Earth Day festivities this weekend. ~ Sharon Begley,

412:It's not about doing over the living room of someone who has bad taste in color. This is about restoring historic buildings and instilling pride in a community, which can be done through designing new public spaces and social gathering spots. ~ Genevieve Gorder,

413:the community-based initiative ran across 18 locations in 13 cities in the GCC, India and Europe, gathering volunteers to clean up beaches. “I would like to thank GPCA for its constant efforts in the waste management sector, embodied with the ‘Waste ~ Anonymous,

414:Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key. ~ Suzanne Collins,

415:Rarely have Americans lived through so much change, in so many ways, in so short a time. Quietly, but with gathering force, the ground has shifted beneath our feet as we have moved into an Information Age, a global economy, a truly new world. ~ William J Clinton,

416:To prove his point, the chimeras began taking up positions around the terrified crowd.  They turned their backs to the beings and watched the land around us.  I had a feeling they were also here in case something happened with the gathering crowd. ~ Hadena James,

417:Whence shall come the new barbarians? Go through the squalid quarters of great cities, and you may see, even now, their gathering hordes! How shall learning perish? Men will cease to read, and books will kindle fires and be turned into cartridges. ~ Henry George,

418:Meanwhile, the old man who goes about gathering dog-lime walks in the gutter without looking up and his tread is more majestic than that of the Episcopal minister approaching the pulpit of a Sunday. These things astonish me beyond words. ~ William Carlos Williams,

419:If [one] could eliminate this kind of uncertainty... [one] would eliminate most of the stressors of the world, and maybe, too, the wave of despair that was gathering in [her] chest. She'd been feeling this, this black rip, this loud tear, within her. ~ Dave Eggers,

420:Pearl spent the passing days buried so deep in the musty, dusty sorcery tomes that sometimes when she emerged, she spoke in archaic english. "Hast thou a light?" she'd asked him this afternoon when her study room had grown dark with gathering clouds. ~ Gail Dayton,

421:It makes it seem as though there's no door between us at all. The sound of water gathering, cascading, trailing along the planes, ridges, and hollows of his naked body feels more intimate than if he were standing in front of me wearing nothing at all. ~ Carrie Ryan,

422:They made their way down the drive in the gathering twilight. The air was full of the smells of warm grass, lake water, and wood smoke from Hagrid's cabin. It was difficult to believe that they were heading for anything dangerous or frightening. p. 553 ~ J K Rowling,

423:In other words, theorists like van der Leeuw envision that a switch from hunting and gathering to agriculture creates a virtuous circle between problem-solving capacity and societal size, gradually leading to an increase of the scale of cooperation. I ~ Peter Turchin,

424:It's like a pulsar inside me. There is this great burst of energy, forcing me to write, and then the star goes quiet for a time, and I think it's gone, but it's gathering energy for another burst. And I seem to be almost unwilling participants in this. ~ Richard Bach,

425:The church is constituted as a new people who have been gathered from the nations to remind the world that we are in fact one people. Gathering, therefore, is an eschatological act as it is the foretaste of the unity of the communion of the saints. ~ Stanley Hauerwas,

426:North Korean troops gathering… inside North Korea. That is unheard of." "They were massing very close to the border." "North Korea is the size of Ohio. It would be geographically challenging for them to gather very far from the border. ~ Sylvain Neuvel,

427:At every moment I convinced myself that I was gathering material for the novel of my life - all experienced from the philosophical distance of the author. Even these humiliating occasions when I was robbed could be used as material. Life was a field trip. ~ Edmund White,

428:Dear friends,” Kai began, “we are gathered today to witness and to celebrate the union between Wo—er, Ze’ev Kesley and Scarlet Benoit. Though we are a small gathering, it’s clear that the love we feel for this bride and groom would span to Luna and back. ~ Marissa Meyer,

429:to the Indian, politics are what the weather is to an Englishman. Politics are an introduction to a stranger on a train, they are the standard filler for embarrassing silences in conversation, they are the inevitable small talk at any social gathering. ~ Santha Rama Rau,

430:Alyosha later wrote down. Sometimes he stopped speaking altogether, as if gathering his strength, and gasped for breath, yet he seemed to be in ecstasy. He was listened to with great feeling, though many wondered at his words and saw darkness in them ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,

431:It is only by enlarging the scope of one’s tastes and one’s fantasies, by sacrificing everything to pleasure, that the unfortunate individual called Man, thrown despite himself into this sad world, can succeed in gathering a few roses among life’s thorns ~ Marquis de Sade,

432:...one of the wolf-like beasts wraps it's arms around me and howls into my ear, obscuring all other sounds. I lash at the creature, trying to wriggle free, gathering my energy to fight back. before I can, the beasts laughs and says, "Surely you recognise me. ~ Darren Shan,

433:747s always remind me of a fat, ugly old lady in the neighborhood where I used to live. Huge sagging breasts, swollen legs, dried up neckline. The airport, a likely gathering place for the old ladies. Dozens of them, coming and going, one after the other. ~ Haruki Murakami,

434:Foresight isn’t a mysterious gift bestowed at birth. It is the product of particular ways of thinking, of gathering information, of updating beliefs. These habits of thought can be learned and cultivated by any intelligent, thoughtful, determined person. ~ Philip E Tetlock,

435:Joyful friends, mostly loyal, they hadn't abandoned their protector before the gathering storm; and despite the threatening sky, despite the shuddering earth, they remained, smiling, considerate, and as devoted to misfortune as they had been to prosperity. ~ Alexandre Dumas,

436:The real axis of social change is not horizontal, but vertical. We don’t need a whole bunch of people gathering to think shallow thoughts together. What we need is for as many people as are ready to go there, to gather and think deep thoughts together. ~ Marianne Williamson,

437:Hundreds of scientists from around the world are gathering in Washington, D.C. for what some say could be a historic meeting. They are attending an international summit to debate one of the most controversial subjects in modern science , editing human DNA. ~ Linda Wertheimer,

438:The Hussein regime's support for terrorism, within and outside of its borders, its appetite for the world's most dangerous weapons, and its openly declared hostility to the United States were a combination that was a gathering and growing danger to our country. ~ Jim Gerlach,

439:Briefly, the Regulative Principle states that everything we do in a corporate worship gathering must be clearly warranted by Scripture. Clear warrant can either take the form of an explicit biblical command, or a good and necessary implication of a biblical text. ~ Mark Dever,

440:Can we take it slow, Ethan Blackstone?” “I’m taking that as a yes. And of course we can.” I heard the soft brush of an exhale again. A pause as if he was gathering his courage. “Brynne?” “Yes?” “I am smiling so wide right now.” “I am too, Ethan. ~ Raine Miller,

441:My stuff is generally quite collage-y anyway. So it's sort-of suited to gathering raw materials like shooting actors, then making stills or animating characters, then just bringing them all together in a 3D space. That process is very close to my 2D work anyway. ~ Dave McKean,

442:What do we tell our children? Haste makes waste. Look before you leap. Stop and think. Don't judge a book by its cover. We believe that we are always better off gathering as much information as possible and spending as much time as possible in deliberation. ~ Malcolm Gladwell,

443:The Paris slums are a gathering-place for eccentric people - people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent. Poverty frees them from ordinary standards of behavior, just as money frees people from work. ~ George Orwell,

444:am grateful to have been deeply involved with VALUEx Zurich/Klosters, the annual gathering of value investors; ValueConferences, the series of online idea conferences for value investors; and The Manual of Ideas, the idea-oriented monthly research publication. ~ John Mihaljevic,

445:As the gloom and shadow thickened behind him, in that place where it had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, - or out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process - not to be traced by any human sense, - an awful likeness of himself! ~ Charles Dickens,

446:Our jobs make relentless calls on a narrow band of our faculties, reducing our chances of achieving rounded personalities and leaving us to suspect (often in the gathering darkness of a Sunday evening) that much of who we are, or could be, has gone unexplored. ~ Alain de Botton,

447:Sound as medium has an incredible elasticity. So, of course, it is tempting for artists of other fields to try something with sounds. Why not? We are living in the age when there is no limit in gathering all forms of art and music to mix it together if you so desire. ~ Yoko Ono,

448:He knelt in the grass and gently pulled off the helmet. A familiar face smiled up at him. Charlie couldn’t speak. His astonishment, his joy was too great. He could feel the others gathering behind him, murmuring, ‘It can’t be!’ ‘Is it, really?’ ‘Why didn’t we know? ~ Jenny Nimmo,

449:The lights of Saxon England were going out, and in the gathering darkness a gentle, grey-beard prophet foretold the end. When on his death-bed Edward spoke of a time of evil that was coming upon the land his inspired mutterings struck terror into the hearers. ~ Winston Churchill,

450:Don’t you know that’s what college is about...students spending years gathering useless information they’ll never use again, going hopelessly into debt, just so they feel smarter than the rest of their family? I mean, that’s why I worked so hard to get here, anyway. ~ A L Jackson,

451:It starts raining harder, I've got a long way to go walking and pushing that sore leg right along in the gathering rain, no chance no intention whatever of hailing a cab, the whiskey and the Morphine have made me unruffled by the sickness of the poison in my heart. ~ Jack Kerouac,

452:The population of Syria is so inharmonious a gathering of widely different races in blood, in creed, and in custom, that government is both difficult and dangerous.”— Sir Mark Sykes, Dar Ul-Islam: A Record of a Journey through Ten of the Asiatic Provinces of Turkey ~ Charles Glass,

453:And so we stayed out in the garden of the old house until we couldn't kick a ball, laughing in the gathering twilight, making the most of the good weather and all the days that were left, our little game watched only by next door's cat, and every star in the heavens. ~ Tony Parsons,

454:I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots. ~ T S Eliot,

455:The green economy should not just be about reclaiming throw-away stuff. It should be about reclaiming thrown-away communities. It should not just be about recycling things to give them a second life. We should also be gathering up people and giving them a second chance. ~ Van Jones,

456:There is a bit of a party afterwards but a social gathering does not pay for a hard day's work. (And raising a barn is a hard day's work.) The benefit rests solely in the trust that when another family needs aid, the aided family will do their best to provide such aid. ~ John Ringo,

457:Two weeks ago at the Greater Glory Gathering Virginia Beach, the Lord spoke to me about contending for a greater outpouring of his presence, signs, and wonders. During this prophetic experience I saw the Revival Healing Angel that had visited us in Lakeland, Florida. ~ Todd Bentley,

458:In the face of weather that is less predictable and more unforgiving, a diversity of locally adapted crops is one way for farmers to hedge their bets. Glenn’s landrace system isn’t just repatriating a lost cuisine. It’s gathering the seed stock for the future of eating. ~ Dan Barber,

459:It's raining. So I should remember. Something. Someone. The water is gathering inside of me. Who do I remember? I don't know. I'm drowning. I remember to breathe. I remember to breathe. I remember. I. ~ Ally Condie,

460:People often say that I have a child's eye. For example, I stare at ants gathering around sugar, or when I seek shelter from the rain, I gaze upon snails. These are things which you often do when you are a child aren't they? I have a very similar sensibility to that. ~ Rinko Kawauchi,

461:Scores of Iraqi exiles met in London to discuss ways to overthrow Saddam Hussein in a grand gathering dubbed the 'Iraqi Military Alliance Meeting.' Of course, these people are no longer Iraqi, they have no military, and there is no alliance. But they did have a meeting. ~ Jon Stewart,

462:Hardison held up a gigantic bag that Parker could have used as a dress. "I picked up all sorts of things," he said with a smile. "I grabbed the entire run of Chew, and I savaged the first trade paperback for the Magic: The Gathering comic, signed by the writer, no less. ~ Matt Forbeck,

463:Victoria was an innocent country gentlewoman who spent her time reading, teaching the local children, painting, gathering armfuls of heather in the meadow. Vivien, by contrast, was pleasure-loving and self-serving... with a moral compass that was most definitely skewed. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

464:He looked at her an instant, for the effect of the graceful girlish figure with pale, passionate face and dark eyes full of sorrow, pride and resolution was wonderfully enhanced by the gloom of the great room, and glimpses of a gathering storm in the red autumn sky. ~ Louisa May Alcott,

465:I imagined God looking down on the earth and seeing people on one side of the planet gathering expectantly whenever prayer was happening. Meanwhile, on the other side of the planet, people show up only for the most talented people and the “atmosphere.” It’s embarrassing. ~ Francis Chan,

466:She had so much more capacity for love than I had - I couldn't bring down that curtain round the moment, I couldn't forget and I couldn't not fear. Even in the moment of love, I was like a police officer gathering evidence of a crime that hadn't yet been committed [...] ~ Graham Greene,

467:We spent a few weeks in Austin, gathering supplies,” she said, between spoonfuls of pineapple dripping with syrup. “Then there were smaller towns between here and there. We thought about trying Houston, but it was too big. You know what big means, right?” “A lot of them. ~ Sam Sisavath,

468:I don’t think I like your tone, young man. Has this country gotten so accustomed to wiping its hinder with the Constitution that now the police are free to go door-to-door gathering fingerprints from citizens without cause? What are you building, some kind of data bank? ~ Richard Castle,

469:The population of Syria is so inharmonious a gathering of widely different races in blood, in creed, and in custom, that government is both difficult and dangerous.”— Sir Mark Sykes, Dar Ul-Islam: A Record of a Journey through Ten of the Asiatic Provinces of Turkey (1904) ~ Charles Glass,

470:Though all the major fairy tale families were coming tonight, I wouldn't exactly call any of them friends. Aside from the once-a-year gathering, I never spoke to any of them, except the occasional chat on Flitter with Cinderella, since we shared a love of designer footwear. ~ Betsy Schow,

471:I dream of a garden overripe and wild. Of a woman gathering the sea into her hands and letting it fall in many colored petals to a green, green earth. I dream of words on a page transforming to birds, and birds transforming to children, and children transforming to stars. ~ Kelly Barnhill,

472:Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Talon said, 'It doesn’t matter. They are all dead.' He felt moisture gathering in his eyes and blinked. 'It’s been a while since I’ve felt that.' Caleb nodded. 'It never goes away, completely. But you’ll discover other things in life. ~ Raymond E Feist,

473:When you love a person you are gathering momentum to hate him. That’s why only friends can become enemies. You cannot suddenly become an enemy unless you have first become a friend. Lovers quarrel, fight. Only lovers can quarrel and fight, because unless you love, how can you hate? ~ Osho,

474:We the human species, are confronting a planetary emergency-a threat to the survival of our civilization that is gathering ominous and destructive potential...the earth has a fever. And the fever is rising...Indeed, without realizing it, we have begun to wage war on earth itself. ~ Al Gore,

475:It is the job of the creator to explode. It is the task of the academic to walk around the bomb site, gathering up the shrapnel, to figure out what kind of an explosion it was, who was killed, how much damage it was meant to do and how close it came to actually achieving that. ~ Neil Gaiman,

476:Just as a snowflakewent on to feed a puddle that filled a stream and then the river, thepumpkin patch is a gathering of molecules from my old goats, chickens,and cats, feeding the underworld of dirt creatures. And somewhere, myfather's ashes mingle with birds, air, and sea. ~ Katherine Dunn,

477:We're gathering a group of women around the administration to serve over a longer period of time as mentors to girls in need. If we can have that kind of impact in one night, just imagine if we were working with girls over the course of a year or two.... We can change lives. ~ Michelle Obama,

478:I've just completed a five-year period that can perhaps best be called a breathing spell. A time of getting my health back and gathering my strength. That time also included incredible cocaine abuse, a heart attack and my wife's recovery from both alcoholism and cocaine abuse. ~ George Carlin,

479:Cliché openings in fantasy can include an opening scene set in a battle (and my peeve is that I don’t know any of the characters yet so why should I care about this battle) or with a pastoral scene where the protagonist is gathering herbs (I didn’t realize how common this is). ~ Kristin Nelson,

480:His climax began gathering again, rising toward a point of no return. He didn’t know if he could restrain himself this time: He was too close, too near to being overwhelmed. She cried out, trembling exclamations. He lost all control, his release hot, violent, and endless. ~ Sherry Thomas,

481:People are less than whole unless they gather themselves voluntarily into groups of souls in harmony. Gathering themselves to pursue individual, family, and community dreams consistent with their private humanity is what makes them whole; only slaves are gathered by others. ~ John Taylor Gatto,

482:Physics appears to be a complicated subject, because the ideas of physics are difficult for us to understand. Our brains were designed to understand hunting and gathering, mating and child-rearing: a world of medium-sized objects moving in three dimensions at moderate speeds. ~ Richard Dawkins,

483:And he paused, aware at last of the gathering weight of the silence. Fourteen images stared at him, without any of them offering a word in response. Bakst said sharply, "You have talked of freedom. You have it!" Then, uncertainly, he said, "Isn't that what you want? ~ Isaac Asimov,

484:No doctor can write a prescription for friendship and love: These are complex and hard-earned capacities. You don’t need a history of trauma to feel self-conscious and even panicked at a party with strangers—but trauma can turn the whole world into a gathering of aliens. ~ Bessel A van der Kolk,

485:Pirahãs consider hunger a useful way to toughen themselves. Missing a meal or two, or even going without eating for a day, is taken in stride. I have seen people dance for three days with only brief breaks, not hunting, fishing, or gathering — and without any stockpiled food. ~ Daniel L Everett,

486:This doesn't mean you're getting a discount." Audrey heaved a mock sigh. "Oh well. I guess I'll have to ply you with sexual favors, then." Gnome choked on the soup. "I'm old enough to be your grandfather!" Audrey winked at him, gathering the empty bags. "But you're not. ~ Ilona Andrews,

487:What is different, and troubling, is that skimming is becoming our dominant mode of reading. Once a means to an end, a way to identify information for deeper study, scanning is becoming an end in itself—our preferred way of gathering and making sense of information of all sorts. ~ Nicholas Carr,

488:I lamented in every gathering; I associated with those in bad or happy circumstances. (But) everyone became my friend from his (own) opinion; he did not seek my secrets from within me. My secret is not far from my lament, but eyes and ears do not have the light (to sense it. ~ Rumi,

489:He took a step toward her, than another, tentatively, gathering all his strength, as though about to throw a heavy switch that would, if his calculations were correct, bring light to a hundred cities and ten thousand darkened rooms. He was going to ask her to dance - that was all. ~ Michael Chabon,

490:I need to be alone. After a full day of talking, smiling, listening, showing, nodding, translating, I want to be alone. I want simply to come home, close the door, and sit in silence, gathering up the bits of myself that have come loose. I want to think, or not think. I want to rest. ~ Jamie Zeppa,

491:years. In fact the whole apartment, which six years ago had seemed like a way station to some better place, had ended up solidifying around Sasha, gathering mass and weight, until she felt both mired in it and lucky to have it—as if she not only couldn’t move on but didn’t want to. ~ Jennifer Egan,

492:Holly wanted to be sure she understood what was being said. “So you’re saying that Shelly is going to light a fart?” “No, Shelly is going to light the fart. He has stored enough methane to power Haven for a year. There hasn’t been a fart like this since the last dwarf tribal gathering. ~ Eoin Colfer,

493:It is conceivable that in principle man's motor through-ways resemble the slime trails along which are drawn the gathering mucors that erect the spore palaces, that man's cities are only the ephemeral moment of his spawning--that he must descend upon the orchard of far worlds or die. ~ Loren Eiseley,

494:All your experiences, all your meditations, all your prayer, all that you do, is self-centred. It is strengthening the self, adding momentum, gathering momentum, so it is taking you in the opposite direction. Whatever you do to be free from the self also is a self-centred activity. ~ U G Krishnamurti,

495:So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another's motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wiseRound their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

496:I could not but feel that it was ironical that the old relative should have spoken disparagingly of fawns as a class, sneering at their timidity in that rather lofty and superior manner, for he himself could have walked straight into a gathering of these animals and no questions asked. ~ P G Wodehouse,

497:I plucke up the goodlie greene herbes of sentences by pruning, eat them by reading, chawe them by musing, and laie them up at length in the hie seate of memorie by gathering them together; that I, having tasted the sweetenes, l may the lesse perceave the bitternes of this miserable life. ~ Elizabeth I,

498:The sheath that held her soul had assumed significance - that was all. She was a sun, radiant, growing, gathering light and storing it - then after an eternity pouring it forth in a glance, the fragment of a sentence, to that part of him that cherished all beauty and all illusion. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

499:You are constantly being swayed by what you read, see, and hear, and as a result the co-ordinating part of this creative force turns to gathering together all these scattered elements in a confused mass, instead of devoting itself to making a clear and dynamic picture of your desire. ~ Claude M Bristol,

500:Every gathering has its moment. As an adult, I distract myself by trying to identify it, dreading the inevitable downswing that is sure to follow. The guests will repeat themselves one too many times, or you'll run out of dope or liquor and realize that it was all you ever had in common. ~ David Sedaris,

501:I reached maturity under the impression that I was gathering the experience to order my life for happiness. Indeed, I accomplished the not unusual feat of solving each question in my mind long before it presented itself to me in life—and of being beaten and bewildered just the same. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

502:Every gathering has its moment. As an adult, I distract myself by trying to identify it, dreading the inevitable down-swing that is sure to follow. The guests will repeat themselves one too many times, or you’ll run out of dope or liquor and realize that it was all you ever had in common. ~ David Sedaris,

503:I reached maturity under the impression that I was gathering the experience to order my life for happiness. Indeed, I accomplished the not unusual feat of solving each question in my mind long before it presented itself to me in life – and of being beaten and bewildered just the same. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

504:"I smell fennel," Launcelot said. "That reminds me, I should tell you I have discovered a specific for maims. You take salt, good-quality river mud, and bee urine, and slather it on the maim and hold it there for two days. Works like a charm. Gathering the bee urine is a bit of a bore." ~ Donald Barthelme,

505:She felt no relief at having survived this attack. No heady satisfaction surged through her because she’d made it to shore. She felt only a growing emptiness. A gathering dark. For this was her life now. Not boredom and lectures, but hell-flames and assassins. Massacres and endless flight. ~ Susan Dennard,

506:The sheath that held her soul had assumed significance—that was all. She was a sun, radiant, growing, gathering light and storing it—then after an eternity pouring it forth in a glance, the fragment of a sentence, to that part of him that cherished all beauty and all illusion. CHAPTER ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

507:But I believed in starting over. There was finally, I knew, only rupture and hurt and falling short between all persons, but, Shirley, the best revenge was to turn your life into a small gathering of miracles. If I could not be anchored and profound, I would try, at least, to be kind. ~ Lorrie Moore,

508:God is gathering us out of all regions till he can make resurrection of our own hearts from the very earth [emphasis added], and teach us that we are all of one substance, and members of one another; for the one who loves his neighbor loves God, and the one who loves God, loves his own soul. ~ Richard Rohr,

509:The mind is essentially a survival machine. Attack and defense against other minds, gathering, storing, and analyzing information - this is what it is good at, but it is not at all creative. All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness. ~ Eckhart Tolle,

510:The mind is essentially a survival machine. Attack and defense against other minds, gathering, storing, and analyzing information — this is what it is good at, but it is not at all creative. All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness. ~ Eckhart Tolle,

511:You know nothing about me. You see me. But you don't see me. Everyone else sees me. And yet no one has the foggiest notion of the gathering storm within me. It's my secret private little hell. I live with it, I sleep with it. I love that no one knows. I wish you knew. Sometimes I fear you do. ~ Andr Aciman,

512:What had been as recently as 2010 a modest gathering of psychonauts and a handful of renegade researchers was now a six-day convention-cum-conference that had drawn more than three thousand people from all over the world to hear researchers from twenty-five countries present their findings. ~ Michael Pollan,

513:As Cindy Sheehan was gathering public sympathy as the Gold Star mom against the killing in Iraq, the Republican party decided to import an easier target to pummel. So they brought over the 'I-salute-your-courage, Saddam' religious fundamentalist crack-pot who can't tell us where the money went. ~ Greg Palast,

514:At times the whole sky was ringed in shooting points and puckers of light gathering and falling, pulsing, fading, rhythmical as breathing. All of a piece. As if the sky were a pattern of nerves and our thought and memories traveled across it. As if the sky were one gigantic memory for us all. ~ Louise Erdrich,

515:After Hatuey, a fifteenth-century Indian insurrectionist, had been fixed to the stake, his Spanish captors extended him the choice of converting to Christianity and ascending to Heaven of going unrepentantly to Hell. Gathering that his executioners expected to go to heaven, Hatuey chose the other ~ Kathy Acker,

516:Citizen journalists can attend events traditional journalists are kept from - or have overlooked - or find and highlight the small but evocative story happening right next door. By tapping this resource, news sites can extend their reach and help redefine news gathering in the digital age. ~ Arianna Huffington,

517:However, on one point he is refreshingly clear: the true value in Minecraft is not in the game, its inventor, or anything that Markus or Mojang’s programmers have done. The real value lies in the enormous community of devoted players gathering around Minecraft and filling it daily with new content. ~ Anonymous,

518:In contemporary hunting and gathering societies, anthropologists have learned, gathering by women usually supplies most of the daily diet. The meat provided by male hunters is a kind of luxury, a special treat for a binge and celebration, the Pleistocene equivalent of a giant box of Toblerone. ~ Charles C Mann,

519:When Nico bent to kiss me, I shut my eyes, absorbing all that was familiar about him - his taste, the softness of his lips, his arms holding me steadily - and I could tell he was the same, drinking me in, committing my kiss to memory as we found our way home to each other in the gathering dark. ~ April Lindner,

520:Entitlement breeds laziness, which in turn breeds decline. But of course with enough money, it is possible not to notice for decades that your family name is gathering dust. One day you awake to discover that the last member of the family to accomplish anything of note died before Kennedy. ~ Matthew FitzSimmons,

521:Lisa Hendey’s CatholicMom.com website has long been a treasured internet gathering spot. The Handbook for Catholic Moms is a welcome extension of Lisa’s wisdom and energy, enriched by the experiences of the community of women who have found community, support, and strength through CatholicMom.com. ~ Amy Welborn,

522:He lay down, gathering her close. Aria slumped against him, turning her ear to his chest. She listened to his heartbeat - a good, solid sound - as the warmth of his body melted into her. She'd been in a fog earlier. Hallucinating and searching for what was real. She found it in him. He was real. ~ Veronica Rossi,

523:I truly value the cinema experience, the tribal gathering in the dark to watch something larger than life. I like to sit in the first row with no heads in front of mine, and become one with the screen. I always stay for the complete credits so I can linger in the film's story just a little longer. ~ Pamela Yates,

524:Here she barked out her greetings in Italian, anxious to disassociate herself from the horseless American cowboys and above all from her own kind, the truly lost and unwanted, who move like leaves around the edges of the world, gathering only long enough to wait in line and see if there is any mail ~ John Cheever,

525:Knowledge of the process of grief can provide a generalized map of the terrain we have to cover, the priest told the somber gathering. Each of us will take a different path, each will choose landmarks and travel at his own speed, navigate using the tools provided by his culture, experience, and faith. ~ Dan Eaton,

526:The first story I wrote was "Catface" which was later selected for The O. Henry Collection, so that gave me some confidence to try some more. Gathering these stories together was fun, but I realized when I read them that I have certain mental preoccupations and they keep recurring in my stories. ~ Arthur Bradford,

527:what makes these superforecasters so good. It’s not really who they are. It is what they do. Foresight isn’t a mysterious gift bestowed at birth. It is the product of particular ways of thinking, of gathering information, of updating beliefs. These habits of thought can be learned and cultivated ~ Philip E Tetlock,

528:The simplicity. Getting rid of something by giving it to itself. God Himself folded into the tiny adamant structure, Self-destined to a succession of explosions, the great slow gathering out of water and air and silicon: this is felt without words in the turn of the round hoe-handle in his palms. Now, ~ John Updike,

529:Indeed, social activism, progressive groupthink, Democratic Party partisanship, opinion and propaganda passed off as news, the staging of pseudo-events, self-censorship, bias by omission, and outright falsehoods are too often substituting for old-fashioned, objective fact gathering and news reporting. ~ Mark R Levin,

530:A cupcake is like a great pop song. The whole world in less than three minutes. And it's impossible to have a bad cupcake. In New York you walk everywhere. So I'm always looking, always on the eternal search for the perfect cupcake. I take them very seriously. It's like hunting and gathering for me. ~ Laurel Nakadate,

531:And what we've always been is. . .?" "Is living on borrowed time. Getting away cheap. Never caring about who's paying for it, who's starving somewhere else all jammed together so we can have cheap food, a house, a yard in the burbs. . .planetwide, more every day, the payback keeps gathering... ~ Thomas Pynchon,

532:His church is the old one at the edge of town, and I now realize why he's chosen to live here. The church is too far away for him to really help anyone, so this is the best place for him. It's everywhere, on all sides and angles. This is where the father needs to be. Not in some church, gathering dust. ~ Markus Zusak,

533:Journalists go to press briefings at the Ministry of Defense in London or the Pentagon in Washington, and no critical questions are posed at all. It's just a news-gathering operation, and the fact that the news is being given by governments who are waging war doesn't seem to worry many journalists too much. ~ Tariq Ali,

534:Joe Paterno would end every game by gathering the players and reciting the Lord’s Prayer. He loved it—not so much for religious reasons but for the words. Look. The Lord’s Prayer uses the words “us” and “we” and “our.” It doesn’t use the word “I” or “me” or “mine.” Paterno understood. It’s a team prayer. ~ Joe Posnanski,

535:Take it for all in all, a representative gathering of Twing life and thought. The Nibs were whispering in a pleased manner to each other, the Lower Middles were sitting up very straight, as if they'd been bleached, and the Tough Eggs whiled away the time by cracking nuts and exchanging low rustic wheezes. ~ P G Wodehouse,

536:The Christian social witness is achieved only insofar as Christians are deeply implicated in the real life of society - in unions and political clubs and citizen groups and the like; it is not made by Christian people gathering off by themselves in a parish house to study and discuss social issues. ~ William Stringfellow,

537:They sat a few meters apart, speaking very rarely, and there was really only the noise of turning pages (…) Where Hans Hubermann and Erik Vandenburg were ultimately united by music, Max and Liesel were held together by the quiet gathering of words. "Hi, Max." "Hi, Liesel." They would sit and read. ~ Markus Zusak,

538:I am the blade that is swung by your hand, Slicing a rainbow's arc, I am the clapper, but you are the bell, Tolling the gathering dark. If you are the singer, then I am the song, A threnody, requiem, dirge. You've mad me the answer for all the world’s need, Humanity’s undying urge ~ Neal Shusterman,

539:From the human perspective, the purpose of the church meeting is mutual edification. But from God’s perspective, the purpose of the gathering is to express His glorious Son and make Him visible. (The church is the body, and Christ is the Head. The purpose of one’s body is to express the life that’s within it.) ~ Frank Viola,

540:This sort of information gathering is precisely what we call play. And the important function of play is thus revealed: it permits us to gain, without any particular future application in mind, a holistic understanding of the world, which is both a complement of and a preparation for later analytical activities. ~ Carl Sagan,

541:For kids who are exposed to books at home, the loss of a library is sad. But for kids who come from environments where people don't read, the loss of a library is a tragedy hat might keep them from ever discovering the joys of reading-or from gathering the kind of information that will decide their lot in life. ~ Michael Moore,

542:So disasters come not singly; But as if they watched and waited, Scanning one another’s motions, When the first descends, the others Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise Round their victim, sick and wounded, First a shadow, then a sorrow, Till the air is dark with anguish. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

543:Churches provide a place of gathering for people who share common beliefs, support and encouragement for each other in faith, a place to find insight into and teaching about God's Word, and they provide a time and place where people can leave the world behind and focus only on their spiritual relationship with God. ~ Mary C Neal,

544:New Orleans invented the brown paper bag party - usually at a gathering in a home - where anyone darker than the bag attached to the door was denied entrance. The brown bag criterion survives as a metaphor for how the black cultural elite quite literally establishes caste along color lines within black life. ~ Michael Eric Dyson,

545:While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. ~ Robert Burns,

546:Deep beneath the surface of the Sun, enormous forces were gathering. At any moment, the energies of a million hydrogen bombs might burst forth in the awesome explosion.... Climbing at millions of miles per hour, an invisible fireball many times the size of Earth would leap from the Sun and head out across space. ~ Arthur C Clarke,

547:I learned to build bookshelves and brought books to my room, gathering them around me thickly. I read by day and into the night. I thought about perfectibility, and deism, and adjectives, and clouds, and the foxes, I locked my door, from the inside, and leaped from the roof and went to the woods, by day or darkness. ~ Mary Oliver,

548:I learned to build bookshelves and brought books to my room, gathering them around me thickly. I read by day and into the night. I thought about perfectibility, and deism, and adjectives, and clouds, and then foxes. I locked my door, from the inside, and leaped from the roof and went to the woods, by day or darkness. ~ Mary Oliver,

549:Madison’s experience at both the state and the federal level had convinced him that “the people” was not some benevolent, harmonious collective but rather a smoldering and ever-shifting gathering of factions or interest groups committed to provincial perspectives and vulnerable to demagogues with partisan agendas. ~ Joseph J Ellis,

550:My body was prickly with fear sweat as I lay in the gathering morning light and listened to the slender spindles of malice whining away in the distance. i thought how that shudder was under the skin of everybody in the world, not in the mind, deep under the skin. It's not the jets so much as what their purpose is. ~ John Steinbeck,

551:Well, when people talk about interrogating terrorists, they're acting like this is some sort of law enforcement function. Law enforcement is about gathering evidence to take someone to trial, and convict them. Anti-terrorism is about finding out information to prevent a future attack so the same tactics do not apply. ~ Marco Rubio,

552:[T]hat old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air ... Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer. ~ Wallace Stegner,

553:I sit up, edge over close to my window, and push it open, slipping one leg in, then the next, turning back to Jase. “Come on.” His smile flashes in the gathering dark as his eyebrows lift, but he climbs carefully in as I lock my bedroom door. “Be still,” I tell him. “Now I’m going to learn all about you. ~ Huntley Fitzpatrick,

554:One thing I know people will say to me is ‘Are you suggesting we go back to being hunter-gatherers?’” “That of course is an inane idea,” Ishmael said. “The Leaver life-style isn’t about hunting and gathering, it’s about letting the rest of the community live—and agriculturalists can do that as well as hunter-gatherers. ~ Daniel Quinn,

555:Accustomed to the habit of gathering a little of what I have heard. If [what I have written] somehow enters the door of a wise person, intent on learning, Then the fruit of my labor will have been achieved. For the smiles of the stupid and the approval of the rich, I have never yearned even in my dreams. When ~ Donald S Lopez Jr,

556:He gave her a long, worried look, but cars were stacking up behind them and dusk was gathering. A horn blared. Then another. He handed her a business card—Kenny’s Cabinets—and told her to call him anytime. She thanked him and got out of the minivan. As he drove away, she realized the van wasn’t even red. It was bronze. ~ Dennis Lehane,

557:I'm doing a lot of cognitive processing. I'm gathering research. I'm processing it. I'm arranging the data. I'm sorting out the narrative. I'm designing. It's almost as if I do all the cognitive work that you then don't have to do. I digest it, process it, and then offer something that's very easy for you to digest. ~ David Mccandless,

558:Mazie sits with a sense of non-being over her – of it being someone other than she sitting there timeless, suspended in a dusky room, feeling a voice gathering around her, kind still hands of sound flaring into words meaningless and strange, meaningless when one tries to understand, but meaningful for a fleeting second. ~ Tillie Olsen,

559:LIFE is a mosaic of pleasure and pain - grief is an interval between two moments of joy. Peace is the interlude between two wars. You have no rose without a thorn; the diligent picker will avoid the pricks and gather the flower. There is no bee without the sting; cleverness consists in gathering the honey nevertheless. ~ Sathya Sai Baba,

560:The local grocery store was a gathering, a community place. You knew the owner, if you didn't have any money they'd let you go for a couple days. You talked. It was a friendly place. Supermarkets are totally impersonal. I mean, you may say hello to the checkout girl or something, but the personal connections are all gone. ~ Noam Chomsky,

561:All the best things and treasures of this world are not to be produced by each generation for itself; but we are all intended, not to carve our work in snow that will melt, but each and all of us to be continually rolling a great white gathering snow-ball, higher and higher, larger and larger, along the Alps of human power. ~ John Ruskin,

562:She was talking about those odds and ends of “futuristic” Thirties and Forties architecture you pass daily in American cities without noticing; the movie marquees ribbed to radiate some mysterious energy, the dime stores faced with fluted aluminum, the chrome-tube chairs gathering dust in the lobbies of transient hotels. ~ William Gibson,

563:Solitude does not necessarily mean being alone. It is a state of conscious retreat, a gathering of the self. The capacity for solitude makes relationships with others more authentic. Because you know who you are, you can see others for who they are, not for who you need them to be. So solitude enables richer conversation. ~ Sherry Turkle,

564:The whole sphere of air that surrounds us, Alma, is alive with invisible attractions — electric, magnetic, fiery and thoughtful. There is a universal sympathy all around us… When we cease all argument and debate — both internal and external — our true questions can be heard and answered…That is the gathering of magic. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

565:What are you?” he asked. “What are you people?” She yawned, showing a perfect, dark-pink tongue. “Think of us as symbols—we’re the dream that humanity creates to make sense of the shadows on the cave wall. Now go on, keep moving. Your body is already growing cold. The fools are gathering on the mountain. The clock is ticking. ~ Neil Gaiman,

566:All that seemed clear was that at some point we had aborted ourselves and butchered the job, and because nothing else seemed so relevant I decided to go to San Francisco. San Francisco was where the social hemorrhaging was showing up. San Francisco was where the missing children were gathering and calling themselves ‘hippies’. ~ Joan Didion,

567:During years of working for a living, I have experienced much of the legal and social discrimination reserved for women in this country, I have been refused service in public restaurants, ordered out of public gathering places and turned away from apartment rentals. All for the clearly stated, sole reason that I am a woman. ~ Gloria Steinem,

568:Theological work and real pastoral fellowship can only grow in a life which is governed by gathering round the Word morning and evening and by fixed times of prayer. Do not try to make the Bible relevant. Its relevance is axiomatic . . . Do not defend God’s Word, but testify to it . . . Trust to the Word. —DIETRICH BONHOEFFER ~ Eric Metaxas,

569:Your silence exists as does my self gathering. But so does the almost absolute silence of the world's dawning. In such suspension, before every utterance on earth, there is a cloud, an almost immobile air. The plants already breathe, while we still ask ourselves how to speak to each other, without taking breath away from them. ~ Luce Irigaray,

570:Adam strokes my head, my face, he kisses my tears. We are blessed. Let them all go. The sound of a bird flying low across the garden. Then nothing. Nothing. A cloud passes. Nothing again. Light falls through the window, falls onto me, into me. Moments. All gathering towards this one. ~ Jenny Downham,

571:Among friends one has the privilege of saying nothing; the civility consists in the assumption that one's silence will be civilly understood. I can imagine a small gathering of friends who say nothing all evening: they recoil from saying anything that the others don't want to hear; and their silence would be the subtlest courtesy. ~ Allen Tate,

572:How many literalists have read enough of the Bible to know that the death penalty is prescribed for adultery, for gathering sticks on the sabbath and for cheeking your parents? If we reject Deuteronomy and Leviticus (as all enlightened moderns do), by what criteria do we then decide which of religion’s moral values to accept? ~ Richard Dawkins,

573:He thought he was walking along a dusty road that showed white in the gathering darkness of a summer night. Whence and whither it led, and why he traveled it, he did not know, though all seemed simple and natural, as is the way in dreams; for in the Land Beyond the Bed surprises cease from troubling and the judgment is at rest. ~ Ambrose Bierce,

574:Madison’s experience at both the state and the federal level had convinced him that “the people” was not some benevolent, harmonious collective but rather a smoldering and ever-shifting gathering of factions or interest groups committed to provincial perspectives and vulnerable to demagogues with partisan agendas. The question, ~ Joseph J Ellis,

575:The notion that big business and big labor and big government can sit down around a table somewhere and work out the direction of the American economy is at complete variance with the reality of where the American economy is headed. I mean, it's like dinosaurs gathering to talk about the evolution of a new generation of mammals. ~ Bruce Babbitt,

576:How do we accomplish this matter of gathering life together in God? We must begin primarily by refocusing our attention keeping our minds and hearts directed toward God. The essence of the centered life is attention to God in all we think, say and do. It is the growing realization of His presence in our most down-to-earth living. ~ Sue Monk Kidd,

577:I thought you had some kind of greater purpose," Vick says thoughtfully. "Gathering people to bring to the Rising. but you came into the Carving to save yourself and get back to the girl you're in love with. That's all." "That's all." I agree. He can think less of me if he wants. "Good enough," Vick says. "Good night. ~ Ally Condie,

578:You do play dirty, siren,” he says, rolling me onto my stomach. Lifting my hips up, he rubs the head of his cock over my entrance. Up and down, up and down. Gathering my hair into a fist, he leans forward, tilting my ear towards him. “You didn’t think the King of the Night would just be gentle, did you?” he says, his voice husky ~ Laura Thalassa,

579:The generation of seeds ... is therefore marvelous and analogous to the other productions of living things. For first of all an umbilicus appears. ... Its extremity gradually expands and after gathering a colliquamentous ichor becomes analogous to an amnion. ... In the course of time the seed or fetus begins to become visible. ~ Marcello Malpighi,

580:To the branch's edge and the leaf's under surface be most attentive Its pervasive aroma envelopes people far away The realms of form and function can't contain it Spring leaks profusely through the basket [2472.jpg] -- from A Quiet Room: The Poetry of Zen Master Jakushitsu, Translated by Arthur Braverman ~ Jakushitsu, Gathering Tea ,

581:Awful things, children. Needy, self-centered tyrants, the boys all teeth and firsts, the girls all claws and spit. Gathering into sniveling packs and sniffing out vulnerabilities — and woe to the child not cunning enough to hide their own — the others would close in like the grubby shark they were. Great pastime, savaging someone. ~ Steven Erikson,

582:No culture on earth outside of mid-century suburban America has ever deployed one woman per child without simultaneously assigning her such major productive activities as weaving, farming, gathering, temple maintenance, and tent-building. The reason is that full-time, one-on-one child-raising is not good for women or children. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich,

583:Radu had practiced the poem so often he could recite it in his sleep. He had stolen shiny bits from famous Arabic poems, gathering them like a raven to line his own nest. The language was dense and flowery, hyperbolic in the extreme. Murad listened, enraptured, as his reign was likened to the ocean and his posterity a mighty river. ~ Kiersten White,

584:Don't let a single comic moment pass you by; then help the audience get the laughs. Give them permission to laugh by holding for laughter and by letting them know early on what they're in for. In the first few moments, the audience is gathering information, looking at the scenery and costumes. Create a comic moment as soon as you can. ~ James Carver,

585:Prose is not to be read aloud but to oneself alone at night, and it is not quick as poetry but rather a gathering web of insinuations ... Prose should be a long intimacy between strangers with no direct appeal to what both may have known. It should slowly appeal to feelings unexpressed, it should in the end draw tears out of the stone. ~ Henry Green,

586:In case you haven't heard, my girlfriends and I have declared the summer of 2012 as the best summer ever. The best way to document said 'best summer ever' is with a good ol' disposable camera. Smile, click, move on! Nobody gets pic approval, and there's no time wasted gathering around the camera to analyze a moment that just happened. ~ Candice Accola,

587:Ironically, the same church gathering that had denounced Paul of Samosata back in 268 had explicitly condemned the term homoousios, which that earlier council had regarded as one of Paul’s heretical innovations. In 268, the church dismissed the word as heretical nonsense; sixty years later, it was the watchword for unifying orthodoxy. ~ Philip Jenkins,

588:Look Rushtail," Crowfeather was meowing frustratedly "WindClan is gathering farther down the hill. If you stay here, you'll get mixed up with ThunderClan" "So?" ThunderClan never did me any harm," rasped the elder "I'm not moving a pawstep from here, young fellow, until I've had something to eat" Crowfeather rolled his eyes " Great StarClan ~ Erin Hunter,

589:Ovid tells us, in his Metamorphoses, that the young girls who were gathering flowers with Proserpina that fatal day were turned into the Sirens—the bird-bodied golden-feathered singers with female faces of the Homeric tradition—and then went wandering about over land and sea, crying out in search of their vanished playmate. ~ Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa,

590:The moon shimmers in green water. White herons fly through the moonlight. The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts: into the night, singing, they paddle home together.         Li T'ai-po         tr. Hamil by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes ~ Li Bai, Autumn River Song ,

591:It was easy enough to see why God, having called the dry land "Earth" and the gathering together of the waters "the Seas," saw that it was good. I could picture the Old Fellow lifting up the horizon like the lid of a stewing pot and peeking in with one red eye to admire His Creation: to see how it was coming along. It was good! ~ Alan Bradley,

592:May every soul that touches mine - be it the slightest contact - get there from some good; some little grace; one kindly thought; one aspiration yet unfelt; one bit of courage for the darkening sky; one gleam of faith to brave the thickening ills of life; one glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists - to make this life worthwhile. ~ George Eliot,

593:And it may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering, as it did at the first Human Be-In and Monterey Pop and Woodstock. Or it may be that two generations of war and surveillance had left people craving the embodiment of their own unease in the form of a lone, unsteady man on a slide guitar. ~ Jennifer Egan,

594:By the spring of 1918 when the German divisions had transferred from the Eastern Front to the Western Front, they were able to deploy some 192 divisions opposing only 156 Allied divisions. Numerically the situation had never been more promising for the Germans, but the American forces were gathering and casting a long shadow across German plans. ~ Peter Hart,

595:The true terror Jonah thought the true mystery of life was not that we are all going to die but that we were all born that we were all once little babies like this unknowing and slowly reeling in the world gathering it loop by loop like a ball of string. The true terror was that we once didn't exist and then through no fault of our own we had to. ~ Dan Chaon,

596:They had always fitted together like pieces of an unsolved (and perhaps unsolvable) puzzle- the smoke of her into the solidness of him, the solitariness of her into the gathering of him, the strangeness of her into the straightforwardness of him, the insouciance of her into the restraint of him. The quietness of her into the quietness of him. ~ Arundhati Roy,

597:A reordering of creation has already broken into creation in the person of Jesus Christ, and we are gathering as a people in order to practice for the arrival of the kingdom in its fullness—and thus in order to be trained to be a kingdom-kind-of-people in the meantime, as witnesses to that kingdom, in and through our work as cultural agents. ~ James K A Smith,

598:Look-Then-Leap Rule: You set a predetermined amount of time for “looking”—that is, exploring your options, gathering data—in which you categorically don’t choose anyone, no matter how impressive. After that point, you enter the “leap” phase, prepared to instantly commit to anyone who outshines the best applicant you saw in the look phase. We ~ Brian Christian,

599:Wallace's sales agent, back in London, heard mutterings from some naturalists that young Mr. Wallace ought to quit theorizing and stick to gathering facts. Besides expressing their condescension toward him in particular, that criticism also reflected a common attitude that fact-gathering, not theory, was the proper business of all naturalists. ~ David Quammen,

600:What the hell is he talking about? Then he saw them, gathering in formation like tiny jets on a strafing run. He thought at first they were doves, but that made no sense, because doves didn’t congregate in such coordinated patterns and they were too far inland to be seagulls. He couldn’t judge their size or distance, so high and feathery was ~ Scott Nicholson,

601:If the gathering had included more veterans of that elongated state of low-intensity warfare known as Society, this observation would have been keenly made by those soi-disant sentries who stood upon the battlements, keeping vigil against bounders who would struggle their way up the vast glacis separating wage slaves from Equity Participants. ~ Neal Stephenson,

602:She was all that I wanted. It was irrelevant whether it had been two days or two years. There was a weight in my chest, a gravity associated with finding someone who brought levity to my spirit and fire to my soul. It was all in there, gathering volume and intensity, and I didn’t know how I’d lived thirty-nine years without experiencing this. ~ Kate Canterbary,

603:Social media is itself as temporary as any social gathering, nightclub or party. It's the people that matter, not the venue. So when the trend leaders of one social niche or another decide the place everyone is socializing has lost its luster or, more important, its exclusivity, they move on to the next one, taking their followers with them. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,

604:at New Haven with the valedictory. In his Sophomore year he made the acquaintance of Locke’s Essay on the Human Understanding—a work which left a permanent impress on his thinking. He read it, he says, with a far higher pleasure “than the most greedy miser finds when gathering up handfuls of silver and gold from some newly-discovered treasure. ~ Jonathan Edwards,

605:He felt he knew now what time would be like without seasons and what heat would be like without light and what man would be like without salvation. He didn't care if he never made the train and if it had not been for what suddenly caught his attention, like a cry out of the gathering dusk, he might have forgotten there was a station to go to. ~ Flannery O Connor,

606:It is not only that in man, as Julian Huxley has said, evolution becomes conscious (that is, reflectively inventive); what is more, by the gathering together and concentration of all its forces and all its strands, from being divergent it is becoming convergent. ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Transformation and Continuation in Man of the Mechanism of Evolution,

607:They had already decided among themselves to keep it lean. It was felt someone else’s cryptic half-remembered childhood legends would not survive a formal one-against-seven across-the-table grilling. It was felt a casual atmosphere would be more productive. A smaller gathering. Sinclair and Reacher and Neagley had already been chosen ahead of time. So ~ Lee Child,

608:His anxiety melted away, and he envied Patricia for having such charming friends. If this had been a gathering of Laurence’s tribe, by now someone would already have tried to prove they were the supreme expert on some topic. There would have been dick-measuring. Instead, these people just seemed to accept one another and feed each other tacos. ~ Charlie Jane Anders,

609:Hunt looked positively swarthy in the gathering dusk, big and potently masculine, with the eyes of a pirate and the casually ruthless air of a pagan king. He was no less arrogant than he had ever been... no tamer, no more refined... and yet somehow he had become the object of such all-consuming desire that Annabelle was certain she had lost her mind. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

610:I feel Icelandic people are really good at gathering together information and brain power. We're better at that than some kind of Las Vegas money gambling. I mean, I really admire the characteristics in Icelandics, this adventureism. We are famous for it. We are addicted to risk to the point of being foolhardy. And I think that is great in brain power stuff. ~ Bjork,

611:Maura looks stunned, as though she's been slapped. "What about me? Don't you trust me?" She gives a hysterical little laugh. Tears are gathering in her blue eyes. "Let me guess: you think I'm reckless. 'Too easily ruled by my emotions,' Elena said. As though feeling things too deeply -- wanting more for myself and girls like us -- is so terrible! ~ Jessica Spotswood,

612:And it may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering, as it did at the first Human Be-In and Monterey Pop and Woodstock. Or it may be that two generations of war and surveillance had left people craving the embodiment of their own unease in the form of a lone, unsteady man on a slide guitar. Whatever ~ Jennifer Egan,

613:I Have Changed The Numbers On My Watch I have changed the numbers on my watch, And now perhaps something else will change. Now perhaps At precisely 2a.m. You will not get up And gathering your things together Go forever. Perhaps now you will find it is Far too early to go, Or far too late, And stay forever ~ Brian Patten,

614:Who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what need he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Deep versed in books and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge, As children gathering pebbles on the shore. ~ John Milton,

615:Tendrils of fog crept along the cliffside we were climbing down, gathering thickly in the dips the trail made, swirling whenever I set my foot down in it, as if it were recoiling at the prospect of touching me. I tried not to think about movies I'd seen in which horrible things happened to people out in such heavy fog. You know the movies I'm talking about. ~ Meg Cabot,

616:The reason I pull Irish exits is not because I think I’m too busy and cool to be bothered with pleasantries. It’s that when there is a gathering of more than thirty people I don’t want to waste your time with hellos and good-byes. I think it’s actually the more polite thing to do, because I’m not coercing partygoers into some big farewell moment with me. ~ Mindy Kaling,

617:The vampire sleeping deep within the earth stirred, aroused by the scent of fresh prey in town. Gathering his senses, he deduced that the newcomer was young, healthy, and female. But it was the rich, warm scent of her life's blood that called to him, drawing him to full awareness. Just a single whiff, and he knew he would not rest until she was his. ~ Amanda Ashley,

618:lightning Collecting all the world’s lightning into one place is obviously impossible. What about gathering all the lightning from just one area? No place on Earth has constant lightning, but there’s an area in Venezuela that comes close. Near the southwestern edge of Lake Maracaibo, there’s a strange phenomenon: perpetual nighttime thunderstorms. There ~ Randall Munroe,

619:The world is not moved by love or actions that are of human creation. And the church is not empowered to live differently from any other gathering of people without the Holy Spirit. But when believers live in the power of the Spirit, the evidence in their lives is supernatural. The church cannot help but be different, and the world cannot help but notice. ~ Francis Chan,

620:God’s definition of success is really one of significance-the significant difference our lives can make in the lives of others. The significance doesn’t show up in won-loss records, long resumes, or the trophies gathering dust on our mantels. It’s found in the hearts and lives of those we’ve come across who are in some way better because of the way we lived. ~ Tony Dungy,

621:I had drunk so deeply of grief and innocently gambled so hard with fate and irony that a special kind of vision was gathering in my eyes, not entirely clear just yet. This was the same look people saw in your eyes when you have died for beauty and come to live accepting nature as life with no promise of paradise, and mad at people who couldn't see that. ~ Martin Prechtel,

622:This gathering of one’s back hair inside a large net, the new style of hairdressing that William and Tai Haruru had failed to notice on the last peaceful evening at the settlement, was excellently adapted for civil war in the primeval forest, she thought, though possibly the Parisian hairdresser who had devised the fashion had been unaware of the fact. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,

623:Alice howled, struggled, and pulled the zombie off-balance. They fell together into the mass of her arriving children, with Alice landing on the bottom. Her children oozed over her person and kept her down. Gus heard the feeding, the gagging, the gathering shadows spared him the grislier details. He pushed through the entrance and hurried to van, where ~ Keith C Blackmore,

624:Nor was his energy confin’d alone To friends around his philosophick throne; Its influence wide improv’d our letter’d isle. And lucid vigour marked the general style: As Nile’s proud waves, swoln from their oozy bed. First o’er the neighbouring meads majestick spread; Till gathering force, they more and more expand. And with new virtue fertilise the land. ~ Samuel Johnson,

625:The first time I write my full name Jacqueline Amanda Woodson without anybody' help on a clean white page in my composition notebook, I know If I wanted to I could write anything Letters becoming words, words gathering meaning, becoming thoughts outside my head becoming sentences written by Jacqueline Amanda Woodson ~ Jacqueline Woodson,

626:As early as August 24 Sukhomlinov, the War Minister who had not bothered to build arms factories because he did not believe in firepower, wrote General Yanushkevitch, the beardless Chief of Staff: “In God’s name, issue orders for gathering up the rifles. We have sent 150,000 to the Serbs, our reserves are nearly used up and factory production is feeble. ~ Barbara W Tuchman,

627:Gathering speed, the wagon reached the point where the tunnel took a sudden plunge. Its passengers held on tightly as the vehicle tipped over the edge and careered into the abyss. Ireheart wooped in excitement, Boëndal held on for dear life, Bavragor burst into song, and Goïmgar petitioned Vraccas, while Tungdil wondered if any of his companions were sane. ~ Markus Heitz,

628:This resiliency of hunting and gathering is now thought to explain why it survived for two million years before giving way to agriculture. In those areas where human remains span the transition from hunter-gatherer societies to farmers, anthropologists have reported that both nutrition and health declined, rather than improved, with the adoption of agriculture. ~ Gary Taubes,

629:The speech lacked soaring cadences or memorable lines, yet it touched on two explosive issues at the finale. He advised Native Americans that their days as a hunting, gathering people were numbered and that he favored “civilization, christianization and ultimate citizenship” for them.89 Then, in sharp contrast to his predecessor, Grant championed black suffrage. ~ Ron Chernow,

630:As Courtney Hall passed through the streets of Great Yu, it was repeated at every tram halt, every public breakfast stall, every Food Corps costermonger’s barrow, anger and confusion and shouting voices, a ball of confusion gathering a thousand, ten thousand, a million, ten million souls into itself as it rolled behind Courtney Hall through the boulevards of Yu. ~ Ian McDonald,

631:The first gatherings of the garden in May of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel like a mother about her baby - how could anything so beautiful be mine. And this emotion of wonder filled me for each vegetable as it was gathered every year. There is nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling, as gathering the vegetables one has grown. ~ Alice B Toklas,

632:Wilhelmine chatted on, chatted as if emboldened by the gathering dusk. She wasn't afraid any more. She didn't blush any more. And in this chatter without lamplight the dark seemed to suffuse her words as well. Her voice deepened. Darkness can have a strange influence. It has something religious about it and makes one speak in a low voice, as if in a church. ~ Georges Rodenbach,

633:Yes, sir.” Vaughn remembers well his uncle telling him and Eddy that their most important weapon against an opponent wasn’t their speed or their strength, but their battle plan: the strategy forged from a keen understanding of their opponent’s strengths and weaknesses, and of their own. “Actually, right now, I am gathering information on the major players. ~ William L Myers Jr,

634:A really good blowjob is like making a cake, the gathering of ingredients, the mixing and stirring, the slow baking in the warm oven of your mouth. Timing is everything. So is the variety of flicks, licks, nicks and kisses that culminate with gentle persistent pressure on the frenulum, a membrane on the underside of the penis that connects the head to the shaft. ~ Chloe Thurlow,

635:A throwaway conversation, a couple of bad jokes that half the gathering of five could not even have understood, and it was done. The battle was over. The war was over. Could they have had that conversation at the start, and would all those men–all these men–still be alive? Still have their arms, or legs? However she turned it around, she could not make it fit. ~ Joe Abercrombie,

636:I think, in life, being nervous about something that's forthcoming is very helpful, whether it's an awards show or a family gathering or a job interview. If you're too calm and confident, then I think you aren't executing to the best of your ability. So I try not to let nerves get the best of me, but I welcome them because it tends to fuel me to try harder. ~ Neil Patrick Harris,

637:Oh, you mysterious girls, when you are fifty-two we shall find you out; you must come into the open then. If the mouth has fallen sourly yours the blame: all the meanness your youth concealed have been gathering in your face. But the pretty thoughts and sweet ways and dear, forgotten kindnesses linger there also, to bloom in your twilight like evening primroses. ~ James M Barrie,

638:Two Soviets . . . were talking to each other. And one of them asked, "What's the difference between the Soviet Constitution and the United States Constitution?" And the other one said, "That's easy. The Soviet Constitution guarantees freedom of speech and freedom of gathering. The American Constitution guarantees freedom after speech and freedom after gathering." ~ Ronald Reagan,

639:Finally, the stores’ design, so critical to atmosphere, seemed to lack the warm, cozy feeling of a neighborhood gathering place. Some people called our interior spaces cookie-cutter or sterile: Clearly we have had to streamline store design to gain efficiencies of scale . . . [but] one of the results has been stores that no longer have the soul of the past. . . . ~ Howard Schultz,

640:I have no idea what a high school party looks like. I was just with my friend, and we were walking down Venice and there was this gathering of people playing Bongo drums, and so after dinner we sat down with them and played Bongo drums for a while. That's the closest thing I've gotten to a high school experience, meeting strangers and just hanging out with them. ~ Ashley Rickards,

641:The birth and death of stars, light reaching his aging eyes after a billion years racing across the near-vacuum, and sometimes he spent the days gathering fossils from the cliffs and arranging them in precise geometric patterns in the tall grass around the house. He left lines of salt and drew elaborate runes, the meanings of which he’d long since forgotten. His ~ Ross E Lockhart,

642:For our physiology to calm down, heal, and grow we need a visceral feeling of safety. No doctor can write a prescription for friendship and love: These are complex and hard-earned capacities. You don't need a history of trauma to feel self-conscious and even panicked at a party with strangers – but trauma can turn the whole world into a gathering of aliens. ~ Bessel A van der Kolk,

643:Holiness is as much about what you do on a Monday morning on the factory floor as it is about what you do on a Sunday morning in a church gathering. Holiness is as much about the kind of neighbour you are as it is about the kind of church member you are. It is as much about who you are when you are holding a steering wheel as who you are when you are holding a Bible. ~ Tim Chester,

644:At this gathering [Council of Niceau in 324 AD] many aspects of Christianity were debated and voted upon ― the date of Easter, the role of the bishops, the administration of sacraments, and, of course, the divinity of Jesus... until that moment in history, Jesus was viewed by His followers as a mortal prophet... a great and powerful man, but a man nonetheless. A mortal. ~ Dan Brown,

645:There are tons of people in the West who love fiddles, banjos and mandolins. If you got to any cowboy poetry and music gathering those are the instruments they use. It's acoustic music. We don't do that much modern country that has electric guitars and a lot of volume. It's a gentler form of music. It's from the land and comes from the ranchers and farmers. ~ Michael Martin Murphey,

646:It's been a prevalent notion. Fallen sparks. Fragments of vessels broken at the Creation. And someday, somehow, before the end, a gathering back to home. A messenger from the Kingdom, arriving at the last moment. But I tell you there is no such message, no such home -- only the millions of last moments . . . nothing more. Our history is an aggregate of last moments. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

647:Our racing simulator is more about gathering data about the car, trying different setups, and trying to find speed in the actual racecar as opposed to speed in the actual driver. There's no other way to get that kind of testing in, without doing the actual event, or getting outside and spending the money to make it happen. And it costs a lot to go to the racetrack. ~ Martin Truex Jr,

648:So far as work goes, my favorite part of all of it is the working part. I mean actual physical labor, the kind that makes you tired and sweaty. Getting up at 4 in the morning to tend the farm while the world is quiet - feeding animals, mucking stalls, gathering eggs, filling water troughs, checking fences, letting animals out into the field - is a high point in my day. ~ Chip Gaines,

649:We are not only slaves of the culture in which we have been brought up; we are also slaves to the vast cloud of misery and sorrow of all humanity, to the vastness of its confusion, violence and brutality. We never seem to pay attention to the accumulated sorrow of man. Nor are we aware of the terrible violence which has been gathering generation after generation. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti,

650:Church is a gathering of nobodies to worship the only real Somebody: Christ, our Head. The King of creation, raised from the dead, seated with the Father, Commander of heaven, exercising complete authority over all time and space, perfect in His justice, infinite in His mercy, holy in His perfection, the only perfect Somebody who died for nobodies like you and me. ~ Charles R Swindoll,

651:As a result, our big “attic” room was a Hispanic gathering place. Afternoons, it was crowded with boys from Venezuela and Cuba, jabbering away in Spanish, the world’s fastest language, seeming to all talk at once. It was like living in a cage full of parrots whose crackers had been laced with crystal meth. I found it agreeably colorful. For whatever reason, Brugál had not ~ Tom Robbins,

652:been my home away from home. I finish gathering the newspapers and walk up the front steps, sheltered by the wide and lengthy awning of the wraparound porch. I grip the front door’s handle, give the old, heavy door a shove open, and find a calm in the warm, familiar fragrance of citrus and vanilla—signature scents of Mimi’s home. It took Juliette all of five days to fly ~ Savannah Page,

653:Each week I pack my bag and travel the country, I go to people who write me and tell me their problems. I appear whether at their house or at their job site or some neighborhood gathering. I come there and listen to their story and I get hands on as I say. I don t give advice, I give people hope, I build their self-esteem, I motivate 'em. I inspire them because that's what I do. ~ Mr T,

654:Home is where the heart is, I thought now, gathering myself together in Betty's Luncheonette. I had no heart any more, it had been broken; or not broken, it simply wasn't there any more. It had been scooped neatly out of me like the yolk from a hard-boiled egg, leaving the rest of me bloodless and congealed and hollow. I'm heartless, I thought. Therefore I'm homeless. ~ Margaret Atwood,

655:After gathering myself, I finally stated bluntly, “Sara, I want to have sex.” "Well, of course you do," she responded like I'd said the most obvious thing in the world. “But what if I’m terrible at it?” Sara started laughing hysterically. I hung up the phone. She called back ten seconds later. “Sorry,” she offered calmly. “You’re serious. ~ Rebecca Donovan,

656:May every soul that touches mine— be it the slightest contact – Get therefore some good; Some little grace, one kindly thought; One aspiration yet unfelt; One bit of courage For the darkening sky; One gleam of faith To brave the thickening ills of life; One glimpse of brighter skies Beyond the gathering mist – To make their life worthwhile. ~ George Sand,

657:The ancient einkorn wheat, found in the hills surrounding Göbekli Tepe, just happens to be the single genetic ancestor of every strain of wheat grown and eaten across the earth. People gathering at a temple on a hill to worship ‘heavenly beings’ were like passengers in an airport during a pandemic. Wheat, and what to do with it, spread to every corner of the land. Mankind ~ Gordon White,

658:The last achievement of the serious admirer is to stop immediately putting to work the energies aroused by, filling up the space opened by, what is admired. Thereby talented admirers give themselves permission to breathe, to breathe more deeply. But for that it is necessary to go beyond avidity; to identify with something beyond achievement, beyond the gathering of power. ~ Susan Sontag,

659:Those who have succeeded in attaching or detaching their minds at will have succeeded in Pratyahara, which means gathering towards, checking the outgoing powers of the mind, freeing it from the thralldom of the senses. When we can do this, we shall really possess character; then alone we shall have taken a long step towards freedom. Before that, we are mere machines. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

660:Those who have succeeded in attaching or detaching their minds at will have succeeded in Pratyahara, which means gathering towards, checking the outgoing powers of the mind, freeing it from the thralldom of the senses. When we can do this, we shall really possess character; then alone we shall have taken a long step towards freedom. Before that, we are mere machines. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

661:Dear 2600: ...So, in the interest of information gathering and because I am a subscriber, are you going to be checking me out? This would be unnecessary since we checked you out before you subscribed. That's why we made sure you heard about us and followed the plan by subscribing. Writing this letter, however, was not part of the plan and we will be taking corrective action. ~ Eric Corley,

662:Great CEOs build exceptional strategies for gathering the required information continuously. They embed their quest for intelligence into all of their daily actions from staff meetings to customer meetings to one-on-ones. Winning strategies are built on comprehensive knowledge gathered in every interaction the CEO has with an employee, a customer, a partner, or an investor. ~ Ben Horowitz,

663:Our rocky ledge overlooking the valley. Perhaps a little less green than usual, but the blackberry bushes hang heavy with fruit. Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key. ~ Suzanne Collins,

664:She sits down and puts her hand to her chest and rocks. Thinks of all she has lost and will lose. All she has had and will have. It seems to her that life is like gathering berries into an apron with a hole. Why do we keep on? Because the berries are beautiful, and we must eat to survive. We catch what we can. We walk past what we lose for the promise of more, just ahead. ~ Elizabeth Berg,

665:Spiritual superiority only sees the individual. But alas, ordinarily we human beings are sensual and, therefore, as soon as it is a gathering, the impression changes- we see something abstract, the crowd, and we become different. But in the eyes of God, the infinite spirit, all the millions that have lived and now live do not make a crowd, He only sees each individual. ~ S ren Kierkegaard,

666:Spiritual superiority only sees the individual. But alas, ordinarily we human beings are sensual and, therefore, as soon as it is a gathering, the impression changes - we see something abstract, the crowd, and we become different. But in the eyes of God, the infinite spirit, all the millions that have lived and now live do not make a crowd, He only sees each individual. ~ Soren Kierkegaard,

667:Converse with a mind that is grandly simple, and literature looks like word-catching. The simplest utterances are worthiest to bewritten, yet are they so cheap, and so things of course, that, in the infinite riches of the soul, it is like gathering a few pebbles off the ground, or bottling a little air in a phial, when the whole earth and the whole atmosphere are ours. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,

668:He was reading the strange account of the two missionaries who have lately made such a figure in the newspapers. I suppose the whole account is just such another gross imposition upon the public as the man's gathering the people together to see him go into the quart bottle. "Men seven hundred years old!" And why not seven yards high? He that can believe it, let him believe it. ~ John Wesley,

669:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end?-he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,

670:They knew that the outer surface of truth is not smooth, welling and gathering from paragraph to shapely paragraph, but is encrusted with a rough protective bark of citations, quotation marks, italics and foreign languages, a whole variorum crust of ‘ibid.’s’ and ‘compare’s’ and ‘see’s’ that are the shield for the pure flow of argument as it lives for a moment in one mind… ~ Nicholson Baker,

671:Writers, of course, are obliged by our professions to spend much of our time going nowhere. Our creations come not when we’re out in the world, gathering impressions, but when we’re sitting still, turning those impressions into sentences. Our job, you could say, is to turn, through stillness, a life of movement into art. Sitting still is our workplace, sometimes our battlefield. ~ Pico Iyer,

672:If only feelings and ideas and stories and history really could be contained in a block of marble—if only there could be a gathering up of permanence—how reassuring it would be, how comforting to think that something you loved could be held in place, moored and everlasting, rather than bobbing along on the slippery sea of reminiscence, where it could always drift out of reach. ~ Susan Orlean,

673:I certainly think so, and I argue so, and I give talks on that. Are there risks by putting people together? Absolutely. Is there value in the black church? Absolutely. Is there value in having immigrant churches? Absolutely. But if we don't have congregations gathering with people of different races, what we're doing is we are redefining racial division, a racial inequality. ~ Michael Emerson,

674:If on a winter's night a traveler, outside the town of Malbork, leaning from the steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down in the gathering shadow in a network of lines that enlace, in a network of lines that intersect, on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave-What story down there awaits its end? - he asks, anxious to hear the story. ~ Italo Calvino,

675:The wagoner's eyes were wide open. The shock of what had just happened was frozen on his face. His own dagger was buried deep in his chest. 'He fell on his knife. He's dead.' the steward said. He looked up at the Ranger, but saw neither quilt nor regret in his dark eyes. 'What a shame,' said Will Treaty. Then, gathering his cloak around him, he turned and strode from the tent. ~ John Flanagan,

676:Questions lead to further questions, and inquiry breeds insight. Gathering expertise brings both confidence and consolation. E. O. Wilson wrote: "You start by loving a subject. Birds, probability theory, stars, differential equations, storm fronts, sign language, swallowtail butterflies....The subject will be your lodestar and give sanctuary in the shifting mental universe. ~ Lyanda Lynn Haupt,

677:When she was nine or ten, one of her relatives asked her at a family gathering the question every boy and girl is asked sooner or later: “What do you want to do when you grow up?” Without skipping a beat, Elizabeth replied, “I want to be a billionaire.” “Wouldn’t you rather be president?” the relative asked. “No, the president will marry me because I’ll have a billion dollars. ~ John Carreyrou,

678:There were eccentric characters in the hotel. The Paris slums are a gathering-place for eccentric people — people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent. Poverty frees them from ordinary standards of behaviour, just as money frees people from work. Some of the lodgers in our hotel lived lives that were curious beyond words. ~ Anonymous,

679:When I heard stories of the atrocities in Afghanistan I felt proud to be in Swat. “Here a girl can go to school,” I used to say. But the Taliban were right around the corner and were Pashtuns like us. For me the valley was a sunny place and I couldn’t see the clouds gathering behind the mountains. My father used to say, “I will protect your freedom, Malala. Carry on with your ~ Malala Yousafzai,

680:By now the sky outside is the color of his marble, but they are all reluctant about gathering up their books and magazines and records, about finding their car keys and ending the day, and by the time they are ready to leave Joan Baez is eating potato salad with her fingers from a bowl in the refrigerator, and everyone stays to share it, just a little while longer where it is warm. ~ Joan Didion,

681:He gave me heaven and earth, and assumed I'd be satisfied; Actually I was too embarrassed to argue. The spiritual seekers are tired, two or three at each stage of the path. The rest who have given up never knew your address at all. There are so many in this gathering who wish the candle well. But if the being of the candle is melting, what can the sorrow-sharers do? ~ Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib,

682:The difference between a good and a great work of art was down to an almost indistinguishable series of largely unidentifiable factors: the élan of a brushstroke; the juxtaposition of colours; the collisions in a composition and an accidental stroke or two. Like a rolling stone gathering moss, a painting gathered history, comment and appreciation, all adding to its value. ~ Hannah Mary Rothschild,

683:It's a fascinating time, I think. I do believe that with all the qualifications I've said - [such as] the uncertain accuracy of the web - nonetheless the access to speeches, documents is unparalleled with the ease of gathering information. If I had had that access when I was an editor or coming up, it would have made my life so much easier. As it was, everything took so much longer. ~ Harold Evans,

684:For me, it's important to elevate the hypocrisy with humor. Then you really are using the humor to elevate the problem, saying this is why it matters, and then saying we can combine the work together with laughing and being around joyful people and helping out. So the comedy sometimes can actually full-on expose the issue, but also it's a gathering tool. It serves a lot of purposes. ~ Lizz Winstead,

685:She went stealthily as a cat through this profusion of growth, gathering cuckoo-spittle on her skirts, cracking snails that were underfoot, staining her hands with thistle-milk and slug-slime, and rubbing off upon her naked arms sticky blights which, though snow-white on the apple-tree trunks, made madder stains on her skin; thus she drew quite near to Clare, still unobserved of him. ~ Thomas Hardy,

686:the library is the last free space for the gathering and sharing of knowledge: “Our attention cannot be bought and sold in a library.” As a tradition barely a century and a half old in the United States, it gives physical form to the principle that public access to knowledge is the foundation of democracy ["What Libraries Can (Still) Do," The New York Review Daily, October 26, 2015]. ~ James Gleick,

687:Basically, it’s a matter of rolling up your sleeves and learning to work with people who don’t think the way you do. From there, it’s a lot of gathering around dining room tables to eat good food and talk. There’s only one rule at these dinners: if you come to share, you also have to come prepared to hear what is being said. Actually, it’s not enough to just hear; you must also listen. ~ Chip Gaines,

688:Customers don't always know what they want. The decline in coffee-drinking was due to the fact that most of the coffee people bought was stale and they weren't enjoying it. Once they tasted ours and experienced what we call "the third place" ... a gathering place between home and work where they were treated with respect.. they found we were filling a need they didn't know they had. ~ Howard Schultz,

689:This summer-sweet night is only one minute upon one minute upon another Beautiful cacophony, sugar upon lips, dancing to exhaustion I thought of you, before this minute upon another minute upon another Until, numb, my lips fell onto the mouth of another, and I was undone. ~from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter which is a fictional book in Ballad: A gathering of faerie ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

690:No, in the Bolitar household, the kitchen was more a gathering place - a Family Room Lite, if you will - than anything related to even the basest of the culinary arts. The round table held magazines and catalogs and congealing white boxes of Chinese takeout. The stove top saw less action than a Merchant-Ivory production. The oven was a prop, strictly for show, like a politician's Bible. ~ Harlan Coben,

691:The pine trees were rows of knife-blades whispering: “Fall upon us!” and in the gathering darkness the torrent roared and howled, beating against its rocking prison walls with the frenzy of an everlasting despair. “Padre!” Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew back from the precipice. “It is like hell.” “No, my son,” Montanelli answered softly, “it is only like a human soul. ~ Ethel Lilian Voynich,

692:The pine trees were rows of knife-blades whispering: “Fall upon us!” and in the gathering darkness the torrent roared and howled, beating against its rocking prison walls with the frenzy of an everlasting despair. “Padre!” Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew back from the precipice. “It is like hell.” “No, my son,” Montanelli answered softly, “it is only like a human soul. ~ Ethel Lilian Voynich,

693:And I also know that pain can seem like an endless ribbon. You pull it and you pull it. You keep gathering it toward you, and as it collects, you really can’t believe that there’s something else at the end of it. Something that isn’t just more pain. But there’s always something else at the end; something at least a little different. You never know what that thing will be, but it’s there. ~ Meg Wolitzer,

694:I work not only for the gathering and assimilation of knowledge, but also to teach the fact that one can be brilliant without being arrogant, that great intellectual capacity brings great responsibility, that the quest for knowledge should never supplant the joy of learning, that one with great capacities must learn to be tolerant and appreciate those with lesser or different absolutes, ~ H G Bissinger,

695:That’s the biggest purpose of religious gathering: permission to look terrible in public. We used to go to church to confess our worst behaviour, to be heard and forgiven, then to be redeemed and accepted back into our community Chuck Palahniuk in interview with TMO ~ Chuck Palahniuk,

696:How did people come to chant rude poems while pulling certain ropes or gathering certain fruit, and why did nobody do anything of the kind while producing any of the modern things? Why is a modern newspaper never printed by singing in chorus? Why do shopmen seldom, if ever, sing? If reapers sing while reaping, why should not auditors sing while auditing and bankers while banking? ~ G K Chesterton,

697:I delivered a clear and forceful message that although we recognize Russia's intelligence gathering will sometimes take place even if we don't like it, there's a difference between that than either meddling with elections or going after private organizations or commercial entities, and that we're monitoring it carefully, and we will respond appropriately if and when we see this happening. ~ Barack Obama,

698:I don’t know. Things like not paying attention to the little details. Or just not paying attention to me much. I don’t mind people being on their smart phones now and then, but it seemed like she was always glued to that thing. Even when we were out for what I thought was a romantic dinner or at a family gathering.” He saw Natalie glance back to the picnic area. Jacks was still on his phone. ~ Rich Amooi,

699:The previous day, December 6, Sprague had upbraided his crew for their sloppy performance during an intensive series of drills. He broke with his nature and let them have it. Gathering his officers in the Tangier's wardroom, Sprague said, “We're not prepared. We can't trust the Japanese. How do you know the Japanese won't attack tomorrow?” The next morning the Combined Fleet struck. ~ James D Hornfischer,

700:Think you it is easy to get a well-known and beautiful woman alone, away from her husband, at so public a gathering? Think you that, in the company of dozens of guests and nearly as many gossipy servants, a man can just pull such a woman aside into a private closet? It would not be easy for any ordinary man--at least I suspect it would not. I cannot say how ordinary men go about their business. ~ David Liss,

701:A dozen deer stood in the pasture right across the fence. The big buck held his head proud and tall, antlers gathering snow as he watched over his harem. "Isn't he majestic?" She turned around so she could keep an eyes on him longer. "Not as majestic as you look in that coat," he said. "It's a work coat, for God's sake, Finn, and that's a horrible pickup line." "Just stating facts. ~ Carolyn Brown,

702:I have a theory that life is gathering the raw materials, and when we die, we get to make patterns out of our lives and relive them in whatever order we want. That way I can spend forever repeating the days when I was really happy, and never have to experience any of the sad days. So that's how you live a really great life. You make sure you have enough good days that you want to go back to. ~ Robyn Schneider,

703:I just think we as consumers of information media must be very clear what it is we are consuming. Whether we are choosing to get our information by listening to people fight about it. Or whether we're choosing to get it by listening to the facts or watching the facts as they're laid out and then reaching our own conclusions. It's very different ways of info gathering, but it's not all journalism. ~ Gwen Ifill,

704:It was true that she didn't have many friends, not of the flesh-and-blood variety, but the fact did not upset her. It was tiring, all that smiling and sharing and speculating about the weather, and she always left a gathering, no matter how intimate, feeling depleted, as if she'd accidentally left behind some vital layers of herself she'd never get back. --Part I: The Satchel> Chapter 1 ~ Kate Morton,

705:Movies were meant to stay on the screen, flat and large and colorful, gathering you up into their sweep of story, carrying you rollicking along to the end, then releasing you back into your unchanged life. But this movie misbehaved. It leaked out of the theater, poured off the screen, affected a lot of people so deeply that they required endless talismans and artifacts to stay connected to it. ~ Carrie Fisher,

706:Calvin believed that biblical preaching must occupy the chief place in the worship service. What God has to say to man is infinitely more important than what man has to say to God. If the congregation is to worship properly, if believers are to be edified, if the lost are to be converted, God’s Word must be exposited. Nothing must crowd the Scriptures out of the chief place in the public gathering. ~ Anonymous,

707:In the immediate vicinity, there might well be stability and peace. In the garden, a breeze may be swaying the branches of the plum tree and dust may slowly be gathering on the bookshelves in the living room. But we are aware that such serenity does not do justice to the chaotic and violent fundamentals of existence and hence, after a time, it has a a habit of growing worrisome in its own way. ~ Alain de Botton,

708:sure Edmonds was busting a gut in Virginia, on East Coast time, gathering information, so she could call early and wake him up. Chapter 57 Edmonds’ first call came in at two in the morning local time, which was five o’clock Eastern. Reacher and Turner both woke up. Reacher put the open phone between their pillows, and they rolled over forehead to forehead, so they could both hear. Edmonds said, “You ~ Lee Child,

709:Across the road, at the edge of the yellow beach, an especially large wave rises to the sky, gathering strength and power, until it can't bear the strain any longer and dives for shore in a long, elegant undulation, from north to south. An instant later, the boom reaches us, like the firing of a seventy-five-millimeter artillery shell -- a sound I know all too well. My nerves flinch obediently. ~ Beatriz Williams,

710:God is pursuing with omnipotent passion a worldwide purpose of gathering joyful worshipers for Himself from every tribe and tongue and people and nation. He has an inexhaustible enthusiasm for the supremacy of His name among the nations. Therefore, let us bring our affections into line with His, and, for the sake of His name, let us renounce the quest for worldly comforts and join His global purpose. ~ John Piper,

711:I DRANK FOR YEARS, and then I stopped drinking and discovered the sad truth about parties. A sober man at a party is lonely as a journalist, implacable as a coroner, bitter as an angel looking down from heaven. There’s something purely foolish about attending any large gathering of men and women without benefit of some kind of philter or magic dust to blind you and weaken your critical faculties. ~ Michael Chabon,

712:It wasn’t that time stopped in the library. It was as if it were captured here, collected here, and in all libraries—and not only my time, my life, but all human time as well. In the library, time is dammed up—not just stopped but saved. The library is a gathering pool of narratives and of the people who come to find them. It is where we can glimpse immortality; in the library, we can live forever. ~ Susan Orlean,

713:What you felt, the beast that swallowed you all and spat you back out, that is the great big bloody point of all this. If you learn nothing else from this bizarre and awkward experience--this gathering of strangers to blow into horns and pluck catgut--remember that you have the power to feel that. The power to create that. With your hands. Your breath. You are gods, children, and you can make war. ~ Kate Racculia,

714:In the 1970s, the Church Committee investigated intelligence gathering by the NSA, CIA, and FBI. It was able to reform these agencies only after extensive research and discovery. We need a similar committee now. We need to convince President Obama to adopt the recommendations of his own NSA review group. And we need to give the Privacy and Civil Liberties Oversight Board real investigative powers. ~ Bruce Schneier,

715:As I look around on Sunday morning at the people populating the pews, I see the risk that God has assumed. For whatever reason, God now reveals himself in the world not through a pillar of smoke and fire, not even through the physical body of his Son in Galilee, but through the mongrel collection that comprises my local church and every other such gathering in God’s name. (p. 68, Church: Why Bother?) ~ Philip Yancey,

716:now. They were spirits in their purest forms. Some called them orbs, and sometimes they showed up on photographs. Many non-believers assumed such orbs were dust on the lens. But the camera could never fully capture what I could see. To my eyes, the balls of light were alive with energy, endlessly forming and reforming, gathering smaller particles of energy around them like mini-black holes in outer space. ~ J R Rain,

717:Betsie,' I whispered, "what can we do for these people? Afterward I mean. Can't we make a home for them and care for them and love them?' 'Corrie, I pray every day that we will be allowed to do this! To show them that love is greater!' And it wasn't until I was gathering twigs later in the morning that I realized that I had been thinking of the feeble-minded, and Betsie of their persecutors. ~ Corrie ten Boom,

718:Creativity is the generation and initial development of new, useful ideas. Innovation is the successful implementation of those ideas in an organization. Thus, no innovation is possible without the creative processes that mark the front end of the process: identifying important problems and opportunities, gathering relevant information, generating new ideas, and exploring the validity of those ideas. ~ Teresa Amabile,

719:His mouth started to speak, but his brain decided it hadn’t got anything to say yet and shut it again. His brain then started to contend with the problem of what his eyes told it they were looking at, but in doing so relinquished control of the mouth which promptly fell open again. Once more gathering up the jaw, his brain lost control of his left hand which then wandered around in an aimless fashion. ~ Douglas Adams,

720:He gave me heaven and earth, and assumed I'd be satisfied; Actually I was too embarrassed to argue. The spiritual seekers are tired, two or three at each stage of the path. The rest who have given up never knew your address at all. There are so many in this gathering who wish the candle well. But if the being of the candle is melting, what can the sorrow-sharers do? ~ Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib,

721:Well from an outsider’s perspective, love seems easy, but when you’re the one in the hot seat, making the decisions, it’s not that easy putting your heart out there, gathering enough courage to fall into the unknown. Love isn’t easy and love isn’t kind; love is something you sacrifice everything for in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, there is a person in this world who will accept you for who you are. ~ Meghan Quinn,

722:A ripple of amusement passed through the gathering. Cass held out his hand and Roxanna held her breath. Would he even charm a mute child? Pensive, Abby studied him before extending her own small hand. He took it, and the music began again, but not before he’d stood her little feet atop his polished boots. Around and around he danced with her, holding on to her hands, her feet firmly planted atop his own. ~ Laura Frantz,

723:Benny’s stories were more frequent in the days before the downturn, when we felt flush and secure. We were less mindful of being caught gathering. Then the downturn hit, our workload disappeared, and, though we had more time than ever to listen to Benny’s stories, we were more conscious of being caught gathering, which was one indication that our workload had disappeared and that layoffs were necessary. ~ Joshua Ferris,

724:in order that the lower edge of each stone should hitch like a pawl into a ratchet cut into the top of the walls; hence no stone can press on the one below it, so as to cause a cumulative pressure all down the roof; and each stone is separately upheld by the side walls which it lies across.27 And this was the work of a people whose civilization had only recently emerged from neolithic hunter-gathering? ~ Graham Hancock,

725:I turn my back and look out to sea, the sun so low and molten that my eyes fill with tears, and yet I can feel it: a cooler wind is coming in, the edge of evening approaching. Dusk is gathering along the coast, in the coves and quaysides and marinas, where in an hour or so the long strings of coloured bulbs will twinkle and sway; and then it will pass over us-like a visitation: a plague or a blessing.... ~ Harriet Lane,

726:Waiter!” I hear him call out, sounding grouchy and irritable. “Bring me another round!” A waiter approaches and stares disapprovingly down at the table. “Haven’t you had enough?” “Another round,” Nico spits, sounding very un-Nico. “That’s it,” the waiter says, gathering up the empty plates. “I’m cutting you off.” “You can’t cut me off. It’s unlimited pasta and breadsticks. Now bring me more. ~ Jessica Brody,

727:Before our body existed, One energy was already there. Like jade, more lustrous as it's polished, Like gold, brighter as it's refined. Sweep clear the ocean of birth and death, Stay firm by the door of total mastery. A particle at the point of open awareness, The gentle firing is warm. [1786.jpg] -- from Immortal Sisters: Secret Teachings of Taoist Women, Edited by Thomas Cleary ~ Sun Buer, Gathering the Mind ,

728:Thanksgiving. It proved you had survived another year with its wars, inflation, unemployment, smog, presidents. It was a grand neurotic gathering of clans: loud drunks, grandmothers, sisters, aunts, screaming children, would-be suicides. And don't forget indigestion. I wasn't different from anyone else: There sat the 18-pound bird on my sink, dead, plucked, totally disemboweled. Iris would roast it for me. ~ Charles Bukowski,

729:I knew Frank Herbert for more than thirty-eight years. He was a magnificent human being, a man of great honor and distinction, and the most interesting person at any gathering, drawing listeners around him like a magnet. To say he was an intellectual giant would be an understatement, since he seemed to contain all of the knowledge of the universe in his marvelous mind. He was my father, and I loved him deeply. ~ Frank Herbert,

730:It is reported from the famous worshiper Rabi'ah al-Adawiyya (radiAllahu anha) that she said: "I have never heard the adhaan except that I remember the caller who will announce the Day of Resurrection, and I never see the falling snow except that I imagine the flying pages of the records of peoples deeds (on that day), and I never see swarms of locusts except that I think about the Great Gathering on the Last Day." ~ Rabia Basri,

731:There should be universal rules about this,” she told her reflection. “When a woman is body slammed, she can only take so much without breaking under the pressure.” Gathering a full head of steam, she frowned and jabbed her finger in the air. “Life should go easy on you then.” That would be humane. Civil. “And if bad things have to happen, there should be warning signs so there’s time to brace and prepare for them. ~ Vicki Hinze,

732:The Omanis had feasts called haflas where they’d bring a goat in and cook it in the fire. It was always a fantastic gathering. They’d turn up in their Land Cruisers in the middle of nowhere, put the carpets out, and start a fire up. Sometimes they’d tow in a small water bowser as well. There was a huge amount of ritual involved; the animal was treated with immense respect before it was killed, in accordance with Islam. ~ Andy McNab,

733:The shift from hunting-gathering to farming began only about 11,000 years ago; the first metal tools were produced only about 7,000 years ago; and the first state government and the first writing arose only around 5,400 years ago. “Modern” conditions have prevailed, even just locally, for only a tiny fraction of human history; all human societies have been traditional for far longer than any society has been modern. ~ Jared Diamond,

734:Science has often been regarded as a quest for confirmation. Scientists observe nature, create theories, and then seek to prove them by amassing as much supporting evidence as possible. But we can now see that this is only a part of the truth. Science is not just about confirmation, it is also about falsification. Knowledge does not progress merely by gathering confirmatory data, but by looking for contradictory data. ~ Matthew Syed,

735:I had become a kind of information magpie, gathering to myself all manner of shiny scraps of fact and hokum and books and art-history and politics and music and film, and developing, too, a certain skill in manipulating and arranging these pitiful shards so that they glittered and caught the light. Fool's gold, or priceless nuggets mined from my singular childhood's rich bohemian seam? I leave it to others to decide. ~ Salman Rushdie,

736:For as the aged, or those whose sight is defective, when any books however fair, is set before them, though they perceive that there is something written are scarcely able to make out two consecutive words, but, when aided by glasses, begin to read distinctly, so Scripture, gathering together the impressions of Deity, which, till then, lay confused in our minds, dissipates the darkness, and shows us the true God clearly. ~ John Calvin,

737:Conspiracies and Crime, Murder and Mayhem, Vengeance and Valor – For the First. Time. Ever! Only In New York City – A Global Gathering of Like Minded Minds: OsamaCon !!! Where In The World Is Osama Bin Laden?? The shadowy Vigilante, the arch-criminal mastermind, the enemy of Western Civilization? Come and find out – if you dare! Be blown away – only at the First Annual OsamaCon, coming soon ~ Lavie Tidhar,

738:Fashion is primitive in its insistence on exhibitionism, which withers in isolation. The catwalk fashion show with its incandescent hype is its apotheosis. A ritualized gathering of connoiseurs and the spoilt at a spotlit parade of snazzy pulchritude, it is an industrialized version of the pagan festivals of renewal. At the end of each seasonal display, a priesthood is enjoined to carry news of the omens to the masses. ~ Stephen Bayley,

739:For as the aged, or those whose sight is defective, when any book, however fair, is set before them, though they perceive that there is something written, are scarcely able to make out two consecutive words, but, when aided by glasses, begin to read distinctly, so Scripture, gathering together the impressions of Deity, which, till then, lay confused in our minds, dissipates the darkness, and shows us the true God clearly. ~ John Calvin,

740:Our lust is furious and our greed limitless in pursuing wealth and honors, chasing after power, heaping up riches, and gathering all those vain things which seem to give us grandeur and glory. On the other hand, we greatly fear and hate poverty, obscurity, and humility, and so we avoid these realities in every way. Thus, we see that those who order their lives according to their own counsel have a restless disposition. We ~ John Calvin,

741:I loved the quiet places in Kyoto, the places that held the world within a windless moment. Inside the temples, Nature held her breath. All longing was put to sleep in the stillness, and all was distilled into a clean simplicity. The smell of woodsmoke, the drift of incense; a procession of monks in black-and-gold robes, one of them giggling in a voice yet unbroken; a touch of autumn in the air, a sense of gathering rain. ~ Pico Iyer,

742:Normally I suppose I would have felt like kicking Chutsky for offering up Dexter’s tender skin on the altar of unnecessary danger. But as it happened, I agreed—just this once. It was clear to me that someone with a little bit of common sense should tag along, and looking around our gathering, counting everyone, that left me. “That’s right,” I said. “Besides, we can always call in for backup if it gets sticky.” Apparently, ~ Jeff Lindsay,

743:This summer-sweet night is only one minute upon one minute upon another Beautiful cacophony, sugar upon lips, dancing to exhaustion I thought of you, before this minute upon another minute upon another Until, numb, my lips fell onto the mouth of another, and I was undone. ~ Maggie Stiefvaterfrom Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter which is a fictional book in Ballad: A gathering of faerie ~ Maggie Stiefvater,

744:Who reads  Incessantly, and to his reading brings not  A spirit and judgment equal or superior,  (And what he brings what need he elsewhere seek?)  Uncertain and unsettled still remains,  Deep versed in books and shallow in himself,  Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys  And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge,  As children gathering pebbles on the shore. ~ John Milton, Paradise Regained (1671), Book IV, line 322.,

745:Many of Islam's apologists insist that suicide bombing is not Islamic because the Koran forbids suicide. Mmm-hmm. So where are all the Muslims gathering in mass demonstrations to vehemently condemn this practice that slanders their religion? Why does contemporary Islam promote 'martyrdom' as the highest duty of Muslims? Why are photographs of suicide bombers plastered everywhere in Beirut? Because Islam is what Islam does. ~ Jamie Glazov,

746:So, Son, instead of crying, be strong, so as to be able to comfort your mother . . . take her for a long walk in the quiet country, gathering wild flowers here and there. . . . But remember always, Dante, in the play of happiness, don't you use all for yourself only. . . . help the persecuted and the victim because they are your better friends. . . . In this struggle of life you will find more and love and you will be loved. ~ Howard Zinn,

747:The thing that has disturbed me most about the Russian hacking episode is - and the thing that surprised me most has not been the fact of Russian hacking. The cyber world is full of information gathering, you know, propaganda, et cetera. I have been concerned about the degree to which, in some circles, you've seen people suggest that Vladimir Putin has more credibility than the U.S. government. I think that's something new. ~ Barack Obama,

748:By the end of the meeting, one conscientious human being had cleared up the confusion generated by web-crawling data-gathering programs. The housing authority knew which Catherine Taylor it was dealing with. The question we’re left with is this: How many Wanda Taylors are out there clearing up false identities and other errors in our data? The answer: not nearly enough. Humans in the data economy are outliers and throwbacks. ~ Cathy O Neil,

749:Later on, when I tried to imagine how I might have ruined things, that would occur to me - that I'd so rarely resisted, that I hadn't made it hard enough for him. Maybe it was like gathering your strength and hurling your body against a door you believe to be locked, and then the door opens easily - it wasn't locked at all - and you're standing looking into the room, trying to remember what it was you thought you wanted. ~ Curtis Sittenfeld,

750:We have no functioning parliament in Egypt and months ago Mohammed Morsi assumed legislative functions. Now he's decided that there should be no opposition to the laws that he makes and that he is authorized to pass any national security measure. It is difficult to be more absolutist than that. And the constitutional convention - what a sad gathering; it threatens to send us back to the darkest period of the Middle Ages. ~ Mohamed ElBaradei,

751:Thus far, however, he didn't have any real objections to the idea. The person that he would not want going wasn't full blood, so he didn't have to worry about that. Thank the moon, he thought. "We have also decided, as Fane's mate is not full blooded, that it would perhaps be wise to include half blooded and dormant in The Gathering. Obviously they are potential true mates." And there's the other shoe, Decebel thought. ~ Quinn Loftis,

752:A gathering of Democrats is more sweaty, disorderly, offhand, and rowdy than a gathering of Republicans; it is also likely to be more cheerful, imaginative, tolerant of dissent, and skillful at the game of give-and-take. A gathering of Republicans is more respectable, sober, purposeful, and businesslike than a gathering of Democrats; it is also likely to be more self-righteous, pompous, cut-and-dried, and just plain boring. ~ Clinton Rossiter,

753:In that quality of openness, when a pleasant experience arises for us, neither do we have to lunge at it in desperation, for we do not need it in order to feel good about ourselves. We can say, 'This is the most wonderful gathering of people, I've ever been in. That's nice.' When it's over, we can let that wonderful thing go, without regret, because within ourselves we feel whole, and happy. We understand that we have enough. ~ Sharon Salzberg,

754:The biggest revolution of the past 50,000 years of human history was not the advent of the Internet, the growth of the industrial age out of the seeds of the Enlightenment, or the development of modern methods of long-distance navigation. Rather, it was when a few people living in several locations around the world decided to stop gathering from the land, abiding by limits set in place by nature, and started growing their food. ~ Spencer Wells,

755:Sir Lyonel knew that this sleeping knight would charge to his known defeat with neither hesitation nor despair and finally would accept his death with courtesy and grace as though it were a prize. And suddenly Sir Lyonel knew why Lancelot would gallop down the centuries, spear in rest, gathering men's hearts on his lance head like tilting rings. He chose his side and it was Lancelot's. He brushed a dungfly from the sleeping face. ~ John Steinbeck,

756:From baby steps the Pats management hopes to be jogging later in the 2013-2014 season. That’s when the Gillette system starts getting deeply contextual. They are gathering data on the eating and drinking habits of participating fans. They know when a season ticket holder is attending and what that customer’s buying habits are during a game, so they can start to predict who will be ordering what at a particular moment in every game. ~ Robert Scoble,

757:Between the gathering of information, the seeking of opinions, and the actions of our lives, another process takes place: decision making. Decisions cannot be made in a vacuum; they are made in space and time. To make an effective decision, we must have some goal toward which we are moving. If not, we find ourselves deciding because “Uncle Frank said it was the right thing to do” or “Reverend George told me it was best this way.” In ~ Matthew Kelly,

758:The facile reply to great groans such as mine is the most hateful of all clichés, “fortunes of war,” and another, “They asked for it. All they understand is force.” Who asked for it? The only thing who understands is force? Believe me, it is not easy to rationalize the stamping out of vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored when gathering up babies in bushel baskets or helping a man dig where he thinks his wife may be buried. ~ Kurt Vonnegut,

759:There, all gone, Luce.” And the little girl continued to open and squint shut her eyes. “All gone,” she said eventually. Then, “More ’tato!” and the hunt began again. Inside, Isabel swept the floor in every room, gathering the sandy dust into piles in the corner, ready to gather up. Returning from a quick inspection of the bread in the oven, she found a trail leading all through the cottage, thanks to Lucy’s attempts with the dustpan. ~ M L Stedman,

760:I am also asking that Congress not meet until DOJ has resolved all election issues. “To prevent any possible violence from occurring as a result of this announcement, I have ordered Martial Law, a curfew of nine pm to five am, and the TSA will close the interstate highway system to prevent groups from gathering to plan any possible defiance of my rule. If you need to travel further than fifty miles, you must get permission from the TSA. ~ Cliff Ball,

761:If in this life only we have hope....." By God, that was true, too. This quickening divine power that he had experienced could not be confined to this world, for cruel, sordid, ugly, devilish can be this world, and by the nature of things that power could have neither source nor ending in it; only flow through it, around it, over it, under it, gathering up the gold into its eternal shining and burning the dross in its fire. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,

762:Our own economy tells us to take as much as we can get, right? Our own economy says, you're going to be the most successful graduate if you go into the business world and take as much you can get. That's not how nature works. Nature has a much simpler economy. Everything in nature takes what it needs. That's it. You don't see an oak tree gathering up all the resources. An oak tree takes what it needs to be the authentic oak tree it is. ~ Tom Shadyac,

763:The stories themselves aren't what moves him now...What moves him are the shadowy people behind the stories, the workers weary from their days, gathering at night in front of a comforting bit of fire...The world then was no less terrifying than it is now, with our nightmares of bombs and disease and technological warfare. Anything held the ability to set of fear...a nail dropped in a the hay, wolves circling at the edge of the woods... ~ Lauren Groff,

764:Concentration is a gathering together of the consciousness and either centralising at one point or turning on a single object, e.g. the Divine-there can also be a gathered condition throughout the whole being, not at a point. In meditation it is not indispensable to gather like this, one can simply remain with a quiet mind thinking of one subject or observing what comes in the consciousness and dealing with it.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Letters On Yoga - II,

765:People came and went in waves, sometimes gathering in little circles around me to ask questions about the PCT when they noticed my pack. As I spoke, the doubts I had about myself on the trail fell away for whole minutes at a time and I forgot all about being a big fat idiot. Basking in the attention of the people who gathered around me, I didn’t just feel like a backpacking expert. I felt like a hard-ass motherfucking Amazonian queen. ~ Cheryl Strayed,

766:Dancing On The Hill-Tops Dancing on the hill-tops, Singing in the valleys, Laughing with the echoes, Merry little Alice. Playing games with lambkins In the flowering valleys, Gathering pretty posies, Helpful little Alice. If her father's cottage Turned into a palace, And he owned the hill-tops And the flowering valleys, She’d be none the happier, Happy little Alice. ~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,

767:I plucked your flower, O world! I pressed it to my heart and the thorn pricked. When the day waned and it darkened, I found that the flower had faded, but the pain remained. More flowers will come to you with perfume and pride, O world! But my time for flower-gathering is over, and through the dark night I have not my rose, only the pain remains. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LVII - I Plucked Your Flower ,

768:The Lord called Himself and is the 'good Shepherd' (Jn. 10:11). If you believe in His guidance, then you will understand by your heart that as a zealous shepherd when feeding his flock does not allow the sheep to disperse, but gathers them together, so also the Lord pastures our souls, not allowing them to wander in falsehood and sins, but gathering them on the path of virtue, and not allowing the mental wolf to steal and scatter them. ~ John of Kronstadt,

769:Let's start this place on nonexistent fire," I teased. "Promise." She sucked in an excited breath. We closed our eyes and I placed my feverish mouth to hers. Immediately, violent, zealous flashes of shimmering flames climbed to the furthest point, trailed like rain down the pitched ceiling and spilled down the walls, gathering at their feet pools of fervent, bubbling, silvery liquid electricity before evaporating into nothing. ~ Fisher Amelie,

770:One of the apprentices whispered loudly, “I’m not surprised he wants to hide in a Twoleg nest—once a kittypet, always a kittypet.” Fireheart bristled. He hadn’t heard that insult for several moons. But the story that a kittypet had joined a Clan must have made rich gossip at any Gathering. Of course WindClan would know. He whipped around and glared at the apprentice. “You’ve spent two moons living in a Twoleg tunnel. Does that make you a rat? ~ Erin Hunter,

771:If you choose to stay with us, Jaime, and if we choose to accept you, the pride, the vanity, must go. You will learn by observing and experiencing the training process, which, as you’re probably gathering, won’t always be easy and won’t always be fun. But in the process, if you can set aside your preconceptions, your fear, and most especially your ego, you will achieve a level of peace and actualization that is tremendously freeing.” Jaime ~ Claire Thompson,

772:Today at Pearl Harbor, veterans are gathering to pay tribute to the young men they remember who never escaped the sunken ships. And over the years, some Pearl Harbor veterans have made a last request. They ask that their ashes be brought down and placed inside the USS Arizona. After the long lives given them, they wanted to rest besides the best men they ever knew. Such loyalty and love remain the greatest strength of the United States Navy. ~ George W Bush,

773:The central thing that Winslow could remember from this tme was the feeling of satisfaction he had, all the ride down with Carole King for company. As far as he could take it. As far as he could go. Something at least would happen next and this part would be over. He could feel the same movement starting up inside him, the same gathering wave, and wondered where it would leave him this time. Nothing to do, though. Nothing to do but wait and see. ~ Kevin Canty,

774:Coming back to the village through the snow, under the dark cloudy skies, Belle felt like she had been away for a lifetime. She had, in fact, never left the village by herself before this. There were a couple of overnight trips to fairs with her father, and once or twice during mushroom season they got swept up in the fury and spent a few nights in the forest, gathering morels and truffles and camping out. But that was all, and always with Papa. ~ Liz Braswell,

775:Harper was camped out in her chair, playing Hearthstone and swearing at the RNG gods. I sat up on my stool, a full box of unopened Magic: The Gathering booster packs in front of me, debating if I should just open them and sell the individual cards to keep the packs intact. I kind of wanted the mindless work of sorting them, and the little bits of happy discovery that came from each opened pack as I looked to see what the mythic or rare card was. ~ Annie Bellet,

776:It is beginning." Pak Eng and Laughing Chan and Peter all look at Hock Seng with respect. "You were right." Hock Seng nods impatiently. "I learn." The storm is gathering. The megodonts must do battle. It is their fate. The power sharing of the last coup could never last. The beasts must clash and one will establish final dominance. Hock Seng murmurs a prayer to his ancestors that he will come out of this maelstrom alive. ~ Paolo Bacigalupi,

777:London was a graveyard haunted by dead faiths. A city and a landscape. A market laid on feudalisms. Gathering and hunting, little pockets of alterity, too, but most of all in the level Billy had come to live in a tilework of fiefdoms, theocratic duchies, zones and spheres of influences, over each of which some local despot, some criminal pope, sat watch. It was all who-knew-whom, gave access to what, greased which palms on what route to where. ~ China Mi ville,

778:Not to discriminate every moment some passionate attitude in those about us, and in the very brilliancy of their gifts some tragic dividing of forces on their ways, is, on this short day of frost and sun, to sleep before evening. With this sense of the splendour of our experience and of its awful brevity, gathering all we are into one desperate effort to see and touch, we shall hardly have time to make theories about the things we see and touch. ~ Walter Pater,

779:A Brief History of the Universe: Billions of days ago, atoms began joining together to form stars and planets. On these planets, cells came together to form plants, animals, and people, and then people started gathering to form civilizations. And do you know why all these atoms, cells, and people came together? Because nothing wants to be alone! The invisible force which controls the universe and sets all things in motion? It's called "loneliness! ~ Mark Russell,

780:As I stood there in the gathering dark I thought that in this simple explanation I had mastered the problem of the world--mastered the whole secret of these delicious people. Possibly the checks they had devised for the increase of population had succeeded too well, and their numbers had rather diminished than kept stationary. That would account for the abandoned ruins. Very simple was my explanation, and plausible enough--as most wrong theories are! ~ H G Wells,

781:I give things to God, but then I—" "Take them back." "Yes." She loved that Gramo understood her. "Don't I know it. That lesson took your old gramo a long time to figure out. We can't make room for the treasures we'll be given if we keep the trunk closed on all the old ones that are gathering dust and taking up room. We have to keep opening up our hearts, even in the disappointments." She leaned in. "Even when we're afraid. ~ Jane Kirkpatrick,

782:The Lower Room How soft the lamplight falls On pictures, books, And pleasant coloured walls And curtains drawn! How happily one looks On glowing flame and ember; Ah, why should one remember Dew and dawn! Here age and wisdom sit Calm and discreet, Life and the fruit of it Are here in truth, Whose gathering once was sweet-Wisdom and age! Well met! Yet neither can forget Folly and youth! ~ Edith Nesbit,

783:Given the cultural barriers to intersex conversation, the amazing thing is that we would even expect women and men to have anything to say to each other for more than ten minutes at a stretch. The barriers are ancient -- perhaps rooted, as some paleontologist may soon discover, in the contrast between the occasional guttural utterances exchanged in male hunting bands and the extended discussions characteristic of female food-gathering groups. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich,

784:It is only when we have heard the door of destiny slam shut that we begin to feel the iron-cold talons of certainty digging into our breast, gathering slowly, slowly around our heart, and fastening their clutches upon the fine thread of hope on which our world of happiness hangs: then the thread is severed; then all that it held falls and is shattered; then the shriek of despair sounds through the emptiness. In doubt, no one despairs. ~ Jens Peter Jacobsen,

785:There are whole industries, such as venture capital, that are currently organized around the belief that innovation is essentially a game of playing the odds. But it’s time to topple that tired paradigm. I’ve spent twenty years gathering evidence so that you can put your time, energy, and resources into creating products and services that you can predict, in advance, customers will be eager to hire. Leave relying on luck to the other guys. ~ Clayton M Christensen,

786:[...] However, many books, Wise men have said, are wearisome; who reads Incessantly, and to his reading brings not A spirit and judgment equal or superior, (And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek?) Uncertain and unsettled still remains, Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself, Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge, As children gathering pebbles on the shore. ~ John Milton,

787:A novel’s architecture, the lovely slope of predicament, the tendrils of surface detail, the calculated curving upward into inevitability, yet allowing spells of incorrigibility, and then the ending, a corruption of cause and effect and the gathering together of all the characters into a framed operatic circle of consolation and ecstasy, backlit with fibre-optic gold, just for a moment on the second-to-last page, just for an atomic particle of time. ~ Carol Shields,

788:Guess what?' Fitz said. 'I don't know,' Jude said. 'What? Narnie smiled?' He glanced at her for the first time. 'When you guys see a Narnie smile, it's like a revelation,' Webb said, gathering her towards him. Jude stopped in front of her and, with both hands cupping her face, tried to make a smile. Narnie flinched. 'Leave her alone,' Tate said. 'I need a revelation,' Jude said. 'And you're the only one that can give me one, Narns. ~ Melina Marchetta,

789:Ideas are often generated in physical gathering places where people with diverse interests encounter one another serendipitously. That is why Steve Jobs liked his buildings to have a central atrium and why the young Benjamin Franklin founded a club where the most interesting people of Philadelphia would gather every Friday. At the court of Ludovico Sforza, Leonardo found friends who could spark new ideas by rubbing together their diverse passions. ~ Walter Isaacson,

790:From my differing awareness, I sense something you may not yet. Especially among artists...resistance is growing. Conciousness is on the move. Something is at work in the world: a general recognition of the crisis of the spirit, of the banal and shoddy, in human affairs. It is universal and it must be met. Recently, an Australian Aboriginal shaman warned me: 'The Great Serpent has woken. Jarapiri stirs. The earth shakes. And the warriors are gathering. ~ Alan Garner,

791:Our audience is young and vibrant; we retain our previous following; we are three generations into it. Unlike other bands that are very demographically specific, who they appeal to and who their fans are, we're the antithesis of that. If you see your younger brother or a parent of yours or a neighbor at most rock concerts, that's not cool but with us and kids, it's a tribal gathering. Whether it's kids or neighbors - they're all part of a secret society. ~ Paul Stanley,

792:To tell you the truth the only thing I feel, Peter, is that you’re going about this all wrong. You’re following the most natural roads, and for that reason you’ve ended up in particularly unnatural places. You’re exploring alibis, gathering clues, looking for motives. But it seems to me that, in this particular case the usual terms of your art have lost their meaning, the same way that the concept of time changes meaning at speeds faster than light … ~ Arkady Strugatsky,

793:Worship is what we were created for. This is the final end of all existence-the worship of God. God created the universe so that it would display the worth of His glory. And He created us so that we would see this glory and reflect it by knowing and loving it-with all our heart and soul and mind and strength. The church needs to build a common vision of what worship is and what she is gathering to do on Sunday morning and scattering to do on Monday morning. ~ John Piper,

794:It was the ring on the left hand that people at the Old Girls' Reunion looked for. Often, in fact nearly always, it was an uninteresting ring, sometimes no more than the plain gold band or the very smallest and dimmest of diamonds. Perhaps the husband was also of this variety, but as he was not seen at this female gathering he could only be imagined, and somehow I do not think we ever imagined the husbands to be quite so uninteresting as they probably were. ~ Barbara Pym,

795:Admittedly, guilt can be my default setting. After a social gathering, I’m often left with a vague sense of wrongdoing that I try to pinpoint the source of. Had I laughed insensitively or slighted someone unintentionally? And I always feel accused in Nordstrom. The saleswomen look at my jeans and inexpensive haircut and I’m sure they’re thinking I’m about to slip a pair of earrings into my purse. I feel guilty when I eat white bread and when I don’t recycle. ~ Deb Caletti,

796:The endless, useless urge to look on life comprehensively, to take a bird's-eye view of ourselves and judge the dimensions of what we have or have not done: this is life as landscape, or life as résumé. But life is incremental, and though a worthwhile life is a gathering together of all that one is, good and bad, successful and not, the paradox is that we can never really see this one thing that all of our increments (and decrements, I suppose) add up to. ~ Christian Wiman,

797:The mind is essentially a survival machine. Attack and defense against other minds, gathering, storing, and analyzing information — this is what it is good at, but it is not at all creative. All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness. The mind then gives form to the creative impulse or insight. Even the great scientists have reported that their creative breakthroughs came at a time of mental quietude. ~ Eckhart Tolle,

798:The old gardens of Kusu Terrace are a wilderness, yet the willows that remain still put out new branches; lasses gathering water chestnuts sing so loudly and with such clarity, that the feeling of spring returns to us; but where once stood the palace of the King of Wu, now only the moon over the west river once shone on the lovely ladies there. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes ~ Li Bai, On Kusu Terrace ,

799:Unequal Democracy is the sort of book to which every political scientist should aspire--it is methodologically rigorous, conceptually serious, and above all, it addresses urgent concerns of our fellow citizens. As Bartels shows, much of what we think we know about the politics of economic inequality is dead wrong. Bartels's perplexing and often unexpected discoveries should help refocus the gathering public debate about inequality and what to do about it. ~ Robert D Putnam,

800:They were...no ordinary group, gathering together to kill an evening, to seek refuge from critical husbands and demanding children while idly discussing their new best-seller. They met because literature was their shared passion. Books were as important to them as breath itself. They shared the ability to immerse themselves in the lives of fictional characters, to argue passionately about the development of plots, about decisions taken, dilemmas resolved. ~ Gloria Goldreich,

801:The tuning knob continued to extract noises from the tiny box, then it settled down, it was a song, a song of no significance, but the blind internees slowly began gathering round, without pushing, they stopped the moment they felt a presence before them and there they remained, listening, their eyes wide open tuned in the direction of the voice that was singing, some were crying, as probably only the blind can cry, the tears simply flowing as from a fountain. ~ Jos Saramago,

802:The reason I pull Irish exits is not because I think I'm too busy and cool to be bothered with pleasantries. It's that when there is a gathering of more than thirty people I don't want to waste your time with hellos and good-byes. I think it's actually the more polite thing to do, because I'm not coercing partygoers into some big farewell moment with me. Then other people feel like they have to stop what they're doing and hug me, too. It's time-wasting dominoes. ~ Mindy Kaling,

803:Although this block of brick three-stories is just like the one he left, something in it makes him happy; the steps and windowsills seem to twitch and shift in the corner of his eye, alive. This illusion trips him. His hands lift of their own and he feels the wind on his ears even before, his heels hitting heavily on the pavement at first but with an effortless gathering out of a kind of sweet panic growing lighter and quicker and quieter, he runs. Ah: runs. Runs. ~ John Updike,

804:It's interesting when you're doing signing sessions with other writers and you look at the queues at each table and you can see definite human types gathering there.... My queue is always full of, you know, wild-eyed sleazebags and people who stare at me very intensely, as if I have some particular message for them. As if I must know that they've been reading me, that this dyad or symbiosis of reader and writer has been so intense that I must somehow know about it. ~ Martin Amis,

805:As a leader it is your job to protect the missional integrity of the Jesus gathering to which you have been called. It is your responsibility to see to it that the church under your care continues as a gathering of people in process; a place where the curious,the unconvinced, the sceptical, the used-to-believe and the broken, as well as the committed, informed and sold-out come together around Peter's declaration that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. ~ Andy Stanley,

806:Henry gripped the axe handle and wiggled it free. The monster dropped to the ground and roared. Gathering his last vestiges of strength, Henry swung the axe at the sound. The monster grabbed Henry's arm that held the weapon and twisted. A loud crack of bone accompanied Henry's pain-filled scream. The axe slipped to the floor. Henry faced the monster and stared into its evil, soulless eyes. The fiend's jaws opened. Its tongue slid across sharp teeth. Though he dreaded ~ Ben Hammott,

807:I never expected…I never--” His eyes flared as he seemed to recognise where I was going with my words. He advanced on me, his body moving into my space until he stood directly in front of me. “Don’t,” he said, almost pleadingly. “Don’t. Please don’t” I lifted my gaze, gathering all my courage, refusing to back down. “I never expected to fall in love with you. And I thought maybe…” …you could love me back. Even if you leave. You could leave loving me. ~ Mia Sheridan,

808:Why didn’t you stay?” she had whispered against the unyielding stone. Why didn’t you stay? She pressed the berry against her lips. Why didn’t I ask you just one more time to stay? Sajjad stood up quietly and walked over to her. “There is a phrase I have heard in English: to leave someone alone with their grief. Urdu has no equivalent phrase. It only understands the concept of gathering around and becoming ‘ghum-khaur’—grief-eaters—who take in the mourner’s sorrow. ~ Kamila Shamsie,

809:As he strode through the deserted city, he thought of the New Years of his childhood, before he was ten, before the Change, when the city had still glowed with the soft, deep enchantment of sugared angels spreading their sparkling wings in bakery windows, and bells whose limpid sounds rose like the sea at a moonlit tide, and glass ornaments turning slowly this way and that on dark tree branches, gathering in their reflections the whole wondrous, promise-filled world. ~ Olga Grushin,

810:Past, Present, Future Tell me, tell me, smiling child, What the past is like to thee ? 'An Autumn evening soft and mild With a wind that sighs mournfully.' Tell me, what is the present hour ? 'A green and flowery spray Where a young bird sits gathering its power To mount and fly away.' And what is the future, happy one ? 'A sea beneath a cloudless sun ; A mighty, glorious, dazzling sea Stretching into infinity.' ~ Emily Jane Brontë,

811:The more supple vagabond, too, is sure to appear on the least rumor of such a gathering, and the next day to disappear, and go into his hole like the seventeen-year locust, in an ever-shabby coat, though finer than the farmer's best, yet never dressed.... He especially is the creature of the occasion. He empties both his pockets and his character into the stream, and swims in such a day. He dearly loves the social slush. There is no reserve of soberness in him. ~ Henry David Thoreau,

812:The shift from hunter-gathering to farming is conventionally viewed as a move from a nomadic to a settled life. In reality it was almost the opposite. Hunter-gatherers are highly mobile. But their life does not require continuous movement into new territory. Their survival depends on knowing a local milieu down to its last details. Farming multiplies human numbers. It thereby compels farmers to expand the land they work. Farming and the search for new lands go together. ~ John N Gray,

813:And the dusk, the gritty Southern grayness of it, its harsh gathering, stopped Joe Howard from seeing out beyond the solitude of his own reflection, a soldier’s reflection: dark hair, a trimmed mustache, eyes he didn’t bother looking into, and farther down from them, the ghostly shadow of a khaki uniform, of lieutenant’s bars and a medal. There was no brain, no blood, no bone, no friend called L. C. Hoover sprayed all over this Joe Howard Wilson—at least not anymore. ~ Deborah Johnson,

814:Jesus himself, even in his obscurity, dreaded the gathering of crowds, and where possible avoided them. Everything in Christianity that matters is from individual to individual; collectivities belong to the Devil, and so easily respond to his persuasion. The Devil is a demagogue and sloganeer; Jesus was, and is, concerned with individual souls, with the Living Word. What he gives us is truth carried on the wings of love, not slogans carried on the thrust of power. ~ Malcolm Muggeridge,

815:Kinetic, adj. Joanna asked me to describe you, and I said, “Kinetic.” We were both surprised by this respond. Usually, with a date, it was “I don`t know… cool” or “Not that bad” or, at highest level of excitement, “Maybe it will work out.” But there was something about you that made me think of sparks and motion. I still see that now. Less when we`re alone. More when we`re with other people. When you`re surrounded by life. Reaching out to t, gathering energy. ~ David Levithan,

816:I do my best writing between 10 p.m. and 5 a.m.. Almost every friend I have who is a consistently productive writer, does their best writing between 10 p.m. and 8 a.m. My quota is two crappy pages per day. I keep it really low so I'm not so intimidated that I never get started. I will do the gathering of interviews and research throughout the day. I'll get all my notes and materials together and then I'll do the synthesis between 10 p.m. to bed, which is usually 4 or 5 a.m. ~ Tim Ferriss,

817:If Clinton gets impeached,” I said, “it will be for all the wrong reasons. The perversion diversion will have worked! That’s not tolerable! People need to realize truth or the same people will stay in control.” “Even if people did learn,” Mark said, gathering up tools to work on a motorcycle project, “they’ve got to restructure the voting system before they could get their own choice in office. Everybody already knows the majority didn’t vote Clinton into this second term. ~ Cathy O Brien,

818:It's strange how deserts turn us into believers. I believe in walking in a landscape of mirages, because you learn humility. I believe in living in a land of little water because life is drawn together. And I believe in the gathering of bones as a testament to spirits that have moved on. If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. ~ Terry Tempest Williams,

819:It’s strange how deserts turn us into believers. I believe in walking in a landscape of mirages, because you learn humility. I believe in living in a land of little water because life is drawn together. And I believe in the gathering of bones as a testament to spirits that have moved on. If the desert is holy, it is because it is a forgotten place that allows us to remember the sacred. Perhaps that is why every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. ~ Terry Tempest Williams,

820:After their first molt and after the trophic eggs have been consumed, black lace-weaver spiderlings are too large for their mother to care for, though they are in dire need of additional food. In an extreme act of parental care, she calls the babies to her by drumming on their web and presses her body down into the gathering crowd. The ravenous spiderlings swarm over their mother’s body. Then they eat her alive, draining her bodily fluids and leaving behind a husklike corpse. ~ Bill Schutt,

821:Enoch knew that the gods would hunt them down as soon as they discovered the family was gone. They did not stand a chance, but he had to try. He had no other choice. Stay and certainly die, or run and probably die. When Methuselah arrived at the gathering point with Edna, Enoch glared with disapproval. Methuselah stared him in the eye and said, “Would you prefer she marry the gods?” Enoch stubbornly refused to answer as they moved on through the passageway. His son was right. ~ Brian Godawa,

822:It is not enough to say that we cannot know or judge because all the information is not in. The process of gathering knowledge does not lead to knowing. A child's world spreads only a little beyond his understanding while that of a great scientist thrusts outward immeasurably. An answer is invariably the parent of a great family of new questions. So we draw worlds and fit them like tracings against the world about us, and crumple them when they do not fit and draw new ones. ~ John Steinbeck,

823:During the Atlantean periods of which Plato dreamed, the work of gathering and arranging the Ancient Wisdom went on apace, for the people of Atlantis were the greatest exponents of concrete thought the world has ever known. The Atlanteans never fully understood the wisdom that was theirs, for even in those early times the gods had withdrawn from the mass of humanity, and spoke to m an only through appointed priests and oracles. ~ Manly P Hall, What the Ancient Wisdom Expects of Its Disciples,

824:Be right there.” He hung up and closed his eyes for a brief moment before gathering the energy to swing his feet to the floor. Two hours of sleep. Well, he’d gone with less. However, at the age of forty-two, he seemed to feel the lack a lot more than he did ten years ago. Shaking his head to fling off the fog of interrupted sleep, he headed for the shower, wondering if he should wake up Jenna, his sixteen-year-old daughter, or just hope she slept through the rest of the night. ~ Lynette Eason,

825:He told me of his desire for us to reside at McInnis Keep for half the year." She glanced anxiously up at him. "Do you mind?" He stopped and turned to face her, gathering he hands in his. "Genevieve, I would agree to six months in hell if it meant being with you." Her cheeks warmed and she smiled, joy spreading like wildfire through her soul. "Well, I hope you don't think six months at McInnis Keep is akin to hell," she teased. "If I'm with you, anywhere is heaven. ~ Maya Banks,

826:His day, usually a jelly-like creature, a shapeless, spineless thing, had attained Mesozoic structure. It was marching along surely, even jauntily, toward a climax, as a play should, as a day should. He dreaded the moment when the backbone of the day should be broken, when he should have met the girl at last, talked to her, and then bowed her laughter out the door, returning only to the melancholy dregs in the teacups and the gathering staleness of the uneaten sandwiches. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

827:None of us laughed at Helen. Maybe because in 1970 we listened more to new ideas, however sentimental or foolish they sound all these years later in the harsh light of the millennium’s end. We wanted to find new answers for old questions, or we just thought there were new answers. And even with all the death that came daily, the death that would come to our gathering in the meadow, life in America felt as if it were being recast, reshaped, even redeemed by some transcendent thing. ~ Scott Lax,

828:premortem. The procedure is simple: when the organization has almost come to an important decision but has not formally committed itself, Klein proposes gathering for a brief session a group of individuals who are knowledgeable about the decision. The premise of the session is a short speech: “Imagine that we are a year into the future. We implemented the plan as it now exists. The outcome was a disaster. Please take 5 to 10 minutes to write a brief history of that disaster. ~ Daniel Kahneman,

829:Surely, it is only when the mind is creatively empty that it is capable of finding out whether there is an ultimate reality or not. But, the mind is never creatively empty; it is always acquiring, always gathering, living on the past or in the future, or trying to be focused in the immediate present: it is never in that state of creativeness in which a new thing can take place. As the mind is a result of time, it cannot possibly understand that which is timeless, eternal. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti,

830:There is something noble about an assembly of believers in simple clothes, where the lobby isn’t filled with people saying, “You look pretty” to one another. Maybe looking pretty isn’t the catalyst for the Spirit’s movement. Perhaps an obsessive occupation with dresses and hair and shoes detracts us from the point of the gathering: a fixation on Jesus. When the jars of clay remember they are jars of clay, the treasure within gets all the glory, which seems somehow more fitting. ~ Jen Hatmaker,

831:A deep sigh coursed through the gathering. Master Fazal said, 'History will keep on marching like this. The names of a few people will stick to her fabric. She will register those. there was Hitler, there was Mussolini, Churchill and Joseph Stalin, among others. this time the names maybe Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Jinnah, Subhash Bose! But the names of the lakhs and crores who have lost their lives will be nowhere. They will be mere numbers in which all of us will be included! ~ Gulzar,

832:Somehow, the telling of all this rinsed my mind clean and left me able to think clearly once more. By gathering and sorting my own feelings so, I was finally able to fashion a scale on which I could weigh my father’s nature and find a balance between my disgust for him and an understanding of him; my guilt in the matter of his death against the debt he owed me for the manner of my life. At the finish of it, I felt free of him, and I was able to think calmly once more. Elinor ~ Geraldine Brooks,

833:Christ had no interest in gathering vast crowds of professed adherents who would melt away as soon as they found out what following Him actually demanded of them. In our own presentation of Christ's gospel, therefore, we need to lay a similar stress on the cost of following Christ and make sinners face it soberly before we urge them to respond to the message of free forgiveness. In common honesty, we must not conceal the fact that free forgiveness in one sense will cost everything. ~ J I Packer,

834:He was a baby once, she thought. New and perfect, cradled in his mother’s arms. The mysterious Sylvie. Now he was a feathery husk, ready to blow away. His eyes were half open, milky, like an old dog, and his mouth had grown beaky with the extremity of age, opening and closing, a fish out of water. Bertie could feel a continual tremor running through him, an electrical current, the faint buzz of life. Or death, perhaps. Energy was gathering around him, the air was static with it. ~ Kate Atkinson,

835:Maples believes technology waves follow a three-phase pattern, “They start with infrastructure. Advances in infrastructure are the preliminary forces that enable a large wave to gather. As the wave begins to gather, enabling technologies and platforms create the basis for new types of applications that cause a gathering wave to achieve massive penetration and customer adoption. Eventually, these waves crest and subside, making way for the next gathering wave to take shape.”[cxxxviii] ~ Nir Eyal,

836:skills. In a Human gathering, adults wouldn’t think twice about dropping a conversation the moment a child needed something, even if it was simply attention. But here, the hatchlings seemed to know that adult activities took precedence, and that if they wanted to join in, they’d have to figure out the rules. So instead of tugging at sleeves and showing off, they observed the goings-on of adults from the sidelines, trying to puzzle it all out. They were learning how to be people. ~ Becky Chambers,

837:Once, while cleaning the trout before I went home in the almost night, I had a vision of going over to the poor graveyard and gathering up grass and fruit jars and tin cans and markers and wilted flowers and bugs and weeds and clods and going home and putting a hook in the vise and tying a fly with all that stuff and then going outside and casting it up into the sky, watching it float over clouds and then into the evening star. (from Trout Fishing on the Bevel, page 21) ~ Richard Brautigan,

838:I have a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.” This was nine weeks before the March on Washington, when King would deliver another version of the same refrain that would become etched in history, eventually considered the most famous American speech of the twentieth century. What he said at Cobo on that Sunday in June was virtually lost to history, overwhelmed by what was to come, but the first time King dreamed his dream at a large public gathering, he dreamed it in Detroit. ~ David Maraniss,

839:It is not enough to say that we cannot know or judge because all the information is not in. The process of gathering knowledge does not lead to knowing. A child's world spreads only a little beyond his understanding while that of a great scientist thrusts outward immeasurably. An answer is invariably the parent of a great family of new questions. So we draw worlds and fit them like tracings against the world about us, and crumple them when we find they do not fit and draw new ones. ~ John Steinbeck,

840:Our bodies are in constant, rhythmic change, but because so much of this is happening beneath our waking consciousness, we can feel out of control, or ‘all at sea’. When we begin to notice the pattern of these cycles, their repetitive nature, their connection to nature beyond us, we can begin to feel not like victims unprepared for the weather, but like adventurers of days gone by, who navigate by nature—the pull of the tides, the placing of the stars and the gathering storm clouds. ~ Lucy H Pearce,

841:He rises bloodless from dust, with dead eyes that are pits twin reaches to eternal pain. He is the lodestone to the gathering clan, made anew and dream-racked. The standard a rotted hide, the throne a bone cage, the king a ghost from dark fields of battle. And now the horn moans on this grey clad dawn drawing the disparate host To war, to war, and the charging frenzy of unbidden memories of ice. - Lay of the First Sword ~ Steven Erikson,

842:Love has to spring spontaneously from within And it is no way amenable to any form of inner or outer force. Love and coercion can never go together; But though love cannot be forced on anyone, It can be awakened in him through love itself. Love is essentially self communicative; Those who do not have it catch it from those who have it. True love is unconquerable and irresistible, And it goes on gathering power and spreading itself, Until eventually it transforms everyone whom it touches. ~ Meher Baba,

843:And it bred caution in the unveiling of its powers. The Crippled God bred caution but not well enough, for the powers of the earth came to it in the end. Chained was the Crippled God, and so Chained was it destroyed. And upon this barren plain that imprisoned the Crippled God many gathered to the deed. Hood, gray wanderer of Death, was among the gathering, as was Dessembrae, then Hood’s Warrior—though it was here and in this time that Dessembrae shattered the bonds Hood held upon him. ~ Steven Erikson,

844:A positive mind is like a powerful stream of water that is gathering volume and force from hundreds of tributaries all along its course. The further on it goes the greater its power, until when it reaches its goal, that power is simply immense. A negative mind, however, would be something like a stream, that the further it flows the more divisions it makes, until, when it reaches its goal, instead of being one powerful stream, it has become a hundred, small, weak, shallow streams. ~ Christian D Larson,

845:Concert Hall versus Banquet Hall My friend Isaac Wardell, a pastor of worship and founder of Bifrost Arts, asks whether we think of gathered worship as being more like a concert hall or a banquet hall.6 If it’s a concert hall, we show up as passive observers and critics, eager to have the itches of our preferences and felt needs scratched. A banquet hall, by contrast, is a communal gathering. We come hungry and in community, ready to participate and share the experience with one another. ~ Mike Cosper,

846:Depressed people avoid people and church commitments, but they can also complain about abject isolation. The answer is to humbly accept your purpose. “Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching” (Heb. 10:25). Churches are not perfect. How could they be when we are the church? But the Spirit is with the gathering of his people. Church is where you will know more of God’s grace. ~ Edward T Welch,

847:Far and away the most futile admonition Christ ever offered was when he said, ‘Have no care for tomorrow. Don’t worry about whether you’re going to have something to eat. Look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, but God takes perfect care of them. Don’t you think he’ll do the same for you?’ In our culture the overwhelming answer to that question is, ‘Hell no!’ Even the most dedicated monastics saw to their sowing and reaping and gathering into barns. ~ Daniel Quinn,

848:Like any great and good country, Japan has a culture of gathering- weddings, holidays, seasonal celebrations- with food at the core. In the fall, harvest celebrations mark the changing of the guard with roasted chestnuts, sweet potatoes, and skewers of grilled gingko nuts. As the cherry blossoms bloom, festive picnics called hanami usher in the spring with elaborate spreads of miso salmon, mountain vegetables, colorful bento, and fresh mochi turned pink with sakura petals. ~ Matt Goulding,

849:I didn't want to believe that killing was deep inside of me. I didn't want to think about the part of me that took a dark joy in gathering all the power it could and using it as I saw fit, everything else be damned. There was power to be had in hatred, too, in anger and in lust, in selfishness and in pride. And I knew that there was some dark corner of me that would enjoy using magic for killing—and then long for more. That was black magic, and it was easy to use. Easy and fun. Like Legos. ~ Jim Butcher,

850:The library serves as a gathering place for friends who share the love of books. It further serves as a resource for those who escape the pressure of everyday life, doing it by losing themselves in the written word. It serves as an avenue of gathering knowledge for those who could be planning a trip to Utah or researching their heritage, learning about the history of this country or how to make soap. Those walls and shelves contain works of art created by words and depicted in pictures. ~ Kristen Ashley,

851:I have always wondered what it would have been like for an outsider to have witnessed firsthand the gathering dark of Hitler’s rule. How did the city look, what did one hear, see, and smell, and how did diplomats and other visitors interpret the events occurring around them? Hindsight tells us that during that fragile time the course of history could so easily have been changed. Why, then, did no one change it? Why did it take so long to recognize the real danger posed by Hitler and his regime? ~ Erik Larson,

852:General Dwight D. Eisenhower ordered the global media to film the unspeakable hell of the Holocaust. General Eisenhower feared there would come a day when there would be “Holocaust deniers” who would declare it never happened.5 Today, Iran's radical Islamic leaders, who have promised to wipe the Jews off the face of the map, are indeed Holocaust deniers.6 Sadly, their venom is gathering international support. From the tears and tragedy of World War II came the rebirth of the State of Israel in May ~ John Hagee,

853:...there's no such thing as sustainability. There are just levels of it. It's a process, not a real goal. All you can do is work toward it. There's no such thing as any sustainable economy. The only thing I know that's even close to sustainable economic activity would be organic farming on a very small scale or hunting and gathering on a very small scale. And manufacturing, you end up with way more waste than you end up with finished product. It's totally unsustainable. It's just the way it is. ~ Yvon Chouinard,

854:The room was so neat and tidy it made me feel quite depressed...I do not allow myself to repine about what cannot be helped; but I remembered earlier Decembers, under the cloudless blue skies and brilliant sun of Egypt. As I stood morosely contemplating the destruction of our cheerful domestic clutter, and recalling better days, I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel of the drive. The first guest had arrived. Gathering the robes of my martyrdom about me, I made ready to receive her. ~ Elizabeth Peters,

855:Here, all we need are Ratan Tata’s own words at a gathering in Dehradun in November 2010: ‘We approached three prime ministers. But an individual thwarted our efforts … I happened to be on a flight once and another industrialist who was sitting next to me said: “I don’t understand. You people are stupid. You know the minister wants Rs 15 crore. So why don’t you pay it?” I just said: “You can’t understand it. I just want to go to bed at night, knowing that I haven’t got the airline by paying for it. ~ Josy Joseph,

856:The Cold Front It was coming the cold front and the complex weather we returned and the difficult loves were waiting the long conversations with pain in the final sentences winter gathering her parcel for the victory stones, feathers, bottles brimming with light the troops breaking in through the syllables the empty cups sitting before us in the snow this like all the others a lullaby a few grains of salt at the centre ~ David Brooks,

857:During a historic gathering in Saudi Arabia, I called on the leaders of more than 50 Muslim nations to join together to drive out the menace which threatens all of humanity. We must stand united against shared enemies to strip them of their territory and their funding, and their networks, and any form of ideological support that they may have. While we will always welcome new citizens who share our values and love our people, our borders will always be closed to terrorism and extremism of any kind. ~ Donald Trump,

858:For a few weeks you got up at six to compose short stories at the kitchen table with while Amanda slept in the other room. Then your night life started getting more interesting and complicated, and climbing out of bed became harder and harder. You were gathering experience for a novel. You went to parties with writers, cultivated a writerly persona. You wanted to be Dylan Thomas without the paunch. F. Scott Fitzgerald without the crack-up. You wanted to skip over the dull grind of actual creation. ~ Jay McInerney,

859:It was one movie. It wasn’t supposed to do what it did—nothing was supposed to do that. Nothing ever had. Movies were meant to stay on the screen, flat and large and colorful, gathering you up into their sweep of story, carrying you rollicking along to the end, then releasing you back into your unchanged life. But this movie misbehaved. It leaked out of the theater, poured off the screen, affected a lot of people so deeply that they required endless talismans and artifacts to stay connected to it. ~ Carrie Fisher,

860:No.” A look of dawning comprehension. “Ah, that. The regret, is that what you’re talking about? This sense of loss? Yes, he always talked about that, too. It’s a mortal thing, as far as I can tell. The aspect storm is a warp in the fabric of every possible outcome the universe will allow. It gathers in the alternatives like a bride gathering in her gown. For a mortal, those alternatives are mostly paths they’ll never take, things they’ll never do. At some level, the organism seems to know that. ~ Richard K Morgan,

861:The economic logic of gathering so many animals together to feed them cheap corn in CAFOs is hard to argue with; it has made meat, which used to be a special occasion in most American homes, so cheap and abundant that many of us now eat it three times a day. Not so compelling is the biological logic behind this cheap meat. Already in their short history CAFOs have produced more than their share of environmental and health problems: polluted water and air, toxic wastes, novel and deadly pathogens. ~ Michael Pollan,

862:Although Truman and his advisers still hoped to ameliorate gathering tensions, they made only half-hearted efforts to accommodate the Soviets, or even to negotiate seriously with them. In the third phase, clear by February 1947, the administration hit on a more consistent, clearly articulated policy: containment. The essential stance of the United States for the next forty years, the quest for containment entailed high expectations. It was the most important legacy of the Truman administration. ~ James T Patterson,

863:Every gathering has its moment. As an adult, I distract myself by trying to identify it, dreading the inevitable downswing that is sure to follow. The guests will repeat themselves one too many times, or you’ll run out of dope or liquor and realize that it was all you ever had in common. At the time, though, I still believed that such a warm and heady feeling might last forever and that in embracing it fully, I might approximate the same wistful feeling adults found in their second round of drinks. ~ David Sedaris,

864:The Gathering According to the Kabbalah, in the beginning everything was God. When God contracted to make room for creation, spiritual energy filled the void. The energy poured into vessels which strained to hold the great power. The vessels shattered, sending countless shards, bits of the glowing matter, into the vastness of the universe. These scattered bits of divine light must be collected. When the task is done the forces of the dark will be vanquished and the world will be healed. ~ Leonard Nimoy,

865:It was one movie. It wasn’t supposed to do what it did—nothing was supposed to do that. Nothing ever had. Movies were meant to stay on the screen, flat and large and colorful, gathering you up into their sweep of story, carrying you rollicking along to the end, then releasing you back into your unchanged life. But this movie misbehaved. It leaked out of the theater, poured off the screen, affected a lot of people so deeply that they required endless talismans and artifacts to stay connected to it. Had ~ Carrie Fisher,

866:As soon as the circumstances of an experiment are well known, we stop gathering statistics. ... The effect will occur always without exception, because the cause of the phenomena is accurately defined. Only when a phenomenon includes conditions as yet undefined,Only when a phenomenon includes conditions as yet undefined, can we compile statistics. ... we must learn therefore that we compile statistics only when we cannot possibly help it; for in my opinion, statistics can never yield scientific truth. ~ Claude Bernard,

867:In the depths of the mirror the evening landscape moved by, the mirror and the reflected figures like motion pictures superimposed one on the other. The figures and the background were unrelated, and yet the figures, transparent and intangible, and the background, dim in the gathering darkness, melted into a sort of symbolic world not of this world. Particularly when a light out in the mountains shone in the center of the girl's face, Shimamura felt his chest rise at the inexpressible beauty of it. ~ Yasunari Kawabata,

868:In the depths of the mirror the evening landscape moved by, the mirror and the reflected figures like motion pictures superimposed one on the other. The figures and the background were unrelated, and yet the figures, transparent and intangible, and the background, dim in the gathering darkness, melted into a sort of symbolic world not of this world. Particularly when a light out in the mountains shone in the centre of the girl's face, Shimamura felt his chest rise at the inexpressible beauty of it. ~ Yasunari Kawabata,

869:Readers, A few years ago, while I was writing Flood Tide, I realized that Dirk Pitt needed some help on a particular assignment, and so I dreamed up Juan Cabrillo. Cabrillo ran a ship called the Oregon, on the outside completely nondescript, but on the inside packed with state-of-the-art intelligence-gathering equipment. It was a completely private enterprise, available for any government agency that could afford it. It went where no warship could go, transported secret cargo without suspicion, plucked ~ Clive Cussler,

870:He labels his proposal the premortem. The procedure is simple: when the organization has almost come to an important decision but has not formally committed itself, Klein proposes gathering for a brief session a group of individuals who are knowledgeable about the decision. The premise of the session is a short speech: “Imagine that we are a year into the future. We implemented the plan as it now exists. The outcome was a disaster. Please take 5 to 10 minutes to write a brief history of that disaster. ~ Daniel Kahneman,

871:He lops, lifts, digs. He plants annuals, packets the old lady gives him--nasturtiums, poppies, sweet peas, petunias. He loves folding the hoed ridge of crumbs of soil over the seeds. Sealed, they cease to be his. The simplicity. Getting rid of something by giving it to itself. God Himself folded into the tiny adamant structure, Self-destined to a succession of explosions, the great slow gathering out of water and air and silicon: this is felt without words in the turn of the round hoe-handle in his palms. ~ John Updike,

872:I was ordered to go for flowers, that my mistress's house might be decorated for an evening party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into festoons, while the dead body of my father was lying within a mile of me. What cared my owners for that? he was merely a piece of property. Moreover, they thought he had spoiled his children, by teaching them to feel that they were human beings. This was blasphemous doctrine for a slave to teach; presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters. ~ Harriet Ann Jacobs,

873:Close your eyes," he said into her ear. "Come with me." She did so, and suddenly she saw what he saw. She was the wind, the clouds gathering in the smoky sky, the thick snow of deep winter. She was nothing. She was everything. The power gathered somewhere in the space between them, between her flickers of awareness. There is no magic. Things are. Or they are not. She was beyond wanting anything. She didn't care whether she lived or died. She could only feel; the gathering storm, the breath of the wind. ~ Katherine Arden,

874:Every woman who enters the sea carries a coffin on her back,” she warned the gathering. “In this world, in the undersea world, we tow the burdens of a hard life. We are crossing between life and death every day.” These traditional words were often repeated on Jeju, but we all nodded somberly as though hearing them for the first time. “When we go to the sea, we share the work and the danger,” Mother added. “We harvest together, sort together, and sell together, because the sea itself is communal. ~ Lisa See,

875:I feel the swelling energy, the inexplicable, restless hunger, rising in my own innocent life. I don't care at all about the music or the drinking or the gathering together of teenagers for fun and the thrill of belonging. But my father is gone. He has a new life, a new wife and daughter, and never calls or visits. I miss him badly. My mother is inaccessible. My older brother and sister have moved on to their own lives, leaving me alone at home and on the beach while my mother works and plays with Peter. ~ Meredith Hall,

876:Islam lays great emphasis on the social side of things. Every day, the rich and the poor, the great and the small living in a locality are brought five times in a day in the mosque in the terms of perfect equality of mankind and thereby the foundation of a healthy social relationship is laid and established through prayer. At the end of Ramazan comes the new moon, the crescent as a signal for a mass gathering on the 'Id day again in perfect equality of mankind which effects the entire Muslim world. ~ Muhammad Ali Jinnah,

877:They aren’t gurus or oracles with the power to peer decades into the future, but they do have a real, measurable skill at judging how high-stakes events are likely to unfold three months, six months, a year, or a year and a half in advance. The other conclusion is what makes these superforecasters so good. It’s not really who they are. It is what they do. Foresight isn’t a mysterious gift bestowed at birth. It is the product of particular ways of thinking, of gathering information, of updating beliefs. ~ Philip E Tetlock,

878:Try again, Andrew,” Hannah said patiently. For the rest of the long morning, we played. By the time we quit, my thumb hurt, my neck and shoulders ached, and my finger felt permanently crooked. It looked like I wasn’t going to beat Andrew anytime soon. Chucking me under the chin, Hannah laughed. “Goodness, don’t look so glum. It’s a game, Andrew, not a matter of life and death.” I turned away quickly and began gathering the marbles. The things the Tylers said in ignorance were downright scary. ~ Mary Downing Hahn,

879:I have a true aversion to teaching. The perennial business of a professor of mathematics is only to teach the ABC of his science; most of the few pupils who go a step further, and usually to keep the metaphor, remain in the process of gathering information, become only Halbwisser [one who has superficial knowledge of the subject], for the rarer talents do not want to have themselves educated by lecture courses, but train themselves. And with this thankless work the professor loses his precious time. ~ Carl Friedrich Gauss,

880:Some scholars of literature claim that a book is really that virtual place your mind goes to when you are reading. It is a conceptual state of imagination that one might call “literature space.” According to these scholars, when you are engaged in this reading space, your brain works differently than when you are screening. Neurological studies show that learning to read changes the brain’s circuitry. Instead of skipping around distractedly gathering bits, when you read you are transported, focused, immersed. ~ Kevin Kelly,

881:Keynes asked me what I was advising my clients. “To insulate themselves as much as possible from the coming crisis and to avoid the markets,” I replied. Keynes took the opposite view. “We will not have any more crashes in our time,” he insisted. . . . “And where is the crash coming from in any case?” “The crash will come from the gap between appearances and reality. I have never seen such stormy weather gathering,” I said. 1927 conversation with Keynes recounted by Felix Somary in The Raven of Zurich (1986) ~ James Rickards,

882:The key venue for freewheeling discourse was the Monday morning executive team gathering, which started at 9 and went for three or four hours. The focus was always on the future: What should each product do next? What new things should be developed? Jobs used the meeting to enforce a sense of shared mission at Apple. This served to centralize control, which made the company seem as tightly integrated as a good Apple product, and prevented the struggles between divisions that plagued decentralized companies. ~ Walter Isaacson,

883:Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead. ~ Alice Walker,

884:Everyday in my office I meet consumers of the modern ideology of marriage. They bought the product, got it home, and found that it was missing a few pieces. So they come to the repair shop to fix it so it looks like what's on the box. They take their relational aspirations as a given－both what they want and what they deserve to have－and are upset when the romantic ideal doesn't jibe with the unromantic reality. It's no surprise that this utopian vision is gathering a growing army of the disenchanted in its wake. ~ Esther Perel,

885:How long do you think it's going to take Decebel to deal with the wayward wolf who touched Sally?" Jen asked Jacque casually as they sat in the now, nearly empty, gathering room. After Sally and Costin had left, Vasile and Decebel had agreed that it was time to call it a night. Jen and Jacque had been helping clean up, but just as Jen was carrying empty cups towards the trash, she had heard Decebel tell her to park her cute butt and not move. So she had parked it, dragging Jacque along with her to an empty table. ~ Quinn Loftis,

886:I take pity on him. It’s too painful otherwise. “It’s a wand for adults,” I interject, thinking hard. “Because we can’t have real ones.” I’m gathering steam now, right or wrong. I look at Asa for a contribution, but it’s obvious he has nothing. “We can’t have real ones because we might hurt our wrists when we shake them, so we have ones that vibrate for us.” The last bit is faltering, but goddam it at least I stepped up. I cast an impotent glare at Asa, who incredibly looks like he might want to laugh really hard. ~ Lily Morton,

887:The men came to mind as mostly idle between nights of running wild or time in the pen, cooking moon and gathering around the spout, with ears chewed, fingers chopped, arms shot away, and no apologies grunted ever. The women came to mind bigger, closer, with their lonely eyes and homely yellow teeth, mouths clamped against smiles, working in the hot fields from can to can't, hands tattered rough as dry cobs, lips cracked all winter, a white dress for marrying, a black dress for burying, and Ree nodded yup. Yup. ~ Daniel Woodrell,

888:Suddenly Damask found herself staring down at the flowers through a dazzle of tears. The words sounded so innocent and so disarming - she remembered that she hadn't wanted to come through the beautiful woods at all; and there was no danger, nothing wrong except the wickedness of her own heart. She looked at Danny's big, brown, work-scarred hands gently gathering the flowers and her love for him was a physical pain. Oh, how she loved him; how she wished that he would ask her to marry him!" Norah Lofts ~ Norah Lofts,

889:Twenty-one years ago, when I first heard Mia Farrow had accused me of child molestation, I found the idea so ludicrous I didn't give it a second thought. We were involved in a terribly acrimonious breakup, with great enmity between us and a custody battle slowly gathering energy. The self-serving transparency of her malevolence seemed so obvious I didn't even hire a lawyer to defend myself. It was my show business attorney who told me she was bringing the accusation to the police and I would need a criminal lawyer. ~ Woody Allen,

890:I understand that," he nodded. "I wanted to see you—tell you that I'm available if you need anything, or to run interference if somebody upsets you." He smiled at that—he was offering to act as a father figure if I needed it, to intercede on my behalf with what looked to be a gathering herd of potential mates. "That may be the nicest thing anybody has offered to do for me, ever." I smiled at him, but my lower lip trembled slightly. Nobody had ever asked to be my parent before. I had someone stepping up now. ~ Connie Suttle,

891:Skin is a multilayered, multipurpose organ that shifts from thick to thin, tight to loose, lubricated to dry, across the landscape of the body. Skin, a knowledge-gathering device, responds to heat and cold, pleasure and pain. It lacks definitive boundaries, flowing continuously from the exposed surfaces of the body to its internal cavities. It is both living and dead, a self-repairing, self-replacing material whose exterior is senseless and inert while its inner layers are flush with nerves, glands, and capillaries ~ Ellen Lupton,

892:What’s that poem again?” Will, who had been twirling his empty teacup around his fingers, stood up straight and declaimed: “Each spake words of high disdain, And insult to his heart’s best brother—” “Oh, by the Angel, Will, do be quiet,” said Charlotte, standing up. “I must go and write a letter to Aloysius Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I don’t need you distracting me.” And, gathering up her skirts, she hurried from the room. “No appreciation for the arts,” Will murmured, setting his teacup down. ~ Cassandra Clare,

893:Unexplained pain may sometimes direct our attention to something unacknowledged, something we are afraid to know or feel. Then it holds us to our integrity, claiming the attention we withhold. The thing which calls our attention may be a repressed experience or some unexpressed and important part of who we are. Whatever we have denied may stop us and dam the creative flow of our lives. Avoiding pain, we may linger in the vicinity of our wounds, sometime for many years, gathering the courage to experience them. ~ Rachel Naomi Remen,

894:A Poet’s Thought TELL me, what is a poet’s thought? Is it on the sudden born? Is it from the starlight caught? Is it by the tempest taught, Or by whispering morn? Was it cradled in the brain? Chain’d awhile, or nurs’d in night? Was it wrought with toil and pain? Did it bloom and fade again, Ere it burst to light? No more question of its birth: Rather love its better part! ’T is a thing of sky and earth, Gathering all its golden worth From the Poet’s heart. ~ Barry Cornwall,

895:How some scientists speculated that gathering around fires was the original unique characteristic of human beings. Not language or metaphor or tool use but the social circle, the gathering around the flame, the place where all those other discoveries were communicated. “Yup, that’s right. Around the campfire you have a lot of spirit and it comes out in different ways. Kidding each other, serious thought. Singing. Politics, nature, jokes. Everything mixed, like you say. Campfires are a medium of expression all their own. ~ David Gessner,

896:understanding. As they progressed west across the crater floor, they saw more gazelles and zebras and buffalo than she could count. She glassed the grasslands through the binoculars for a bottleneck of Land Rovers, hoping it would indicate a predator sighting. The strategy paid off. The first gathering led them to a chilled-out leopard lounging in the crotch of an acacia tree, the second to a pack of spotted hyenas making whooping-giggling noises while tearing apart the ribcage of an antelope with their bone-crushing jaws. ~ Jeremy Bates,

897:And what we’ve been always been is…?” “Is living on borrowed time. Never caring about who’s paying for it, who’s starving somewhere else all jammed together so we can have cheap food, a house, a yard in the burbs … planetwide, more every day, the payback keeps gathering. And meantime the only help we get from the media is boo hoo the innocent dead. Boo fuckin hoo. You know what? All the dead are innocent. There’s no uninnocent dead.” After a while, “You’re not going to explain that, or…” “Course not, it’s a koan. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

898:So why does the world appear stable to you when you’re looking at it? Why doesn’t it appear as jerky and nauseating as the poorly filmed video? Here’s why: your internal model operates under the assumption that the world outside is stable. Your eyes are not like video cameras – they simply venture out to find more details to feed into the internal model. They’re not like camera lenses that you’re seeing through; they’re gathering bits of data to feed the world inside your skull." The Brain: The Story of You - David Eagleman ~ David Eagleman,

899:Connecting in sips may work for gathering discreet bits of information, they may work for saying, "I'm thinking about you," or even for saying, "I love you," but they don't really work for learning about each other, for really coming to know and understand each other. And we use conversations with each other to learn how to have conversations with ourselves. So a flight from conversation can really matter because it can compromise our capacity for self-reflection. For kids growing up, that skill is the bedrock of development. ~ Sherry Turkle,

900:he moved beyond the stately confines of the Rashtrapati Bhawan and travelled the length and breadth of the country, meeting students, politicians, teachers, bureaucrats, professionals from all fields, talking to them, answering their queries patiently and filling every gathering with inspiration and pride. He talked of his humble beginnings, of working with the best minds of the country in his years at ISRO and DRDO, and laid out specific programmes to bring about prosperity and connectivity to every corner of the country. ~ A P J Abdul Kalam,

901:the freedom of it all—the sense of having left one’s body, but not one’s mind, behind. Unless you happened to be a bird, the body was of little use up here: You could not run or jump as you did on the ground, but only observe. In a strange way, being an aviator was like being a departed soul: You could look down upon the Earth without actually being present, see all without being seen. It was easy enough to see why God, having called the dry land “Earth” and the gathering together of the waters “the Seas,” saw that it was good. ~ Alan Bradley,

902:Must we make ourselves acceptable by aping the conventions of organized religion? Do we need to become part of the lie of a linear progression that tells us history is the successive Ages of metals, that is war, and that this, the bloody end of the brief age of oil which can still end in the reign of uranium, is the pinnacle of our achievement as a species? I say, enough. I say that this beckoning twilight is the space witchcraft is gathering within. Our strength is hydra-headed, rising from the blood of the sacrificially slain dove. ~ Peter Grey,

903:I lifted my chin. "All right then. You are always very precise when it comes to magic. So I've observed. And really, really don't like to get things wrong. So when you saw there were two young women, that day you came to this house, why did you not even ask about my cousin?" His crooked smile made my heart turn over. "All right, then. I'll tell you." He paused as if gathering courage, before he forged on. "When I saw you coming down the stairs that evening, it was if I were seeing the other half of my soul descending to greet me. ~ Kate Elliott,

904:That whole summer in Colorado was a data-gathering bust, but it taught me the most important thing I know about science: that experiments are not about getting the world to do what you want it to do. While tending to my wounds that fall, I shaped a new and better goal out of the debris of the disaster. I would study plants in a new way—not from the outside, but from the inside. I would figure out why they did what they did and try to understand their logic, which must serve me better than simply defaulting to my own, I decided. Every ~ Hope Jahren,

905:Whiles in the early Winter eve We pass amid the gathering night Some homestead that we had to leave Years past; and see its candles bright Shine in the room beside the door Where we were merry years agone But now must never enter more, As still the dark road drives us on. E'en so the world of men may turn At even of some hurried day And see the ancient glimmer burn Across the waste that hath no way; Then with that faint light in its eyes A while I bid it linger near And nurse in wavering memories The bitter-sweet of days that were. ~ William Morris,

906:Our life of contemplation shall retain the following characteristics: —missionary: by going out physically or in spirit in search of souls all over the universe. —contemplative: by gathering the whole universe at the very center of our hearts where the Lord of the universe abides, and allowing the pure water of divine grace to flow plentifully and unceasingly from the source itself, on the whole of his creation. —universal: by praying and contemplating with all and for all, especially with and for the spiritually poorest of the poor. ~ Mother Teresa,

907:Deep in our nature we are foragers, and life is a process of gathering the resources we need from a large connected planet. It's all out there -- every color, shade, flavor and mutation of life and experience. Whatever we are looking for, we will find... if it doesn't find us first. However, the result will not be what we're consciously looking for but what we're unconsciously seeking. And so, what we want, will never be anything like what we expect. It is the forager's law -- you can find the berry bush, but you can't control its yield. ~ Neil Strauss,

908:Lying there, I close my eyes for a time, then open them. I silently breathe in, then out. A thought begins to form in my mind, but in the end I think of nothing. Not that there was much difference between the two, thinking and not thinking. I find I can no longer distinguish between one thing and another, between things that existed and things that did not. I look out the window. Until the sky turns white, clouds float by, birds chirp, and a new day lumbers up, gathering together the sleepy minds of the people who inhabit this planet. ~ Haruki Murakami,

909:Oh, ants, my sisters, good old honeydew-seekers! From close up you are sticky and shiny and gristly; and your nymphs have parasitic red mites stuck to them. You are too intent upon your chewing and gathering to listen to me, but I tell you that despite my warm feelings I really do not like you, and I cannot feel sorry for you in any way because there are too many of you and you are not cute at all. You eat too much of my forests; you are a rebellious tribe, and I will destroy you; I will poison your nests with sweet-smelling traps. ~ William T Vollmann,

910:The museum park used to be surrounded by a great wrought-iron fence with spikes. They took it down when someone jumped off the roof and landed on it. They had to cut out a piece of fence, you see. The spikes had gone clear through the fellow’s gut. It was one of those A.B.D.s finally giving up. A.B.D.? It means “All But Dissertation.” The museum is full of them, graduate students who are incapable of finishing their dissertations. They stay on for years, living off grants, examining specimens, gathering data, wandering about the halls. ~ Douglas Preston,

911:What’s that poem again?” Will, who had been twirling his empty teacup around his fingers, stood up straight and declaimed: “Each spake words of high disdain, And insult to his heart’s best brother—” “Oh, by the Angel, Will, do be quiet,” said Charlotte, standing up. “I must go and write a letter to Aloysius Starkweather that drips remorse and pleading. I don’t need you distracting me.” And, gathering up her skirts, she hurried from the room. “No appreciation for the arts,” Will murmured, setting his teacup down. ~ Cassandra Clare,

912:I don't validate my faith with a church attendance scorecard. I think of church as a vibrant community of people consisting of two or more of varied backgrounds gathering around Jesus. Sometimes they are at a place that might have a steeple or auditorium seating. But it's just as likely that church happens elsewhere, like coffee shops or on the edge of a glacier or in the bush in Uganda. All of these places work just fine, I suppose, When it's a matter of the heart, the place doesn't matter. For me, it's Jesus plus nothing—not even a building. ~ Bob Goff,

913:Bodily delight is a sensory experience, not any different from pure looking or the feeling with which a beautiful fruit fills the tongue; it is a great, an infinite learning that is given to us, a knowledge of the world, the fullness and the splendor of all knowledge. And it is not our acceptance of it that is bad; what is bad is that most people misuse this learning and squander it and apply it as a stimulant on the tired places of their lives and as a distraction rather than as a way of gathering themselves for their highest moments. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,

914:Some ancient eukaryote swallowed a photosynthesizing bacteria and became a sunlight gathering alga. Millions of years later one of these algae was devoured by a second eukaryote. This new host gutted the alga, casting away its nucleus and its mitochondria, keeping only the chloroplast. That thief of a thief was the ancestor or Plasmodium and Toxoplasma. And this Russian-doll sequence of events explains why you can cure malaria with an antibiotic that kills bacteria: because Plasmodium has a former bacterium inside it doing some vital business. ~ Carl Zimmer,

915:It is not a gathering of 'escapees' from the world, bitterly enjoying their escape, feeding their hate for the world. Listen to their psalms and hymns; contemplate the transparent beauty of their icons, their movements, of the entire *celebration. It is truly cosmical joy that permeates all this; it is the entire creation - its matter and its time, its sounds and colors, its words and silence - that praises and worships God and in this praise becomes again itself: the Eucharist, the sacrament of unity, the sacrament of the new creation. ~ Alexander Schmemann,

916:O City, Look The Eastward Way O CITY, look the Eastward way! Beyond thy roofs of shadowy red and grey Floats like a lily on the airy stream, Radiant and vast, a cloud, Around whose billowy head Splendour from out the glooming West is shed As if it were not ever to take flight,— And on its edge of gleam In the clear blue of waning afternoon, Faint as a spirit slipping from the shroud, Faint, and yet gathering light, The Moon. O city, dream and pray! This is thy evensong at close of day. ~ Enid Derham,

917:One of the ironies of charitable spending is that the one statistic many donors do tend to look at can actually undermine the pursuit of evidence. The so-called overhead ratio measures the amount of money spent on administration compared with the front line. Most donors are keen for charities to keep this ratio low: they want money to go to those who really need it rather than office staff. But given that evidence-gathering counts as an administrative cost rather than treatment, this makes it even more difficult for charities to conduct tests. ~ Matthew Syed,

918:Our life of contemplation shall retain the following characteristics: —missionary: by going out physically or in spirit in search of souls all over the universe. —contemplative: by gathering the whole universe at the very center of our hearts where the Lord of the universe abides, and allowing the pure water of divine grace to flow plentifully and unceasingly from the source itself, on the whole of his creation. —universal: by praying and contemplating with all and for all, especially with and for the spiritually poorest of the poor. ~ Mother Teresa,

919:Away thou fondling motley humorist, Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest, Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; Here are Gods conduits, grave Divines; and here Natures Secretary, the Philosopher; And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie; Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand Giddie fantastique Poets of each land. Shall I leave all this constant company, And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee? ~ John Donne,

920:It is easy to follow Christ when all things are safe. But your love to Jesus Christ would be seen more, if you must lose your lives, or deny your Jesus. It would be a trial of your love, when fire and faggot [a wooden stick] was before you, if you would rush into that, rather than fly from the truth as it is in Jesus. Though all things are calm now, the storm is gathering and by and by it will break; it is at present no bigger than a man's hand. But when it is full it will break and then you will see whether you are found Christians or not. ~ George Whitefield,

921:Lincoln ... as a volunteer in an Indian war in which he never fired a shot. Yet he checked every major book on war out of the Library of Congress and began educating himself. He tried a series of generals. He replaced them when they failed, and he promoted them when they succeeded. It was a painful, expensive, but effective way to build an army and win a war. Tocqueville in his travels had noted this American pattern of approaching new challenges by gathering facts and then methodically trying out solutions until discovering what works. ~ Newt Gingrich,

922:First thing we have to do is recognize the time. We're at the end of the time of the White world to dominate Black people and Original People all over the planet.Can't you see that the God of justice is whipping the hell out of America with the storms, with floods, with hell, with hurricanes, with tornadoes; can't you see that things are happening? The clouds of war are gathering. Donald Trump is the right man in the right place in the White House for White people at the time of the end of their power to rule over us. He's going to bring it on. ~ Louis Farrakhan,

923:I attended a big human space flight conference in Beijing and I was going as myself. And really, there weren't any NASA astronauts there, I was the only so-called American Astronaut there. We had astronauts from most of the other countries, certainly from Russia, from France, from Japan, several other countries, but it was a little bit odd because here we are at an international gathering of a lot of astronauts and I'm talking about somewhere upwards of 30 or so astronauts, and I'm the only American. And I wasn't even there in an official capacity. ~ Leroy Chiao,

924:In the Paleolithic world in which our brains evolved, that’s not a bad way of making decisions. Gathering all evidence and mulling it over may be the best way to produce accurate answers, but a hunter-gatherer who consults statistics on lions before deciding whether to worry about the shadow moving in the grass isn’t likely to live long enough to bequeath his accuracy-maximizing genes to the next generation. Snap judgments are sometimes essential. As Daniel Kahneman puts it, “System 1 is designed to jump to conclusions from little evidence.”13 ~ Philip E Tetlock,

925:The physical domain of the country had its counterpart in me. The trails I made led outward into the hills and swamps, but they led inward also. And from the study of things underfoot, and from reading and thinking, came a kind of exploration, myself and the land. In time the two became one in my mind. With the gathering force of an essential thing realizing itself out of early ground, I faced in myself a passionate and tenacious longing--- to put away thought forever, and all the trouble it brings, all but the nearest desire, direct and searching. ~ John Haines,

926:When a man lives with the wilderness he comes to an acceptance of death as a part of living, he sees the leaves fall and rot away to build the soil for other trees and plants to be born. The leaves gather strength from sun and rain, gathering the capital on which they live to return it to the soil when they die. Only for a time have they borrowed their life from the sum of things, using their small portion of sun, earth, and rain, some of the chemicals that go into their being - all to be paid back when death comes. All to be used again and again. ~ Louis L Amour,

927:My home should calm me and energize me. It should be a comforting, quiet refuge and a place of excitement and possibility. It should call to my mind the past, the present, and the future. It should be a snuggery of privacy and reflection, but also a gathering place that strengthened my engagement with other people. By making me feel safe, it should embolden me to take risks. I wanted a feeling of home so strong that no matter where I went, I would take that feeling with me; at the same time, I wanted to find adventure without leaving my apartment. ~ Gretchen Rubin,

928:Out in the garden, a sudden stirring of wind. The hedgerow trembling and last year’s leaves blowing across my drive. And birds startled to flight, as by the sudden presence of someone or thing I could not see. And the sudden gathering and rushing of spiralling winds, dust-devils that sucked up leaves and grit and other bits of debris and shot them aloft. Dust-devils, Henri, in March—in England—half-a-dozen of them that paraded all about Blowne House for the best part of thirty minutes! In any other circumstance, a marvellous, fascinating phenomenon. ~ Brian Lumley,

929:GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who's to say where The harvest shall stop? ~ Robert Frost,

930:He lay down, gathering her close. Aria slumped against him, turning her ear to his chest. She listened to his heartbeat—a good, solid sound—as the warmth of his body melted into her. She'd been in a fog earlier. Hallucinating and searching for what was real. She found it in him. He was real. "We're together now," he whispered against her forehead. "The way we should be." She closed her eyes and relaxed her breathing, seeking calm. He was rendered to her. Maybe he'd feel it too. "Sleep, Perry." "I will," he said. "With your right here, I will. ~ Veronica Rossi,

931:32While the people of Israel were in the wilderness, they found a man  z gathering sticks on the Sabbath day. 33And those who found him gathering sticks brought him to Moses and Aaron and to all the congregation. 34 a They put him in custody, because it had not been made clear what should be done to him. 35And the LORD said to Moses,  b “The man shall be put to death; all the congregation shall  c stone him with stones outside the camp.” 36And all the congregation brought him outside the camp and stoned him to death with stones, as the LORD commanded Moses. ~ Anonymous,

932:Egyptians could not eat with the Hebrews, for that is an abomination to the Egyptians. (Gen. 43:32) That treatment is not unlike the way in which Whites have characteristically treated Blacks in U.S. society. – In the exodus narrative it is remembered that Israel, in its departure from Egypt, was a “mixed multitude,” not a readily identified population (Exod. 12:38). – At Sinai, however, this gathering of disparate populations was formed and transformed by the will of YHWH into an identifiable, intentional community, called to a historical destiny: ~ Walter Brueggemann,

933:Then the man who had received the one talent came. “Master,” he said, “I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you.” His master replied, “You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed? Well then, you should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest. ~ Henry Cloud,

934:Many content-oriented companies try this approach of just gathering as much content as possible and offering it at a monthly price when their members might want depth in a few key areas or access to a community of like-minded people. In many cases, it’s not the stuff people want; it’s the curation and community. If the primary benefit is supposed to be the community, there must be a critical mass to enable a network effect. This means that the group itself and the connections of members to one another is the primary benefit of joining the community ~ Robbie Kellman Baxter,

935:Throughout the Bible, we see pictures of the global church (which includes all followers of Jesus in all locations) and the local church (which includes particular followers of Jesus in a particular location). Out of 114 times that the “church” is mentioned in the New Testament, at least ninety of them refer to specific local gatherings of believers who have banded together for fellowship and mission. God intends for every follower of Jesus to be a part of such a gathering under the servant leadership of pastors who shepherd the church for the glory of God. ~ Francis Chan,

936:In a matter of five years, expectations went from fearing the end of the world to welcoming the start of a new era—an age dominated by western Europe.5 New colonies were founded in Outremer—literally “overseas”—ruled over by new Christian masters. It was a graphic expansion of European power: Jerusalem, Tripoli, Tyre and Antioch were all under the control of Europeans and governed by customary laws imported from the feudal west which affected everything from the property rights of the new arrivals, to tax gathering, to the powers of the King of Jerusalem. ~ Peter Frankopan,

937:Our innate imbalances are further aggravated by practical demands. Our jobs make relentless calls on a narrow band of our faculties, reducing our chances of achieving rounded personalities and leaving us to suspect (often in the gathering darkness of a Sunday evening) that much of who we are, or could be, has gone unexplored. Society ends up containing a range of unbalanced groups, each hungering to sate its particular psychological deficiency, forming the backdrop against which our frequently heated conflicts about what is beautiful plays themselves out. ~ Alain de Botton,

938:It’s fairly intuitive that never exploring is no way to live. But it’s also worth mentioning that never exploiting can be every bit as bad. In the computer science definition, exploitation actually comes to characterize many of what we consider to be life’s best moments. A family gathering together on the holidays is exploitation. So is a bookworm settling into a reading chair with a hot cup of coffee and a beloved favorite, or a band playing their greatest hits to a crowd of adoring fans, or a couple that has stood the test of time dancing to “their song. ~ Brian Christian,

939:It's funny. When we were alive we spent much of our time staring up at the cosmos and wondering what was out there. We were obsessed with the moon and whether we could one day visit it. The day we finally walked on it was celebrated worldwide as perhaps man's greatest achievement. But it was while we were there, gathering rocks from the moon's desolate landscape, that we looked up and caught a glimpse of just how incredible our own planet was. Its singular astonishing beauty. We called her Mother Earth. Because she gave birth to us, and then we sucked her dry. ~ Jon Stewart,

940:But sometimes storytellers want to inhabit certainty. They assume more than mortals ought. A tale-spinner by a hearth fire or gathering a crowd in a market square or putting brush to paper in a quiet room, deep into his story, the lives he’s chronicling, will deceive himself into believing he has the otherworldly knowledge of a fox spirit, a river spirit, a ghost, a god. He will say or write such things as, “The boy killed in the Altai attack on the Jeni encampment was likely to have become a great leader of his people, one who could have changed the north. ~ Guy Gavriel Kay,

941:Google has taken a slow-and-steady approach to gathering that data, driving around its own small fleet of vehicles equipped with very expensive sensing technologies. Tesla instead began installing cheaper equipment on its commercial vehicles, letting Tesla owners gather the data for them when they use certain autonomous features. The different approaches have led to a massive data gap between the two companies. By 2016, Google had taken six years to accumulate 1.5 million miles of real-world driving data. In just six months, Tesla had accumulated 47 million miles. ~ Kai Fu Lee,

942:I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air - Between the Heaves of Storm - The Eyes around - had wrung them dry - And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset - when the King Be witnessed - in the Room - I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away What portion of me be Assignable - and then it was There interposed a Fly - With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz - Between the light - and me - And then the Windows failed - and then I could not see to see - ~ Emily Dickinson,

943:Steiner has here transformed the vaporous conceptions of his life, the vapors of what never was and never will be, from their aeriform state to a fine and ethereal substantiality. My Unwritten Books is a gathering of shades, an elegant and eloquent gathering of mind, feeling, and autumnal passion. (...) And that is the lovely irony of this unique little book. None of these unwritten books should have been written. They are better here, as they are, untamed and errant phantoms of a brilliance whose emanations no one mortal lifetime could ever accommodate in full. ~ Nick Tosches,

944:What are you going to do?” I asked. “Throw his things off the balcony.” She started gathering up his clothes, tossing them onto the bed into a pile. “I’ll show him, I’ll—” She let out a bloodcurdling scream. I snapped my head around to look where she was looking—at the balcony door. Noah was pressed up against it. “Come on, babe, let me explain.” Chelsea glared at me accusingly. “I thought you said only Spider-Man could climb onto the balcony.” “I guess if he backed his truck up, climbed in the bed of it, it would give him enough height— ~ Rachel Hawthorne,

945:I believe heaven will be far more creative than most believers seem to picture it. Surely a God who created this world with all its magnificence, diversity, and experience does not have an eternal home that is like a one-act play. I hardly think so. Nor can I buy that we’ll always be in one huge corporate gathering. How in the world could private encounters happen with millions of the redeemed in heaven? The way I see it, that’s one reason we have eternity. Plenty of time for each of us to have Jesus all to ourselves. Oh, I think we have lots of surprises in store. ~ Beth Moore,

946:Our patriotic fervor was the result of the old and widespread belief in the idea of American exceptionalism, the idea that America was a new thing in history, different from other countries. Other nations had evolved one way or another, evolved from tribes from a gathering of clans, from inevitabilities of language and tradition and geography. But America was born, and born of ideas: that all men are created equal, that they have been given by God certain rights that can be taken from them by no man, and that those rights combine to create a thing called freedom. ~ Peggy Noonan,

947:It was almost twilight, long shadows of oaks and chestnuts crossing the unpaved road leading away from the village. This part of England had not yet been deforested to feed the fleets and factories that had sprung up in the major cities. The woodlands were still pristine and other-worldly, scored with small cartways half-buried by overhanging branches thick with leaves. In the gathering shade the trees were wreathed in vapor and mystery, like sentinels for a world of druids and warlocks and unicorns. A brown owl glided over the lane, mothlike in the darkening sky. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

948:Study is the lamp to dispel the darkness of benightedness. It is the best of possessions—thieves cannot rob you of it. It is a weapon to defeat your enemy—your blindness to all things. It is your best friend who instructs you in the means; It is a relative who will not desert you, though you be poor. It is a medicine against sorrow that does you no harm. It is the best army, which defeats great legions of misdeeds. It is also the best of treasures, of fame, and of glory. You could have no better gift when meeting the most high. It pleases the scholars in any gathering. ~ Anonymous,

949:Orion was the one Emily knew well. He had been Emily's childhood friend when, for several summers, they attended CTY, the Center for Talented Youth at Johns Hopkins. At eleven, twelve, and thirteen, they took courses in physics and advanced geometry along with other children selected nationwide. Emily had studied Greek, and Orion took astronomy. Renaissance children, they lived in dorms with other earnest middle-schoolers blowing through problem sets, practicing violin, gathering several times a week for camp games designated by their counselors as "mandatory fun. ~ Allegra Goodman,

950:A person who is a good and true Christian should realize that truth belongs to his Lord, wherever it is found, gathering and acknowledging it even in pagan literature, but rejecting superstitious vanities and deploring and avoiding those who 'though they knew God did not glorify him as God or give thanks but became enfeebled in their own thoughts and plunged their senseless minds into darkness. Claiming to be wise they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the incorruptible God for the image of corruptible mortals and animals and reptiles' [Rom. 1:21-3] ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

951:Thanks to Sven, I was being prepared to understand a congregation as a gathering of people that requires a context as large as the Bible itself if we are to deal with the ambiguities of life in the actual circumstances in which people live them. If the life of David that comprised prayer and adultery and murder could be written and told as a gospel story, no one in my congregation wouldbe written off. For me, my congregation would become a work-in-progress—a novel in which everyone and everything is connected in a salvation story in which Jesus has the last word. ~ Eugene H Peterson,

952:The fact that other countries spy on their own people or spy on each other does not address the fact that the US is engaged in massive, bulk collection to the tune of 70.3 million telecommunications a month in France of perfectly innocent people. That has nothing to do with protecting the United States, and has nothing to do with really gathering any kind of meaningful intelligence on France. It is an overreach ... and I think the other countries are justifiably outraged .... As one of our founders said: Those who choose between liberty and security deserve neither. ~ Jesselyn Radack,

953:Making progress in science often hinges on asking the right kind of question. Without a well-posed question, discussions become little more than people talking (or yelling) past each other. And without a well-posed question, there’s no clear path toward gathering data that will yield answers. Finding a good question is like throwing open the shades in a dark room. It’s the first step in finding a new way to tell is important. It tells us where we should be looking, where we should be going, and how to begin organizing our efforts to get there. ~ Adam Frank,

954:Nothing can be sadder or more profound than to see a thousand things for the first and last time. To journey is to be born and die each minute...All the elements of life are in constant flight from us, with darkness and clarity intermingled, the vision and the eclipse; we look and hasten, reaching out our hands to clutch; every happening is a bend in the road...and suddenly we have grown old. We have a sense of shock and gathering darkness; ahead is a black doorway; the life that bore us is a flagging horse, and a veiled stranger is waiting in the shadows to unharness us. ~ Victor Hugo,

955:The Amphitheatre Brought to you by Pete the Palikos Just a stone’s throw from the divine cabins, the Big House and Half-Blood Hill, this gathering spot features rising tiers of stone bench seating that curve around the central stage. The benches are as comfortable as any mortal movie-theatre chair, and there’s not a bad view in the house. So take a seat, bask in the glow of the campfire and add your voice to the joyful sing-along with such favourite hits as ‘Grandma Was a Gorgon’ and ‘This Is Not Kumbaya; This Is Sparta!’ The Camp Store Brought to you by Pete the Palikos ~ Rick Riordan,

956:For as long as I could remember, I'd been making vague and confident assurances that any day I would finish the thing [my book]. If and when I ever did, they would probably feel an almost physical sense of relief. I was like a massively incompetent handyman who'd been up on their roof now for years, trying to take down a gnarled old lightning-struck tree trunk that had fallen against the house, haunting every gathering, all discussions of family business, any attempt they made to sit down together and plan for the future, with the remote but ceaseless whining of my saw. ~ Michael Chabon,

957:Gathering her courage, she swallowed past the lump in her throat and held his gaze. It wasn’t how she’d envisioned telling him, but she couldn’t let him go without saying the words. “I’m falling in love with you.” The smile died, his amused expression dissolving into shock. “What?” “Yeah. So you have to come back so I can finish the job.” A jumble of emotions swirled in the blue depths of his eyes as he stared at her. Then he broke into a wide smile and brought a hand up to cradle her cheek. “I’m coming back, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss that chance for the world. ~ Kaylea Cross,

958:The London coffee-houses provided a gathering place where, for a penny admission charge, any man who was reasonably dressed could smoke his long, clay pipe, sip a dish of coffee, read the newsletters of the day, or enter into conversation with other patrons. At the period when journalism was in its infancy and the postal system was unorganized and irregular, the coffee-house provided a centre of communication for news and information … Naturally, this dissemination of news led to the dissemination of ideas, and the coffee-house served as a forum for their discussion. ~ Peter H Diamandis,

959:The supramental Yoga is at once an ascent towards God and a descent of Godhead into the embodied nature.    The ascent can only be achieved by a one-centered all-gathering upward aspiration of the soul and mind and life and body; the descent can only come by a call of the whole being towards the infinite and the eternal Divine. If this call and this aspiration are there, or if by any means they can be born and grow constantly and seize all the nature, then and then only a supramental uplifting and transformation becomes possible.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Essays Divine And Human, [T2], #index,

960:Secretly in my heart, I believe food is a doorway to almost every dimension of our existence. ... Food never was just food. From the time a cave person first came out from under a rock, food has been a little bit of everything: who we are spiritually as well as what keeps us alive. It's a gathering place, and in the best of all worlds it's possible that when people of one country sit down to eat another culture's food it will open their minds to the culture itself. Food is a doorway to understanding, and it can be as profound or as facile as you would like it to be. ~ Lynne Rossetto Kasper,

961:My writing is of a very different kind from anything I've heard about. All this mythological material is out there, a big gathering of stuff, and I have been reading it for some forty- or fifty-odd years. There are various ways of handling that. The most common is to put the material together and publish a scholarly book about it. But when I'm writing, I try to get a sense of an experiential relationship to the material. In fact, I can't write unless that happens ... I don't write unless the stuff is really working on me, and my selection of material depends on what works. ~ Joseph Campbell,

962:Wrapping her arms around herself in an age-old feminine gesture, she dared a glance at Saintcrow. "What are you going to do with me?" She had intended to speak boldly; instead, her voice came out sounding frightened as she felt. Belonging to Darrick Vaughan was suddenly very appealing. "What does any man want with a woman?" She didn't like the sound of that at all. Gathering her courage, she lifted her chin. "You're not a man." "You think not?" He took a step toward her. "Shall I prove it to you here and now?" "No!" His deep black eyes lit up with amusement. ~ Amanda Ashley,

963:A tragic sigh. “Information. What’s wrong with dope and women? Is it any wonder the world’s gone insane, with information come to be the only real medium of exchange?” “I thought it was cigarettes.” “You dream.” He brings out a list of Zürich cafés and gathering spots. Under Espionage, Industrial, Slothrop finds three. Ultra, Lichtspiel, and Sträggeli. They are on both banks of the Limmat, and widely spaced. “Footwork,” folding the list in an oversize zoot-suit pocket. “It’ll get easier. Someday it’ll all be done by machine. Information machines. You are the wave of the future. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

964:Greta’s car was three blocks away, and up ahead there looked to be a crowd of people gathering. They had probably come outside to see what the commotion was. Rapp stopped running. There was no quicker way to attract attention than running in street clothes at night when gunshots had been fired. The sirens were much closer now. At the next intersection a police car came skidding around the corner. Rapp’s training kicked in. He stopped and stared directly at the two policemen in the front seat. That’s what innocent people did. Guilty people looked away, hid their faces, and even ran. ~ Vince Flynn,

965:The idea of hunting and gathering as the best way for life has become quite popular recently, much more populare in some circles than the idea of simple farming as the best way of life. Many of the new primitives regard the beginnings of agriculture as one of humanity's major steps in the wrong direction. Most of the people who are drawn to such ideas do their actual hunting and gathering in grocery stores, but the *feeling* is there; it takes the form of a religion...expressed by particpating in American Indian rituals - or primitive-style rituals that are created anew. ~ Walter Truett Anderson,

966:Gathering, analyzing, sorting, and storing information—these functions and more the mind can perform so automatically, skillfully, and effortlessly that it makes the most sophisticated computer look like a plastic toy by comparison. But it can do infinitely more. To use the mind as it's all too commonly used, on the kinds of things that it's usually used on, is about as inefficient and inappropriate as using a magic sword to open up a can of beans. The power of a clear mind is beyond description. But it can be attained by anyone who can appreciate and utilize the value of Nothing. ~ Benjamin Hoff,

967:What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. ~ Saint Augustine,

968:The tepid breeze finally gave up, and the oscillating fan rattling above them did little more than shove around the sticky air. Myers seemed to be the last of the three to realize their shirts were sticking to their skin and, as host of the little gathering, finally made a move. “Let’s take a stroll over to the restaurant there and have a drink,” he said. “They have a bar inside with plenty of AC.” He clutched an olive-colored leather courier bag, well used and seemingly attached to his body. Lacy wondered what was inside. A small pistol? Cash, a fake passport? Perhaps another file? ~ John Grisham,

969:This qualification aside, I shall use the term gathering to refer to any set of two or more individuals whose members include all and only those who are at the moment in one another’s immediate presence. By the term situation I shall refer to the full spatial environment anywhere within which an entering person becomes a member of the gathering that is (or does then become) present. Situations begin when mutual monitoring occurs, and lapse when the second-last person has left. In order to stress the full extent of any such unit, I will sometimes employ the term situation at large. ~ Erving Goffman,

970:An elderly woman gathering wood, plump and impoverished, tells me about her children one by one, when they were born, when they died. When she becomes aware that I want to go on, she talks three times as fast, shortening destinies, skipping the deaths of three children although adding them later on, unwilling to let even one fate slip away—and this in a dialect that makes it hard for me to follow what she is saying. After the demise of an entire generation of offspring, she would speak no more about herself except to say that she gathers wood, every day; I should have stayed longer. ~ Werner Herzog,

971:They gather their belongings and pick their way in the gathering dusk through the streets. Refuse has started to build up on the curbs and a low, persistent stench rises from the road. They see a car speed up as it approaches them, and in it a Chinese man averting his gaze. They are in sight of the lorry and Will remarks that the doors are open when they hear it. Evers’s head cocks up to the whining sound, and Will watches him watch the first bomb come down and destroy a building not fifty feet away. It is as if it is in slow motion. Evers yells, “Watch out!” and dives for the ground. ~ Janice Y K Lee,

972:... He turned to face the police now. 'You are on the wrong side of history, and we have already won,' he said to them. 'We are peacefully gathered here in the tradition of Martin Luther King, Gandhi .. This multiracial gathering is possible because of nonviolence. And that is the heartbeat of democracy that you here.' 'And so whoever your captain is, stand down. Go home,' he said. 'We'll be alright.' The crowd laughed again. All along the police lie, stiffened backs seemed to wilt. Then the cops turned to the left in file, turned again, and marched silently away down Grand Street. ~ Jeff Chang,

973:I Heard A Fly Buzz When I Died; I heard a fly buzz when I died; The stillness round my form Was like the stillness in the air Between the heaves of storm. The eyes beside had wrung them dry, And breaths were gathering sure For that last onset, when the king Be witnessed in his power. I willed my keepsakes, signed away What portion of me I Could make assignable,--and then There interposed a fly, With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz, Between the light and me; And then the windows failed, and then I could not see to see. ~ Emily Dickinson,

974:Jesus,” Kiernan said as he stepped from the Bronco and a gust of frigid wind lifted his hair. “I think my testicles just climbed up into my abdominal cavity in fear.” Matt chuckled. “Lovely visual.” He cautiously joined him on the icy sidewalk. “They’ll come back out of hiding as soon as you warm up.” “So you say. The poor things aren’t used to this kind of weather. It’s traumatizing. I’m going to expect you to check later to make sure they’re still where they belong.” “I can certainly make an inspection of the general area. I’m a detective. It’s all about gathering evidence. ~ Diana Copland,

975:Although secular fundamentalist “progressives” might believe in a future “golden age,” such an age does not exist. The future that they herald is merely one of gathering gloom and ever darkening clouds. This fate has ever been so for those who proclaim their “Pride.” They have nothing to expect in the future but their fall. As for the Christian, he has nothing to fear but his falling into the pride of despair. If he avoids becoming despondent and retains his humility, he will receive the gift of hope which is its fruit. Where there is hope there is the Way, the Truth and the Life. ~ Joseph Pearce,

976:I am a worried person with a stressed-out soul, living a simple life with no capital. I am gathering knowledge in every corner I can with the abilities I have. I'm reading philosophy, politics, history and fiction. Greek tragedies and the arctic waste. I'm studying psychology, economics, plant-based nutrition and I'm writing essays and manifestos, chasing bigger names with bigger frames, to ask a question or two, and I am learning to lead. I am reading to take the lead. Lead who? Myself. My own life. My own future. I'm not chasing you, or them, or anyone else; I am chasing me. ~ Charlotte Eriksson,

977:What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

978:Thus, the apostles' adventure began as a gathering of persons who open to one another reciprocally. A direct knowledge of the Teacher began for the disciples. They saw where he lived and began to know him. They would not have to be heralds of an idea, but witnesses of a person. Before being sent to evangelize, they would have to "be" with Jesus (cf. Mark 3:14), establishing a personal relationship with him. With this foundation, evangelization is no more than a proclamation of what has been experienced and an invitation to enter into the mystery of communion with Christ (cf. 1 John 13). ~ Pope Benedict XVI,

979:What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

980:If we want to benefit most from our suffering, by prayer and meditation, we will approach our suffering as a good soldier approaches war. What do I mean by that? A good soldier who has trained and trained is not surprised when he fins himself in war! He has been trained for it. Likewise, consider it your Job to be be prepared to suffer. That puts a whole different cast on Sunday morning, doesn't it? You are gathering with God's people Lord's Day after Lord's Day to train as good soldiers of Jesus Christ so that when your time of trial and testing sand suffering comes, you will be ready. ~ J Ligon Duncan III,

981: “I don’t want to be without you. I like who I am with you, and I don’t want to go back to who I was before.” “I love you, Rachel. So this will work. No matter what or who stands in our way.” My body rocks as if Isaiah used a defibrillator on my chest. He loves me. His words gain traction in my head...he loves me. My heart patters faster and faster. Not because of anxiety but because of hope. Gathering air into my lungs, I rest my head against his shirt, which is wet with my tears. His heart has a slow, steady beat. One that never panics. One that is always strong. ~ Katie McGarry,

982:Storm, Momentary, Forever Then summer said goodbye to the station. Lifting its cap, the thunder took souvenirs, hundreds of shots on the fly. The lilac went black. And that instant, gathering whole armfuls of lightning, the far clearing lit the white station-master’s shack. And when the whole roof ran with a fierce torrent of malice, and, like charcoal onto a sketch, the rain crashed down on the fence, consciousness started to flash, here, it seems, flooding in play even the corners of mind where it’s always bright as day. ~ Boris Pasternak,

983:Whiles in the early Winter eve We pass amid the gathering night Some homestead that we had to leave Years past; and see its candles bright Shine in the room beside the door Where we were merry years agone But now must never enter more, As still the dark road drives us on. E'en so the world of men may turn At even of some hurried day And see the ancient glimmer burn Across the waste that hath no way; Then with that faint light in its eyes A while I bid it linger near And nurse in wavering memories The bitter-sweet of days that were. ~ William Morris,

984:Jesus! it is the name which moves the harps of heaven to melody. Jesus! the life of all our joys. If there be one name more charming, more precious than another, it is this name. It is woven into the very warp and woof of our psalmody. Many of our hymns begin with it, and scarcely any, that are good for anything, end without it. It is the sum total of all delights. It is the music with which the bells of heaven ring; a song in a word; an ocean for comprehension, although a drop for brevity; a matchless oratorio in two syllables; a gathering up of the hallelujahs of eternity in five letters. ~ Charles Spurgeon,

985:A profound impression was created by the discourses of Professor GN Chakravarti and Mrs Besant, who is said to have risen to unusual heights of eloquence, so exhilarating were the influences of the gathering. Besides those who represented our society and religions, especially Vivekananda, VR Gandhi, Dharmapala, captivated the public, who had only heard of Indian people through the malicious reports of interested missionaries, and were now astounded to see before them and hear men who represented the ideal of spirituality and human perfectibility as taught in their respective sacred writings. ~ Henry Steel Olcott,

986:For when I trace back the years I have liv'd, gathering them up in my Memory, I see what a chequer'd Work Of Nature my life has been. If I were now to inscribe my own History with its unparalleled Sufferings and surprizing Adventures (as the Booksellers might indite it), I know that the great Part of the World would not believe the Passages there related, by reason of the Strangeness of them, but I cannot help their Unbelief; and if the Reader considers them to be but dark Conceits, then let him bethink himself that Humane life is quite out of the Light and that we are all Creatures of Darknesse. ~ Peter Ackroyd,

987:Fascinating to watch the reactions of people suddenly seized by fear. Some can’t take it. They let themselves go to a point of hysteria, then in panic flee to—God knows where. Most take it, with various degrees of courage and coolness. In the lobby tonight: the newspapermen milling around trying to get telephone calls through the one lone operator. Jews excitedly trying to book on the last plane or train. The wildest rumours coming in with every new person that steps through the revolving door from outside, all of us gathering around to listen, believing or disbelieving according to our feelings. ~ William L Shirer,

988:Several hundred men filled the main chamber. Women’s voices could be heard from beyond the cloth screens running down the eastern wall. The gathering quieted for the service, which followed the same pattern as in Judea: a song and then a Scripture reading from the Torah scrolls, followed by a prayer from the Psalms. Some men departed to begin their day, but most remained. Jacob stayed where he was, repeating silently the Psalms that resonated with the emotions filling his heart. How precious, O God, is your constant love. You let us drink from the river of your goodness. You are the source of all life. ~ Davis Bunn,

989:Jesus! it is the name which moves the harps of heaven to melody. Jesus! the life of all our joys. If there be one name more charming, more precious than another, it is this name. It is woven into the very warp and woof of our psalmody. Many of our hymns begin with it, and scarcely any, that are good for anything, end without it. It is the sum total of all delights. It is the music with which the bells of heaven ring; a song in a word; an ocean for comprehension, although a drop for brevity; a matchless oratorio in two syllables; a gathering up of the hallelujahs of eternity in five letters. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,

990:Out of the deep sophistication of Anthony an understanding formed, nothing atavistic or obscure, indeed scarcely physical at all, an understanding remembered from the romancings of many generations of minds that as she talked and caught his eyes and turned her lovely head, she moved him as he had never been moved before. The sheath that held her soul had assumed significance- that was all. She was a sun, radiant, growing, gathering light and storing it- then after an eternity pouring it forth in a glance, the fragment of a sentence, to that part of him that cherished all beauty and all illusion. ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,

991:When Loftus was just fourteen years old, her mother drowned in a swimming pool. On her forty-fourth birthday, Loftus attended a family gathering at which an uncle informed her that she had been the one to discover her mother’s dead body. Although she had previously remembered little about her mother’s death, suddenly memories of the incident came flooding back. A few days later, Loftus’s brother called her and told her that their uncle had made a mistake—it had actually been an aunt that had found their mother. The memories that had appeared so clear and vivid for the past few days were entirely false. ~ Helen Thomson,

992:Or who is a god except our God?*11 The highest, the most excellent, the most powerful, all-powerful beyond all-powerful, most merciful and most just, most remote and most present, most beautiful and most powerful, unmoving but ungraspable, unchangeable but changing everything, never new, never old, but making all things new*12 while leading the arrogant into decrepitude, though they are unaware of it. You are always active and always at rest, gathering in but not in need, carrying and filling and protecting, creating and nurturing and bringing to fulfillment, searching though you lack nothing. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

993:The smoke! The golden smoke! His robe whipped upward, turning him until his face was directed downward into the abyss. With his gaze on the depths, he recognized a maelstrom of boiling rapids there, the mirror of his life-precipitous currents and plunges, all movement gathering up all substance. Leto’s words wound through his mind on a path of golden smoke: “Caution is the path to mediocrity. Gliding, passionless mediocrity is all that most people think they can achieve.” Moneo fell freely then in the ecstasy of awareness. The universe opened for him like clear glass, everything flowing in a no Time. ~ Frank Herbert,

994:The Bretton Woods saga unfurled at a unique crossroads in modern history. An ascendant anticolonial superpower, the United States, used its economic leverage over an insolvent allied imperial power, Great Britain, to set the terms by which the latter would cede its dwindling dominion over the rules and norms of foreign trade and finance. Britain cooperated because the overriding aim of survival seemed to dictate the course. The monetary architecture that Harry White designed, and powered through an international gathering of dollar-starved allies, ultimately fell, its critics agree, of its own contradictions. ~ Benn Steil,

995:He turned his head on the pillow, looked sleepily at his beautiful captive, and gave her his most blinding smile. “’ Tis dreamin’ of that kiss, I’ll be,” he said, with a pointed sigh. Her smile vanished and in the gathering light, he saw the quick stains of color on her cheeks. “Go to sleep, Captain O’ Devir,” she said tightly and rising, went to sit at the windows at the stern, putting distance between them. The rising sun painted the curve of her forehead, her pert nose and her lovely chin, and the strikingly beautiful image of her cast-in-light profile was the last Ruaidri knew before sleep claimed him. ~ Danelle Harmon,

996:Lorcan nodded, "It'ss a beautiful night," he said. "The stars have all come out for you, Darcy." He turned to go, then had a fresh thought. "Oh and Tempest, a word to the wise..." Grace was busily gathering up the edges of Darcy's train. "Yes?" she said, glancing up at Lorcan. "What is it Furey?" Lorcan grinned."Just so you know, I've put down good money on you catching the wedding bouquet. I trust you wouldn't let me down!" as he winked at her, Grace thought his eyes never looked so blue. They were eyes you could never tire from looking at- as deep and constant and infinite as the ocean itself. ~ Justin Somper,

997:There was a downpour coming; Avery could feel it. The wind was already gaining strength, tearing out the last of her hairpins, whipping her dress close to her body. The air was heavy with the scent of rain. Avery's thoughts circled frantically in her mind, pressing so hard she thought she would burst. A falcon that had been perched farther along the railing turned a beady eye on her, curious. Avery watched it unfurl its wings and take off. She felt a sudden kinship with the bird, the way it flew screaming into the sky like a wild thing. She wished she could follow it straight into the gathering storm. ~ Katharine McGee,

998:When you are with Marines gathering to eat, you will notice that the most junior are served first and the most senior are served last. When you witness this act, you will also note that no order is given. Marines just do it. At the heart of this very simple action is the Marine Corps’ approach to leadership. Marine leaders are expected to eat last because the true price of leadership is the willingness to place the needs of others above your own. Great leaders truly care about those they are privileged to lead and understand that the true cost of the leadership privilege comes at the expense of self-interest. ~ Simon Sinek,

999:I wonder where he lies. Wedged under a rock, with a thousand small mouths already sucking on his spongy flesh. Or floating still, on and down, on and down, to wider, calmer reaches of the river. I see them gathering: the drowned, the shot. Their hands float out to touch each other, fingertip to fingertip. In a day, two days, they will glide on, a funeral flotilla, past the unfinished white dome rising out of its scaffolds on a muddy hill in Washington. Will the citizens recognize them, the brave fallen, and uncover in a gesture of respect? Or will they turn away, disgusted by the bloated mass of human rot? ~ Geraldine Brooks,

1000:She found a mossy hollow between the roots of a tree and, putting on her mackintosh, huddled down in her makeshift bed. She ate one sandwich and saved the others for the night, thinking that she was rather enjoying the progress of this adventure, thus far, and almost looking forward to her night in the open air. The hurry of the fast water rushing over the round pebbly rocks of the river bed was soothing: it made her feel less alone and she felt she had no need for her candle to keep the gathering darkness at bay - in fact she was rather relieved to be away from her colleagues and the instructors at Lyne Manor. ~ William Boyd,

1001:Leia Organa is not a child." Her voice carried through the room, commanding the kind of attention that would halt a more crowded gathering than this one. She slowly stood. "Leia has had her Day of Demand. She's growing into an adult -- a representative of the next generation. And make no mistake, they're the generation who will bear the brunt of what's to come. They're the ones who'll do most of the fighting and most of the dying. They're the ones who will do most of the rebuilding afterward, if we are so fortunate as to see an 'after.' We need the young with us. Without them, this war is lost before it's begun. ~ Claudia Gray,

1002:A gathering of booksellers is a pleasant sanhedrim to attend. The members of this ancient craft bear mannerisms and earmarks just as definitely recognizable as those of the cloak and suit business or any other trade. They are likely to be a little—shall we say—worn at the bindings, as becomes men who have forsaken worldly profit to pursue a noble calling ill rewarded in cash. They are possibly a trifle embittered, which is an excellent demeanour for mankind in the face of inscrutable heaven. Long experience with publishers' salesmen makes them suspicious of books praised between the courses of a heavy meal. ~ Christopher Morley,

1003:When it is all too much; when the news is so bad meditation itself feels useless, and a single life feels too small a stone to offer on the altar of Peace, find a Human Sunrise. Find those people who are committed to changing our scary reality. Human sunrises are happening all over the earth, at every moment. People gathering, people working to change the intolerable, people coming in their robes and sandals or in their rags and bare feet, and they are singing, or not, and they are chanting, or not. But they are working to bring peace, light, compassion, to the infinitely frightening downhill slide of Human life. ~ Alice Walker,

1004:An old Gordita reflex, dating back to shortly after the Second World War, when a black family had actually tried to move into town and the citizens, with helpful advice from the Ku Klux Klan, had burned the place to the ground and then, as if some ancient curse had come into effect, refused to allow another house ever to be built on the site. The lot stood empty until the town finally confiscated it and turned it into a park, where the youth of Gordita Beach, by the laws of karmic adjustment, were soon gathering at night to drink, dope, and fuck, depressing their parents, though not property values particularly. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

1005:Faun's Head Among the foliage, green casket flecked with gold; in the uncertain foliage that blossoms with gorgeous flowers where sleeps the kiss, vivid, and bursting through the sumptuous tapestry, a startled faun shows his two eyes and bites the crimson flowers with his white teeth. Stained and ensanguined like mellow wine, his mouth bursts out in laughter beneath the branches. And when he has fled - like a squirrel his laughter still vibrates on every leaf, and you can see, startled by a bullfinch, the Golden Kiss of the Wood, gathering itself together again. ~ Arthur Rimbaud,

1006:At one point I emailed to ask if it was true, as my daughter had told me, that the Apple logo was an homage to Alan Turing, the British computer pioneer who broke the German wartime codes and then committed suicide by biting into a cyanide-laced apple. He replied that he wished he had thought of that, but hadn’t. That started an exchange about the early history of Apple, and I found myself gathering string on the subject, just in case I ever decided to do such a book. When my Einstein biography came out, he came to a book event in Palo Alto and pulled me aside to suggest, again, that he would make a good subject. ~ Walter Isaacson,

1007:There occurred within a causal radius of Brandon Station one of those infinitesimal ripples in the creative silence of the First Cause. In the soul of the great blazing sun there were complicated superhuman vibrations [connected] ... with the feelings of a few intellectual sages who had enough imagination to recognise the conscious personality of this fiery orb as it flung far and wide its life-giving magnetic forces. Roaring, cresting, heaving, gathering, mounting, advancing, receding, the enormous fire-thoughts of this huge luminary surged relentlessly to and fro, evoking a turbulent aura of psychic activity. ~ John Cowper Powys,

1008:A distinguishing quality of the women I love, meaning, none of us are bothered by how infrequently we see one another. We have an arrangement that was never formally arranged. A consideration for turning down invitations. We are happy for the person who is indulging in her space, and how she might merely be spending the weekend unescorted by anything except her work, which could also mean: she is in no rush to complete much. She is tinkering. She is gathering all the materials necessary for repotting a plant but not doing it. She is turning off the lights and climbing into her head because that’s usually the move. ~ Durga Chew Bose,

1009:When I think of the patience I have had back in the dark before I remember or knew it was night until the light came all at once at the speed it was born to with all the time in the world to fly through not concerned about ever arriving and then the gathering of the first stars unhurried in their flowering spaces and far into the story the planets cooling slowly and the ages of rain then the seas starting to bear memory the gaze of the first cell at its waking how did this haste begin this little time at any time this reading by lightning scarcely a word this nothing this heaven ~ W S Merwin,

1010:GATHERING LEAVES Spades take up leaves No better than spoons, And bags full of leaves Are light as balloons. I make a great noise Of rustling all day Like rabbit and deer Running away. But the mountains I raise Elude my embrace, Flowing over my arms And into my face. I may load and unload Again and again Till I fill the whole shed, And what have I then? Next to nothing for weight, And since they grew duller From contact with earth, Next to nothing for color. Next to nothing for use. But a crop is a crop, And who's to say where The harvest shall stop? ~ Robert Frost,

1011:Walpurgis Night, when, according to the belief of millions of people, the devil was abroad - when the graves were opened and the dead came forth and walked. When all evil things of earth and air and water held revel. This very place the driver had specially shunned. This was the depopulated village of centuries ago. This was where the suicide lay; and this was the place where I was, alone - unmanned, shivering with cold in a shroud of snow with a wild storm gathering again upon me! It took all my philosophy, all the religion I had been taught, all my courage, not to collapse in a paroxysm of fright. (Dracula's Guest) ~ Bram Stoker,

1012:The clouds were gathering over Mary, too--deep and dark, but of altogether another kind from those that enveloped Letty: no troubles are for one moment to be compared with those that come of the wrongness, even if it be not wickedness, that is our own. Some clouds rise from stagnant bogs and fens; others from the wide, clean, large ocean. But either kind, thank God, will serve the angels to come down by. In the old stories of celestial visitants the clouds do much; and it is oftenest of all down the misty slope of griefs and pains and fears, that the most powerful joy slides into the hearts of men and women and children. ~ George MacDonald,

1013:That can happen when people die—the argument with them drops away and people so flawed while they were drawing breath that at times they were all but unbearable now assert themselves in the most appealing way, and what was least to your liking the day before yesterday becomes in the limousine behind the hearse a cause not only for sympathetic amusement but for admiration. In which estimate lies the greater reality—the uncharitable one permitted us before the funeral forced without any claptrap in the skirmish of daily life, or the one that suffuses us with sadness at the family gathering afterward—even an outsider can’t judge. ~ Philip Roth,

1014:Money Money is a kind of poetry. - Wallace Stevens Money, the long green, cash, stash, rhino, jack or just plain dough. Chock it up, fork it over, shell it out. Watch it burn holes through pockets. To be made of it! To have it to burn! Greenbacks, double eagles, megabucks and Ginnie Maes. It greases the palm, feathers a nest, holds heads above water, makes both ends meet. Money breeds money. Gathering interest, compounding daily. Always in circulation. Money. You don't know where it's been, but you put it where your mouth is. And it talks. ~ Dana Gioia,

1015:My heart seemed to stop. Garret paused, as if gathering his thoughts, or his courage, then took a deep breath. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” he continued, shaking his head. “But there’s still the chance for me to fix them. I shouldn’t have walked out that night.” His brow creased, a flicker of pain and regret going through his eyes. “Ember, I know you can’t feel what I do,” he said. “I get that. But…I want to be with you. And if that’s not possible, I’ll be content just to be close. Fighting Talon with you and Riley, helping people, saving other dragons from the Order-there is nothing I want more. And nowhere else I want to be. ~ Julie Kagawa,

1016:One unto the other, with no horizon, that is what she wants! Imagine her setting up a lodge, tanning hides, sewing, cooking, gathering wood, all by herself. And what if she became ill while I was away? Who would tend her? Who would keep her company? The way she believes, if I was gone for a long while, she couldn’t even go to Warrior to seek solace.” “Would you wish for her to?” Hunter gave the ashes a vicious poke, sending up a cloud of gray that made Many Horses cough. The truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of Loretta with another man. “Right now, I’d give her away to the first man stupid enough to take her. ~ Catherine Anderson,

1017:She knew the minute HE arrived. Felt the warm blanket of comfort reach out to her frozen soul....He made his way down the isle and sat next to her...he didn't reach out, didn't touch her...a single tear slid out from her closed lids and she blindly reached for his hand. He took her hand in more, gathering her close, arms coming around her warm and strong as her head sank down unto his shoulder and the tears finally came soaking the lapel of his wool suit. He offered her a perfectly white handkerchief...she stared at it and wondered who carries that type of thing anymore? He looked back at her and explained, "I'm old fashioned. ~ D B Reynolds,

1018:The memory of the revolutionary zealot who walked across Galilee gathering an army of disciples with the goal of establishing the Kingdom of God on earth, the magnetic preacher who defied the authority of the Temple priesthood in Jerusalem, the radical Jewish nationalist who challenged the Roman occupation and lost, has been almost completely lost to history. That is a shame. Because the one thing any comprehensive study of the historical Jesus should hopefully reveal is that Jesus of Nazareth—Jesus the man—is every bit as compelling, charismatic, and praiseworthy as Jesus the Christ. He is, in short, someone worth believing in. ~ Reza Aslan,

1019:This was what he wanted. Not mills or money or wool or power. He wanted Kate. She melted against him, filling the empty spaces in his soul. Then gently, she eased away. The moonlight, now fleeting behind the gathering clouds, illuminated tears in her eyes. Concerned, he brushed the hair from her face once more, "What is it?" "It's only that I am happy," She smiled. "For the first time in a long time, I can see a future ahead of me. And I never want to look away." He drew her close and kissed her forehead. He, too, could see his future before him, and it glowed much more brightly than he ever thought possible. ~ Sarah E Ladd,

1020:He did not want to fail, when the Bee Master had trusted him with the home and the possessions and the occupation that were all he had of his very own, and he did not know that as the storm drew nearer, as the clouds grew blacker, as the heat waves resolved themselves into definite flashes of lightning, as the night closed down black as velvet around him, he did not realize that his moral and mental forces were rising with the tide of the storm, that all the remnants of manhood left in his shaken body were gathering together for some sort of culmination, just as presently the storm would reach its height and then subside. ~ Gene Stratton Porter,

1021:A family friend had what I hear was the mother of all cool funerals. He died in his seventies and was a super-fun, super-funny guy. His funeral reflected that. Family and friends told their hilarious Vince stories, salted with the bad Vince jokes he used to tell. He was part of a band (I believe it was some sort of Dixieland affair) and they played at the gathering. There were many shenanigans. There was some sadness and there were some tears, but by and large the service reflected him and his legacy. The focus was on his life, not his death. And his life was awesome -- his deeds and influence and stories still very much alive. ~ Johnny B Truant,

1022:Faith Is Sometimes Spelled R-I-S-K Then the word of the LORD came to him: “Go at once to Zarephath of Sidon and stay there. I have commanded a widow in that place to supply you with food.”      So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”      “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take ~ R T Kendall,

1023:Is this a ladies-only gathering?” Luca’s voice was light. He loitered in the hallway until Cass waved him in. “I was just leaving.” Feliciana curtsied and then headed for the door. “I needed a moment,” Cass said. “A break from all of the planning.” “Will you share it with me?” Luca closed the door behind him. “Narissa has just inquired as to what color ribbons I mean to wear on my hat and shoes so she can make certain your jewelry is properly coordinated.” “Santo cielo. What do you suppose she’ll say if I tell her I’m not planning to wear any jewelry?” He chuckled. “I think that would be completely unacceptable. ~ Fiona Paul,

1024:Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heart petrifying, my soul contracting; and I trembled lest my very moral perceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right and wrong confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last, beneath the baneful influence of such a mode of life. The gross vapors of earth were gathering around me, and closing in upon my inward heaven; and thus it was that Mr. Weston rose at length upon me, appearing like the morning star in my horizon, to save me from the fear of utter darkness; and I rejoiced that I now had a subject for contemplation that was above me, not beneath. ~ Anne Bront,

1025:Deronda . . . gave himself up to that strongest effect of chanted liturgies which is independent of detailed verbal meaning . . . . The most powerful movement of feeling with a liturgy is the prayer which seeks for nothing special, but is a yearning to escape from the limitations of our own weakness and an invocation of all Good to enter and abide with us; or else a self-oblivious lifting up of gladness, a Gloria in excelsis that such Good exists; both the yearning and the exultation gathering their utmost force from the sense of communion in a form which has expressed them both, for long generations of struggling fellow-men. ~ George Eliot,

1026:The voice welling up out of this little man is terrific, Harry had noticed it at the house, but here, in the nearly empty church, echoing off the walnut knobs and memorial plaques and high arched rafters, beneath the tall central window of Jesus taking off into the sky with a pack of pastel apostles for a launching pad, the timbre is doubled, richer, with a rounded sorrowful something Rabbit hadn't noticed hitherto, gathering and pressing the straggle of guests into a congregation, subduing any fear that this ceremony might be a farce. Laugh at ministers all you want, they have the words we need to hear, the ones the dead have spoken. ~ John Updike,

1027:His mouth started to speak, but his brain decided it hadn't got anything to say yet and shut it again. His brain then started to contend with the problem of what his eyes told it they were looking at, but in doing so relinquished control of the mouth which promptly fell open again. Once more gathering up the jaw, his brain lost control of his left hand which then wandered around in an aimless fashion. For a second or so the brain tried to catch the left hand without letting go of the mouth and simultaneously tried to think about what was buried in the ice, which is probably why the legs went and Arthur dropped restfully to the ground. ~ Douglas Adams,

1028:means of knowing. I am certain of this, for I have witnessed it myself. When I swung myself into the fire as a young man, I saw that the storehouses of the human mind are rarely ever fully opened. When we open them, nothing remains unrevealed. When we cease all argument and debate—both internal and external—our true questions can be heard and answered. That is the powerful mover. That is the book of nature, written neither in Greek nor in Latin. That is the gathering of magic, and it is a gathering that, I have always believed and wished, can be shared.” “You speak in riddles,” Alma said. “And you speak too much,” Ambrose replied. ~ Elizabeth Gilbert,

1029:Naturally, Cinder got some on her gown—a smear of yellow frosting on the enormous skirt. She was mortified until Iko adjusted the skirt so the folds would hide it. “It was inevitable,” Iko said with a wink. “It’s part of your charm.” Cinder started to laugh, but was startled into silence by a sudden hiccup in her chest. She looked around, at the smiles and the arms draped over shoulders and Winter daintily licking buttercream from her fingers. At the homemade cake. A gathering of friends. A celebration, for her. They were silly things to be floored by, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never had these things before. ~ Marissa Meyer,

1030:The stars are spinning their threads, And the clouds are the dust that flies, And the suns are weaving them up For the time when the sleepers shall rise. The ocean in music rolls, And gems are turning to eyes, And the trees are gathering souls For the day when the sleepers shall rise. The weepers are learning to smile, And laughter to glean the sighs; Burn and bury the care and guile, For the day when the sleepers shall rise. Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy red, The larks and the glimmers and flows! The lilies and sparrows and daily bread, And the something that nobody knows! ~ George MacDonald,

1031:It is not that life is without its hurts and pains; it cannot be. But if a person brings his focus only to the hurt and pain and goes on accumulating them, he will soon cease to meet with any happy moments in life. It is not that there is no happiness in life; it has its fair share of happiness too. And if someone trains his attention on happiness alone and goes on gathering it, he will eventually cease to come across painful moments in life. We become that which we choose to become. In fact, we see what we want to see; we find what we want to find; we receive what we ask for. So if you seek suffering you are going to have it, without fail. ~ Osho,

1032:Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead. ~ Alice Walker,

1033:In the recumbence of depression, your information-gathering system collates its intelligence and reports to you these facts: (1) there is nothing to do; (2) there is nowhere to go; (3) there is nothing to be; (4) there is no one to know. Without meaning-charged emotions keeping your brain on the straight and narrow, you would lose your balance and fall into an abyss of lucidity. And for a conscious being, lucidity is a cocktail without ingredients, a crystal clear concoction that will leave you hung over with reality. In perfect knowledge there is only perfect nothingness, which is perfectly painful if what you want is meaning in your life. ~ Thomas Ligotti,

1034:There were no oceans on Oasis, no large bodies of water, and presumably no fish. He wondered whether this would cause comprehension problems when it came to certain crucial fish-related Bible stories. There were so many of those: Jonah and the whale, the miracle of the loaves and the fishes, the Galilean disciples being fishermen, the whole ‘fishers of men’ analogy . . . the bit in Matthew 13 about the kingdom of heaven being like a net cast into the sea, gathering fish of every kind . . . Even in the opening chapter of Genesis, the first animals God made were sea creatures. How much of the Bible would he have to give up as untranslatable? ~ Michel Faber,

1035:But I'm collecting the story of his life. The real story.' Chronicler made a helpless gesture. 'Without the dark parts it's just some silly f—' Chronicler froze halfway through the word, eyes darting nervously to the side. Bast grinned like a child catching a priest midcurse. 'Go on,' he urged, his eyes were delighted, and hard, and terrible. 'Say it.' Like some silly faerie story,' Chronicler finished, his voice thin and pale as paper. Bast smiled a wide smile. 'You know nothing of the Fae, if you think our stories lack their darker sides. But all that aside, this is a faerie story, because you are gathering it for me. ~ Patrick Rothfuss,

1036:DBT's catchphrase of developing a life worth living means you're not just surviving; rather, you have good reasons for living. I'm also getting better at keeping another dialectic in mind: On the one hand, the disorder decimates all relationships and social functions, so you're basically wandering in the wasteland of your own failure, and yet you have to keep walking through it, gathering the small bits of life that can eventually go into creating a life worth living. To be in the desolate badlands while envisioning the lush tropics without being totally triggered again isn't easy, especially when life seems so effortless for everyone else. ~ Kiera Van Gelder,

1037:The Maya did not emerge from the lost tribes of Israel or Atlantis. Instead, based on overwhelming evidence from linguistics, physical anthropology, and archaeology, ancestors of all New World people, including the Maya, migrated from Asia as nomadic hunters and gatherers. The debate surrounds the timing of their arrival in the Yucatan region and whether the migration across the Bering Strait occurred at about 12,000 BCE, 40,000 BCE or even earlier. Scholars continue to debate whether the Maya made the transition from hunting and gathering to farming villages in the lowland areas they occupied or if it spread into the lowlands from elsewhere. ~ Hourly History,

1038:There’s something purely foolish about attending any large gathering of men and women without benefit of some kind of philter or magic dust to blind you and weaken your critical faculties. I don’t mean to make a big deal out of sobriety, by the way. Of all the modes of human consciousness available to the modern consumer I consider it to be the most overrated. I stopped drinking not because I had a drinking problem, although I suppose I may have, but because alcohol had mysteriously become so poisonous to my body that one night half a bottle of George Dickel stopped my heart for almost twenty seconds (it turned out I was allergic to the stuff). ~ Michael Chabon,

1039:Was that you singing?” It was one of the new girls in the Artist Liaison department. Fat Charlie never managed to learn their names. They were always gone by then. “I’m afraid so.” “What were you singing? It was pretty.” Fat Charlie realized he didn’t know. He said, “I’m not sure. I wasn’t listening.” She laughed at that, although quietly. “He’s right. You should be making records, not wasting your time here.” Fat Charlie didn’t know what to say. Cheeks burning, he started crossing out numbers and making notes and gathering up Post-it notes with messages on them and putting those messages up on the screen, until he was sure that she had gone. Maeve ~ Neil Gaiman,

1040:In Latin, to bless is benedicere, which means literally: saying good things. The Father wants to say, more with his touch than with his voice, good things of his children. He has no desire to punish them. They have already been punished excessively by their own inner or outer waywardness. The Father wants simply to let them know that the love they have searched for in such distorted ways has been, is, and always will be there for them. The Father wants to say, more with his hands than with his mouth: “You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests.” He is the shepherd, “feeding his flock, gathering lambs in his arms, holding them against his breast. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

1041:In the Victorian times there was much demand for Christmas books, which would make an ideal gift, as well provide amusing entertainment over the holiday period. Without a doubt the most famous of these is Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, published in 1843, but he was by no means the only popular writer of such books. Published in 1847, Thackeray’s first Christmas book, Mrs Perkins’s Ball, is a humorous portrait of a seasonal social gathering, with a broad panorama of guests, from the hilarious sot Mulligan to the prissy middle-class characters he upsets. However, it is Thackeray’s ability as an illustrator that is the most impressive in this novella. ~ Charles Dickens,

1042:Maples believes technology waves follow a three-phase pattern: “They start with infrastructure. Advances in infrastructure are the preliminary forces that enable a large wave to gather. As the wave begins to gather, enabling technologies and platforms create the basis for new types of applications that cause a gathering wave to achieve massive penetration and customer adoption. Eventually, these waves crest and subside, making way for the next gathering wave to take shape.”9 Entrepreneurs looking for windows of opportunity would be wise to consider Maples’s metaphor. Wherever new technologies suddenly make a behavior easier, new possibilities are born. ~ Nir Eyal,

1043:We lie with our faces because that’s what we’ve been taught to do since early childhood. “Don’t make that face,” our parents growl when we honestly react to the food placed in front of us. “At least look happy when your cousins stop by,” they instruct, and you learn to force a smile. Our parents—and society—are, in essence, telling us to hide, deceive, and lie with our faces for the sake of social harmony. So it is no surprise that we tend to get pretty good at it, so good, in fact, that when we put on a happy face at a family gathering, we might look as if we love our in-laws when, in reality, we are fantasizing about how to hasten their departure. ~ Joe Navarro,

1044:3. SENSITIVITY: Keenly aware, spirited kids quickly respond to the slightest noises, smells, lights, textures, or changes in mood. They are easily overwhelmed in crowds by the barrage of sensations. Getting them through a shopping center, long religious service, carnival, or family gathering without losing them to a fit of tears is a major achievement. Dressing can be a torture. A wayward string or a scratchy texture can render clothes intolerable. Every sensation and emotion is absorbed by them, including your feelings. They’ll tell you that you are having a rotten day before you realize it yourself and they’ll even scream and sulk for you. ~ Mary Sheedy Kurcinka,

1045:God is God of history and of nations. Also of nature. Originally Yahweh was probably a volcanic deity. But he periodically enters history, the best example being when he intervened to bring the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. They were shepherds and accustomed to freedom; it was terrible for them to be making bricks. And the Pharaoh had them gathering the straw as well and still being required to meet their quota of bricks per day. It is an archetypal timeless situation. God bringing men out of slavery and into freedom. Pharaoh represents all tyrants at all times." Her voice was calm and reasonable; Asher felt impressed. ~ Philip K Dick,

1046:Be Nobody's Darling Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. But be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead. ~ Alice Walker,

1047:Everything seemed possible back then. As the physical changes of adolescence took hold, I resolved to install a few changes of my own, fashion this clay into something sensational. And I had a whole stack of manuals to help me do it--such is the magic when books and naïvety collide. As far as I was concerned, if it was shelved in the nonfiction section, it was true. And it staggered me that this earth-shattering knowledge was gathering dust on a library shelf. Why did people read anything else? Didn't they realize that humans only use 10 percent of their brains? Hadn't they hard of the kid in Russia who could move salt shakers with his mind alone? ~ Sanjiv Bhattacharya,

1048:In language, I discern words that fail to signify what they denote and do not adequately convey their meanings. The word happiness seeks its meaning in people and in their yearnings and their desires, while people seek the meaning of happiness in the word and in its definitions and its truths. It may well be that the meaning of the word lies discarded somewhere beneath the sun in a neglected corner of an obscure village, or in the shelter of a sycamore tree, or sleeping under a bale of cotton taken as a temporary roof, or sitting and laughing in a neighborhood gathering, or standing to contemplate the current of a stream, or stretched out and gazing up at the heavens. ~,

1049:Nocturne Always I knew that it could not last (Gathering clouds, and the snowflakes flying), Now it is part of the golden past (Darkening skies, and the night-wind sighing); It is but cowardice to pretend. Cover with ashes our love's cold craterAlways I've known that it had to end Sooner or later. Always I knew it would come like this (Pattering rain, and the grasses springing), Sweeter to you is a new love's kiss (Flickering sunshine, and young birds singing). Gone are the raptures that once we knew, Now you are finding a new joy greaterWell, I'll be doing the same thing, too, Sooner or later. ~ Dorothy Parker,

1050:These are the times foretold by the Prophets, ‘when a nation shall be born in a day',” declared the call for a black political gathering in 1865. A Tennessee newspaper commented in 1869 that freedmen habitually referred to slavery as Paul’s Time, and Reconstruction as Isaiah’s Time (referring perhaps to Paul’s message of obedience and humility, and Isaiah’s prophecy of cataclysmic change brought about by violence). God, who had “scourged America with war for her injustice to the black man,” had allowed his agent Lincoln, like Moses, to glimpse the promised land of “universal freedom” and then mysteriously removed him before he “reached its blessed fruitions. ~ Eric Foner,

1051:She sees and hears this by direct gathering, through her limbs. The fires will come, despite all efforts, the blight and windthrow and floods. Then the Earth will become another thing, and people will learn it all over again. The vaults of seed banks will be thrown open. Second growth will rush back in, supple, loud, and testing all possibilities. Webs of forest will swell with species shot through in shadow and dappled by new design. Each streak of color on the carpeted Earth will rebuild its pollinators. Fish will surge again up all the watersheds, stacking themselves as thick as cordwood through the rivers, thousands per mile. Once the real world ends. ~ Richard Powers,

1052:If a man can realize his divine nature with the help of an image, would it be right to call that a sin? Nor, even when he has passed that stage, should he call it an error. [...] man is not traveling from error to truth, but from truth to truth, from lower to higher truth. To him all the religions from the lowest fetishism to the highest absolutism, mean so many attempts of the human soul to grasp and realize the Infinite, each determined by the conditions of its birth and association, and each of these marks a stage of progress; and every soul is a young eagle soaring higher and higher, gathering more and more strength till it reaches the Glorious Sun. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

1053:The yard and the walk outside grew crowded with cops and media people and rubberneckers from the neighborhood drawn by gathering news vans. Between questions I watched the on-air television talent fan out among the cops. A woman I’d seen a thousand times on the local NBC affiliate was talking with her camera operator when the camera operator saw me standing in the window and pointed me out. The reporter said something and the operator trained his camera on me. The reporter ducked past Flutey and hurried over to the window. She was all frosted hair and intelligent eyes. “Are you the detective who found the kidnappers?” I gave her Bill Dana. “My name José Jimenez. ~ Robert Crais,

1054:Where roads are made, I lose my way. In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track. The pathway is hidden by the birds’ wings, by the starfires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons. And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way. – Rabindranath Tagore, "VI," Fruit-Gathering When you pursue what matters to you, the end result may or may not be what you desire, but it will leave you a better, stronger, wiser, happier person. You will not feel lost, you will not feel tired, and there will be no anxiety. In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. ~ Om Swami,

1055:If you act properly, your actions allow you to be psychologically integrated now, and tomorrow, and into the future, while you benefit yourself, your family, and the broader world around you. Everything will stack up and align along a single axis. Everything will come together. This produces maximal meaning. This stacking up is a place in space and time whose existence we can detect with our ability to experience more than is simply revealed here and now by our senses, which are obviously limited to their information-gathering and representational capacity. Meaning trumps expedience. Meaning gratifies all impulses, now and forever. That’s why we can detect it. ~ Jordan Peterson,

1056:The weather is certainly unpredictable here,isn't it?" "It's always unpredictable when the MacLeans are involved." She turned to look at him. "You've heard the rumors of the curse?" "I've heard them and believe them." He moved beside her. "Don't you?" The pocket she needed to reach was on his other side, blast it. "Do you think one of the MacLeans might be angry now?" He looked over her head to the gathering clouds, a frown settling between his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "One of them is growing more furious by the moment." A fresh wind now tossed the treetops about, the grass rippled like an angry ocean, and the clouds filled the entire sky. ~ Karen Hawkins,

1057:It opens, the gate to the garden with the docility of a page that frequent devotion questions and inside, my gaze has no need to fix on objects that already exist, exact, in memory. I know the customs and souls and that dialect of allusions that every human gathering goes weaving. I've no need to speak nor claim false privilege; they know me well who surround me here, know well my afflictions and weakness. This is to reach the highest thing, that Heaven perhaps will grant us: not admiration or victory but simply to be accepted as part of an undeniable Reality, like stones and trees. ~ Jorge Luis Borges, Simplicity ,

1058:If you act properly, your actions allow you to be psychologically integrated now, and tomorrow, and into the future, while you benefit yourself, your family, and the broader world around you. Everything will stack up and align along a single axis. Everything will come together. This produces maximal meaning. This stacking up is a place in space and time whose existence we can detect with our ability to experience more than is simply revealed here and now by our senses, which are obviously limited to their information-gathering and representational capacity. Meaning trumps expedience. Meaning gratifies all impulses, now and forever. That’s why we can detect it. ~ Jordan B Peterson,

1059:While painting The Last Supper, Leonardo would sometimes stare at the work for an hour, finally make one small stroke, and then leave. He told Duke Ludovico that creativity requires time for ideas to marinate and intuitions to gel. “Men of lofty genius sometimes accomplish the most when they work least,” he explained, “for their minds are occupied with their ideas and the perfection of their conceptions, to which they afterwards give form.” Most of us don’t need advice to procrastinate; we do it naturally. But procrastinating like Leonardo requires work: it involves gathering all the possible facts and ideas, and only after that allowing the collection to simmer. ~ Walter Isaacson,

1060:The air is heavy, sweet with perfume, stirred only by a scratchy music that soars and glides and stuns itself against the walls. Large leaded windows look out over the garden at the rear of the house, gray clouds piling up beyond a cupola. Chairs and chaise longues have been gathered around the fire, young women draped over them like wilted orchids, smoking cigarettes and clinging to their drinks. The mood in the room is one of restless agitation rather than celebration. About the only sign of life comes from an oil painting on the far wall, where an old woman with coals for eyes sits in judgment of the room, her expression conveying her distaste for this gathering. ~ Stuart Turton,

1061:We live in a world that assumes that the quality of a decision is directly related to the time and effort that went into making it...We believe that we are always better off gathering as much information as possible an depending as much time as possible in deliberation. We really only trust conscious decision making. But there are moments, particularly in times of stress, when haste does not make waste, when our snap judgments and first impressions can offer a much better means of making sense of the world. The first task of Blink is to convince you of a simple fact: decisions made very quickly can be every bit as good as decisions made cautiously and deliberately. ~ Malcolm Gladwell,

1062:But it wasn't Neil or Buzz that had interested her, or even the moon itself. She had been attracted to the missions' most unsung hero: Michael Collins, alone in Columbia, drifting around the moon in exquisite solitary splendor while Buzz and Neil had gone about the terrestrial work of putting down a plaque, erecting a flag, and gathering rocks. Every two hours Michael Collins had gone out of radio contact for forty-eight minutes when the moon stood between himself and Earth, and during those minutes he was the most alone person in the history of people. Helen still liked to think about that. That had always been her dream: space, not a location with it, just space. ~ Meg Howrey,

1063:I. Sacred Goddess, Mother Earth, Thou from whose immortal bosom Gods, and men, and beasts have birth, Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. II. If with mists of evening dew Thou dost nourish these young flowers Till they grow, in scent and hue, Fairest children of the Hours, Breathe thine influence most divine On thine own child, Proserpine. Published by Mrs. Shelley, Poetical Works, 1839, 1st edition. There is a fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library. ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Song Of Proserpine While Gathering Flowers On The Plain Of Enna ,

1064:The books of the great scientists are gathering dust on the shelves of learned libraries. And rightly so. The scientist addresses an infinitesimal audience of fellow composers. His message is not devoid of universality but its universality is disembodied and anonymous. While the artist's communication is linked forever with its original form, that of the scientist is modified, amplified, fused with the ideas and results of others and melts into the stream of knowledge and ideas which forms our culture. The scientist has in common with the artist only this: that he can find no better retreat from the world than his work and also no stronger link with the world than his work. ~ Max Delbruck,

1065:The Confirmers The saints are gathering at the real places, trying tough skin on sharp conscience, endurance in the hot spotssearching out to define, come up against, mouth the bitterest bit: you can hear them yelping down in the dark greeny groves of condemnation: their lips slice back with jittery suctions, cold insweeps of conjured grief: if they, footloose, wham up the precise damnation, consolation may be more than us trudging down from paunchy dinners, swatting hallelujah arms at dusk bugs and telling them pure terror has obviously made them earnest of mind and of motion lithe. ~ Archie Randolph Ammons,

1066:But he was one of those men who are incapable of putting themselves in the place of other people, who resemble in that respect undertakers and the majority of doctors, and who, after composing their faces and saying: “This is a very painful occasion,” after, if need be, embracing you and advising you to rest, cease to regard a deathbed or a funeral as anything but a social gathering of a more or less restricted kind at which, with a joviality that has been checked for a moment only, they scan the room in search of the person whom they can tell about their own little affairs, or ask to introduce them to some one else, or offer a ‘lift’ in their carriage when it is time to go home. ~ Marcel Proust,

1067:Two months in Shanghai, and what does she have to show for herself? She had been full of plans on the plane ride over, had studied her phrase book as if cramming for an exam, had been determined to refine her computational model with a new set of data, expecting insights and breakthroughs, plotting notes for a new article. Only the time has trickled away so quickly. She has meandered through the days chatting with James instead of gathering data. At night, she has gone out to dinners and bars. [James'] Chinese has not improved; her computational model has barely been touched. She does not know what she has been doing with herself, and now an airplane six days away is waiting for her. ~ Ruiyan Xu,

1068:Keep your elbows in!" Sturmhond berated Mal. "Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken." Mal let out a disturbingly convincing cluck. Tamar raised a brow. "Your friend seems to be enjoying himself." I shrugged. "Mal's always been like that. You could drop him in a camp full of Fjerdan assassins, and he'd come out carried on their shoulders. He just blooms wherever he's planted." "And you?" "I'm more of a weed," I said drily. Tamar grinned. In combat, she was cold and silent fire, but when she wasn't fighting, her smiles came easily. "I like weeds," said said, pushing herself off from the railing and gathering her scattered lengths of rope. "They're survivors. ~ Leigh Bardugo,

1069:The difference between what people call “community” and what the Bible calls the “church” comes down to the question of authority. Jesus actually gave authority to the local assembly called a church (Matt 16:13–20; 18:15–20; Heb 13:7, 17; 1 Pet 5:1–5). This assembly is not only a fellowship but an accountability fellowship. It’s not just a group of believers at the park; it preaches the gospel and possesses the keys of the kingdom for binding and loosing through the ordinances. It declares who does and does not belong to the kingdom. It exercises oversight. And exercising such affirmation and oversight meaningfully means gathering regularly and getting involved in one another’s lives. ~ Mark Dever,

1070:A man is allowed to visit Heaven and Hell. In Hell, he sees a large gathering of people sitting around a long table set with rich and delectable food. And yet these people are miserable and starving. He soon discovers that the reason for their dreadful state is that the spoons and forks provided for them are longer than their arms. As a result, they are unable to bring the food to their mouths and feed themselves. Then the man is shown Heaven. He finds the same table set out there, with the same extra-long eating utensils. But, in Heaven, instead of just trying to feed their own selves, each person uses his or her spoon and fork to feed one another. They are all well-fed and happy. ~ Howard Sasportas,

1071:I looked around at all the people talking and eating. And it suddenly seemed to me that all these people were apes: chattering, masticating, perambulating, gesticulating apes. Big grotesque hairless apes, with comical tufts of hair sticking out on top. Wearing these bizarre, ritualistically colored strips of cloth. We were a big gathering of apes, like apes in the forest gathering at a tree that had dropped its fruit. The sound, I tell you, it was like the sound in the ape house, this loud, meaningless chattering. And suddenly everything seemed so comical, so ridiculous and trivial . . . so bizarre and utterly without importance . . . that I found myself leaving the room in a panic. ~ Douglas Preston,

1072:anthologies like Accessing the Future (gathering together voices of disabled people to create SF tales of disability), The Sum of Us (an anthology complicating ideas of care and caregiving), Alison Sinclair’s Darkborn series (presenting the social changes that would occur in a world where half the population is blind), Tanya Huff’s novel Gate of Darkness, Circle of Light (which features a protagonist with an intellectual disability who resists containment or control), Ada Hoffmann’s short story “You Have To Follow the Rules” (which transports the reader into a world where autism is the norm and asks us to reconsider how we codify rules of social interaction and privilege neurotypicality), ~ Lynne M Thomas,

1073:As the couple made their way slowly through the gathering and toward the house where the party was laid out for the celebrants, Joe saw his chance. He grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray and pressed his way toward Nikki. He offered it and said, “You look very beautiful today.” “Thank you,” she said, accepting the drink. “There should be dancing at this party,” he complained. “Otherwise, how am I going to get my arms around you?” “Are you flirting with me?” she asked him. “I am. I think it’s the dress.” She laughed at him. “It’s an amazing dress,” he went on. “Into fashion, are you?” He shook his head. “I wasn’t before today.” He put out a hand to escort her. “Let me take you to a party.” * ~ Robyn Carr,

1074:The embassy’s front door was of bulletproof steel lined with a veneer of English oak. You attained it by touching a button in a silent lift. The royal crest, in this air-conditioned stillness, suggested silicone and funeral parlours. The windows, like the doors, had been toughened to frustrate the Irish and tinted to frustrate the sun. Not a whisper of the real world penetrated. The silent traffic, cranes, shipping, old town and new town, the brigade of women in orange tunics gathering leaves along the central reservation of the Avenida Balboa, were mere specimens in Her Majesty’s inspection chamber. From the moment you set foot in British extraterritorial airspace, you were looking in, not out. — ~ John le Carr,

1075:Autocrats can avoid the technical difficulties of gathering and redistributing wealth by authorizing their supporters to reward themselves directly. For many leaders, corruption is not something bad that needs to be eliminated. Rather it is an essential political tool. Leaders implicitly or sometimes even explicitly condone corruption. Effectively they license the right to extract bribes from the citizens. This avoids the administrative headache of organizing taxation and transferring the funds to supporters. Saddam Hussein’s sons were notorious for smuggling during the 1990s when Iraq was subject to sanctions. They made a fortune from the sanctions that were supposed to harm the regime. ~ Bruce Bueno de Mesquita,

1076:And really, that’s the most important thing he does with his days. It’s a small, measurable success, in the face of diminishing sales and an empty double bed and a set of skills which were marketable one hundred years ago, but now look quaint and even sad. Every afternoon for the last six months he has been fighting an uneven battle with himself not to overturn the trolley with its many keys, and scatter them across the room. His better nature has won only because the image of himself on his knees, remorsefully gathering them again, repairing scratched case clocks and whispering apologies to the ghost of his grandfather—and for strange and different reasons also his father—is more than he can bear. ~ Nick Harkaway,

1077:Sonnet Lxiv HERE from the restless bed of lingering pain The languid sufferer seeks the tepid wave, And feels returning health and hope again Disperse 'the gathering shadows of the grave!' And here romantic rocks that boldly swell, Fringed with green woods, or stain'd with veins of ore, Call'd native genius forth, whose Heaven-taught skill Charm'd the deep echoes of the rifted shore. But tepid waves, wild scenes, or summer air, Restore they palsied Fancy, woe-deprest? Check they the torpid influence of Despair, Or bid warm Health re-animate the breast; Where Hope's soft visions have no longer part, And whose sad inmate--is a broken heart? ~ Charlotte Smith,

1078:The Temperance Movement A POWER is stirring—a broad light has shone Amid the nation’s—in the wilderness Of the world’s social horror and distress, Heralding temperance as the Baptist John Announced the Christ. Amazed upon her throne, Built up of skulls that were in life not less Than temples of great souls—behold Excess Blinks in its rays, and feels her empire gone! And Ignorance and Crime—each brutal vice That brands the brow with shame and steels the heart, Are starting from their lairs in human sties, Like felons scared, and gathering to depart: Even as the fiend-gods of the pagan earth Trooped hell-ward at the Babe of Bethlehem’s birth. ~ Charles Harpur,

1079:A Song Of The Pen Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft, Not for the people's praise; Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed, Claiming us all our days, Claiming our best endeavour -- body and heart and brain Given with no reserve -Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain: Still, we are proud to serve. Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try, Gathering grain or chaff; One of her favoured servants toils at an epic high, One, that a child may laugh. Yet if we serve her truly in our appointed place, Freely she doth accord Unto her faithful servants always this saving grace, Work is its own reward! ~ Banjo Paterson,

1080:Though I have never been part of a church that hosts an open table, I’m with Sara on this one. I don’t know exactly how Jesus is present in the bread and wine, but I believe Jesus is present, so it seems counterintuitive to tell people they have to wait and meet him someplace else before they meet him at the table. If people are hungry, let them come and eat. If they are thirsty, let them come and drink. It’s not my table anyway. It’s not my denomination’s table or my church’s table. It’s Christ’s table. Christ sends out the invitations, and if he has to run through the streets gathering up the riffraff to fill up his house, then that’s exactly what he’ll do. Who am I to try and block the door? Long ~ Rachel Held Evans,

1081:Funerals, in fact, are one of the most powerful examples of collective pain. They feature in a surprising finding from my research on trust. When I asked participants to identify three to five specific behaviors that their friends, family, and colleagues do that raise their level of trust with them, funerals always emerged in the top three responses. Funerals matter. Showing up to them matters. And funerals matter not just to the people grieving, but to everyone who is there. The collective pain (and sometimes joy) we experience when gathering in any way to celebrate the end of a life is perhaps one of the most powerful experiences of inextricable connection. Death, loss, and grief are the great equalizers. ~ Bren Brown,

1082:If it is true that ideas don’t change things gradually but in fits and starts – in shocks – then the basic premise of our democracy, our journalism, and our education is all wrong. It would mean, in essence, that the Enlightenment model of how people change their opinions – through information-gathering and reasoned deliberation – is really a buttress for the status quo. It would mean that those who swear by rationality, nuance, and compromise fail to grasp how ideas govern the world. A worldview is not a Lego set where a block is added here, removed there. It’s a fortress that is defended tooth and nail, with all possible reinforcements, until the pressure becomes so overpowering that the walls cave in. ~ Rutger Bregman,

1083:There you are," Hale told his mother when he found her. "Oh, darling, do you know Michael Calloway? His mother is the event chair. We've just been arguing over whether he is going to let me outbid him for this gorgeous antique clock," Mrs. Hale said, but her son didn't care. "Sorry," Hale told the man in the tux with the small bits of sweat gathering at his brow. "I need her," he said, pulling his mother from the table and toward the bank of elevators on the far sie of the room, the ones that appeared to be operational. "Mom, I need you to come with me," "But, darling," the woman protested, "its Swiss!" The elevator dinged and Hale pushed her inside it. "Sorry, Dad will meet you downstairs. ~ Ally Carter,

1084:Listen to a woman speak at a public gathering (if she hasn't painfully lost her wind). She doesn't "speak," she throws her trembling body forward; she lets go of herself, she flies; all of her passes into her voice, and it's with her body that she vitally sup- ports the "logic" of her speech. Her flesh speaks true. She lays herself bare. In fact, she physically materializes what she's thinking; she signifies it with her body. In a certain way she inscribes what she's saying, because she doesn't deny her drives the intractable and impassioned part they have in speaking. Her speech, even when "theoretical" or political, is never simple or linear or "objectified," generalized: she draws her story into history. ~ H l ne Cixous,

1085:Ancestral The star dissolved in evening—the one star The silently and night O soon now, soon And still the light now and still now the large Relinquishing and through the pools of blue Still, still the swallows and a wind now and the tree Gathering darkness: I was small. I lay Beside my mother on the grass, and sleep Came— slow hooves and dripping with the dark The velvet muzzles, the white feet that move In a dream water and O soon now soon Sleep and the night. And I was not afraid. Her hand lay over mine. Her fingers knew Darkness,—and sleep—the silent lands, the far Far off of morning where I should awake. ~ Archibald MacLeish,

1086:The complexity of our present trouble suggests as never before that we need to change our present concept of education. Education is not properly an industry, and its proper use is not to serve industries, either by job-training or by industry-subsidized research. It's proper use is to enable citizens to live lives that are economically, politically, socially, and culturally responsible. This cannot be done by gathering or "accessing" what we now call "information" - which is to say facts without context and therefore without priority. A proper education enables young people to put their lives in order, which means knowing what things are more important than other things; it means putting first things first. ~ Wendell Berry,

1087:The Awakening I dreamed that I was a rose That grew beside a lonely way, Close by a path none ever chose, And there I lingered day by day. Beneath the sunshine and the show’r I grew and waited there apart, Gathering perfume hour by hour, And storing it within my heart, Yet, never knew, Just why I waited there and grew. I dreamed that you were a bee That one day gaily flew along, You came across the hedge to me, And sang a soft, love-burdened song. You brushed my petals with a kiss, I woke to gladness with a start, And yielded up to you in bliss The treasured fragrance of my heart; And then I knew That I had waited there for you. ~ James Weldon Johnson,

1088:Gathering all his courage, Sid caught her chin in his hand and lifted her face to him. He wished his fingers would stop trembling, but the glory of her soft skin nearly undid him. “Did’ja like the little present I left for you today?” With her face caught in his fingers, she couldn’t nod. But he saw a soft look creep into her eyes. She liked it. He smiled. “Y’know, Sadie, I loved you even back then. You’ve always been important to me.” She swallowed, the sound loud in the silent room. She leaned back slightly, removing herself from his quivering grasp. “I . . . I know, Sid. And you’ve been important to me, too. Always my favorite—” He covered her lips with his fingers. “Don’t say ‘cousin.’ ’Cause we aren’t. ~ Kim Vogel Sawyer,

1089:That’s it then. You’ll have to go on without me.” She tried to sound brave, but her voice betrayed her by trembling. “Go on without you?” Sylvan looked at her incredulously. “What kind of male do you think I am?” “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, knowing it wasn’t true. “You can go for help and come back for me.” “Do you really think I’d leave you here alone, helpless in the dark with the Scourge hunting you?” His voice had dropped to a low growl. “Never.” “Sylvan!” she protested but he was already gathering her up into his arms. “Sylvan, put me down. Be reasonable,” she pleaded. “I know you’re a big strong guy but I’m not exactly tiny. You can’t carry me all the way down the side of the mountain.” “Watch me. ~ Evangeline Anderson,

1090:Sonnet Xxvii: Heart's Compass Sometimes thou seem'st not as thyself alone, But as the meaning of all things that are; A breathless wonder, shadowing forth afar Some heavenly solstice hushed and halcyon; Whose unstirred lips are music's visible tone; Whose eyes the sun-gate of the soul unbar, Being of its furthest fires oracular;— The evident heart of all life sown and mown. Even such Love is; and is not thy name Love? Yea, by thy hand the Love-god rends apart All gathering clouds of Night's ambiguous art; Flings them far down, and sets thine eyes above; And simply, as some gage of flower or glove, Stakes with a smile the world against thy heart. ~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

1091:Two thousand years later, the Christ of Paul’s creation has utterly subsumed the Jesus of history. The memory of the revolutionary zealot who walked across Galilee gathering an army of disciples with the goal of establishing the Kingdom of God on earth, the magnetic preacher who defied the authority of the Temple priesthood in Jerusalem, the radical Jewish nationalist who challenged the Roman occupation and lost, has been almost completely lost to history. That is a shame. Because the one thing any comprehensive study of the historical Jesus should reveal is that Jesus of Nazareth—Jesus the man—is every bit as compelling, charismatic, and praiseworthy as Jesus the Christ. He is, in short, someone worth believing in. ~ Reza Aslan,

1092:Dawn comes after the darkness, and with it the promise that what has been torn by the sea is not lost. All of life is breaking and mending, clipping and stitching, gathering tatters and sewing seams. All of life is quilted from the scraps of what once was and is no more- the places we have been, the memories we have made, the people we have known, that which has been long loved but has grown threadbare over time and can be worn no longer. We keep only pieces. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. "All waiting to be stitched into the pattern only you can see. "In the quiet after the storm, I hear you whisper, 'Daughter, do not linger where you are. Take up your needle and your thread, and go see to the mending... ~ Lisa Wingate,

1093:They hadn't expected to find quite such a large gathering, however, and Anthony couldn't resist remarking, "My, my, how, what would draw so many children to this room in the middle of the night, I wonder? Jack and Judy aren't hiding behind you, are they? D'you get the feeling these younguns think it's Christmas already, James?" James had already deduced what was causing so many red faces, and said, "Good God,take a gander at that, Tony. Even the Yank is blushing, damn me if he ain't." Warren sighed and glanced down at his wife. "You see what your silliness has caused, love? Those two will never let me live this down." "Course we will," Anthony replied with a wicked grin. "In ten or twenty years perhaps. ~ Johanna Lindsey,

1094:Now there are days when she is content, and days when she’s restless. But there is never a day when she doesn’t see Peter everywhere. Things hurt, and don’t hurt, and hurt again. Eighty years later, and she can still feel surprised that he’s gone. And then so much of the time, she’s glad. But just as she looks for Tik Tok in everything around her, she looks for Peter in the woods, out gathering, in the lagoon, in the burrow that is now abandoned. She goes up on the cliffs from time to time and stands there for hours, continuing her long good-bye. It’s not for lack of loyalty to her husband. It is just that she was fifteen once for the first time, and Peter walked across her heart, and left his footprints there. ~ Jodi Lynn Anderson,

1095:Sweet Love, Sweet Thorn, When Lightly To My Heart Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain, While rainy evening drips to misty night, And misty night to cloudy morning clears, And clouds disperse across the gathering light, And birds grow noisy, and the sun appears Had I bethought me then, sweet love, sweet thorn, How sharp an anguish even at the best, When all's requited and the future sworn, The happy Hour can leave within the breast, I had not so come running at the call Of one whoe loves me little, if at all. ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay,

1096:A recent study of how men and women differ when it comes to the mall turned up this fact: Men, once you get them in the door, are much more in- terested in the social aspect of malls than the shopping part, whereas women say the social aspect is important but shopping comes rst. Men enjoy the mall as a form of recreation—they like watching people and browsing around in stores more than shopping. Maybe they’ll spend fteen minutes in a bookstore or a stereo store and leave without buying a thing. They treat it like an information-gathering trip. Men also like the nonretail parts—the rock-climbing walls, the food courts, anything that doesn’t actually require them to enter stores and look at, try on, or buy merchandise. ~ Paco Underhill,

1097:The bar was crowded with theorizing Sherlockians, who in the absence of any actual evidence had created grand machinations to explain the crime. Minor points of canonical disagreement became reasons for brutal murder. Some tried to piece together their theories in small groups, hoping that with enough brainpower and expertise they might arrive at a solution. Others jumped straight over the “investigation” phase and landed square at the end of the story they were creating, instantly accusing the man across the table of some vile treachery. And, moreover, actually employing phrases like “vile treachery” in doing so. Everyone was a suspect. But at the world’s largest Sherlockian gathering, everyone was a detective as well. ~ Graham Moore,

1098:Dimitri held up a car seat with one hand, which was almost comical. “We can go whenever you’re ready. Lana gave us this and swears it’s easy to install.” Rose laughed at that. “Oh, this I’ve got to see, comrade. Dimitri Belikov, badass god, installing a baby’s car seat.” He smiled good-naturedly, and we scurried around, gathering up things. Sydney had to call Jackie back, and since my hands were full, she handed Declan off to Rose. “Just rock him,” I said, seeing her panic. Rose blanched but complied, earning laughter in return from Dimitri. “Rose Hathaway, notorious rebel, showing her maternal side.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Enjoy it while you can, comrade. This is as close as you’ll ever get to it. ~ Richelle Mead,

1099:She finds the door wide open and the place empty, another failed dotcom joining the officescape of the time—tarnished metallic surfaces, shaggy gray soundproofing, Steelcase screens and Herman Miller workpods—already beginning to decompose, littered, dust gathering . . . Well, almost empty. From some distant cubicle comes a tinny electronic melody Maxine recognizes as “Korobushka,” the anthem of nineties workplace fecklessness, playing faster and faster and accompanied by screams of anxiety. Ghost vendor indeed. Has she entered some supernatural timewarp where the shades of office layabouts continue to waste uncountable person-hours playing Tetris? Between that and Solitaire for Windows, no wonder the tech sector tanked. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

1100:They say a man's inspiration is visual, but for a woman, it's the narrative. Abandon both the narrative and the visual. Close your eyes, measure your breath. Dead weight is sloughed off, dust swept away, forms dissolve into one atmosphere. The rib cage opens, the lungs fill, the breast rises. Waves sweep up the body on their swell, rocking it rhythmically. Feet planted, the back arches, the pelvis reaches forward. Oxygen kindles a flame, sprawling through the belly, and gathering in a warm blaze. The hand reaches to meet the sensation. Calligraphy spills from the inkwell. Open your eyes, sharpen your focus, and exclaim: There are no separations. ~ Craig Thompson,

1101:As soon as the land of any country has all become private property, the landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed, and demand a rent even for its natural produce. The wood of the forest, the grass of the field, and all the natural fruits of the earth, which, when land was in common, cost the labourer only the trouble of gathering them, come, even to him, to have an additional price fixed upon them. He must then pay for the licence to gather them, and must give up to the landlord a portion of what his labour either collects or produces. This portion, or, what comes to the same thing, the price of this portion, constitutes the rent of land, and in the price of the greater part of commodities, makes a third ~ Adam Smith,

1102:Eddie looked again at the graveside gathering. He wondered if he'd had a funeral. He wondered if anyone came. He saw the priest reading from the bible and the mourners lowering their heads. This was the day the Blue Man had been buried, all those years ago. Eddie had been there, a little boy, fidgeting through the ceremony, with no idea of the role he'd played in it. "I still don't understand," Eddie whispered. "What good came from your death?" "You lived," the Blue Man answered. "But we barely knew each other. I might as well have been a stranger." The Blue Man put his arms on Eddie's shoulders. Eddie felt that warm, melting sensation. "Strangers," the Blue Man said, "are just family you have yet to come to know. ~ Mitch Albom,

1103:There is no straight and easy road to the city of modernity. Whatever the main road chosen, there will be many tempting and ruinous side roads; there will be many marshes and wastes on either side, and many wrecked aspirations will lie there, rusting and gathering dust. Those who arrive at the city will discover it to be quite different from the destination which they and their ancestors originally sought. Yet, some roads are better than others; some destinations are better than others. Even if none is perfect and none corresponds to the voyagers' hope on starting, some of the destinations will turn out to have been worth the travail, worth the effort of the voyagers and of their friends who helped them on their way. ~ Edward Shils,

1104:Writers live with fear. Some writers cannot deal with the fear, and so they quit or refuse to publish. In order to write, you must either ignore the fear or trick it into leaving you alone. The fear is very sly, though and hard to trick. The fear in writing comes from exposing your thoughts, your emotions, your experiences, your ideas, your talent, your intelligence and ultimately your self to public scrutiny and possible scorn. The fear is by no means groundless. You have opened yourself up to the possibility of public humiliations...I sometimes wonder if perhaps the greatest novel ever written isn't gathering dust in some filing cabinet somewhere, simply because its author could not overcome the fear of having it published. ~ Patrick F McManus,

1105:Sam rocked backwards and felt all the breath leave his body. Sam felt all his breath leave the room, the apartment, the building. the city. Sam felt all his breath leave the world, the night, and travel up to the stars where it turned to ice and stretched atom-thin into every corner of the galaxy. Then it retracted, gathering up all the black world, and wound its way back through interstellar space and dark matter and the secrets of infinity, back into the earth's orbit, back into his night in his city, back into his very lungs. It was okay. He was just trying to help, to ease woes and mend hearts and cool seared souls, to guide the bereaved out of the land of the lost, to make the mourning a little less lonesome. He was forgiven. ~ Laurie Frankel,

1106:Keriat haTorah therefore means not reading, but proclaiming the Torah, reading it aloud. The one who reads it has the written word in front of him, but for the rest of the gathering it is an experience not of the eye, but of the ear. The divine word is something heard rather than seen. Indeed, it was only with the spread of manuscripts, and the invention of printing in the fifteenth century, that reading become a visual rather than auditory experience. To this day the primary experience of keriat haTorah involves listening to the reader declaim the words from the Torah scroll, rather than following them in a printed book. We miss some of the most subtle effects of Torah if we think of it as the text seen, rather than the word heard. ~ Jonathan Sacks,

1107:Off Rough Point We sat at twilight nigh the sea, The fog hung gray and weird. Through the thick film uncannily The broken moon appeared. We heard the billows crack and plunge, We saw nor waves nor ships. Earth sucked the vapors like a sponge, The salt spray wet our lips. Closer the woof of white mist drew, Before, behind, beside. How could that phantom moon break through, Above that shrouded tide? The roaring waters filled the ear, A white blank foiled the sight. Close-gathering shadows near, more near, Brought the blind, awful night. O friends who passed unseen, unknown! O dashing, troubled sea! Still stand we on a rock alone, Walled round by mystery. ~ Emma Lazarus,

1108:THE QUILL SWIRLED and lunged over the page in a slow but relentless three-steps-forward, two-steps-back sort of process, and finally came to a full stop in a tiny pool of its own ink. Then Louis Phélypéaux, first comte de Pontchartrain, raised the nib; let it hover for an instant, as if gathering his forces; and hurled it backwards along the sentence, tiptoeing over i’s, slashing through t’s and x’s, nearly tripping over an umlaut, building speed and confidence while veering through a slalom-course of acute and grave accents, pirouetting though cedillas and carving vicious snap-turns through circumflexes. It was like watching the world’s greatest fencing-master dispatch twenty opponents with a single continuous series of maneuvers. ~ Neal Stephenson,

1109:The Roman world, like an aged man, wished to dwell in peace and tranquillity and to enjoy in philosophic detachment the good gifts which life has to bestow upon the more fortunate classes. But new ideas disturbed the internal conservatism, and outside the carefully guarded frontiers vast masses of hungry, savage men surged and schemed. The essence of the Roman peace was toleration of all religions and the acceptance of a universal system of government. Every generation after the middle of the second century saw an increasing weakening of the system and a gathering movement towards a uniform religion. Christianity asked again all the questions which the Roman world deemed answered for ever, and some that it had never thought of. ~ Winston S Churchill,

1110:Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my book all the morning.   You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later; can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve o'clock?   I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.   I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny black.   If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night come when it is twelve o'clock? (This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore) ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Twelve OClock ,

1111:Thank you for a wonderful night, Ian. It’s the best night I’ve had in…years.” And then he heard her yawn. He didn’t move; couldn’t breathe. There was an odd sensation filling his chest, a gathering of moisture in his eyes. He wanted to say, No, thank you! But he couldn’t trust himself to form the words. She had no idea how it changed him inside—in his head and heart—just to have someone to talk to, to laugh with. The scrappiest little girl on the playground, like an angel come to draw him out, made him feel for the first time in such a long time, as if he was living instead of merely existing. It was a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve, especially after sealing himself off from the world as he had. And after trying to scare her away. Trouble ~ Robyn Carr,

1112:As soon as the land of any country has all become private property, the landlords, like all other men, love to reap where they never sowed, and demand a rent even for its natural produce. The wood of the forest, the grass of the field, and all the natural fruits of the earth, which, when land was in common, cost the labourer only the trouble of gathering them, come, even to him, to have an additional price fixed upon them. He must then pay for the licence to gather them, and must give up to the landlord a portion of what his labour either collects or produces. This portion, or, what comes to the same thing, the price of this portion, constitutes the rent of land, and in the price of the greater part of commodities, makes a third component part. ~ Adam Smith,

1113:Only this morning when I had seen her in the canyon, I was tongue-tied. She’d looked just like any other girl out gathering berries. Her hair braided back, loose strands brushing her neck, her cheeks flushed with heat. No pretense. No royal airs. No secrets that I didn’t already know. Words had run through my mind trying to describe her, but none seemed quite right. I had sat like a witless fool on the back of my horse, just staring. And then she invited me to stay. As we walked, I knew I was going down a dangerous path, but that didn’t stop me. At first I kept all my words in check, carefully doled out, but then in an uncanny way, she pulled them from me anyway. It all seemed very easy and innocent. Until it wasn’t. I should have known. Up ~ Mary E Pearson,

1114:The quill swirled and lunged over the page, in a slow but relentless three steps forward, two steps back sort of process and finally came to a full stop in a tiny pool of its own ink. Then, Louis Phelypeaux, First Compte de Pontchartrain, raised the nib, let it hover for an instant, as if gathering his forces, and hurled it backwards along the sentence, tiptoeing over “i’s” and slashing through “t’s” and “x’s” nearly tripping over an umlaut, building speed and confidence while veering through a slalom course of acute and grave accents, pirouetting through cedillas and carving vicious snap-turns through circumflexes. It was like watching the world’s greatest fencing master dispatch twenty opponents with a single continuous series of maneuvers. ~ Neal Stephenson,

1115:There was a time when you were not a slave, remember that. You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed bare-bellied. You say you have lost all recollection of it, remember. The wild roses flower in the woods. Your hand is torn on the bushes gathering the mulberries and strawberries you refresh yourself with. You run to catch the young hares you flay with stones from the rocks to cut them up and eat all hot and bleeding. You know how to avoid meeting a bear on the track. You know the winter fear when you hear the wolves gathering. But you can remain seated for hours in the treetops to await morning. You say there are no words to describe this time, you say it does not exist. But remember. Make an effort to remember. Or, failing that, invent. ~ Monique Wittig,

1116:We have taken Herodotus as an interesting specimen of what we have called the free intelligence of mankind. Now here we are dealing with a similar overflow of moral ideas into the general community. The Hebrew prophets, and the steady expansion of their ideas towards one God in all the world, is a parallel development of the free conscience of mankind. From this time onward there runs through human thought, now weakly and obscurely, now gathering power, the idea of one rule in the world, and of a promise and possibility of an active and splendid peace and happiness in human affairs. From being a temple religion of the old type, the Jewish religion becomes, to a large extent, a prophetic and creative religion of a new type. Prophet succeeds prophet. ~ H G Wells,

1117:In silence the man reined in his horse, dismounted, lifted me down to a high grassy spot that was scarcely damp. In the gathering gloom he tended to his horse, which presently cropped at the grass. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness; the flare of light from a Fire Stick, and the reddish flicker of a fire, startled me. At first I turned away, for the unsteady flame hurt my eyes, but after a time the prospect of warmth brought me around, and I started inching toward the fire. The man looked up, dropped what he was doing, and took a step toward me. “I can carry you,” he said. I waved him off. “I’ll do it myself,” I said shortly, thinking, Why be polite now? So I’ll be in a good mood when you dump me in Galdran’s dungeon? ~ Sherwood Smith,

1118:A kind of joy came upon him, as if borne in on a summer breeze. He dimly recalled that he had been thinking of failure--as if it mattered. It seemed to him now that such thoughts were mean, unworthy of what his life had been. Dim presences gathered at the edge of his consciousness; he could not see them, but he knew that they were there, gathering their forces toward a kind of palpability he could not see or hear. He was approaching them, he knew; but there was no need to hurry. He could ignore them if he wished; he had all the time there was. There was a softness around him, and a languor crept upon his limbs. A sense of his own identity came upon him with a sudden force, and he felt the power of it. He was himself, and he knew what he had been. ~ John Williams,

1119:Jon Stone looked like a demented surfer with his spiky, bleached hair and pierced ear, but I knew his background with Delta. Sometimes you forget what that means. Most people think Delta, they’re thinking of Rambo, with the big gun and even bigger muscles. D-boys are deadly warriors, for sure, but you won’t find many who look like Rambo. This is because you can’t rescue hostages or snatch high-value targets from hostile villages unless you find them, so D-boys are also selected to gather intelligence. They are off-the-charts smart, look ordinary, and are trained to blend in anywhere with anyone. This is why D-boys are called operators. Jon Stone had worked the two drunk ex-ROK gangsters for no other reason than gathering intelligence was in his nature. As ~ Robert Crais,

1120:There is no greater torture than being forced to watch as your love, your reason for living, breathing, and existing, sinks into oblivion. Your heart stops no matter how you try to get to her, she just gets farther and farther away." ~ Quinn LoftisFane from 'Beyond the Vail' "Attention shoppers, just a brief announcement, crazy ass werewolf on isle three. Those with abundance of testosterone, don't touch their lady merchandise and you might walk out of here intact." ~ Quinn LoftisJen from 'Fate and Fury'. "In the event of some sort of gathering, if one of the bossy, overbearing, possessive fur balls has not flipped his switch and attacked some poor young pup in some misguided attempt to protect his woman's virtue, then the night is not over. ~ Quinn Loftis,

1121:World War II and the loss of Robin had taught him that life was “unpredictable and fragile,” a truth that meant those who were spared owed debts of service to others. He had come of age as a businessman and as a father under Eisenhower, whose conservative centrism had created the conditions for Bush’s own prosperity and happiness in postwar Texas. As a politician Bush had apprenticed in Johnson’s Washington, where presidents were neither angels nor demons but sometimes right and sometimes wrong. Under Nixon and Ford, he had learned about diplomacy, national politics, and intelligence gathering firsthand. And Reagan had given him an impressive model of leadership to which to aspire, even if Bush knew he could never match the Gipper as a presidential performer. ~ Jon Meacham,

1122:When you're born a light is switched on, a light which shines up through your life. As you get older the light still reaches you, sparkling as it comes up through your memories. And if you're lucky as you travel forward through time, you'll bring the whole of yourself along with you, gathering your skirts and leaving nothing behind, nothing to obscure the light. But if a Bad Thing happens part of you is seared into place, and trapped for ever at that time. The rest of you moves onward, dealing with all the todays and tomorrows, but something, some part of you, is left behind. That part blocks the light, colours the rest of your life, but worse than that, it's alive. Trapped for ever at that moment, and alone in the dark, that part of you is still alive. ~ Michael Marshall Smith,

1123:For a time, in that room, we were as young as we had ever been, save that with the experience of years of each other, there was no awkwardness, no hesitation. I once knew of a minstrel who bragged of having had a thousand women, one time each. He would never know what I knew, that to have one woman a thousand times, and each time find in her a different delight, is far better. I knew now what gleamed in the eyes of old couples when they saw each other across a room. More than once I had met Molly’s glance at a crowded family gathering, and known from the bend of her smile and her fingers touching her mouth exactly what she had in mind for us once we were alone. My familiarity with her was a more potent love elixir than any potion sold by a hedge-witch in the market. ~ Robin Hobb,

1124:We went back for a few days to work with the Marines when they took down a hospital north of the city on the river. The insurgents were using the hospital as a gathering point. As the Marines came in, a teenager, I’d guess about fifteen, sixteen, appeared on the street and squared up with an AK-47 to fire at them. I dropped him. A minute or two later, an Iraqi woman came running up, saw him on the ground, and tore off her clothes. She was obviously his mother. I’d see the families of the insurgents display their grief, tear off clothes, even rub the blood on themselves. If you loved them, I thought, you should have kept them away from the war. You should have kept them from joining the insurgency. You let them try and kill us—what did you think would happen to them? ~ Chris Kyle,

1125:When you’re born a light is switched on, a light which shines up through your life. As you get older the light still reaches you, sparkling as it comes up through your memories. And if you’re lucky as you travel forward through time, you’ll bring the whole of yourself along with you, gathering your skirts and leaving nothing behind, nothing to obscure the light. But if a Bad Thing happens part of you is seared into place, and trapped for ever at that time. The rest of you moves onwards, dealing with all the todays and tomorrows, but something, some part of you, is left behind. That part blocks the light, colours the rest of your life, but worse than that, it’s alive. Trapped for ever at that moment, and alone in the dark, that part of you is still alive. ~ Michael Marshall Smith,

1126:forward, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Albus winced, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James had already disappeared. “Where are they?” asked Albus anxiously, peering at the hazy forms they passed as they made their way down the platform. “We’ll find them,” said Ginny reassuringly. But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody’s faces. Detached from their owners, voices sounded unnaturally loud. Harry thought he heard Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations, and was quite glad of the excuse not to stop and say hello. … ~ Anonymous,

1127:The human brain is by far the most complex object known to exist in the entire universe, containing more neurons than there are billions of stars in the Milky Way. The brain and the mind are very different things, and the latter is as mysterious as the former is complex. The brain is a machine, and the mind is a ghost within it. The origins of self-awareness and how the mind is able to perceive, analyze, and imagine are supposedly explained by numerous schools of psychology, although in fact they study only behavior through the gathering and the analysis of statistics. The why of the mind’s existence and the how of its profound capacity to reason—especially its penchant for moral reasoning—will by their very nature remain as mysterious as whatever lies outside of time. ~ Dean Koontz,

1128:At length Isis discovered that the chest had floated to the coast of Byblos. There it had lodged in the branches of a tree, which in a short time miraculously grew up around the box. This so amazed the king of that country that he ordered the tree to be cut down and a pillar made from its trunk to support the roof of his palace. Isis, visiting Byblos, recovered the body of her husband [Osiris], but it was again stolen by Typhon, who cut it into fourteen parts, which he scattered all over the earth. Isis, in despair, began gathering up the severed remains of her husband, but found only thirteen pieces. The fourteenth part (the phallus) she reproduced in gold, for the original had fallen into the river Nile and had been swallowed by a fish. ~ Manly P Hall, The Secret Teachings of all Ages,

1129:Many minutes pass. I learn much from him, and he from me. It’s exhilarating, to be suddenly awash in ideas whose implications would take me days to consider fully. But we’re also gathering strategic information: I infer the extent of his unspoken knowledge, compare it with my own, and simulate his corresponding inferences. For there is always the awareness that this must come to an end; the formulation of our exchanges renders ideological differences luminously clear. Reynolds hasn’t witnessed the beauty that I have; he’s stood before lovely insights, oblivious to them. The sole gestalt that inspires him is the one I ignored: that of the planetary society, of the biosphere. I am a lover of beauty, he of humanity. Each feels that the other has ignored great opportunities. He ~ Ted Chiang,

1130:September, 1918" This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box. Some day there will be no war, Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn it in my fingers, And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate, And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves. To-day I can only gather it And put it into my lunch-box, For I have time for nothing But the endeavour to balance myself Upon a broken world. ~ Amy Lowell,

1131:Janner and Tink joined her and stared out at the sea, her song conjuring images of Anniera, feelings of home, of fire in the hearth. Then the song changed. It took on a sad tone, the notes bending upward like the croon of a lonely bird, and Janner knew Leeli was playing for Nugget. She poured her heart into the song and filled it with everything she felt. Suddenly, like a dream hovering at the front of his mind, Janner could see Nugget. The image swirled like a reflection in a pot of stirred water, gathering itself into clear, moving pictures of little Nugget running through the pasture, fetching a ball, wagging his tail as Leeli stooped to hand him a hogpig bone. The images hovered like smoke from a pipe, scene after beautiful scene of Nugget in all the stages of his life. ~ Andrew Peterson,

1132:She had finally come so far that she seemed to be seeing her own life from the uppermost summit of a mountain pass. Now her path led down into the darkening valley, but first she had been allowed to see that in the solitude of the cloister and in the doorway of death someone was waiting for her who had always seen the lives of people the way villages look from a mountain crest. He had seen sin and sorrow, love and hatred in their hearts, the way the wealthy estates and poor hovels, the bountiful acres and the abandoned wastelands are all borne by the same earth. And he had come down among them, his feet had wandered among the lands, stood in the castles and in huts, gathering the sorrows and sins of the rich and the poor, and lifting them high up with him on the cross." (1081) ~ Sigrid Undset,

1133:The bodies state of red alert brings about a series of psychological changes, driven by gathering tides of adrenaline or cortisol. These are the fight or flight hormones, which act to help and organism respond to external stresses. But when a stress is chronic not acute, when it persists for years and is caused by something that cannot be outrun, then these biochemical alterations wreak havoc on the body. Lonely people are restless sleepers and experience a reduction in the restorative function of sleep. Loneliness drives up blood pressure, accelerates ageing, weakens the immune system and acts as a precursor to cognitive decline. According to a 2010 study, "Loneliness predicts increased morbidity and mortality". Which is an elegant way of saying that loneliness can prove fatal. ~ Olivia Laing,

1134:I was only then, when I knew I was alone, at least for the moment, that I reached under my gown into the pocket of my dress. As I pulled out my key from the yellow house, which I'd kept on my bureau since the day Nate left, I traced the shape one last time before folding my hand tightly around it. Behind me, Cora was calling again. My family was waiting. Looking down at the pond, all I could think was that it is an incredible thing, how a whole world can rise from what seems like nothing at all. I stepped closer to the edge, keeping my eyes on my reflection as I dropped the key into the water, where it landed with a splash. At first, the fish darted away, but as it began to sink they circled back, gathering around. Together, they followed it down, down until it was gone.<3 ~ Sarah Dessen,

1135:What about the role of the CIA in a democratic society? Is that an oxymoron? You could imagine a democratic society with an organization that carries out intelligence-gathering functions. But that’s a very minor part of what the CIA does. Its main purpose is to carry out secret and usually illegal activities for the executive branch, which wants to keep these activities secret because it knows that the public won’t accept them. So even inside the US, it’s highly undemocratic. The activities that it carries out are quite commonly efforts to undermine democracy, as in Chile through the 1960s into the early 1970s. That’s far from the only example. By the way, although most people focus on Nixon’s and Kissinger’s involvement with the CIA, Kennedy and Johnson carried out similar policies. ~ Noam Chomsky,

1136:Out of that global audience, four hundred thousand NASA employees, contractors, and military support watched with particular interest, seeing in the craft that approached the Moon the measure of a screw, the blueprint of a hatch, the filament in a circuit, the fulfillment of a promise made by a president who hadn’t lived to see it carried out. They dotted the globe, those who had worked on Project Apollo, those who had made possible the day that had come. They clustered around displays and switchboards and dials and computers, monitoring every heartbeat of the spacecraft that had slipped out of the influence of its home planet and was now being enticed by the gravitational pull of the Moon. Most of them joined their friends and families in gathering around the televisions as well. ~ Margot Lee Shetterly,

1137:I'd learned many years earlier to hold my true friends close. I was still deeply connected to the group of women who had started gathering for Saturday playdates years earlier, back in our diaper-bag days in Chicago, when our children blithely pitched food from their high chairs and all of us were so tired we wanted to weep. These were the friends who'd held me together, dropping off groceries when I was too busy to shop, picking up the girls for ballet when I was behind on work or just needing a break. A number of them had hopped planes to join me for unglamourous stops on the campaign trail, giving me emotional ballast when I needed it most. Friendships between women, as any woman will tell you, are built of a thousand small kindnesses like these, swapped back and forth and over again. ~ Michelle Obama,

1138:September, 1918 This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box. Some day there will be no war, Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn it in my fingers, And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate, And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves. To-day I can only gather it And put it into my lunch-box, For I have time for nothing But the endeavour to balance myself Upon a broken world. ~ Amy Lowell,

1139:It is for you now, gentlemen, whose mission and character are the proclamation of the truth, it is for you to instruct the people, and to tell them for what they ought to hope and what they ought to fear. The people, incapable as yet of sound judgment as to what is best for them, applaud indiscriminately the most opposite ideas, provided that in them they get a taste of flattery: to them the laws of thought are like the confines of the possible; to-day they can no more distinguish between a savant and a sophist, than formerly they could tell a physician from a sorcerer. ‘Inconsiderately accepting, gathering together, and accumulating everything that is new, regarding all reports as true and indubitable, at the breath or ring of novelty they assemble like bees at the sound of a basin. ~ Pierre Joseph Proudhon,

1140:Checklist: Fitting Product Managers into the Organization ✓ To be most effective as a product manager, focus on being a generalist who can accomplish work through other people and functional departments. ✓ Position yourself with the sales force so that you’re viewed as neither strictly sales support nor corporate dictator. ✓ Understand how your activities fit into the sales process. ✓ Be prepared to represent the voice of the customer in meetings with operations and R & D and to demonstrate at least a minimum understanding of operational techniques and standards. ✓ Don’t be afraid to question and critique the work of your internal or external advertising agency. ✓ Allocate a significant portion of the time you spend with customers gathering information on future product needs and applications. ~ Anonymous,

1141:Hagrid helped Harry pile some of it into a bag. “The gold ones are Galleons,” he explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it’s easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o’ terms, we’ll keep the rest safe for yeh.” He turned to Griphook. “Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?” “One speed only,” said Griphook. They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Hagrid groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole. “Stand back,” said Griphook importantly. ~ J K Rowling,

1142:A breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room, I slipped in there.  It contained a bookcase: I soon possessed myself of a volume, taking care that it should be one stored with pictures.  I mounted into the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat cross-legged, like a Turk; and, having drawn the red moreen curtain nearly close, I was shrined in double retirement. Folds of scarlet drapery shut in my view to the right hand; to the left were the clear panes of glass, protecting, but not separating me from the drear November day.  At intervals, while turning over the leaves of my book, I studied the aspect of that winter afternoon.  Afar, it offered a pale blank of mist and cloud; near a scene of wet lawn and storm-beat shrub, with ceaseless rain sweeping away wildly before a long and lamentable blast. I ~ Charlotte Bront,

1143:Well, Atticus, I was just sayin’ to Mr. Cunningham that entailments are bad an’ all that, but you said not to worry, it take a long time sometimes . . . that you all’d ride it out together . . .” I was slowly drying up, wondering what idiocy I had committed. Entailments seemed all right enough for livingroom talk. I began to feel sweat gathering at the edges of my hair; I could stand anything but a bunch of people looking at me. They were quite still. “What’s the matter?” I asked. Atticus said nothing. I looked around and up at Mr. Cunningham, whose face was equally impassive. Then he did a peculiar thing. He squatted down and took me by both shoulders. “I’ll tell him you said hey, little lady,” he said. Then he straightened up and waved a big paw. “Let’s clear out,” he called. “Let’s get going, boys. ~ Harper Lee,

1144:This arrogant, conceited history strides with her head in the clouds and never looks down. She does not realize how she crushes millions of people beneath her feet. The common people. She doesn't understand that one may cut a mountain in two, but people? It's a hard task, Bhai, to cute one people in two. They bleed." A deep sigh coursed through the gathering. Master Fazal said, "History will keep on marching like this. The names of a few people will stick to her fabric. She will register those. there was Hitler, there was Mussolini, Churchill and Joseph Stalin, among others. this time the names maybe Mahatma Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Jinnah, Subhash Bose! But the names of the lakhs and crores who have lost their lives will be nowhere. They will be mere numbers in which all of us will be included!". ~ Gulzar,

1145:A Thought On Death When life as opening buds is sweet, And golden hopes the fancy greet, And Youth prepares his joys to meet,Alas! how hard it is to die! When just is seized some valued prize, And duties press, and tender ties Forbid the soul from earth to rise,How awful then it is to die! When, one by one, those ties are torn, And friend from friend is snatched forlorn, And man is left alone to mourn,Ah then, how easy 'tis to die! When faith is firm, and conscience clear, And words of peace the spirit cheer, And visioned glories half appear,'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die. When trembling limbs refuse their weight, And films, slow gathering, dim the sight, And clouds obscure the mental light,'Tis nature's precious boon to die. ~ Anna Laetitia Barbauld,

1146:Facing the couple, Cardinal Fitzroy said, “My dear friends, you have come together in this place so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church’s minister and this gathering of friends. Christ abundantly blesses this love. Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your hands, and declare your consent. Byron, do you take Jean to be your wife, to be true to her in good times and bad, to love and honor her in all the days of your life?” “I do,” he said. Jean made the same promises to Byron. Knowing that standing was still a challenge for the groom, Fitzroy had kept things short and cut to the quick. He said, “You have both declared your consent. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings. Frank stepped forward and ~ Joseph Flynn,

1147:Contentedly sat the old woman. Soon now, the sea would hold no terrors, and the blinds wouldn't have to be down, nor the windows shut; she would even be able to walk along the shore at midnight as of old; and they, whom she had deserted so long ago, would once more shrink from the irresistable energy aura of her new, young body. The sound of the sea came to her, where she sat so quietly; calm sound at first, almost gentle in the soft sibilation of each wave thrust. Farther out, the voices of the water were louder, more raucous, blatantly confident, but the meaning of what they said was blurred by the distance, a dim, clamorous confusion that rustled discordantly out of the gathering night. Night! She shouldn't be aware of night falling, when the blinds were drawn. ("The Witch") ~ A E van Vogt,

1148:Meanwhile in Wichita, Kansas, Dr. George Tiller, one of the few doctors who performs late-term abortions—only about 1 percent of all procedures but crucial when, for instance, a fetus develops without a brain—is shot in both arms by a female picketer. He recovers and continues serving women who come to him from many states. I finally meet Dr. Tiller in 2008 at a New York gathering of Physicians for Reproductive Choice and Health. I ask him if he has ever helped a woman who was protesting at his clinic. He says: “Of course, I’m there to help them, not to add to their troubles. They probably already feel guilty.” In 2009 Dr. Tiller is shot in the head at close range by a male activist hiding inside the Lutheran church where the Tiller family worships each Sunday. This is done in the name of being “pro-life. ~ Gloria Steinem,

1149:Anticipating Jesus’s descent and executing his followers probably strikes most readers as odd. The Qur’an portrays Jesus as a messenger of God and his followers as those “nearest in love to the believers” (5:82). But the prophecies attributed to Muhammad outside the Qur’an foresee Jesus returning to fight alongside the Muslims against the infidels. As in the Bible, the appearance of Jesus heralds the Last Days. But instead of gathering the faithful up to heaven, he will lead the Muslims in a war against the Jews, who will fight on behalf of the Antichrist, called the Deceiving Messiah. Jesus will “shatter the crucifix, kill the swine, abolish the protection tax, and make wealth to flow until no one needs any more,” says one prophecy attributed to Muhammad and quoted by the first emir of the Islamic State. ~ William McCants,

1150:Does this look like something you would like?” can become “How does this look to you?” or “What about this works for you?” You can even ask, “What about this doesn’t work for you?” and you’ll probably trigger quite a bit of useful information from your counterpart. Even something as harsh as “Why did you do it?” can be calibrated to “What caused you to do it?” which takes away the emotion and makes the question less accusatory. You should use calibrated questions early and often, and there are a few that you will find that you will use in the beginning of nearly every negotiation. “What is the biggest challenge you face?” is one of those questions. It just gets the other side to teach you something about themselves, which is critical to any negotiation because all negotiation is an information-gathering process. ~ Chris Voss,

1151:The modern Berkshire Hathaway that he had created churned out new beads for the rosary almost like a clockwork. Buffett’s hunt for things to buy had become more ambitious, free of the cigar butts and lawsuits of the decades before. The great engine of compounding worked as a servant on his behalf, at exponential speed and under the gathering approval of a public gaze. The method was the same: estimate an investment’s intrinsic value, handicap its risk, buy using margin of safety, concentrate, stay in the circle of competence, let it roll as compounding did the work. Anyone could understand these simple ideas, but few could execute them. Even though Buffett made the process look effortless, the technique and discipline underlying it actually did involve an enormous amount of work for him and his employees. As ~ Alice Schroeder,

1152:There is a neat economic explanation for the sexual division of labour in hunter-gatherers. In terms of nutrition, women generally collect dependable, staple carbohydrates whereas men fetch precious protein. Combine the two – predictable calories from women and occasional protein from men – and you get the best of both worlds. At the cost of some extra work, women get to eat some good protein without having to chase it; men get to know where the next meal is coming from if they fail to kill a deer. That very fact makes it easier for them to spend more time chasing deer and so makes it more likely they will catch one. Everybody gains – gains from trade. It is as if the species now has two brains and two stores of knowledge instead of one – a brain that learns about hunting and a brain that learns about gathering. ~ Matt Ridley,

1153:The the uncertainty was dispelled and the melancholy lifted as he saw a familiar stocky figure moving near one of the tents. "Halt!" he cried out gladly, and a slight pressure with his knees set Tug galloping through the deserted Gathering site. The dog, caught by surprise, barked once, then shot in pursuit like an arrow from a bow. The grim-faced Ranger straightened from the fire at the sound of his former student's voice. He stood, hands on hips and a frown on his face as Will and Tug careered toward him. But inside, there was a lightening of his heart that he never failed to feel when in Will's company. Not for the first time, the realization hit Halt that Will was no longer a mere boy. No one wore the Silver Oakleaf if he hadn't proven himself to be worthy. Despite himself, he felt a surge of pride. ~ John Flanagan,

1154:We surf-fished in the breakers catching spottail bass and flounder for dinner. I discovered that summer that I loved to cook and feed my friends, and I enjoyed the sound of their praise as they purred with pleasure at the meals I fixed over glowing iron and fire. I had the run of my grandparents’ garden and I would put ears of sweet corn in aluminum foil after washing them in seawater and slathering them with butter and salt and pepper. Beneath the stars we would eat the beefsteak tomatoes okra and the field peas flavored with salt pork and jalapeno peppers. I would walk through the disciplined rows that brimmed with purple eggplants and watermelons and cucumbers, gathering vegetables. My grandfather, Silas, told us that summer that low country earth was so fertile you could drop a dime into it and grow a money tree. ~ Pat Conroy,

1155:Although some have called this “the lesbian religion,” Dianics as a group, like the women in our circle this evening, are a mix of straight, lesbian, and bi. (Ruth herself divorced her husband and is now in a long-term partnership with a fellow Dianic, but she says that most Dianics are not gay.) Its rituals may be separatist, but the movement is not anti-men—it’s simply not about men.7 And so, even in the midst of this back-to-nature Pagan gathering, the Dianics feel a need to guard their space apart. Not out of physical fear—not in this setting—but in fear of having their territory taken away from them, of losing the right to gather separately, speak freely and privately, find ways to become stronger independent of the other sex. This is what women fought for in the seventies, and what we pretend we no longer need today. ~ Alex Mar,

1156:How Old Is My Heart, How Old? How old is my heart, how old, how old is my heart, and did I ever go forth with song when the morn was new? I seem to have trod on many ways: I seem to have left I know not how many homes; and to leave each was still to leave a portion of mine own heart, of my old heart whose life I had spent to make that home and all I had was regret, and a memory. So I sit and muse in this wayside harbour and wait till I hear the gathering cry of the ancient winds and again I must up and out and leave the members of the hearth to crumble silently into white ash and dust, and see the road stretch bare and pale before me: again my garment and my house shall be the enveloping winds and my heart be fill'd wholly with their old pitiless cry. ~ Christopher John Brennan,

1157:Sonnet Lix. Written Sept. 1791, during a remarkable thunder storm, in which the moon was perfectly clear, while the tempest gathered in various directions near the earth. WHAT awful pageants crowd the evening sky! The low horizon gathering vapours shroud, Sudden, from many a deep-embattled cloud Terrific thunders burst and lightnings fly-While in serenest azure, beaming high, Night's regent, of her calm pavilion proud, Gilds the dark shadows that beneath her lie, Unvex'd by all their conflicts fierce and loud. --So, in unsullied dignity elate, A spirit conscious of superior worth, In placid elevation firmly great, Scorns the vain cares that give Contention birth; And blest with peace above the shocks of Fate, Smiles at the tumult of the troubled earth. ~ Charlotte Smith,

1158:The History Of A Minute I saw a lady on the stair, And she was, oh, so strangely fair, With a knot of butter-colored hair, And a waiting, listening, wondering air. She was tall as a lady ought to be, And down she looked and smiled at me. Her eyes were queerly brightly blue As the bit of sky that last shines through The gathering clouds, oppressive, gray, On a chilly windy Autumn day. There she paused on the stairs and smiled Like a child who sees another child With whom it would dearly like to play If it only could get its nurse away. And I know not what divine surmise. Leapt up like fire in my eyes, But I know her smiling suddenly stopped, And a curtain between us blankly dropped, And she passed me by as if I were A man invisible to her. ~ Alice Duer Miller,

1159:I curse him silently for moving my hands as he raises them to study the scars. He kisses them, his lips a fluid brush along sensitive flesh, then places them on his cheeks. Mouth inches from mine, he whispers, "Forgive me for bringing you into this. There was no other way." His skin is softer than clouds must feel, and the tears gathering around my fingertips are hot and tangible. But are they sincere? Our breaths swirl between us, and his black eyes swallow me whole. My heart knocks against the bottom of his rib cage. I know what's coming next. I fear it. But it's the surest way to distract him and get the wish. And if it has to happen, I'm going to be the instigator. Rising up on my toes, I press my mouth to his. He moans, frees my wrists, and sweep-s me into his arms—sealing the teddy bear between us. ~ A G Howard,

1160:The choice between James’s vision of a Jewish religion anchored in the Law of Moses and derived from a Jewish nationalist who fought against Rome, and Paul’s vision of a Roman religion that divorced itself from Jewish provincialism and required nothing for salvation save belief in Christ, was not a difficult one for the second and third generations of Jesus’s followers to make. Two thousand years later, the Christ of Paul’s creation has utterly subsumed the Jesus of history. The memory of the revolutionary zealot who walked across Galilee gathering an army of disciples with the goal of establishing the Kingdom of God on earth, the magnetic preacher who defied the authority of the Temple priesthood in Jerusalem, the radical Jewish nationalist who challenged the Roman occupation and lost, has been almost completely lost to history. ~ Reza Aslan,

1161:Pico Iyer: “And at some point, I thought, well, I’ve been really lucky to see many, many places. Now, the great adventure is the inner world, now that I’ve spent a lot of time gathering emotions, impressions, and experiences. Now, I just want to sit still for years on end, really, charting that inner landscape because I think anybody who travels knows that you’re not really doing so in order to move around—you’re traveling in order to be moved. And really what you’re seeing is not just the Grand Canyon or the Great Wall but some moods or intimations or places inside yourself that you never ordinarily see when you’re sleepwalking through your daily life. I thought, there’s this great undiscovered terrain that Henry David Thoreau and Thomas Merton and Emily Dickinson fearlessly investigated, and I want to follow in their footsteps. ~ Krista Tippett,

1162:Worship gatherings are not always spectacular, but they are always supernatural. And if a church looks for or works for the spectacular, she may miss the supernatural. If a person enters a gathering to be wowed with something impressive, with a style that fits him just right, with an order of service and song selection designed just the right way, that person may miss the supernatural presence of God. Worship is supernatural whenever people come hungry to respond, react, and receive from God for who He is and what He has done. A church worshipping as a Creature of the Word doesn't show up to perform or be entertained; she comes desperate and needy, thirsty for grace, receiving from the Lord and the body of Christ, and then gratefully receiving what she needs as she offers her praise-the only proper response to the God who saves us. ~ Matt Chandler,

1163:But this was not all, for she soon found that the thread, after going straight down for a little way, turned first sideways in one direction, then sideways in another, and then shot, at various angles, hither and thither inside the heap, so that she began to be afraid that to clear the thread she must remove the whole huge gathering. She was dismayed at the very idea, but, losing no time, set to work with a will; and with aching back, and bleeding fingers and hands, she worked on, sustained by the pleasure of seeing the heap slowly diminish and begin to show itself on the opposite side of the fire. Another thing which helped to keep up her courage was that, as often as she uncovered a turn of the thread, instead of lying loose upon the stone, it tightened up; this made her sure that her grandmother was at the end of it somewhere. ~ George MacDonald,

1164:The reasonings contained in these papers must have been employed to little purpose indeed, if it could be necessary now to disprove the reality of this danger. That the people and the States should, for a sufficient period of time, elect an uninterrupted succession of men ready to betray both; that the traitors should, throughout this period, uniformly and systematically pursue some fixed plan for the extension of the military establishment; that the governments and the people of the States should silently and patiently behold the gathering storm, and continue to supply the materials, until it should be prepared to burst on their own heads, must appear to every one more like the incoherent dreams of a delirious jealousy, or the misjudged exaggerations of a counterfeit zeal, than like the sober apprehensions of genuine patriotism ~ Alexander Hamilton,

1165:My laboratory is like a church because it is where I figure out what I believe. The machines drone a gathering hymn as I enter. I know whom I’ll probably see, and I know how they’ll probably act. I know there’ll be silence; I know there’ll be music, a time to greet my friends, and a time to leave others to their contemplation. There are rituals that I follow, some I understand and some I don’t. Elevated to my best self, I strive to do each task correctly. My lab is a place to go on sacred days, as is a church. On holidays, when the rest of the world is closed, my lab is open. My lab is a refuge and an asylum. It is my retreat from the professional battlefield; it is the place where I coolly examine my wounds and repair my armor. And, just like church, because I grew up in it, it is not something from which I can ever really walk away. My ~ Hope Jahren,

1166:The mind is essentially a survival machine. Attack and defense against other minds, gathering, storing, and analyzing information — this is what it is good at, but it is not at all creative. All true artists, whether they know it or not, create from a place of no-mind, from inner stillness. The mind then gives form to the creative impulse or insight. Even the great scientists have reported that their creative breakthroughs came at a time of mental quietude. The surprising result of a nationwide inquiry among America’s most eminent mathematicians, including Einstein, to find out their working methods, was that thinking “plays only a subordinate part in the brief, decisive phase of the creative act itself.”1 So I would say that the simple reason why the majority of scientists are not creative is not because they don’t know how to think but ~ Eckhart Tolle,

1167:The only news story that hit home was a report on a seventy-three-year-old man in Hokkaido who’d gone mushroom gathering in the mountains and been attacked and killed by a bear. When bears wake from hibernation, the announcer said, they’re hungry and irritable and very dangerous. I slept in my tent sometimes, and when the mood struck me I took walks in the woods, so it wouldn’t have been strange if I were the one who’d been attacked. It just happened to be that old man who got attacked, and not me. But even hearing that news I felt no sympathy for the old man who’d been so cruelly butchered by a bear. No empathy came to me for the pain and fear and shock he must have experienced. I felt more sympathy for the bear. No, “sympathy” isn’t the right word, I thought. It’s more like a feeling of complicity. Something’s wrong with me, I thought ~ Haruki Murakami,

1168:There are times when solitude is better than society, and silence is wiser than speech. We should be better Christians if we were more alone, waiting upon God, and gathering through meditation on His Word spiritual strength for labour in his service. We ought to muse upon the things of God, because we thus get the real nutriment out of them. . . . Why is it that some Christians, although they hear many sermons, make but slow advances in the divine life? Because they neglect their closets, and do not thoughtfully meditate on God's Word. They love the wheat, but they do not grind it; they would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the fields to gather it; the fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it; the water flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. From such folly deliver us, O Lord. . . . ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,

1169:8. "For who would trust the seeming sighs Of wife or paramour? Fresh feres will dry the bright blue eyes We late saw streaming o'er. For pleasures past I do not grieve, Nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave No thing that claims a tear. 9. "And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea: But why should I for others groan, When none will sigh for me? Perchance my dog will whine in vain, Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again, He'd tear me where he stands. 10. "With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go Athwart the foaming brine; Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, So not again to mine. Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves! And when you fail my sight, Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves! My native Land — Good Night! ~ Lord Byron,

1170:It is hard for anyone who has not given himself wholeheartedly to a belief (and I say again, Miss V., that is how it is: you give yourself to it, it does not fall upon you like sanctifying grace from Heaven) to appreciate how the believer’s conscious mind can separate itself into many compartments containing many, conflicting, dogmas. These are not sealed compartments; they are like the cells of a battery (I think this is how a battery works), over which the electrical charge plays, leaping from one cell to another, gathering force and direction as it goes. You put in the acid of world-historical necessity and the distilled water of pure theory and connect up your points and with a flash and a shudder the patched-together monster of commitment, sutures straining and ape brow clenched, rises in jerky slow motion from Dr. Diabolo’s operating table. ~ John Banville,

1171:Bleecker Street, Summer" Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor, for the eternal idleness of the imagined return, for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin! When I press summer dusks together, it is a month of street accordions and sprinklers laying the dust, small shadows running from me. It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker, ciao, Antonio, and the water-cries of children tearing the rose-coloured sky in streams of paper; it is dusk in the nostrils and the smell of water down littered streets that lead you to no water, and gathering islands and lemons in the mind. There is the Hudson, like the sea aflame. I would undress you in the summer heat, and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came. ~ Derek Walcott,

1172:Secularity is a way of being dependent on the responses of our milieu. The secular or false self is the self which is fabricated, as Thomas Merton says, by social compulsions. “Compulsive” is indeed the best adjective for the false self. It points to the need for ongoing and increasing affirmation. Who am I? I am the one who is liked, praised, admired, disliked, hated or despised. Whether I am a pianist, a businessman or a minister, what matters is how I am perceived by my world. If being busy is a good thing, then I must be busy. If having money is a sign of real freedom, then I must claim my money. If knowing many people proves my importance, I will have to make the necessary contacts. The compulsion manifests itself in the lurking fear of failing and the steady urge to prevent this by gathering more of the same—more work, more money, more friends. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

1173:Secularity is a way of being dependent on the responses of our milieu. The secular or false self is the self which is fabricated, as Thomas Merton says, by social compulsions. 'Compulsive' is indeed the best adjective for the false self. It points to the need for ongoing and increasing affirmation. Who am I? I am the one who is liked, praised, admired, disliked, hated or despised. Whether I am a pianist, a businessman or a minister, what matters is how I am perceived by my world. If being busy is a good thing, then I must be busy. If having money is a sign of real freedom, then I must claim my money. If knowing many people proves my importance, I will have to make the necessary contacts. The compulsion manifests itself in the lurking fear of failure and the steady urge to prevent this by gathering more of the same - more work, more money, more friends. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

1174:All day, the colours had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths. Briefly visible above the vapour, Kanchenjunga was a far peak whittled out of ice, gathering the last of the night, a plume of snow blown high by the storms at its summit. Sai, sitting on the veranda, was reading an article about giant squid in an old National Geographic. Every now and then she looked up at Kanchenjunga, observed its wizard phosphorescence with a shiver. The judge sat at the far corner with his chessboard, playing against himself. Stuffed under his chair where she felt safe was Mutt the dog, snoring gently in her sleep. A single bald lightbulb dangled on a wire above. It was cold, but inside the house, it was still colder, the dark, the freeze, contained by stone walls several feet deep. ~ Kiran Desai,

1175:Our eyes are always pointing at things we are interested in approaching, or investigating, or looking for, or having. We must see, but to see, we must aim, so we are always aiming. Our minds are built on the hunting-and-gathering platforms of our bodies. To hunt is to specify a target, track it, and throw at it. To gather is to specify and to grasp. We fling stones, and spears, and boomerangs. We toss balls through hoops, and hit pucks into nets, and curl carved granite rocks down the ice onto horizontal bull’s-eyes. We launch projectiles at targets with bows, guns, rifles and rockets. We hurl insults, launch plans, and pitch ideas. We succeed when we score a goal or hit a target. We fail, or sin, when we do not (as the word sin means to miss the mark70). We cannot navigate, without something to aim at and, while we are in this world, we must always navigate. ~ Jordan Peterson,

1176:I would let her...have adventures. I would let her...choose her path. It would be hard...it was hard...but I would do it. Oh, not completely, of course. Some things have to go on. Cleaning one's teeth, arithmetic. But Maia fell in love with the Amazon. It happens. THe place was for her - and the people. Of course there was some danger, but there is danger everywhere. Two years ago, in this school, there was an outbreak of typhus, and three girls died. CHildren are knocked down and killed by horses every week, here in these streets--" She broke off, gathering her thoughts. "When she was traveling and exploring...and finding her songs, Maia wasn't just happy, she was...herself. I think something broke in Maia when her parents died, and out there it healed. Perhaps I'm mad--and the professor too-- but I think children must lead big lives...if it is in them to do so. ~ Eva Ibbotson,

1177:Echo and Shadow A room and a room. And between them she leans in the doorway to say something, lintel bright above her face, threshold dark beneath her feet, her hands behind her head gathering her hair to tie and tuck at the nape. A world and a world. Dying and not dying. And between them the curtains blowing and the shadows they make on her body, a shadow of birds, a single flock, a myriad body of wings and cries turning and diving in complex unison. Shadow of bells, or the shadow of the sound they make in the air, mornings, evenings, everywhere I wait for her, as even now her voice seems a lasting echo of my heart’s calling me home, its story an ocean beyond my human beginning, each wave tolling the whole note of my outcome and belonging. ~ Li Young Lee,

1178:Our eyes are always pointing at things we are interested in approaching, or investigating, or looking for, or having. We must see, but to see, we must aim, so we are always aiming. Our minds are built on the hunting-and-gathering platforms of our bodies. To hunt is to specify a target, track it, and throw at it. To gather is to specify and to grasp. We fling stones, and spears, and boomerangs. We toss balls through hoops, and hit pucks into nets, and curl carved granite rocks down the ice onto horizontal bull’s-eyes. We launch projectiles at targets with bows, guns, rifles and rockets. We hurl insults, launch plans, and pitch ideas. We succeed when we score a goal or hit a target. We fail, or sin, when we do not (as the word sin means to miss the mark70). We cannot navigate, without something to aim at and, while we are in this world, we must always navigate. ~ Jordan B Peterson,

1179:While advertising was once used primarily to create a sale or enhance an image, it must now be used to create awareness about Web content. • While SEO was at one time primarily a function of optimizing a Web site, it must now be a function of optimizing brand assets across social media. • While lead generation used to consist of broadcasting messages, it must now rely heavily on being found in the right place at the right time. • While lead conversion in the past often consisted of multiple sales calls to supply information, it must now supplement Web information gathering with value delivery. • While referrals used to be a simple matter of passing a name, they now rely heavily on an organization’s online reputation, ratings, and reviews. • While physical store location has always mattered, online location for the local business has become a life-and-death matter. ~ John Jantsch,

1180:Ludmilla, now you are being read. Your body is being subjected to a systematic reading, through channels of tactile information, visual, olfactory, and not without some intervention of the taste buds. Hearing also has its role, alert to your gasps and your trills. It is not only the body that is, in you, the object of raeding: the body matters insofar as it is part of a complex of elaborate elements, not all visible and not all present, but manifested in visible and present events: the clouding of your eyes, your laughing, the words you speak, your way of gathering and spreading your hair, your initiatives and your reticences, and all the signs that are on the frontier between you and usage and habits and memory and prehistory and fashion, all codes, all the poor alphabets by which one human being believes at certain moments that he is reading another human being. ~ Italo Calvino,

1181:Tecumseh, a Shawnee chief and noted orator, tried to unite the Indians against the white invasion: The way, and the only way, to check and to stop this evil, is for all the Redmen to unite in claiming a common and equal right in the land, as it was at first and should be yet; for it was never divided, but belongs to all for the use of each. That no part has a right to sell, even to each other, much less to strangers—those who want all and will not do with less. Angered when fellow Indians were induced to cede a great tract of land to the United States government, Tecumseh organized in 1811 an Indian gathering of five thousand, on the bank of the Tallapoosa River in Alabama, and told them: “Let the white race perish. They seize your land; they corrupt your women, they trample on the ashes of your dead! Back whence they came, upon a trail of blood, they must be driven. ~ Howard Zinn,

1182:The caterpillars are coming. They’re coming. As they passed a blunt rolled with marijuana shake around the bonfire, filled plastic cups with beer from a keg in the back of John Anderson’s Bronco, snuck cigarettes at the red doors that led to the make-out woods behind school. As they waited on line at the cafeteria for pizza and Tater Tots, warmed up during choral practice, and changed for gym in the locker room. Until Maddie felt something titanic rushing toward the island, gathering steam like a nor’easter barreling toward shore, and the waiting filled with a tingling urgency she knew they all felt. She felt it. Car engines revved harder, highs soared higher, buzzes and crushes burned brighter. “Look.” She lifted her palm as the insect inched across. The two lines of blue and red dots on its back glimmered like spots of blood rising after a pinprick. “They’re here. ~ Julia Fierro,

1183:In Allston, as generous as he was with his praise and encouragement, Sophia had come face-to-face with the male art establishment and its aesthetic. She had encountered it before when she was hustled out of Thomas Doughty’s studio while a men’s painting class was in session. More recently, at a gathering in the Reverend Channing’s parlor, she had been stunned when the minister had quoted the influential British artist Henry Fuseli’s sneering observation that there was “no fist” in women’s painting—and then demanded Sophia’s response. Flustered, Sophia had “sunk away into my shell,” unable to speak, she confided in her journal. She had enough trouble summoning the confidence to paint each day, let alone defend women artists as a class. Channing’s question struck to the heart of Sophia’s ambivalence about taking the initiative to create original works of art. Virtually ~ Megan Marshall,

1184:The underlying reason why this transition was piecemeal is that food production systems evolved as a result of the accumulation of many separate decisions about allocating time and effort. Foraging humans, like foraging animals, have only finite time and energy, which they can spend in various ways. We can picture an incipient farmer waking up and asking: Shall I spend today hoeing my garden (predictably yielding a lot of vegetables several months from now), gathering shellfish (predictably yielding a little meat today), or hunting deer (yielding possibly a lot of meat today, but more likely nothing)? Human and animal foragers are constantly prioritizing and making effort-allocation decisions, even if only unconsciously. They concentrate first on favorite foods, or ones that yield the highest payoff. If these are unavailable, they shift to less and less preferred foods. ~ Jared Diamond,

1185:Jon had spent most of his career gathering intelligence, providing security, rescuing hostages, and, one way or another, in direct, boots-on-the-ground combat with individuals identified as terrorists by the United Nations, the United States government, and the civilized world. This being Nigeria, Jon knew the people responsible for the bombing would be members of Boko Haram, an Islamist militant group with ties to al-Qaeda, or a Boko Haram splinter group known as Ansaru. Both were big on suicide bombings, and often employed women and children as their designated suicides. Neither group had claimed responsibility, but Jon knew this meant little. So many dipshits with ties to al-Qaeda were running around that part of the world, you couldn’t keep track with a scorecard. The shot caller who ordered the bombing would probably never be known, and was likely already dead. More’s ~ Robert Crais,

1186:It was simply what you did: you made conversation in elevators, complimented small children in strollers, looked up from your magazine to greet the stranger who took the seat beside you on a bus. You said, with simple friendliness, That’s a lovely hat, or Isn’t it cold?—because it was another way of saying here we are, all of us, more or less in the same boat. It was the habit of friendliness, a lifetime of it. Mary Keane smiled. Her dress and her son’s jacket and the slipcover on the couch beneath her were soaked and the next contraction was already gathering strength in the small of her back. Mary Keane smiled politely as Mr. Persichetti poked his head around the door to the vestibule and said, “Hello.” He took her hand and then her pulse. He put his broad palm on her forehead and then took her hand again as her face flushed and she drew her legs up against the pain. He ~ Alice McDermott,

1187:He’d never encountered beauty of such magnitude and intensity. It was not allure, but grace, like the sight of land to a shipwrecked man. And he, who hadn’t been on a capsized vessel since he was six—and that had only been an overturned canoe—suddenly felt as if he’d been adrift in the open ocean his entire life. Someone spoke to him. He couldn’t make out a single word. There was something elemental to her beauty, like a mile-high thunderhead, a gathering avalanche, or a Bengal tiger prowling the darkness of the jungle. A phenomenon of inherent danger and overwhelming perfection. He felt a sharp, sweet ache in his chest: His life would never again be complete without her. But he felt no fear, only excitement, wonder, and desire. Christian's thoughts upon seeing Venetia for the first time (Beguiling the Beauty, Fitzhugh Trilogy 1, by Sherry Thomas) ~ Sherry Thomas,

1188:Perhaps it increased his annoyance that there was a certain unusual liveliness about the usually languid figure of Fisher. The ordinary image of him in March's mind was that of a pallid and bald-browed gentleman, who seemed to be prematurely old as well as prematurely bald. He was remembered as a man who expressed the opinions of a pessimist in the language of a lounger. Even now March could not be certain whether the change was merely a sort of masquerade of sunshine, or that effect of clear colors and clean-cut outlines that is always visible on the parade of a marine resort, relieved against the blue dado of the sea. But Fisher had a flower in his buttonhole, and his friend could have sworn he carried his cane with something almost like the swagger of a fighter. With such clouds gathering over England, the pessimist seemed to be the only man who carried his own sunshine. ~ G K Chesterton,

1189:To Phoebe's relief, the gathering in the drawing room turned out to be far less intimidating than she'd expected. Her parents and Seraphina were there to keep her company, as were Lord and Lady Westcliff, whom she and her siblings had always called "Uncle Marcus" and "Aunt Lillian." Lord Westcliff's hunting estate, Stony Cross Park, was located in Hampshire, not far from Eversby Priory. The earl and his wife, who had originally been an American heiress from New York, had raised three sons and three daughters. Although Aunt Lillian had teasingly invited Phoebe to have her pick of any of her robust and handsome sons, Phoebe had answered- quite truthfully- that such a union would have felt positively incestuous. The Marsdens and the Challons had spent too many family holidays together and had known each other for too long for any romantic sparks to fly between their offspring. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1190:I would let her…have adventures. I would let her…choose her path. It would be hard…it was hard…but I would do it. Oh, not completely, of course. Some things have to go on. Cleaning one’s teeth, arithmetic. But Maia fell in love with the Amazon. It happens. The place was for her--and the people. Of course there was some danger, but there is danger everywhere. Two years ago, in this school, there was an outbreak of typhus, and three girls died. Children are knocked down and killed by horses every week, here in these streets--” She broke off, gathering her thoughts. “When she was traveling and exploring…and finding her songs, Maia wasn’t just happy, she was…herself. I think something broke in Maia when her parents died, and out there it was healed. Perhaps I’m mad--and the professor, too--but I think children must lead big lives…if it is in them to do so. And it is in Maia. ~ Eva Ibbotson,

1191:My mother’s suffering grew into a symbol in my mind, gathering to itself all the poverty, the ignorance, the helplessness; the painful, baffling, hunger-ridden days and hours; the restless moving, the futile seeking, the uncertainty, the fear, the dread; the meaningless pain and the endless suffering. Her life set the emotional tone of my life, colored the men and women I was to meet in the future, conditioned my relation to events that had not yet happened, determined my attitude to situations and circumstances I had yet to face. A somberness of spirit that I was never to lose settled over me during the slow years of my mother’s unrelieved suffering, a somberness that was to make me stand apart and look upon excessive joy with suspicion, that was to make me self-conscious, that was to make me keep forever on the move, as though to escape a nameless fate seeking to overtake me. ~ Richard Wright,

1192:My mother's suffering grew into as symbol in my mind, gathering to itself all the poverty, the ignorance, the helplessness; the painful, baffling, hunger-ridden days and hours; the restless moving, the futile seeking, the uncertainty, the fear, the dread; the meaningless pain and the endless suffering. Her life set the emotional tone of my life, colored the men and women I was to meet in the future, conditioned my relation to events that had not yet happened, determined my attitude to situations and circumstances I had yet to face. A somberness of spirit that I was never to lose settled over me during the slow years of my mother's unrelieved suffering, a somberness that was to make me stand apart and look upon excessive joy with suspicion, that was to make me self-conscious, that was to make me keep forever on the move, as though to escape a nameless fate seeking to overtake me. ~ Richard Wright,

1193:Racism, at the individual level, can be seen as a predictive model whirring away in billions of human minds around the world. It is built from faulty, incomplete, or generalized data. Whether it comes from experience or hearsay, the data indicates that certain types of people have behaved badly. That generates a binary prediction that all people of that race will behave that same way. Needless to say, racists don’t spend a lot of time hunting down reliable data to train their twisted models. And once their model morphs into a belief, it becomes hardwired. It generates poisonous assumptions, yet rarely tests them, settling instead for data that seems to confirm and fortify them. Consequently, racism is the most slovenly of predictive models. It is powered by haphazard data gathering and spurious correlations, reinforced by institutional inequities, and polluted by confirmation bias. ~ Cathy O Neil,

1194:And it may be that a crowd at a particular moment of history creates the object to justify its gathering, as it did at the first Human Bi-In and Monterey Pop and Woodstock. Or it may be that two generations of war and surveillance had left people craving the embodiment of their own unease in the form of a lone, unsteady man on a slide guitar. Whatever the reason, a swell of approval palpable as rain lifted from the center of the crowd and rolled out toward its edges, where it crashed against buildings and water wall and rolled back at Scotty with redoubled force, lifting him off his stool, onto his feet (the roadies quickly adjusting the microphones), exploding the quavering husk Scotty had appeared to be just moments before and unleashing something strong, charismatic, and fierce. Anyone who was there that day will tell you the concert really started when Scotty stood up." (p. 332) ~ Jennifer Egan,

1195:How often do people start down a path and then give up on it entirely? How many treadmills, exercise bikes, and weight sets are at this very moment gathering dust in basements across the country? How many kids go out for a sport and then quit even before the season is over? How many of us vow to knit sweaters for all of our friends but only manage half a sleeve before putting down the needles? Ditto for home vegetable gardens, compost bins, and diets. How many of us start something new, full of excitement and good intentions, and then give up—permanently—when we encounter the first real obstacle, the first long plateau in progress? Many of us, it seems, quit what we start far too early and far too often. Even more than the effort a gritty person puts in on a single day, what matters is that they wake up the next day, and the next, ready to get on that treadmill and keep going ~ Angela Duckworth,

1196:Plant biologist Peter Barlow adds that the tips of the roots “form a multiheaded advancing front. The complete set of tips endows the plant with a collective brain, diffused over a large area, gathering, as the root system grows and develops, information” crucial to the plant’s survival.50 And, as he continues: “One attribute of a brain, as the term is commonly understood, is that it is an organ with a definite structure and location which gathers or collects information, which was originally in the form of vibrations (heat, light, sound, chemical, mechanical, . . .) in the ambient environment and somehow transforms them into an output or response.”51 By this definition, plants do have brains just as we do, but given their capacity to live for millennia (in the case of some aspen root systems, over 100,000 years) their neural networks can, in many instances, far exceed our own. ~ Stephen Harrod Buhner,

1197:ON THURSDAY EVENING, November 13, the day after the My Lai story ran in newspapers across the country, more than forty thousand people began gathering at Arlington National Cemetery for what was called a “March of Death.” For thirty-eight straight hours and in the face of biting cold and gusts of driving rain, they streamed in single file across the Arlington Bridge and on into the heart of the nation’s capital. A placard hung from each marcher’s neck bearing the name of someone who had been killed in the war, and when they passed the White House they shouted it out. Most marchers were young, but here and there were older people—parents or family members, presumably—who had asked for particular names. (Thirty-odd names had tactfully been withdrawn when families objected to their being displayed.) The long procession ended at the Capitol, where each placard was slipped into a wooden coffin. ~ Geoffrey C Ward,

1198:When they’d crested the final hill, the huge gathering of clans spread out below, she’d turned to him. “This is what we call a ‘booley’—summer grazing for our cattle.” “But there’s a house,” he said, perplexed. “Well, of course there is—a booley house. Where else would the people sleep—amongst the herd?” Essex smiled, chastised. “You’ll just have to leave off your silly conception of the ‘wild Irish.’ Believe it or not, we are civilized, even at the booley. Did you know that back in the last millennium all the European monarchs for eight hundred years insisted on Irish councilors and clergy to advise them on matters of church and state, for of all men they were the best educated and most wise? Did you know that without the Irish monks slavin’ over their illuminated texts, all the great books of Roman civilization would have been lost to the barbarian hoards? No, I can see that you didn’t.” A ~ Robin Maxwell,

1199:The Eliots found it a queer sort of evening - a transition evening. Hitherto the Herb of Grace had been to them a summer home; they had known it only permeated with sun and light, flower-scented, windows and doors open wide. But now doors were shut, curtains drawn to hide the sad, grey dusk. Instead of the lap of the water against the river wall they heard the whisper of the flames, and instead of the flowers in the garden they smelt the roasting chestnuts, burning apple logs, the oil lamps, polish - all the home smells. This intimacy with the house was deepening; when winter came it would be deeper still. Nadine glanced over her shoulder at the firelight gleaming upon the dark wood of the panelling, at the shadows gathering in the corners, and marvelled to see how the old place seemed to have shrunk in size with the shutting out of the daylight. It seemed gathering them in, holding them close. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,

1200:always think in terms of category, not place. Before choosing what to keep, collect everything that falls within the same category at one time. Take every last item out and lay everything in one spot. To demonstrate the steps involved, let’s go back to the example of clothing above. You start by deciding that you are going to organize and put away your clothes. The next step is to search every room of the house. Bring every piece of clothing you find to the same place, and spread them out on the floor. Then pick up each outfit and see if it sparks joy. Those and only those are the ones to keep. Follow this procedure for every category. If you have too many clothes, you can make subcategories such as tops, bottoms, socks, and so on, and examine your clothes, one subcategory at a time. Gathering every item in one place is essential to this process because it gives you an accurate grasp of how much you have. ~ Marie Kond,

1201:A kiss, he said, is a conversation. Easing closer, he continued to speak as he caressed her cheeks with featherlight stokes of his thumbs. "A first kiss", his lips neared hers, is an introduction and then his mouth brushed against hers. The contact sparked, sharp and bright like lightning, yet his lips were soft, unexpectedly so. Her breath caught the same instant his did. Against her mouth he whispered "That was Hello" His breath mingled with hers as he waited, his lips so close she could feel their warmth. For a moment she simply breathed him in growing heady on the scent of him and the tight anticipation gathering in her belly. Then she understood. Nerves fluttering, she brushed her lips across his as he had done. Again his breath hitched, as if he too felt that same spark, that hot need. Her eyes drifted closed and his voice poured over her like warm cream. "This is, 'I'm Jack'. ~ Kristen Callihan,

1202:Women's Rights You cannot rob us of the rights we cherish, Nor turn our thoughts away From the bright picture of a "Woman's Mission" Our hearts portray. We claim to dwell, in quiet and seclusion, Beneath the household roof,-From the great world's harsh strife, and jarring voices, To stand aloof;-Not in a dreamy and inane abstraction To sleep our life away, But, gathering up the brightness of home sunshine, To deck our way. As humble plants by country hedgerows growing, That treasure up the rain, And yield in odours, ere the day's declining, The gift again; So let us, unobtrusive and unnoticed, But happy none the less, Be privileged to fill the air around us With happiness; To live, unknown beyond the cherished circle, Which we can bless and aid; To die, and not a heart that does not love us Know where we're laid. ~ Annie Louisa Walker,

1203:Once more, the joyful character of the eucharistic gathering must be stressed. For the medieval emphasis on the cross, while not a wrong one, is certainly one-sided. The liturgy is, before everything else, the joyous gathering of those who are to meet the risen Lord and to enter with him into the bridal chamber. And it is this joy of expectation and this expectation of joy that are expressed in singing and ritual, in vestments and in censing, in that whole 'beauty' of the liturgy which has so often been denounced as unnecessary and even sinful. Unnecessary it is indeed, for we are beyond the categories of the 'necessary.' Beauty is never 'necessary,' 'functional' or 'useful.' And when, expecting someone whom we love, we put a beautiful tablecloth on the table and decorate it with candles and flowers, we do all this not out of necessity, but out of love. And the Church is love, expectation and joy. ~ Alexander Schmemann,

1204:Ferris had nearly gotten it right. In that single day 713,646 people had paid to enter Jackson Park. (Only 31,059—four percent—were children.) Another 37,380 visitors had entered using passes, bringing the total admission for the day to 751,026, more people than had attended any single day of any peaceable event in history. The Tribune argued that the only greater gathering was the massing of Xerxes’ army of over five million souls in the fifth century B.C. The Paris record of 397,000 had indeed been shattered. When the news reached Burnham’s shanty, there were cheers and champagne and stories through the night. But the best news came the next day, when officials of the World’s Columbian Exposition Company, whose boasts had been ridiculed far and wide, presented a check for $ 1.5 million to the Illinois Trust and Savings Company and thereby extinguished the last of the exposition’s debts. The Windy City had prevailed. ~ Erik Larson,

1205:Less than ten minutes after they left the stream, Loretta began to nod and felt herself slumping. She jerked upright and blinked. Hunter tightened his arm around her and slipped a hand under her right knee to lift her leg over the horse’s head. Gathering her against his chest, he cradled her crosswise in front of him. “Sleep, nei mah-tao-yo, sleep.” His deep voice sifted through the exhaustion that clouded her mind. Nei mah-tao-yo. She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded so soft the way he said it--like an endearment. The hollow of his shoulder made a perfect resting place. She leaned into him, her cheek against his warm skin. He smelled of sage, smoke, and leather, earthy smells that were becoming familiar and somehow comforting. As she drifted into blackness, she no longer thought of him as an Indian, just a man. A wonderfully sturdy man who could hold her comfortably while she slept. ~ Catherine Anderson,

1206:Virgin Youth Now and again All my body springs alive, And the life that is polarised in my eyes, That quivers between my eyes and mouth, Flies like a wild thing across my body, Leaving my eyes half-empty, and clamorous, Filling my still breasts with a flush and a flame, Gathering the soft ripples below my breast Into urgent, passionate waves, And my soft, slumbering belly Quivering awake with one impulse of desire, Gathers itself fiercely together; And my docile, fluent arms Knotting themselves with wild strength To clasp—what they have never clasped. Then I tremble, and go trembling Under the wild, strange tyranny of my body, Till it has spent itself, And the relentless nodality of my eyes reasserts itself, Till the bursten flood of life ebbs back to my eyes, Back from my beautiful, lonely body Tired and unsatisfied. ~ David Herbert Lawrence,

1207:These important national institutions continue to suffer from the bane of feudal and imperial curses. Moreover, the so-called institutions of the iron frame, the entire length of the spinal cord of Indian administration, from Panchayat (rural self-government) to national level, has been mutilated and subjugated in the name of suborning them to the ‘rule of the people, for the people and by the people’. Several institutions of the country, including the judiciary, have been distorted and subverted to suit the political class. It is not my intention to write another sterile thesis on the state of Indian administration and judiciary. Such thesis are propounded at regular intervals, several commissions are instituted routinely to examine the system breakdown and several such reports, including reports on police and intelligence reform have been gathering dust if not already eaten up by ants and termites of the system. ~ Maloy Krishna Dhar,

1208:He shivered under the big hands that manipulated him. They were doing more than just looking for a quick fuck—the touches were lingering, like burning hot ribbons along his skin. His cock ached as Tom touched him, fingers digging into his skin, like Tom wanted Prophet to remember him, remember this. And fuck, he would. Knew that already, because his body wanted more. He didn’t know why he needed this so badly. Tommy thrust against him, the piercings rolling inside him in just the right places, his hand on Prophet’s cock. Prophet’s climax was like a gathering storm, swirling furiously, thunderously fast and uncontrolled, part wrath, part beauty, mixed with a little pain, and oh fuck, yes. Tom kept up a steady stream of dirty talk. Maybe it was the drugs, but Prophet didn’t think so. It was a mix of English and Cajun French and Prophet’s orgasm was long and drawn out, left him wrecked, weakened, unable to stop shuddering. Tom ~ S E Jakes,

1209:As I sat there in that now lonely room; the fire burning low, in that mild stage when, after its first intensity has warmed the air, it then only glows to be looked at; the evening shades and phantoms gathering round the casements, and peering in upon us silent, solitary twain; thw storm booming without in solemn swells; I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it. There he sat, his very indifference speaking a nature in which there lurked no civilized hypocrisies and bland deceits. Wild he was; a very sight of sights to see; yet I began to feel myself mysteriously drawn towards him. And those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me. I'll try a pagan friend, though I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy. ~ Herman Melville,

1210:the only prospect which is really desirable or delightful, is that from the window of the breakfast-room [...] where we meet the first light of the dewy day, the first breath of the morning air, the first glance of gentle eyes; to which we descend in the very spring and elasticity of mental renovation and bodily energy, in the gathering up of our spirit for the new day, in the flush of our awakening from the darkness and the mystery of faint and inactive dreaming, in the resurrection from our daily grave, in the first tremulous sensation of the beauty of our being, in the most glorious perception of the lightning of our life; there, indeed, our expatiation of spirit, when it meets the pulse of outward sound and joy, the voice of bird and breeze and billow, does demand some power of liberty, some space for its going forth into the morning, some freedom of intercourse with the lovely and limitless energy of creature and creation. ~ John Ruskin,

1211:A moth flying into the flame says with its wingfire, 'Try this.' The wick with its knotted neck broken, tells you the same. A candle as it diminishes explains, 'Gathering more and more is not the way. Burn, become light and heat and help. Melt.' The ocean sits in the sand letting its lap fill with pearls and shells, then empty. A bittersalt taste hums, 'This.' The phoenix gives up on good-and-bad, flies to rest on Mt. Qaf, no more burning and rising from ash. It sends out one message. The rose purifies its face, drops the soft petals, shows its thorn, and points. Wine abandons thousands of famous names, the vintage years and delightful bouquets, to run wild and anonymous through your brain. The flute closes its eyes and gives its lips to Hamza’s emptiness. Everything begs with the silent rocks for you to be flung out like light over this plain, the presence of Shams. ~ Rumi,

1212:But the longer he listened to the King Lear fantasia, the further he felt from any possibility of forming some definite opinion for himself. The musical expression of feeling was ceaselessly beginning, as if gathering itself up, but it fell apart at once into fragments of new beginnings of musical expressions and sometimes into extremely complex sounds, connected by nothing other than the mere whim of the composer. But these fragments of musical expressions, good ones on occasion, were unpleasant because they were totally unexpected and in no way prepared for. Gaiety, sadness, despair, tenderness and triumph appeared without justification, like a madman's feelings. And, just as with a madman, these feelings passed unexpectedly. All through the performance Levin felt like a deaf man watching people dance. He was in utter perplexity when the piece ended and felt great fatigue from such strained but in no way rewarded attention. ~ Leo Tolstoy,

1213:Civilization is an experiment, a very recent way of life in the human career, and it has a habit of walking into what I am calling progress traps. A small village on good land beside a river is a good idea; but when the village grows into a city and paves over the good land, it becomes a bad idea. While prevention might have been easy, a cure may be impossible: a city isn't easily moved. This human inability to foresee -- or to watch out for -- long-range consequences may be inherent to our kind, shaped by the millions of years when we lived from hand to mouth by hunting and gathering. It may also be little more than a mix of inertia, greed, and foolishness encouraged by the shape of the social pyramid. The concentration of power at the top of large-scale societies gives the elite a vested interest in the status quo; they continue to prosper in darkening times long after the environment and general populace begin to suffer. (109) ~ Ronald Wright,

1214:Daniel saw in a way he’d never seen anything before: his mind was a homunculus squatting in the middle of his skull, peering out through good but imperfect telescopes and listening horns, gathering observations that had been distorted along the way, as a lens put chromatic aberrations into all the light that passed through it. A man who peered out at the world through a telescope would assume that the aberration was real, that the stars actually looked like that—what false assumptions, then, had natural philosophers been making about the evidence of their senses, until last night? Sitting in the gaudy radiance of those windows hearing the organ play and the choir sing, his mind pleasantly intoxicated from exhaustion, Daniel experienced a faint echo of what it must be like, all the time, to be Isaac Newton: a permanent ongoing epiphany, an endless immersion in lurid radiance, a drowning in light, a ringing of cosmic harmonies in the ears. ~ Neal Stephenson,

1215:Sunday morning came – next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams – visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation ~ Mark Twain,

1216:How often do people start down a path and then give up on it entirely? How many treadmills, exercise bikes, and weight sets are at this very moment gathering dust in basements across the country? How many kids go out for a sport and then quit even before the season is over? How many of us vow to knit sweaters for all of our friends but only manage half a sleeve before putting down the needles? Ditto for home vegetable gardens, compost bins, and diets. How many of us start something new, full of excitement and good intentions, and then give up—permanently—when we encounter the first real obstacle, the first long plateau in progress? Many of us, it seems, quit what we start far too early and far too often. Even more than the effort a gritty person puts in on a single day, what matters is that they wake up the next day, and the next, ready to get on that treadmill and keep going.” Excerpt From: Angela Duckworth. “Grit.” iBooks. ~ Angela Duckworth,

1217:Lucinda Matlock I went to the dances at Chandlerville, And played snap-out at Winchester. One time we changed partners, Driving home in the midnight of middle June, And then I found Davis. We were married and lived together for seventy years, Enjoying, working, raising the twelve children, Eight of whom we lost Ere I had reached the age of sixty. I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed the sick, I made the garden, and for holiday Rambled over the fields where sang the larks, And by Spoon River gathering many a shell, And many a flower and medicinal weed-Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to the green valleys. At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all, And passed to a sweet repose. What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness, Anger, discontent and drooping hopes? Degenerate sons and daughters, Life is too strong for you-It takes life to love Life. ~ Edgar Lee Masters,

1218:For there is a growing apprehension that existence is a rat-race in a trap: living organisms, including people, are merely tubes which put things in at one end and let them out at the other, which both keeps them doing it and in the long run wears them out. So to keep the farce going, the tubes find ways of making new tubes, which also put things in at one end and let them out at the other. At the input end they even develop ganglia of nerves called brains, with eyes and ears, so that they can more easily scrounge around for things to swallow. As and when they get enough to eat, they use up their surplus energy by wiggling in complicated patterns, making all sorts of noises by blowing air in and out of the input hole, and gathering together in groups to fight with other groups. In time, the tubes grow such an abundance of attached appliances that they are hardly recognizable as mere tubes, and they manage to do this in a staggering variety of forms. ~ Alan W Watts,

1219:On the human imagination events produce the effects of time. Thus he who has travelled far and seen much is apt to fancy that he has lived long; and the history that most abounds in important incidents soonest assumes the aspect of antiquity. In no other way can we account for the venerable air that is already gathering around American annals. When the mind reverts to the earliest days of colonial history, the period seems remote and obscure, the thousand changes that thicken along the links of recollections, throwing back the origin of the nation to a day so distant as seemingly to reach the mists of time; and yet four lives of ordinary duration would suffice to transmit, from mouth to mouth, in the form of tradition, all that civilized man has achieved within the limits of the republic.....Thus, what seems venerable by an accumulation of changes is reduced to familiarity when we come seriously to consider it solely in connection with time. ~ James Fenimore Cooper,

1220:I have, however, to live in an age of Faith — the sort of thing I used to hear praised and recommended when I was a boy. It is damned unpleasant, really. It is bloody in every sense of the word. And I have to keep my end up in it. Where do I start? With personal relationships. Here is something comparatively solid in a world full of violence and cruelty. Not absolutely solid... We don’t know what other people are like. How then can we put any trust in personal relationships, or cling to them in the gathering political storm? In theory we can’t. But in practice we can and do. Though A is unchangeably A or B unchangeably B, there can still be love and loyalty between the two. For the purpose of loving one has to assume that the personality is solid, and the “self” is an entity, and to ignore all contrary evidence. And since to ignore evidence is one of the characteristics of faith, I certainly can proclaim that I believe in personal relationships. ~ E M Forster,

1221:Adventure We found one evening, in the scrub, a road the timber-getters made, a winding, dim, mysterious track, and we raced down it, half afraid. The wild-hop vines grew high aloft, a winter's chill was in the air, and trailing sarsaparilla swung it's purple glory everywhere. Then, curled within a hollow stump down in a gully dim and deep, we held our breaths with awe to find four dingo puppies fast asleep! We stroked them, trembling, for we knew that somewhere in the forest dim, there lurked amid the gathering shades the gaunt old mother, fierce and grim. The dry leaves rustled, back we sped to where the homelight beckoned warm, to supper-time and Mother's smile; and nestling near her safe from harm. We, thrilling, gazed into the night where twinkling stars rose high and dim, above the darksome scrub, where lurked the dingo mother fierce and grim! ~ Alice Guerin Crist,

1222:Don’t be upset,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stop it from happening,” she said in a plaintive voice. “You weren’t supposed to,” he said tenderly. “I was playing with you. Teasing you.” “But I wanted it to last longer. It’s our wedding night, and it’s already over.” Pausing, Beatrix added glumly, “At least my part of it is.” Christopher averted his face, but she could see that he was struggling to contain a laugh. When he had mastered himself, he looked down at her with a slight smile and smoothed her hair back from her face. “I can make you ready again.” Beatrix was quiet for a moment as she evaluated her spent nerves and limp body. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I feel like a wrung-out kitchen mop.” “I promise to make you ready again,” he said, his voice threaded with amusement. “It will take a long time,” Beatrix said, still frowning. Gathering her into his arms, Christopher crushed his mouth over hers. “I can only hope so. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1223:In vain I warned other Arab leaders, those pleasure-seeking gluttons who only listen to the fawning and simpering of those who owe them favors. There was a full complement of them at Cairo, lined up like onions, spying on each other on the sly, half of them so conceited they could not stop behaving like constipated patriarchs, the other half too thick to be able to look serious. Arrivistes who thought they had really arrived, comic-opera presidents unable to shake off their country-bumpkin reflexes, petrodollar emirs looking like rabbits straight out of the magician's hat, sultans wrapped in their robes like ghosts, disgusted at the blathering eulogies the speakers were trotting out ad infinitum. Why were they there? They cared for nothing that did not concern their personal fortunes. Busy stuffing their pockets, they refused to look up to see how dizzyingly fast the world was changing or how tomorrow's storm clouds of hate were gathering on the horizon. ~ Yasmina Khadra,

1224:From my insufficiency to my perfection, and from my deviation to my equilibrium From my sublimity to my beauty, and from my splendor to my majesty From my scattering to my gathering, and from my rejection to my communion From my baseness to my preciousness, and from my stones to my pearls From my rising to my setting, and from my days to my nights From my luminosity to my darkness, and from my guidance to my straying From my perigee to my apogee, and from the base of my lance to its tip From my waxing to my waning, and from the void of my moon to its crescent From my pursuit to my flight, and from my steed to my gazelle From my breeze to my boughs, and from my boughs to my shade From my shade to my delight, and from my delight to my torment From my torment to my likeness, and from my likeness to my impossibility From my impossibility to my validity, and from my validity to my deficiency. I am no one in existence but myself, ~ Ibn Arabi,

1225:Then take it all! Take my life! What care I now that the wench is gone! Damn her! Damn her fickle heart! Ah, man, I hate her! Fickle wife! She taunts me, seduces me, cajoles me, flees me, leaves me wanting her all the more. Have I no more will of my own?" His voice broke, and he sobbed, hiding his face behind an arm flung across it. Shanna's throat tightened, and there was no ease for the ache in her breat. With tears of her own gathering in her eyes she tried to hush him. He heard none of her pleas, but lifted his hands and held them before his eyes, turning them, staring at them as if he had never seen them before. "But still - I love her. I could take my freedom and fly - but she holds me bound to her." His hands became limp fists which slowly crumpled to his sides as he groaned listlessly. "I cannot stay. I cannot leave." His eyes closed, and swiftly the moment was gone. Choking on a sob, Shanna bowed her head in abject misery. ~ Kathleen E Woodiwiss,

1226:So I added in all the pains I'd learned. Cooking blunders I'd had to eat anyways. Equipment and property constantly breaking down, needing repairs and attention. Tax insanity, and rushing around trying to hack a path through a jungle of numbers. Late bills. Unpleasant jobs that gave you horribly aching feet. Odd looks from people who didn't know you, when something less than utterly normal happened. The occasional night when the loneliness ached so badly that it made you weep. The occasional gathering during with you wanted to escape to your empty apartment so badly that you were willing to go out of the bathroom window. Muscle pulls and aches you never had when you were younger, the annoyance as the price of gas kept going up to some ridiculous degree, the irritation with unruly neighbors, brainless media personalities, and various politicians who all seemed to fall on a spectrum somewhere between the extremes of "crook" and "moron." You know. Life. ~ Jim Butcher,

1227:There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione's arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. "Is this the moment?" Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. "OI! There's a war going on here!" Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. "I know, mate," said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, "so it's now or never, isn't it?" "Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?" Harry shouted. "D'you think you could just --- just hold it in, until we've got the diadem?" "Yeah --- right --- sorry ---" said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face. ~ J K Rowling,

1228:She was scared. I pictured the police knocking, and here I was with a girl I'd been fucking the morning my wife went missing. I'd sought her out that day--I had never gone to her apartment since that first night, but I went right there that morning, because I'd spent hours with my heart pounding behind my ears, trying to get myself to say the words to Amy: I want a divorce. I am in love with someone else. We have to end. I can't pretend to love you, I can't do the anniversary thing--it would actually be more wring than cheating on you in the first place (I know: debatable.) But while I was gathering the guts, Amy had preempted me with her speech about still loving me (lying bitch!), and I lost my nerve. I felt like the ultimate cheat and coward, and--the catch-22---I craved Andie to make me feel better, But Andie was no longer the antidote to my nerves. Quite the opposite. The girl was wrapping herself around me even now, oblivious as a weed. ~ Gillian Flynn,

1229:In the heart there is a dispersion that is not collected except by turning towards Allah. And there is a loneliness that is not removed except by the company of Allah in seclusion. And there is a sadness that is not pushed away except by the happiness of knowing Him and dealing with Him truthfully. And there is an anxiety that is not stilled except by gathering yourself to Him and fleeing from Him to Him. And there are fires of remorse, that are not extinguished except by contentment with His commands, prohibitions and decrees, and embracing patience regarding that until the time of meeting Him. And there is severe desire, that will not cease until He alone becomes the desired. And there is an emptiness, that is not filled except by His love and continuous remembrance of Him and sincerity to Him, and if one were to be given the entire world that emptiness would not be filled ever! ~,

1230:Do you remember that piece of footage on the local news, just as the first tower comes down, woman runs in off the street into a store, just gets the door closed behind her, and here comes this terrible black billowing, ash, debris, sweeping through the streets, gale force past the window. . .that was the moment, Maxi. Not when 'everything changed.' When everything was revealed. No grand Zen illumination, but a rush of blackness and death. Showing us exactly what we've become, what we've been all the time." "And what we've always been is. . .?" "Is living on borrowed time. Getting away cheap. Never caring about who's paying for it, who's starving somewhere else all jammed together so we can have cheap food, a house, a yard in the burbs. . .planetwide, more every day, the payback keeps gathering. And meantime the only help we get from the media is boo hoo the innocent dead. Boo fuckin hoo. You know what? All the dead are innocent. There's no uninnocent dead. ~ Thomas Pynchon,

1231:I stood here in this kitchen elaborating and embellishing this fantasy for some time instead of taking responsibility for what was happening around me because in truth what really tormented me was that all this filth and disorder offended my engineer’s sense of structure, everything out of place and proper alignment, everything gathering towards some point of chaos beyond which it would be impossible to restore the place to its proper order and yet I stood looking at it, locked into a silent battle with the house itself and all the things which were slowly vacating their proper place, furniture and dishes and cutlery all over the place, curtains hanging awry and chairs and tables strewn about while books and papers slid across the floor, everything slowly shifting through the house as if they had a meeting to keep somewhere else, possibly in some higher realm where all this chaos would resolve into a refined harmony which had no need of my hand or intervention ~ Mike McCormack,

1232:A synagogue had been established in Birobidzhan in 1929, a small wooden building constructed by some of the first settlers. Twenty years later, everyone who attended the Rosh Hashanah services was arrested; the rabbi was sentenced to death. Jews returned to the wooden building in the late 1950s, but with the end of Khrushchev's Thaw, gathering there became too risky again and services moved to private apartments. In the 1970s, when the air in the Soviet Union once more grew a bit lighter, services at the synagogue resumed. But the last of the occasionally observant Jews were old, and by the mid-1980s a minyan - a quorum of ten Jewish adults - became impossible. The wooden building was repurposed. There was no synagogue in the Jewish Autonomous Region for the next twenty years - until American Jews had given enough money to erect two small stone buildings on Lenin Street, one for the synagogue and one for the Freud Jewish community center, both protected by a single metal fence. ~ Masha Gessen,

1233:This kindly unjudging judgment of the Swede could well have been a new development in Jerry, compassion a few hours old. That can happen when people die--the argument with them drops away and people so flawed while they were drawing breath that at times they were all but unbearable now assert themselves in the most appealing way, and what was least to your liking the day before yesterday becomes in the limousine behind the hearse a cause not only for sympathetic amusement but for admiration. In which estimate lies the greater reality--the uncharitable one permitted us before the funeral, forged, without any claptrap, in the skirmish of daily life, or the one that suffuses us with sadness at the family gathering afterward--this even an outsider can't judge. The sight of a coffin can effect a great change of heart--all at once you find you are not so disappointed in the person who is dead--but what the sight of a coffin does for a mind in its search for the truth, this I don't profess to know. ~ Philip Roth,

1234:When it comes to leaders we have, if anything, a superabundance—hundreds of Pied Pipers…ready and anxious to lead the population. They are scurrying around, collecting consensus, gathering as wide an acceptance as possible. But what they are not doing, very notably, is standing still and saying, ' This is what I believe. This I will do and that I will not do. This is my code of behavior and that is outside it. This is excellent and that is trash.' There is an abdication of moral leadership in the sense of a general unwillingness to state standards….Of all the ills that our poor…society is heir to, the focal one, it seems to me, from which so much of our uneasiness and confusion derive, is the absence of standards. We are too unsure of ourselves to assert them, to stick by them, if necessary in the case of persons who occupy positions of authority, to impose them. We seem to be afflicted by a widespread and eroding reluctance to take any stand on any values, moral, behavioral or esthetic. ~ Barbara W Tuchman,

1235:What are you doing?” “Do it again,” she said, surprising even herself with the request. “Which part?” he asked with amusement. “Feeding or making a mess when Leigh yells at me again?” His words made Valerie glance to Leigh to see that she was watching her worriedly. Turning back, she held the bag out to Justin. “Put it on your mouth again.” He hesitated, his gaze shifting to Leigh, but when she nodded, he took the bag, and then, eyeing Valerie warily, opened his mouth, let his fangs slide out and simply popped the full bag onto them. Valerie watched with fascination for a moment, and then moved to the side of him to try to see what was happening. “Are you swallowing the blood or is it—” Justin tightened his lips, pulling them back to reveal his teeth. She could see that there was no liquid gathering in his mouth. The fangs were sunk into the bag and appeared to be draining the liquid from the bag themselves as if they had little pumps drawing in the blood. “Interesting,” she murmured, moving closer. ~ Lynsay Sands,

1236:It seemed the morrow's holding had become a sort of peoples park in the suburbs of Cleveland. The other on the block, those who still lived in the fading jerry-built ranch houses with birdbaths or plaster dwarves on their lawns had appropriated it. I could imagine them gathering there at dusk, their children swaying creakily on the swings as the women planted sunflower seeds and murmured over the day's events. It was slightly criminal, an unfounded claim made by people who were not prospering but only getting by, and as such the property had passed beyond reclamation. To own this parcel of land you would have to wrest it back from those who had learned to care for it. If you leveled their tiny works and put up a new house you would be an invader, not much different from a colonial, and the land would be tainted until your house fell down again. This suburban quarter-acre had returned to its wilder purpose, and could not be redomesticated without a fight that would leave the victor's hands stained. ~ Michael Cunningham,

1237:He watched her face, and her eyes never shifted; they were with him while she moved out of her clothes and while she slipped his jeans down his legs, stroking his thighs. She unbuttoned his shirt, and all he was aware of was the heat of his own breathing and the warmth radiating from his belly, pulsing between his legs. He was afraid of being lost, so he repeated trail marks to himself: this is my mouth tasting the salt of her brown breasts; this is my voice calling out to her. He eased himself deeper within her and felt the warmth close around him like river sand, softly giving way under foot, then closing firmly around the ankle in cloudy warm water. But he did not get lost, and he smiled at her as she held his hips and pulled him closer. He let the motion carry him, and he could feel the momentum within, at first almost imperceptible, gathering in his belly. When it came, it was the edge of a steep riverbank crumbling under the downpour until suddenly it all broke loose and collapsed into itself. ~ Leslie Marmon Silko,

1238:If our enemies take me And people stop talking to me, If they confiscate the whole world— The right to breathe, open doors, Affirm that existence shall go on And that people, like a judge, shall judge, And if they dare to keep me like an animal And fling my food on the floor, I won’t fall silent or deaden the agony, But shall write what I am free to write, My naked body gathering momentum like a bell, And in a corner of the ominous dark I shall yoke ten oxen to my voice And move my hand in the darkness like a plough And, wrung out into a legion of brotherly eyes, Shall fall with the full heaviness of a harvest, Exploding in the distance with all the force of a vow, And in the depths of the unguarded night The eyes of that unskilled laborer, earth, shall shine And a flock of flaming years swoop down, And like a ripe thunderstorm Lenin shall burst forth. But on this earth (which shall escape decay) There to wake up life and reason will be ~ Osip Mandelstam,

1239:The fact that it has nothing else to contribute to human wisdom is no reason to hand religion a free licence to tell us what to do. Which religion, anyway? The one in which we happen to have been brought up? To which chapter, then, of which book of the Bible should we turn—for they are far from unanimous and some of them are odious by any reasonable standards. How many literalists have read enough of the Bible to know that the death penalty is prescribed for adultery, for gathering sticks on the sabbath and for cheeking your parents? If we reject Deuteronomy and Leviticus (as all enlightened moderns do), by what criteria do we then decide which of religion's moral values to accept? Or should we pick and choose among all the world's religions until we find one whose moral teaching suits us? If so, again we must ask, by what criterion do we choose? And if we have independent criteria for choosing among religious moralities, why not cut out the middle man and go straight for the moral choice without the religion? ~ Richard Dawkins,

1240:If all this is correct, baptism does not confer on us a status that marks us off from everybody else. To be able to say, ‘I’m baptized’ is not to claim an extra dignity, let alone a sort of privilege that keeps you separate from and superior to the rest of the human race, but to claim a new level of solidarity with other people. It is to accept that to be a Christian is to be affected – you might even say contaminated – by the mess of humanity. This is very paradoxical. Baptism is a ceremony in which we are washed, cleansed and re-created. It is also a ceremony in which we are pushed into the middle of a human situation that may hurt us, and that will not leave us untouched or unsullied. And the gathering of baptized people is therefore not a convocation of those who are privileged, elite and separate, but of those who have accepted what it means to be in the heart of a needy, contaminated, messy world. To put it another way, you don’t go down into the waters of the Jordan without stirring up a great deal of mud! ~ Rowan Williams,

1241:I was born by the sea," I said. "I'd go to the beach the morning after a typhoon and find all sorts of things that the waves had tossed up. There'd be bottles and wooden geta and hats and cases for glasses, tables and chairs, things from nowhere near the water. I liked combing through the stuff, so I was always waiting for the next typhoon. I put out my cigarette. The strange thing is, everything washed up from the sea was purified. Useless junk, but absolutely clean. There wasn't a dirty thing. The sea is special in that way. When I look back over my life so far, I see all that junk on the beach. It's how my life has always been. Gathering up the junk, sorting through it, and then casting it off somewhere else. All for no purpose, leaving it to wash away again. This was in your hometown? This is all my life. I merely go from one beach to another. Sure I remember the things that happen in between, but that's all. I never tie them together. They're so many things, clean but useless. ~ Haruki Murakami,

1242:demand absolute cooperation and attention.” Roughly two-thirds of the guests looked frightened, but a scattered third looked both frightened and puzzled. These were the ones leaning towards the man with the gun, instead of away from him. These were the ones that did not speak Spanish. They whispered quickly to their neighbors. The word atención was repeated in several languages. That word was clear enough. General Alfredo had anticipated his announcement bringing about a sort of pricked, waiting silence, but no silence came. The whispering caused him to fire into the ceiling again, carelessly this time, hitting a light fixture, which exploded. The room was dimmer, and slivers of glass settled into shirt collars and rested on hair. “Arresto,” he repeated. “Detengase!” It may seem surprising at first, such a large number of people unable to speak the language of the host country, but then you remember it was a gathering to promote foreign interest and the two guests of honor did not know ten words of Spanish between them, ~ Ann Patchett,

1243:O highest and best, most powerful, most all-powerful, most merciful and most just, most deeply hidden and most nearly present, most beautiful and most strong, constant yet incomprehensible, changeless yet changing all things, never new, never old, making all things new, bringing the proud to decay and they know it not: always acting and always at rest, still gathering yet never wanting; upholding, filling and protecting, creating, nourishing, and bringing to perfection; seeking, although in need of nothing. You love, but with no storm of passion; you are jealous, but with no anxious fear; you repent, but do not grieve; in your anger calm; you change your works, but never change your plan; you take back what you find and yet have never lost; never in need, you are yet glad of gain; never greedy, yet still demanding profit on your loans; to be paid in excess, so that you may be the debtor, and yet who has anything which is not yours? You pay back debts which you never owed and cancel debts without losing anything. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

1244:It's true," He whispered. Suddenly, I was aware of how close we were standing, so close I could touch the square of his jaw or the chiseled planes of his face. "What's true?" "You are as beautiful as I remembered. Nefer," he said, and his breath came quickly. "Perhaps you want to simply remain my friend, but when I was gone, all I could think about was you. When I was supposed to be thinking about the rebellion, or how my men would find fresh water in the desert, all I could think of was how you wanted to be hidden away in the Temple of Hathor. Nefer," he said passionately, "you can't be a priestess." I wanted to close my eyes and step into the shelter of his embrace, but beyond the column the entire court was gathering. "But if I'm not to be a priestess," I asked him, "where will my place be in Thebes?" I held my breath, waiting for the right answer to come, willing it into his heart. Then he took me in his arms and brushed his lips against mine. "With me," he said firmly. "As my queen. ~ Michelle Moran,

1245:When World War One broke out in 1914, planes were initially used for intelligence gathering. The machines, which moved faster than any man made device had ever, flew at approximately 80 miles per hour. No plane in WWI flew faster than 145mph, and that was at the very end of the war.               Of course, neither side wanted the other to spy on its troop movements, so within a very short period of time, pilots were trying to bring each other down. Initially, the first dogfights, strange as it may seem, were fought with grappling hooks hanging below the plane, grenades, and ramming. This was both highly inefficient and highly dangerous (for everyone involved). The first plane-to-plane combat was on the Eastern Front where a Russian pilot, who probably meant to graze his enemy, crashed his plane into an Austro-Hungarian machine. He and the two man crew of the Austrian plane were killed.               Soon, pilots began shooting at each other with pistols and the single shot rifles of the time. You can guess how effective this was. ~ Ryan Jenkins,

1246:In peace, what had been suppressed by anxiety and fear began to reawaken. Ye found that the real pain had just begun. Nightmarish memories, like embers coming back to life, burned more and more fiercely, searing her heart. For most people, perhaps time would have gradually healed these wounds. After all, during the Cultural Revolution, many people suffered fates similar to hers, and compared to many of them, Ye was relatively fortunate. But Ye had the mental habits of a scientist, and she refused to forget. Rather, she looked with a rational gaze on the madness and hatred that had harmed her. Ye’s rational consideration of humanity’s evil side began the day she read Silent Spring. As she grew closer to Yang Weining, he was able to get her many classics of foreign-language philosophy and history under the guise of gathering technical research materials. The bloody history of humanity shocked her, and the extraordinary insights of the philosophers also led her to understand the most fundamental and secret aspects of human nature. Indeed, ~ Liu Cixin,

1247:Elizabeth ran her finger along the windowsill, gathering dust. The view was almost exactly the same as from her own bedroom, only a few degrees shifted. She could still see the Rosens' place, with its red door and folding shutters, and the Martinez house, with its porch swing and the dog bowl. She'd heard once that what made you a real New Yorker was when you could remember back three laters -- the place on the corner that had been a bakery and then a barbershop before it was a cell-phone store, or the restaurant that had been Italian, then Mexican, then Cuban. The city was a palimpsest, a Mod Podged pileup or old signage and other people's failures. Newcomers saw only what was in front of them, but people who had been there long enough were always looking at two or three other places simultaneously. The IRT, Canal Jeans, the Limelight. So much of the city she'd fallen in love with was gone, but then again, that's how it worked. It was your job to remember. At least the bridges were still there. Some things were too heavy to take down. ~ Emma Straub,

1248:She pulled back, but not abruptly. His eyes were the darkest indigo blue that she had ever seen. She let a faint smile curl on her lips. "You inquire how many kisses of yours would be enough, and more to satisfy me," she said, and was startled to hear a husky catch in her voice. "As many as the grains of Libyan sand that lie between hot Jupiter's oracle… as many…" She paused. The look in his eye had made her forget what she was saying. What came after hot oracle! He didn't look sardonic now, but truly surprised. She had to leave. This was all entirely too intimate and uncomfortable. "Alas," she said, gathering up her skirts again and turning toward the rockslide. "I have quite forgotten the next line, so we shall have to delay this learned discussion." He was at her shoulder in a moment, helping her over the stones. "As many as the stars," he said, conversationally, as if they were talking of gardening, or Romans, or any number of polite topics. "As many as the stars, when the night is still, gazing down on secret human desires. ~ Eloisa James,

1249:We actually tried Free Will before. After taking you from hunting and gathering to the height of the Roman Empire we stepped back to see how you'd do on your own. You gave us the Dark Ages for five centuries... until finally we decided we should come back in. The Chairman thought maybe we just needed to do a better job of teaching you how to ride a bike before taking the training wheels off again. So we gave you the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, the Scientific Revolution. For six hundred years we taught you to control your impulses with reason, then in 1910 we stepped back. Within fifty years, you'd brought us World War I, the Depression, Fascism, the Holocaust and capped it off by bringing the entire planet to the brink of destruction in the Cuban Missile Crisis. At that point a decision was taken to step back in again before you did something that even we couldn't fix. You don't have free will, David. You have the appearance of free will.” (Agent Thompson’s response to David Norris when asked “What ever happened to free will?”) ~ Philip K Dick,

1250:And although black civil rights leaders like to point to a supposedly racist criminal justice system to explain why our prisons house so many black men, it’s been obvious for decades that the real culprit is black behavior—behavior too often celebrated in black culture. In April 1865, one hundred years before Johnson addressed Howard University graduates, the abolitionist Frederick Douglass spoke at a Boston gathering of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society on a similar theme. “Everybody has asked the question, and they learned to ask it early of the abolitionists, ‘What should we do with the Negro?’” said Douglass. “I have had but one answer from the beginning. Do nothing with us! Your doing with us has already played the mischief with us. Do nothing with us! If the apples will not remain on the tree of their own strength, if they are worm-eaten at the core, if they are early ripe and disposed to fall, let them fall.…And if the Negro cannot stand on his own legs, let him fall also. All I ask is, give him a chance to stand on his own legs! ~ Jason L Riley,

1251:It's a misery peculiar to would-be writers. Your theme is good, as are your sentences. Your characters are so ruddy with life they practically need birth certificates. The plot you've mapped out for them is grand, simple and gripping. You've done your research, gathering the facts; historical, social, climatic culinary, that will give your story its feel of authenticity. The dialogue zips along, crackling with tension. The descriptions burst with color, contrast and telling detail. Really, your story can only be great. But it all adds up to nothing. In spite the obvious, shining promise of it, there comes a moment when you realize that the whisper that has been pestering you all along from the back of your mind is speaking the flat, awful truth: IT WON'T WORK. An element is missing, that spark that brings to life in a real story, regardless of whether the history or the food is right. Your story is emotionally dead, that's the crux of it. The discovery is something soul-destroying, I tell you. It leaves you with an aching hunger. ~ Yann Martel,

1252:Look,” Petru said, pointing up at the sky. Among the first stars beginning to pierce the night sky, there was one falling. It burned, light trailing behind it as it slowly moved through the gathering darkness. “It is an omen,” Daciana said from her seat in front of Stefan on his horse, her voice quiet with wonder. Lada closed her eyes, remembering another night when stars fell from the heavens. She had almost been happy, then, with the two men she loved. Now she had neither of them. But she had known that night what she knew now: nothing but Wallachia would ever be enough. The stars saw her. They knew. She lifted a hand in the air toward the burning sign as she rode forward, letting everyone see her pointing to the omen of her coming. Everyone would witness it. They were her people. This was her country. This was her throne. She needed no intrigues, no elaborate plans. Wallachia was her mother. After everything she had been through, all she had done in pursuit of the throne, she was left with one thing only: herself. She was enough. ~ Kiersten White,

1253:Compare Bethlehem Steel to Nucor. Both companies operated in the steel industry and produced hard-to-differentiate products. Both companies faced the competitive challenge of cheap imported steel. Yet executives at the two companies had completely different views of the same environment. Bethlehem Steel’s CEO summed up the company’s problems in 1983 by blaming imports: “Our first, second, and third problems are imports.”51 Ken Iverson and his crew at Nucor considered the same challenge from imports a blessing, a stroke of good fortune (“Aren’t we lucky; steel is heavy, and they have to ship it all the way across the ocean, giving us a huge advantage!”). Iverson saw the first, second, and third problems facing the American steel industry not to be imports, but management.52 He even went so far as to speak out publicly against government protection against imports, telling a stunned gathering of fellow steel executives in 1977 that the real problems facing the American steel industry lay in the fact that management had failed to keep pace with innovation.53 The ~ James C Collins,

1254:He nodded. “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. It was the night of the Nethercourt gathering three years ago. You wore a green gown and your eyes seemed to be alive with color. You entered the room and I had to have you… I would have had you, except that Owen told me you were his new mistress.” Mariah blinked in increasing disbelief at the detail John could recount of the night of their first meeting. “I—I had no idea of your feelings.” “Of course not.” John frowned. “I made certain you did not, nor did Owen. I would not have betrayed him in such a manner. But my desire for you never decreased. Although I suppose that fact is rather clear since I have taken you not once, but twice in recent days. And without much finesse either time, for which I apologize.” Mariah set her cup away and leaned back in the chair to stare at him. “You act as though I received no pleasure from those encounters. I assure you, I did. A great deal, both times.” He smiled, almost in relief. “Good. I would hate to think I have left a poor impression. ~ Jess Michaels,

1255:Dagon brushed a couple flies away from his face angrily. “These flies are truly annoying. If their presence persists, I may have to call you, Ba’alzebub.” Ba’alzebub meant “Lord of the Flies.” Dagon said, “Now let us call upon the Sons of Rapha.”               • • • • • Goliath and Ishbi came alone to the sanctuary later that night. Dagon limited his presence to the highest officials of the warrior cult. And Dagon alone of the gods was present. He felt that including the other deities would only dilute his authority in the eyes of his devotees. Goliath and Ishbi knelt before Dagon, eager for duty. He had told them of Israel’s new institution of monarchy, and their first king, Saul of Benjamin. Goliath said, “A king would unite their tribes and make their military formidable.” “Indeed,” pondered Dagon. “What is your command, my god?” “Continue organizing and training the Sons of Rapha. But begin gathering intelligence on this Saul. He is a mighty warrior king and you will be fighting battles against him. You will need to know how he thinks, his weaknesses, his strengths. ~ Brian Godawa,

1256:At Emain and Cruachan, as well as at Tara, the assemblages were primarily political. They were conventions of representatives from all parts, for the purpose of discussing national affairs — and were presided over by the king. The yearly Fair of Taillte (now Telltown) in Meath, was mainly for athletic contests — and for this was long famous throughout Eirinn, Alba, and Britain. In the course of time, too, Taillte acquired new fame as a marriage mart. Boys and girls, in thousands, were brought there by their parents, who matched them, and bargained about their tinnscra (dowry) — in a place set apart for the purpose, whose Gaelic name, signifying marriage-hollow, still commemorates its purpose. The games of Taillte were Ireland’s Olympics, and, we may be sure, caused as keen competition and high excitement as ever did the Grecian. These Tailltin games took place during the first week of August — and the first of August, to this day, is commonly called Lugnasad — the games of the De Danann Lugh, who first instituted this gathering in memory of his foster-mother, Taillte. ~ Seumas MacManus,

1257:they called themselves the Deutsche Christens, “German Christians.” The contortions required to pull together their idea of Germanness with their idea of Christianity can be painful to contemplate. 172 In her book, Twisted Cross: The German Christian Movement in the Third Reich, Doris Bergen wrote that “the ‘German Christians’ preached Christianity as the polar opposite of Judaism, Jesus as the arch anti-semite, and the cross as the symbol of war against Jews.” Fusing the German Volk (people) with the German Kirche (church) meant stretching and twisting the definitions of both. Step one was to define Germanness as inherently in opposition to Jewishness. To make Christianity one with Germanness meant purging it of everything Jewish. It was an absurd project. For starters, they decided the Old Testament must go. It was obviously too Jewish. At one German Christians’ gathering in Bavaria, the speaker ridiculed the Old Testament as a saga of racial defilement. His remark that “Moses in his old age had married a Negro woman” drew boisterous laughter and enthusiastic applause. ~ Eric Metaxas,

1258:Key Rabbit, allow me to bore you with a comparison of your wife and a beautiful woman," I said. "In the morning a beauty must lie in bed for three or four hours gathering strength for another mighty battle with Nature. Then, after being bathed and toweled by her maids, she loosens her hair in the Cascade of Teasing Willows Style, paints her eyebrows in the Distant Mountain Range Style, anoints herself with the Nine Bends of the River Diving-water Perfume, applies rouge, mascara, and eye shadow, and covers the whole works with a good two inches of the Powder of the Nonchalant Approach. Then she dresses in a plum-blossom patterned tunic with matching skirt and stockings, adds four or five pounds of jewelry, looks in the mirror for any visible sign of humanity and is relieved to find none, checks her makeup to be sure that it has hardened into an immovable mask, sprinkles herself with the Hundred Ingredients Perfume of the Heavenly Spirits who Descended in the Rain Shower, and minces with tiny steps toward the new day. Which, like any other day, will consist of gossip and giggles. ~ Barry Hughart,

1259:An icy runnel of rain ran down Kathleen’s sleeve, contrasting sharply with the heat of Devon’s grip, and she shivered. The dray waited patiently in the thrashing wind and rain. “I want you to spring up,” she heard Devon say, “and I’ll lift you until you can find the stirrup with your left foot. Don’t try to swing a leg over. Just mount as if it were a sidesaddle.” “When should I jump?” “Now would be convenient,” he said dryly. Gathering her strength, Kathleen leaped from the ground with as much force as her legs could produce. Devon caught the momentum and lifted her with shocking ease. She didn’t even have to find the stirrup; she landed neatly on the saddle with her right leg folded. Gasping, she fought for her balance, but Devon had already adjusted, his left arm enclosing her in a secure hold. “I have you. Settle…easy.” She stiffened at the feel of being clasped firmly, his muscles working around her, his breath at her ear. “This will teach you to bring baskets to ailing neighbors,” he said. “I hope you realize that all the selfish people are safe and dry at home. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1260:Consciously or not, the Senator (or his staffer) was only attempting to speak the language of the locals. He was value-adding (or adding alpha as very refined managers say). Value-adding is a mantra of modern economics: it describes the increase in value that a particular manufacturing process, or design or labelling or some other enhancement brings to a product before its sale. Those who talk a lot about value-adding often sound as if they are trying to achieve the same effect with the language: they force it into a new mould, streamline it, give it cachet. They make it into a machine with a minimum of moving parts, but with constant upgrades and (naturally) enhancements. And if you want to get reconciliation taken seriously, you had better put your case in these terms. The Senator’s imitation of the style is a remote sign of the gathering belief that the whole world – or such parts of it that function properly – can be understood either as a metaphor for free market economics and the management philosophies it has spawned, or as an actual consequence of them. That is to say, as an outcome or an event. ~ Don Watson,

1261:To The Times. Steeple Aston 19 April 1974 Sir, I hear on my radio Mr Reg Prentice, of the party which I support, saying to a gathering on education the following: ‘The eleven plus must go, so must selection at twelve plus, at sixteen plus, and any other age.’ What can this mean? How are universities to continue? Are we to have engineers without selection of those who understand mathematics, linguists without selection of those who understand grammar? To many teachers such declarations of policy must seem obscure and astonishing, and to imply the adoption of some quite new philosophy of education which has not, so far as I know, been in this context discussed. It is certainly odd that the Labour Party should wish to promote a process of natural unplanned sorting which will favour the children of rich and educated people, leaving other children at a disadvantage. I thought socialism was concerned with the removal of unfair disadvantages. Surely what we need is a careful reconsideration of how to select, not the radical and dangerous abandonment of the principle of selection. Yours faithfully, Iris Murdoch ~ Iris Murdoch,

1262:Keep your elbows in!" Sturmhond berated Mal. "Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken." Mal let out a disturbingly convincing cluck. Tamar raised a brow. "Your friend seems to be enjoying himself." I shrugged. "Mal's always been like that. You could drop him in a camp full of Fjerdan assassins, and he'd come out carried on their shoulders. He just blooms wherever he's planted." "And you?" "I'm more of a weed," I said drily. Tamar grinned. In combat, she was cold and silent fire, but when she wasn't fighting, her smiles came easily. "I like weeds," said said, pushing herself off from the railing and gathering her scattered lengths of rope. "They're survivors." I caught myself returning her smile and quickly went back to working on the knot that I was trying to tie. The problem was that I liked being aboard Sturmhond's ship. I liked Tolya and Tamar and the rest of the crew. I like sitting at meals with them, and the sound of Privyet's lilting tenor. I liked the afternoon when we took target practice, lining up empty wine bottles to shoot off the fantail and making harmless wagers. ~ Leigh Bardugo,

1263:Behold Behold, where breathing love divine, Our dying Master stands! His weeping followers gathering round Receive his last commands. From that mild teacher's parting lips What tender accents fell! The gentle precept which he gave Became its author well. “Blest is the man whose softening heart Feels all another's pain; To whom the supplicating eye Was never raised in vain. “Whose breast expands with generous warmth A stranger's woes to feel; And bleeds in pity o'er the wound He wants the power to heal. “He spreads his kind supporting arms To every child of grief; His secret bounty largely flows, And brings unasked relief. “To gentle offices of love His feet are never slow; He views through mercy's melting eye A brother in a foe. “Peace from the bosom of his God, My peace to him I give; And when he kneels before the throne, His trembling soul shall live. “To him protection shall be shown, And mercy from above Descend on those who thus fulfill The perfect law of love.” ~ Anna Laetitia Barbauld,

1264:We were happy and powerful. But the Europeans came to our country; it was from them that I learned the accomplishments which you appeared to be surprised at my possessing. Our principal acquaintance among the Europeans was a Spanish captain; he promised my father territories far greater than those he now ruled over, treasure, and white women. My father believed him, and gathering his family together, followed him. Brother, he sold us as slaves!” The breast of the negro rose and fell, as he strove to restrain himself; his eyes shot forth sparks of fire; and without seeming to know what he did, he broke in his powerful grasp a fancy medlar-tree that stood beside him. “The master of Kakongo in his turn had a master, and his son toiled as a slave in the furrows of St. Domingo. They tore the young lion from his father that they might the more easily tame him; they separated the wife from the husband, and the little children from the mother who nursed them, and from the father who used to bathe them in the torrents of their native land. In their place they found cruel masters and a sleeping place shared with the dogs! ~ Victor Hugo,

1265:/Farsi & Turkish Even if you're not a seeker, still, follow us, keep searching with us. Even if you don't know how to play and sing, you'll become like us; with us you'll start singing and dancing. Even if you are Qarun, the richest of kings, when you fall in love, you'll become a beggar. Though you are a sultan, like us you'll become a slave. One candle of this gathering is worth a hundred candles; its light is as great. Either you are alive or dead. You'll come back to life with us. Unbind your feet. Show the rose garden -- start laughing with your whole body, like a rose, like us. Put on the mantle for a moment and see the ones whose hearts are alive. Then, throw out your satin dresses and cover yourself with a cloak, like us. When a seed falls into the ground, it germinates, grows, and becomes a tree: if you understand these symbols, you'll follow us, and fall to the ground, with us. God's Shams of Tabriz says to the heart's bud, "If your eyes are opened, you'll see the things worth seeing." [2510.jpg] -- from The Rumi Collection (Shambhala Library), by Kabir Helminski / Nevit Ergin ~ Jalaluddin Rumi, With Us ,

1266:When It Clears Up The lake is like a giant saucer; Beyond-a gathering of clouds; Like stern and dazzling mountain-ranges Their massif the horizon crowds. And with the light that swiftly changes, The landscape never stays the same. One moment clad in sooty shadows, The next-the woods are all aflame. When, after days of rainy weather, The heavy curtain is withdrawn, How festive is the sky, burst open! How full of triumph is the lawn! The wind dies down, the distance lightens, And sunshine spreads upon the grass; The steaming foliage is translucent Like figures in stained-window glass. Thus from the church's narrow windows In glimmering crowns, on spreading wings Gaze into time in sleepless vigil Saints, hermits, prophets, angels, kings. The whole wide world is a cathedral; I stand inside, the air is calm, And from afar at times there reaches My ear the echo of a psalm. World, Nature, Universe's Essence, With secret trembling, to the end, I will thy long and moving service In tears of happiness attend. ~ Boris Pasternak,

1267:Many of the great world religions teach that God demands a particular faith and form of worship. It should not be surprising that SOME of the people who take these teachings seriously should sincerely regard these divine commands as incomparably more important than any merely secular virtues like tolerance or compassion or reason. Across Asia and Africa the forces of religious enthusiasm are gathering strength, and reasom and tolerance are not safe even in the secular states of the West. The historian Huge Trevor-Roper has said that it was the spread of the spirit of science in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that finally ended the burning pf the witches in Europe. We may need to rely again on the influence of science to preserve a sane wolrd.It's not the certainty of the scientific knowledge that fits it for this role, but its UNCERTAINTY. Seeing scientists change their minds again and again about the matters that can be studied directly in laboratory experiments, how can one take seriously the claims of religious traditions or sacred writings to certain knowledge about matters beyond human experience ~ Steven Weinberg,

1268:The Leaving" My father said I could not do it, but all night I picked the peaches. The orchard was still, the canals ran steadily. I was a girl then, my chest its own walled garden. How many ladders to gather an orchard? I had only one and a long patience with lit hands and the looking of the stars which moved right through me the way the water moved through the canals with a voice that seemed to speak of this moonless gathering and those who had gathered before me. I put the peaches in the pond’s cold water, all night up the ladder and down, all night my hands twisting fruit as if I were entering a thousand doors, all night my back a straight road to the sky. And then out of its own goodness, out of the far fields of the stars, the morning came, and inside me was the stillness a bell possesses just after it has been rung, before the metal begins to long again for the clapper’s stroke. The light came over the orchard. The canals were silver and then were not. and the pond was–I could see as I laid the last peach in the water–full of fish and eyes. ~ Brigit Pegeen Kelly,

1269:As we made our halting, laborious way forward, away from the flying smuts of the smoke stack, we were alternately jostled together, then strained, nearly sundered, arms and fingers interlocked as I held the rail and Julia clung to me, thrust together again, drawn apart; then, in a plunge deeper than the rest, I found myself flung across her, pressing her against the rail, warding myself off her with the arms that held her prisoner on either side, and as the ship paused at the end of its drop as though gathering strength for the ascent, we stood thus embraced, in the open, cheek against cheek, her hair blowing across my eyes; the dark horizon of tumbling water, flashing now with gold, stood still above us, then came sweeping down till I was staring through Julia’s dark hair into a wide and golden sky, and she was thrown forward on my heart, held up by my hands on the rail, her face still pressed to mine. In that minute, with her lips to my ear and her breath warm in the salt wind, Julia said, though I had not spoken, “Yes, now,” and as the ship righted herself and for the moment ran into calmer waters, Julia led me below. ~ Evelyn Waugh,

1270:You're wounded," Annabeth told me. "Quick, Percy, get in the water." "I'm okay." "No, you're not," she said. "Chiron, watch this." I was too tired to argue. I stepped back into the creek, the whole camp gathering around me. Instantly, I felt better. I could feel the cuts on my chest closing up. Some of the campers gasped. "Look, I - I don't know why," I said, trying to apologize. "I'm sorry...." But they weren't watching my wounds heal. They were staring at something above my head. "Percy," Annabeth said, pointing. "Um ..." By the time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident. "Your father," Annabeth murmured. "This is really not good." "It is determined," Chiron announced. All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it. "My father?" I asked, completely bewildered. "Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God. ~ Rick Riordan,

1271:To restate an old law - when a man bites a fish, that's good, but when a fish bites a man, that's bad. This is one way of saying it's all right if man kills an animal, but if an animal attacks man, the act is reprehensible. The animal is labelled "killer," something to be feared, hated, shunned, punished, even killed by man. How dangerous are those sea animals with bad reputations? A few actually kill. A few maim. Some are poisonous when eaten by man. Most sting, stab,or poison and cause mild to severe discomfort to man. Yet man is one of the larger beings that sea creatures encounter, and these poisons usually can't kill him. Very often these poisons are used defensively against predators and offensively in food gathering. There are a few animals that have won themselves a bad reputation even though they have little or no effect on man. They have won their rating through man's interpretation of their attitude towards lower animals. These animals have been seen feeding in what appears to be a savage manner. But this behavior may perhaps be comparable to a man tearing the flesh off a chicken leg with his teeth. ~ Jacques Yves Cousteau,

1272:“Herein lies our danger. For many seem inclined to acquiesce in so dishonourable a future. They say that although man should become to the machines what the horse and dog are to us, yet that he will continue to exist, and will probably be better off in a state of domestication under the beneficent rule of the machines than in his present wild condition. We treat our domestic animals with much kindness. We give them whatever we believe to be the best for them; and there can be no doubt that our use of meat has increased their happiness rather than detracted from it. In like manner there is reason to hope that the machines will use us kindly, for their existence will be in a great measure dependent upon ours; they will rule us with a rod of iron, but they will not eat us; they will not only require our services in the reproduction and education of their young, but also in waiting upon them as servants; in gathering food for them, and feeding them; in restoring them to health when they are sick; and in either burying their dead or working up their deceased members into new forms of mechanical existence. ~ Samuel Butler, Erewhon: Or, Over the Range (1872),

1273:This week in live current events: your eyes. All power can be dangerous: Direct or alternating, you, socket to me. Plugged in and the grid is humming, this electricity, molecule-deep desire: particular friction, a charge strong enough to stop a heart or start it again; volt, re-volt-- I shudder, I stutter, I start to life. I've got my ion you, copper-top, so watch how you conduct yourself. Here's today's newsflash: a battery of rolling blackouts in California, sudden, like lightning kisses: sudden, whitehot darkness and you're here, fumbling for that small switch with an urgent surge strong enough to kill lesser machines. Static makes hair raise, makes things cling, makes things rise like a gathering storm charging outside our darkened house and here I am: tempest, pouring out mouthfulls of tsunami on the ground, I've got that rain-soaked kite, that drenched key. You know what it's for, circuit-breaker, you know how to kiss until it's hertz. ~ Daphne Gottlieb,

1274:The Ride Lately an equipage I overtook, And helped to lift it o'er a narrow brook. No horse it had except one boy, who drew His sister out in it the fields to view. O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise going For the first time to see the green grass growing. This was the end and purport of the ride I learned, as walking slowly by their side I heard their conversation. Often she'Brother, is this the country that I see?' The bricks were smoking, and the ground was broke, There were no signs of verdure when she spoke. He, as the well-informed delight in chiding The ignorant, these questions still deriding, To his good judgment modestly she yields; Till, brick-kilns past, they reached the open fields. Then, as with rapturous wonder round she gazes On the green grass, the buttercups, and daisies, 'This is the country sure enough,' she cries; 'Is't not a charming place?' The boy replies, 'We'll go no further.' 'No,' says she, 'no need; 'No finer place than this can be indeed.' I left them gathering flowers, the happiest pair That ever London sent to breathe the fine fresh air. ~ Charles Lamb,

1275:Similarly, we can all agree that science's entitlement to advise us on moral values is problematic, to say the least. but does Gould really want to cede to religion the right to tell us what is good and what is bad? The fact that is has nothing else to contribute to human wisdom is no reason to hand religion a free license to tell us what to do. Which religion, anyway? The one in which we happen to have been brought up? To which chapter, then, of which book of the Bible should we turn - for they are far from unanimous and some of them are odious by any reasonable standards. How many literalists have read enough of the Bible to know that the death penalty is prescribed for adultery, for gathering sticks on the sabbath and for cheeking your parents? If we reject Deuteronomy and Leviticus (as all enlightened moderns do), by what criteria do we then decide which of religion's moral values to accept? Or should we pick and choose among all the world's religions until we find one whose moral teaching suits us? If so, again we must ask, by what criterion do we choose? And if we have independent criteria for choosing among religious moralities, why not cut out the religion? ~ Richard Dawkins,

1276:The baby's large eyes settled on him, and though this has been one of his happiest nights in his whole life, it made him melancholy. He had read somewhere that babies are instinctively drawn to faces, that they will fixate even on drawings or abstract, facelike shapes, and round objects with markings that might resemble eye-mouth-nose. It was information that struck him as terribly sad, terribly lonely - to imagine the infants of the world scoping the blurry atmosphere above them for faces the way primitive people scrutinized the stars for patterns, the way castaways stare at the moon, the blinking of a satellite. It made him sad to think of the baby gathering information - a mind, a soul, slowly solidifying around these impressions, coming to understand cause and effect, coming out of a blank or fog into reality. Into a reality. The true terror, Jonah thought, the true mystery of life was not that we are all going to die, but that we were all born, that we were all once little babies like this, unknowing and slowly reeling in the world, gathering it loop by loop like a ball of string. The true terror was that we once didn't exist and then, through no fault of our own, we had to. ~ Dan Chaon,

1277:True, at first sight, Grand manifested both the outward signs and typical manner of a humble employee in the local administration. Tall and thin he seemed lost in the garments that the always chose a size too large, under the illusion that they would wear longer. Though he still had most of the teeth in his lower jaw, all the upper ones were gone, with the result that when he smiled, raising his upper lip - the lower scarcely moved - his mouth looked like a small black hole let into his face. Also he had the walk of a shy young priest, sidling along walls and slipping mouselike into doorways, and he exuded a faint odor of smoke and basement rooms; in short, he had all the attributes of insignificance. Indeed, it cost an effort to picture him otherwise than bent over a desk, studiously revising the tariff of the town baths or gathering for a junior secretary the materials of a report on the new garbage-collection tax. Even before you knew what his employment was, you had a feeling that he'd been brought into the world for the sole purpose of performing the discreet but needful duties of a temporary assistant municipal clerk on a salary of sixty-two francs, thirty centimes a day. ~ Albert Camus,

1278:I like how you call homosexuality an abomination." "I don't say homosexuality's an abomination, Mr. President, the bible does." "Yes it does. Leviticus-" "18:22" "Chapter in verse. I wanted to ask you a couple questions while I had you here. I'm interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in exodus 21:7. She's a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, always cleared the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be? While thinking about that can I ask another? My chief of staff, Leo Mcgary,insists on working on the sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself or is it ok to call the police? Here's one that's really important, cause we've got a lot of sports fans in this town. Touching the skin of a dead pig makes one unclean, Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the Washington Red Skins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point? does the whole town really have to be together to stone my brother John for planting different crops side by side? Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads? ~ Aaron Sorkin,

1279:All summers take me back to the sea. There in the long eelgrass, like birds' eggs waiting to be hatched, my brothers and sister and I sit, grasses higher than our heads, arms and legs like thicker versions of the grass waving in the wind, looking up at the blue sky. My mother is gathering food for dinner: clams and mussels and the sharply salty greens that grow by the shore. It is warm enough to lie here in the little silty puddles like bathwater left in the tub after the plug has been pulled. It is the beginning of July and we have two months to live out the long, nurturing days, watching the geese and the saltwater swans and the tides as they are today, slipping out, out, out as the moon pulls the other three seasons far away wherever it takes things. Out past the planets, far away from Uranus and the edge of our solar system, into the brilliantly lit dark where the things we don't know about yet reside. Out past my childhood, out past the ghosts, out past the breakwater of the stars. Like the silvery lace curtains of my bedroom being drawn from my window, letting in light, so the moon gently pulls back the layers of the year, leaving the best part open and free. So summer comes to me. ~ Polly Horvath,

1280:I don’t understand,” she said at last. She understood very well, but she no longer wished to be absolutely truthful. “How are you going to stop him talking about it?” “I have a feeling that talk is a thing he will never do.” “I, too, intend to judge him charitably. But unfortunately I have met the type before. They seldom keep their exploits to themselves.” “Exploits?” cried Lucy, wincing under the horrible plural. “My poor dear, did you suppose that this was his first? Come here and listen to me. I am only gathering it from his own remarks. Do you remember that day at lunch when he argued with Miss Alan that liking one person is an extra reason for liking another?” “Yes,” said Lucy, whom at the time the argument had pleased. “Well, I am no prude. There is no need to call him a wicked young man, but obviously he is thoroughly unrefined. Let us put it down to his deplorable antecedents and education, if you wish. But we are no farther on with our question. What do you propose to do?” An idea rushed across Lucy’s brain, which, had she thought of it sooner and made it part of her, might have proved victorious. “I propose to speak to him,” said she. Miss Bartlett uttered a cry of genuine alarm. ~ E M Forster,

1281:The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?’ ‘You mean we ought to get them fighting?’ asked Harry. ‘No,’ said Ron seriously, ‘I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbys, do we? We can’t order them to die for us –’ There was a clatter as the Basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. ‘Is this the moment?’ Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. ‘OI! There’s a war going on here!’ Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. ‘I know, mate,’ said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, ‘so it’s now or never, isn’t it?’ ‘Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?’ Harry shouted. ‘D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem?’ ‘Yeah – right – sorry –’ said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face. ~ J K Rowling,

1282:What art Thou then, my God? What, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord?or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden, yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong; stable, yet incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old; all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud and they know it not; ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet lacking nothing; supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and maturing; seeking, yet having all things. Thou lovest, without passion; art jealous, without anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not; art angry, yet serene; changest Thy works, Thy purpose unchanged; receivest again what Thou findest, yet didst never lose; never in need, yet rejoicing in gains; never covetous, yet exacting usury. Thous receivest over and above, that Thou may owe; and who hath ought that is not Thine? Thou payest debts, owing nothing; remittest debts, losing nothing. And what have I now said, my God, my life, my holy joy? or what saith any man when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to he who speaketh not, since mute are even the most eloquent. ~ Saint Augustine of Hippo,

1283:January In New York Black ship of night sailing through the world & the moon an orange slice tangy to the teeth of lovers who lie under it, sucking it. Somewhere there are palm trees; somewhere the sea bluely gathers itself up & lets itself fall again into green; somewhere the spangles of light on the ocean dazzle the eyes; but here in the midnight city, the black ship of night has docked for a long, dark stay, & even the citrus moon with its pockets of juice cannot sweeten the dark. Then the snow begins, whirling over the Pole, gathering force over Canada, sprinkling the Great Lakes with sugar which drowns in their deep black cups; it is drawn to the spires of New York & the flurries come scampering at first, lighthearted, crystalline, white, but finally sucked into the city as into a black hole in space. The sky is suddenly pink- 116 pink as flesh: breasts, babies' bottoms. Night is day; day is whiter than the desert; the city stops like a heart; pigeons dip & veer & come to rest under the snow-hatted watertanks. ~ Erica Jong,

1284:God's Work To J. J. H., Of Kentucky Gathering brands from the burning, Plucking them out of the fire, Lifting the sheep that have wandered, Out of the dust and the mire, Bringing home sheaves from the harvest To lay at the Master's feetLord! all thy hosts of angels Must smile on a life so sweet. Speaking with fear of no man, Speaking with love for all, Warning the young and the thoughtless From the wild beast-'Alcohol.' Showing the snares that the tempter Weaveth on every hand. Lord! all thy dear, dear angels Must smile on a life so grand. Fighting the bloodless battle With a heart that is true and bold; Fighting it not for glory, Fighting it not for gold, But out of love for his neighbor, And out of love for his Lord. And I know that the hands of the angels Will crown him with his reward. For whoso works for the Master, And whoso fights his fight, The angels crown with a star-wreath, And it glows with gems most bright. They wear them for ever and ever, The saints in that land of bliss, 265 And I know that heaven's best jewel Is kept for a soul like this. ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,

1285:Uncle Aidan?” Percy began. “Yeah?” “Don’t you think you ought to marry Emma?” Aidan jerked his head up, slamming it against the trunk lid. “FUCK!” he shouted as he saw stars before his eyes. A few more expletives escaped his lips as pain raged through his skull. “Nice mouth you got there,” John chided. Gritting his teeth, Aidan rubbed his aching head. “You mention that one to your mom, and I’ll tell her about your ball-sack comment.” John’s eyes widened. “Dude, that is so not cool!” “Yeah, well, deal with it.” Aidan started to resume gathering up the bags when he noticed Percy staring expectantly at him for an answer. Aidan sighed. “Perce—” His blonde brows knitted together. “Don’t you love her?” “Oh Christ,” Aidan muttered, raking his hand through his hair. He winced as pain once again shot through his head. “Did your mom put you up to this or something?” “No. When I asked her the same question, she just said that you were a cad.” Percy shrugged. “I don’t even know what that means.” “I’m pretty sure it’s a dude who acts like a douchebag to women,” John said. Aidan glared over at John. “I am not a cad! ~ Katie Ashley,

1286:Since it morphed from “battle fatigue” or “shell shock” into a formal psychiatric illness, combat PTSD has been framed as a result of the sheer terror of being under attack, of someone trying to kill you and those around you. As we’ve seen, it is an illness where fear conditioning is overgeneralized and pathological, an amygdala grown large, hyperreactive, and convinced that you are never safe. But consider drone pilots—soldiers who sit in control rooms in the United States, directing drones on the other side of the planet. They are not in danger. Yet their rates of PTSD are just as high as those of soldiers actually “in” war. Why? Drone pilots do something horrifying and fascinating, a type of close-range, intimate killing like nothing in history, using imaging technology of extraordinary quality. A target is identified, and a drone might be positioned invisibly high in the sky over the person’s house for weeks, the drone operators always watching, waiting, say, for a gathering of targets in the house. You watch the target coming and going, eating dinner, taking a nap on his deck, playing with his kids. And then comes the command to fire, to release your Hellfire missile at supersonic speed. ~ Robert M Sapolsky,

1287:While contemporary restaurants pay lip service to the notion of companionability, they provide us with only its most inadequate simulacrum. The number of people who nightly patronize restaurants implies that these places must be refuges from anonymity and coldness, but in fact they have no systematic mechanisms by which to introduce patrons to one another, to dispel their mutual suspicions, to break up the clans into which people chronically segregate themselves or to get them to open up their hearts and share their vulnerabilities with others. The focus is on the food and the decor, never on opportunities for extending and deepening affections. In a restaurant no less than in a home, when the meal itself – the texture of the escalopes or the moistness of the courgettes – has become the main attraction, we can be sure that something has gone awry. Patrons will tend to leave restaurants much as they entered them, the experience having merely reaffirmed existing tribal divisions. Like so many institutions in the modern city, restaurants are adept at gathering people into the same space and yet lack any means of encouraging them to make meaningful contact with one another once they are there. ~ Alain de Botton,

1288:Fitbit is a company that knows the value of Shadow Testing. Founded by Eric Friedman and James Park in September 2008, Fitbit makes a small clip-on exercise and sleep data-gathering device. The Fitbit device tracks your activity levels throughout the day and night, then automatically uploads your data to the Web, where it analyzes your health, fitness, and sleep patterns. It’s a neat concept, but creating new hardware is time-consuming, expensive, and fraught with risk, so here’s what Friedman and Park did. The same day they announced the Fitbit idea to the world, they started allowing customers to preorder a Fitbit on their Web site, based on little more than a description of what the device would do and a few renderings of what the product would look like. The billing system collected names, addresses, and verified credit card numbers, but no charges were actually processed until the product was ready to ship, which gave the company an out in case their plans fell through. Orders started rolling in, and one month later, investors had the confidence to pony up $2 million dollars to make the Fitbit a reality. A year later, the first real Fitbit was shipped to customers. That’s the power of Shadow Testing. ~ Josh Kaufman,

1289:Pablo Neruda, "Keeping Quiet.” Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still. For once on the face of the earth let’s not speak in any language, let’s stop for one second, and not move our arms so much. It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines, we would all be together in a sudden strangeness. Fishermen in the cold sea would not harm whales and the man gathering salt would look at his hurt hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, victory with no survivors, would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing. What I want should not be confused with total inactivity. Life is what it is about; I want no truck with death. If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death. Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems dead and later proves to be alive. Now I’ll count up to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go. ~ Jon Kabat Zinn,

1290:I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest…but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.” “Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, “we will…we’re sorry…” With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley. “It’s like being a house-elf,” complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding’s over, the happier I’ll be.” “Yeah,” said Harry, “then we’ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes…It’ll be like a holiday, won’t it?” Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley’s room, stopped quite abruptly. The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’clock. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time, and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair. ~ J K Rowling,

1291:A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master, With doors that none but the wind ever closes, Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster; It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary; 'I wonder,' I say, 'who the owner of those is.' 'Oh, no one you know,' she answers me airy, 'But one we must ask if we want any roses.' So we must join hands in the dew coming coldly There in the hush of the wood that reposes, And turn and go up to the open door boldly, And knock to the echoes as beggars for roses. 'Pray, are you within there, Mistress Who-were-you?' 'Tis Mary that speaks and our errand discloses. 'Pray, are you within there? Bestir you, bestir you! 'Tis summer again; there's two come for roses. 'A word with you, that of the singer recalling-- Old Herrick: a saying that every maid knows is A flower unplucked is but left to the falling, And nothing is gained by not gathering roses.' We do not loosen our hands' intertwining (Not caring so very much what she supposes), There when she comes on us mistily shining And grants us by silence the boon of her roses. ~ Robert Frost,

1292:The two of them also seemed to have developed a light, hidden contempt for all the devices of civilization. For a life that must be maintained by washing things made of textiles and china and wood in water that had to be heated and soap that had to be made, for the elaborate techniques of making bread and fermenting vinegar and protecting chickens from predators when wild eggs lay in nests for the gathering. Contempt for the digging in the ground to make outhouses, for the footings of palisades, furrows, postholes, to extract rock for permanent and immovable walls. They seemed to have forgotten the years of childhood that preceded their life with the Kiowa as if it had only been a time of exile from their true lives in movement across the face of the great high-hearted plains and its sky and its winds. The smell of horse, the spartan lives, the unaccountable gifts of food that fell to the hand from nowhere. The men in a state of war from the moment they were born as if there were no other proper human occupation. Jube would have grown to be an aristocrat on horseback, silent and honed and lethal, and yet he had been returned to the nation of houses with roofs and white men, to the country of devices and printed books. ~ Paulette Jiles,

1293:all is the method of God's workings; all life is Yoga :::    Thirdly, the divine Power in us uses all life as the means of this integral Yoga. Every experience and outer contact with our world-environment, however trifling or however disastrous, is used for the work, and every inner experience, even to the most repellent suffering or the most humiliating fall, becomes a step on the path to perfection. And we recognize in ourselves with opened eyes the method of God in the world, His purpose of light in the obscure, of the might in the weak and fallen, of delight in what is grievous and miserable. We see the divine method to be the same in the lower and in the higher working; only in the one it is pursued tardily and obscurely through the subconscious in Nature, in the other it becomes swift and self-conscious and the instrument confesses the hand of the Master. All life is a Yoga of Nature seeking to manifest God within itself. Yoga marks the stage at which this effort becomes capable of self-awareness and there for right completion in the individual. It is a gathering up and concentration of the movements dispersed and loosely combined in the lower evolution.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, The Synthesis Of Yoga, Conditions of the Synthesis [47] [T1],

1294:Something bad is going to happen,” Leeli said. Podo sensed it too and dumped the grease from the skillet and thrust it into his pack without wiping it down. “Janner, Tink, get ready. Hurry!” Oskar passed the old book to Janner and gathered his ink bottle and parchment, careful not to smudge the fresh ink. Janner’s and Tink’s packs needed only to be strapped shut and swung over their shoulders. As soon as Nia finished gathering the bowls and cups from breakfast, Podo took a last look around the fire and nodded. “Keep up, lads and lasses. You too, Oskar. We’re gonna be off at a trot for a while, and it won’t be fun.” “Wait!” Tink said. “I need to say good-bye to Maraly.” “No time for that, lad,” Podo said. “But—” “No time!” Podo struck off in the direction of the river, and the others did their best to follow. “Maraly!” Tink cried over his shoulder. “Good-bye, Maraly!” But neither Maraly nor any of the Strander children were anywhere to be seen—just filthy men and women who poured out of the camp with daggers drawn and nefarious smiles stretched across every face. As they descended the slope to the river and the camp of the East Bend disappeared, Janner heard a final, chilling cry ring out from Nurgabog Weaver: “READY THE CAGES! ~ Andrew Peterson,

1295:I Ask You What scene would I want to be enveloped in more than this one, an ordinary night at the kitchen table, floral wallpaper pressing in, white cabinets full of glass, the telephone silent, a pen tilted back in my hand? It gives me time to think about all that is going on outside-leaves gathering in corners, lichen greening the high grey rocks, while over the dunes the world sails on, huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake. But beyond this table there is nothing that I need, not even a job that would allow me to row to work, or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4 with cracked green leather seats. No, it's all here, the clear ovals of a glass of water, a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin, not to mention the odd snarling fish in a frame on the wall, and the way these three candles-each a different height-are singing in perfect harmony. So forgive me if I lower my head now and listen to the short bass candle as he takes a solo while my heart thrums under my shirt-frog at the edge of a pond-and my thoughts fly off to a province made of one enormous sky and about a million empty branches. 19 ~ Billy Collins,

1296:The young man looked at her a moment. 'You are very much changed,' he said. 'I am glad to hear it,' Gertrude declared. 'I am not. I have known you a long time, and I have loved you as you were.' 'I am much obliged to you,' said Gertrude. 'I must be going home.' He, on his side, gave a little laugh. 'You certainly do avoid me - you see!' 'Avoid me, then.' said the girl. He looked at her again; and then, very gently, 'No, I will not avoid you,' he replied; 'but I will leave you, for the present, to yourself. I think you will remember - after a while - some of the things you have forgotten. I think you will come back to me; I have great faith in that.' This time his voice was very touching; there was a strong reproachful force in what he said, and Gertrude could answer nothing. He turned away and stood there, leaning his elbows on the gate and looking at the beautiful sunset. Gertrude left him and took her way home again; but when she reached the middle of the next field she suddenly burst into tears. Her tears seemed to her to have been a long time gathering, and for some moments it was a kind of glee to shed them. But they presently passed away. There was something a little hard in Gertrude; and she never wept again. ~ Henry James,

1297:An Apple-Gathering I plucked pink blossoms from mine apple tree And wore them all that evening in my hair: Then in due season when I went to see I found no apples there. With dangling basket all along the grass As I had come I went the selfsame track: My neighbours mocked me while they saw me pass So empty-handed back. Lilian and Lilias smiled in trudging by, Their heaped-up basket teazed me like a jeer; Sweet-voiced they sang beneath the sunset sky, Their mother's home was near. Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, A stronger hand than hers helped it along; A voice talked with her thro' the shadows cool More sweet to me than song. Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth Than apples with their green leaves piled above? I counted rosiest apples on the earth Of far less worth than love. So once it was with me you stooped to talk Laughing and listening in this very lane: To think that by this way we used to walk We shall not walk again! I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, And hastened: but I loitered, while the dews Fell fast I loitered still. ~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,

1298:Triton’s trident, they put the Royals on trial! But as much as Galen would love to throw that in their faces, he won’t. This is his one chance, however small it is, to turn things around for him and Emma. And he’s not about to toss that chance to sea with both hands. Rachel has pulled more chairs out to accommodate the gathering. The table they circle is shinier than Emma’s lip gloss. Unlike the human meetings Galen has attended with Rachel to sell his underwater finds, there is no paperwork on the table, no cups of coffee, no cell phones. Also unlike human meetings, most participants are either dressed in bathing suits or bathrobes. Leave it to Rachel’s creative hospitality. It is a sight Galen will never forget, seeing the elderly council of Archives sit uncomfortably in human chairs. If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d have to laugh. Especially since Tandel’s bathrobe has the human symbol of peace all over it in fluorescent colors. “Thank you for coming,” Galen says. He takes his place next to Grom, who sits at the head of the table. Appropriately, Antonis sits at the head of the other end, accompanied by Rayna and Toraf. Emma is at Galen’s left side. He doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s scowling at him. ~ Anna Banks,

1299:He cast aside the mangled blade of grass and idly reached to capture both my hands in one of his, drawing them forward so that he could see my wrists. “You’re not wearing the bracelet,” he observed. I flushed crimson, pulling ineffectually against his grasp. “I cannot wear it,” I protested. “Faith, I cannot accept it, it would not be seemly. I meant to return it to you.” “I will not have it returned.” He looked seriously offended. “I bought it for you as a present, and I would have you wear it.” “My uncle would doubtless not approve, my lord,” I reminded him gently. Releasing my hands he rose to collect the grazing horse, gathering the trailing reins in his fist. “I care not,” he told me. “What business has your uncle in my affairs?” “None,” I had to admit, “but he takes a great interest in mine, and I would not wish to rouse his ire.” He turned at that, looming tall against the gray stallion, his expression serious. “If Jabez Howard dares to mark you in any way, I will hear of it.” I stood up, too, and faced him squarely. “I am flattered, my lord, but it is none of your concern. I am not your responsibility.” “You are wrong, mistress,” he informed me in a voice as smooth as honey. “You are very much my responsibility. I have made it so. ~ Susanna Kearsley,

1300:Snow White are the far-off plains, and white The fading forests grow; The wind dies out along the height, And denser still the snow, A gathering weight on roof and tree, Falls down scarce audibly. The road before me smooths and fills Apace, and all about The fences dwindle, and the hills Are blotted slowly out; The naked trees loom spectrally Into the dim white sky. The meadows and far-sheeted streams Lie still without a sound; Like some soft minister of dreams The snow-fall hoods me round; In wood and water, earth and air, A silence everywhere. Save when at lonely intervals Some farmer's sleigh, urged on, With rustling runners and sharp bells, Swings by me and is gone; Or from the empty waste I hear A sound remote and clear; The barking of a dog, or call To cattle, sharply pealed, Borne echoing from some wayside stall Or barnyard far a-field; Then all is silent, and the snow Falls, settling soft and slow. The evening deepens, and the gray Folds closer earth and sky; The world seems shrouded far away; Its noises sleep, and I, 146 As secret as yon buried stream, Plod dumbly on, and dream. ~ Archibald Lampman,

1301:Vane met her wide gaze, and managed not to smile wolfishly- no need to frighten the prey. The view he now had- of delectable curves filling a gown of ivory sprigged muslin in a manner he fully approved- was every bit as enticing as the view that first held him- the gorgeous curves of her derriere clearly delineated beneath taut fabric. When she'd shifted, so had those curves. He couldn't remember when a sight had so transfixed him, had so tantalized his rake's senses. She was of average height, her forehead level with his throat. Her hair, rich brown, lustrously sheening, was confined in a sleek knot, bright tendrils escaping to wreathe about her ears and nape. Delicate brown brows framed large eyes of hazel brown, their expression difficult to discern in the gloom. Her nose was straight; her complexion creamy. Her pink lips simply begged to be kissed. He'd come within a whisker of kissing them, but tasting an unknown lady before the requisite introductions was simply not good form. His silence had allowed her to steady her wits; he sensed her growing resistance, sensed the frown gathering in her eyes. Vane let his lips curve. He knew precisely what he wanted to do- to her, with her; the only questions remaining were where and when. ~ Stephanie Laurens,

1302:For there is a growing apprehension that existence is a rat-race in a trap: living organisms, including people,are merely tubes which put things in at one end and let them out at the other, which both keeps them doing it and in the long run wears them out. So to keep the farce going, the tubes find ways of making new tubes, which also put things in at one end and let them out at the other. At the input end they even develop ganglia of nerves called brains, with eyes and ears, so that they can more easily scrounge around for things to swallow. As and when they get enough to eat, they use up their surplus energy by wiggling in complicated patterns, making all sorts of noises by blowing air in and out of the input hole, and gathering together in groups to fight with other groups. In time, the tubes grow such an abundance of attached appliances that they are hardly recognizable as mere tubes, and they manage to do this in a staggering variety of forms. There is a vague rule not to eat tubes of your own form, but in general there is serious competition as to who is going to be the top type of tube. All this seems marvelously futile, and yet, when you begin to think about it, it begins to be more marvelous than futile. Indeed, it seems extremely odd. ~ Alan W Watts,

1303:A few years ago I heard Jerome Kagan, a distinguished emeritus professor of child psychology at Harvard, say to the Dalai Lama that for every act of cruelty in this world there are hundreds of small acts of kindness and connection. His conclusion: "To be benevolent rather than malevolent is probably a true feature of our species." Being able to feel safe with other people is probably the single most important aspect of mental health; safe connections are fundamental to meaningful and satisfying lives. Numerous studies of disaster response around the globe have shown that social support is the most powerful protection against becoming overwhelmed by stress and trauma. Social support is not the same as merely being in the presence of others. The critical issue is reciprocity: being truly heard and seen by the people around us, feeling that we are held in someone else's mind and heart. For our physiology to calm down, heal, and grow we need a visceral feeling of safety. No doctor can write a prescription for friendship and love: These are complex and hard-earned capacities. You don't need a history of trauma to feel self-conscious and even panicked at a party with strangers - but trauma can turn the whole world into a gathering of aliens. ~ Bessel A van der Kolk,

1304:Miracles Twilight is spacious, near things in it seem far, And distant things seem near. Now in the green west hangs a yellow star. And now across old waters you may hear The profound gloom of bells among still trees, Like a rolling of huge boulders beneath seas. Silent as though in evening contemplation Weaves the bat under the gathering stars. Silent as dew, we seek new incarnation, Meditate new avatars. In a clear dusk like this Mary climbed up the hill to seek her son, To lower him down from the cross, and kiss The mauve wounds, every one. Men with wings In the dusk walked softly after her. She did not see them, but may have felt The winnowed air around her stir; She did not see them, but may have known Why her son's body was light as a little stone. She may have guessed that other hands were there Moving the watchful air. Now, unless persuaded by searching music Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind, We guess no angels, And are contented to be blind. Let us blow silver horns in the twilight, And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green, To find perhaps, if, while the dew is rising, Clear things may not be seen. ~ Conrad Potter Aiken,

1305:She turned to face him, refusal stamped on her expression. The evasion seemed to have stunned Harry. Sparks of wrath kindled in his eyes, as if she had been vastly unfair. "It seems the ban on virginal theatrics has been lifted." Poppy replied with stilted dignity. "I don't think it's theatrical to pull away when I don't want to be kissed." "A diamond necklace for one kiss. Is that such a bad bargain?" Her cheeks went scarlet. "I appreciate your generosity. But you're wrong to think that you can buy or bargain for my favors. I'm not a mistress, Harry." "Obviously. Because in return for such a necklace, a mistress would go to that bed, lie there willingly and offer to do whatever I wanted." "I've never denied you your marital rights," she said. "If you wish, I'll go to that bed willingly and do whatever you want, this very moment. But not because you gave me a necklace, as if it were part of some transaction." Far from being appeased, Harry regarded her with gathering outrage. "The thought of you laid out like a martyr on the sacrificial altar is not what I had in mind." "Why isn't it enough that I'm willing to submit to you?" Poppy asked, her own temper flaring. "Why must I be eager to lie with you, when you're not the husband I wanted? ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1306:He watched her small hand hike up her skirt, saw her reach under to cup her sex. Once her fingers were covered in slick, she met his eyes, smearing her hand down his neck, directly over the spot where he stank of his beloved. Gathering more of her wetness, Claire soaked the patch of his shirt until she could only smell herself. It was not good enough. Unable to comprehend anything beyond black rage, Claire clawed the fabric and ripped Shepherd’s shirt to threads. Her nose went back to his exposed chest and she let out the most threatening growl an Omega could make. If he was hushing her, or reprimanding, touching, or in shock, Claire was absolutely oblivious. Every fiber of her being demanded she stake claim, that she scratch her marks all over his body, that she leave a sign all other females would see. She left him bloody. Breathing hard, she reared up until eye level with the man. “Now you will fuck me, hard, in every way that pleases me. And when it is done, you will get me food, because I’m fucking hungry!” He was on her with such force the breath was knocked from her body. Shepherd did exactly as his mate demanded, pounding into her with a fury that set her howling amidst their shredded clothing. In Shepherd’s experience, there had never been a coupling like it. ~ Addison Cain,

1307:Are you born again?" he asked, as we taxied down the runway. He was rather prim and tense, maybe a little like David Eisenhower with a spastic colon. I did not know how to answer for a moment. "Yes," I said. "I am." My friends like to tell each other that I am not really a born-again Christian. They think of me more along the lines of that old Jonathan Miller routine, where he said, "I'm not really a Jew -- I'm Jew-ish." They think I am Christian-ish. But I'm not. I'm just a bad Christian. A bad born-again Christian. And certainly, like the apostle Peter, I am capable of denying it, of presenting myself as a sort of leftist liberation-theology enthusiast and maybe sort of a vaguely Jesusy bon vivant. But it's not true. And I believe that when you get on a plane, if you start lying you are totally doomed. So I told the truth; that I am a believer, a convert. I'm probably about three months away from slapping an aluminum Jesus-fish on the back of my car, although I first want to see if the application or stickum in any way interferes with my lease agreement. And believe me, all this boggles even *my* mind. But it's true. I could go to a gathering of foot-wash Baptists and, except for my dreadlocks, fit right in. I would wash their feet; I would let them wash mine. ~ Anne Lamott,

1308:THROUGH THE BREADTH and scope of existence, the essence of your being has traveled, gathering experiences of every human emotion, situation, nationality, race, gender, and type of death and birth. This indefinable essence, which has traveled across time, is a vast storehouse of unlimited knowledge and possibilities contained in a collection of memories that are locked deep inside you. What exactly is this pearl of great price? It is your soul. Over the years, I have received many messages from Spirit describing the nature of the soul. Descriptions range from it being the nucleus of our being, to the power within, to the core of freedom. Scientists, metaphysicians, and psychologists have referred to the soul as the “super conscious.” I know it as the source of all intelligent energy wherein our true selves reside. Only a thin veil of human amnesia hides our own truth from us. The soul exists on many different levels of consciousness. It can be present on the physical plane and coexist on another dimension simultaneously. The soul is not human; therefore it does not possess human chemistry. However, it is colored by an accumulation of human lifetimes. The soul is always evolving, growing, and expanding based on the choices we make during the situations that come upon us. ~ James Van Praagh,

1309:A June Night Ten o'clock: the broken moon Hangs not yet a half hour high, Yellow as a shield of brass, In the dewy air of June, Poised between the vaulted sky And the ocean's liquid glass. Earth lies in the shadow still; Low black bushes, trees, and lawn Night's ambrosial dews absorb; Through the foliage creeps a thrill, Whispering of yon spectral dawn And the hidden climbing orb. Higher, higher, gathering light, Veiling with a golden gauze All the trembling atmosphere, See, the rayless disk grows white! Hark, the glittering billows pause! Faint, far sounds possess the ear. Elves on such a night as this Spin their rings upon the grass; On the beach the water-fay Greets her lover with a kiss; Through the air swift spirits pass, Laugh, caress, and float away. Shut thy lids and thou shalt see Angel faces wreathed with light, Mystic forms long vanished hence. Ah, too fine, too rare, they be For the grosser mortal sight, And they foil our waking sense. Yet we feel them floating near, Know that we are not alone, Though our open eyes behold Nothing save the moon's bright sphere, In the vacant heavens shown, And the ocean's path of gold. ~ Emma Lazarus,

1310:[T]his jealousy gave him, if anything, an agreeable chill, as, to the sad Parisian who is leaving Venice behind him to return to France, a last mosquito proves that Italy and summer are still not too remote. But, as a rule, with this particular period of his life from which he was emerging, when he made an effort, if not to remain in it, at least to obtain a clear view of it while he still could, he discovered that already it was too late; he would have liked to glimpse, as though it were a landscape that was about to disappear, that love from which he had departed; but it was so difficult to enter into a state of duality and to present to oneself the lifelike spectacle of a feeling one has ceased to possess, that very soon, the clouds gathering in his brain, he could see nothing at all, abandoned the attempt, took the glasses from his nose and wiped them; and he told himself that he would do better to rest for a little, that there would be time enough later on, and settled back into his corner with the incuriosity, the torpor of the drowsy sleeper in the railway-carriage that is drawing him, he feels, faster and faster out of the country in which he has lived for so long and which he had vowed not to allow to slip away from him without looking out to bid it a last farewell. ~ Marcel Proust,

1311:Mary Beth initiated the evening by playing the sound of ocean waves breaking on a beach, as we sat quietly, focusing on a large diorama. As the evening darkened into night, she lit candles and asked me to sit inside a large, hollow sculpture, as each participant, in turn, spoke about giving birth. In that enclosed space, shaped almost like a birth canal, I felt the ritual focus intensify. Suddenly a single question formed in my mind: “Are you willing to be a channel?” That jolted me into awareness of something that had never entered my consciousness: I was terrified of dying in childbirth. In the shock of that recognition, something changed, perhaps an involuntary release of muscles tensed with fear. Later, astonished by what had happened, I couldn’t recall ever hearing anyone talk about a woman dying in childbirth, often as it has happened in other times and places; instead, this felt like a genetic memory of countless women’s experiences, stored in the cells of our bodies. During the final, intensely focused moments of our gathering, another sentence formed itself, startling me, as if speaking to my intense desire to control what we can’t control: “You don’t have to do this; it does itself.” Three weeks later, for the first time in my life, I discovered that I was pregnant. ~ Elaine Pagels,

1312:My mouth kept dropping open, and I would choke on road dust as the city loomed ever closer. When I glanced over at Elka, she was in the same state—wide-eyed and torn between fear and wonderment. Everything seemed like something out of legend. In the shadow of the soaring walls, the city became less of an imposing majestic place and more a heaped, jumbled gathering of wealth and squalor existing side by side. Heady perfumes and the stink of offal wrapped around each other, woven into an overwhelming tapestry by the ocean breeze. Wicker cages full of fowl and small game swung from carts, squawking and chittering excitedly, filling the air with a haze of fur and feathers. Tens and tens of incomprehensible languages rang in my ears. Houses and temples and other buildings made of stone—structures that made my father’s great hall seem like a sheepherder’s hut—rose above the street, level upon level. All of it—the sights and sounds and smells—tangled together into an assault on my senses that made me want to clap my hands over my ears and hide my head. But there was no escaping the chaos as our cart plunged on, heading right toward the very heart of Massilia. With only the bars of my cage between me and the pushing, shoving, singing, shouting crowd, I’d never felt so vulnerable. ~ Lesley Livingston,

1313:Always the teacher, Quigley emphasized the study of tools of analysis to develop a useful epistemology. In epistemology he always retained his belief in the scientific method.6 Quigley’s explanation of scientific method as an analytical tool in the social sciences is original with him only in that he recognized the real limitations of the physical sciences, as opposed to the scientific extremism of Langlois and Seignobos. The scientific method Quigley subscribed to consists of gathering evidence, making a hypothesis, and testing the hypothesis. The laws arising from the use of scientific method in both the physical and social sciences are idealized theories reflecting observed phenomena only approximately, but Quigley felt laws must be based on observation and must be amended to account for any observed anomalies. After these laws were scientifically constructed, Quigley used them as conceptual paradigms to explain historical phenomena through comparison, in contrast to rationally derived laws of the theorists which will not adapt to anomalies of observation. “Theory must agree with phenomena, not vice versa.” 7 Thus, Quigley puts the historian at ease with scientific methods by explaining that physical laws have as many exceptions as the historicists claim historical laws do. ~ Carroll Quigley,

1314:Hang on a moment! said Ron sharply. We’ve forgotten someone! Who? asked Hermione. The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they? You mean we ought to get them fighting? asked Harry. No, said Ron seriously, I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us – There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. Is this the moment? Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. Oi! There’s a war going on here! Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. I know, mate, said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, so it’s now or never, isn’t it? Never mind that, what about the Horcrux? Harry shouted. D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem? Yeah – right – sorry – said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face. ~ J K Rowling,

1315:Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, Ye wild whistly blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow; There oft, as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides; How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave. Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dreams. ~ Robert Burns,

1316:What’s the matter, love?” “I…” Amelia approached him hesitantly. “I’m afraid you won’t let me have what I want.” His slow smile robbed her of breath. “I have yet to refuse you anything. I’m not likely to start now.” Amelia stopped before him, her skirts crowded between his parted knees. The clean, salty, evergreen scent of him drifted to her nostrils. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, trying for a businesslike tone. “A very sensible one. You see—” She paused to clear her throat. “I’ve been thinking about your problem.” “What problem?” Cam played lightly with the folds of her skirts, watching her face alertly. “Your good-luck curse. I know how to get rid of it. You should marry into a family with very, very bad luck. A family with expensive problems. And then you won’t have to be embarrassed about having so much money, because it will flow out nearly as fast as it comes in.” “Very sensible.” Cam took her shaking hand in his, pressed it between his warm palms. And touched his foot to her rapidly tapping one. “Hummingbird,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous with me.” Gathering her courage, Amelia blurted out, “I want your ring. I want never to take it off again. I want to be your romni forever”—she paused with a quick, abashed smile—“ whatever that is.” “My bride. My wife. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1317:External worship, material worship," say the scriptures, "is the lowest stage; struggling to rise high, mental prayer is the next stage, but the highest stage is when the Lord has been realised." Mark, the same earnest man who is kneeling before the idol tells you, "Him the Sun cannot express, nor the moon, nor the stars, the lightning cannot express Him, nor what we speak of as fire; through Him they shine." But he does not abuse any one's idol or call its worship sin. He recognises in it a necessary stage of life. "The child is father of the man." Would it be right for an old man to say that childhood is a sin or youth a sin? If a man can realise his divine nature with the help of an image, would it be right to call that a sin? Nor even when he has passed that stage, should he call it an error. To the Hindu, man is not travelling from error to truth, but from truth to truth, from lower to higher truth. To him all the religions, from the lowest fetishism to the highest absolutism, mean so many attempts of the human soul to grasp and realise the Infinite, each determined by the conditions of its birth and association, and each of these marks a stage of progress; and every soul is a young eagle soaring higher and higher, gathering more and more strength, till it reaches the Glorious Sun. ~ Swami Vivekananda,

1318:Buffalo chips!” Amy grumbled. “Fine way to spend the mornin’, gatherin’ pooh for fires. Why us?” “Because we aren’t so old we get crinks in our backs or so young we’ll get lost.” Loretta bent over, picked up a dried pie, and stowed it in her gunnysack. Since their ordeal at the Bartletts’ last night, Amy hadn’t once smiled. Loretta couldn’t help being concerned. “You never complained in Hunter’s village.” “That was different. You expect to do things like gathering Buffalo pooh when you live with Indians.” She sighed. “It’s flat as a flapjack out here. Who could get lost? We’ve walked a mile and can still see our buckboard.” “There’s one high spot over yonder.” “Only one. A body could walk for miles and use it for a landmark.” Loretta found another pie. In the hopes of teasing a smile out of Amy, she grinned and waved the chip under the child’s nose. “Wanna rub a little in our hair?” “Lands, no!” No smile. Poor Amy didn’t have much to be lighthearted about these days. Keeping up the banter, Loretta said, “That’s what you told me once, remember? That Comanche women rubbed dung in their hair.” “Maybe they do.” Clearly determined to stay in a foul mood, Amy frowned and picked up a pie, adding it to her bag. “Probably in winter. We ain’t never been around ’em then. ~ Catherine Anderson,

1319:Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.   O child, do not go out!   The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river is haunted by a deepening gloom.   Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.   O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.   Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who has run away from his mother to tease her.   Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.   O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.   The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.   The evening lamps must be made ready.   O child, do not go out!   The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo branches like a wild beast tangled in a net. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Rainy Day ,

1320:Woman Enough Because my grandmother's hours were apple cakes baking, & dust motes gathering, & linens yellowing & seams and hems inevitably unraveling I almost never keep house though really I like houses & wish I had a clean one. Because my mother's minutes were sucked into the roar of the vacuum cleaner, because she waltzed with the washer-dryer & tore her hair waiting for repairmen I send out my laundry, & live in a dusty house, though really I like clean houses as well as anyone. I am woman enough to love the kneading of bread as much as the feel of typewriter keys under my fingers springy, springy. & the smell of clean laundry & simmering soup are almost as dear to me as the smell of paper and ink. I wish there were not a choice; I wish I could be two women. I wish the days could be longer. But they are short. So I write while the dust piles up. I sit at my typewriter 277 remembering my grandmother & all my mothers, & the minutes they lost loving houses better than themselves & the man I love cleans up the kitchen grumbling only a little because he knows that after all these centuries it is easier for him than for me. ~ Erica Jong,

1321:Paul felt his knees almost buckle when he saw her. Now, he knew this was one fine-looking woman, and since he’d been the best man at her last wedding, it wasn’t as if he’d never seen her all dressed up. But it felt like the first time. She was usually found in jeans or a simple sundress, and in those she was almost too much for his heart. Today she was resplendent in green so pale it was nearly white. It was a shimmering, clingy silk, her reddish-gold hair lying in full curls on her shoulders and down her back. Her turquoise eyes were alive with love, sparkling brightly, and her peach lips were curved in a smile. “Holy shit,” Tommy said. “Look at my sister, man.” “I see her,” Paul croaked. “God above.” Tom laughed. “Well, go get her,” he said, poking him in the ribs. “God, I hope I’m cooler than you when I get married.” “Yeah,” Paul said in a weak breath. He unstuck his rooted feet and went to collect his bride and bring her into the gathering. She was greeted with lots of hugs and kisses, a glass pressed into her hand. Paul’s arm was around her waist and he couldn’t make himself let her go. He felt his chest swell with cocky pride, having her at his side. No way he should be getting a woman who looked like this. And she was all his; she couldn’t even glance at him without confirming that with her gaze. “Let’s ~ Robyn Carr,

1322:I mean, I appreciate the offer but that’s…that’s really not what I need right now.” “Forgive me.” He breathed deeply and she could almost feel him trying to let go of his rage and relax. “What do you need, Sophia?” She was almost afraid to ask but… “You said earlier that you…you wanted to hold me. Do you still, uh feel that way?” His answer was quick and certain. “Yes, of course I still want to hold you. But are you sure? I mean, in light of what you told me…” Sophie knew what he meant. “Yeah, you’re a big guy—a lot bigger than Burke even and he was pretty huge. But I’m not afraid of you, Sylvan. At least…not when you’re not in your scary fighting mode.” “I’m glad.” His voice came from much closer and she looked up to see him standing in the darkness beside the bed. “I never want you to fear me.” “I couldn’t help it, earlier” she whispered. “It’s just…the way I feel when a guy gets too close too fast. The way I’ve felt ever since…ever since it happened.” “I wish I could take away your pain.” He sat carefully on the bed, as though trying not to startle her. “I wish I could make it better in some way.” “You can,” she surprised herself by saying. “Just…hold me. Can you do that?” He didn’t answer with words. In a moment he was on the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms and holding her close. Sophie ~ Evangeline Anderson,

1323:The Fellowship of the Ring is like lightning from a clear sky. . . To say that in it heroic romance, gorgeous, eloquent, and unashamed, has suddenly returned at a period almost pathological in its anti-romanticism, is inadequate. . . Here are beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron; here is a book that will break your heart. . . . It is sane and vigilant invention, revealing at point after point the integration of the author’s mind. . . Anguish is, for me, almost the prevailing note. But not, as in the literature most typical of our age, the anguish of abnormal or contorted souls; rather that anguish of those who were happy before a certain darkness came up and will be happy if they live to see it gone. . . . But with the anguish comes also a strange exaltation. . . when we have finished, we return to our own life not relaxed but fortified…. Even now I have left out almost everything — the silvan leafiness, the passions, the high virtues, the remote horizons. Even if I had space I could hardly convey them. And after all the most obvious appeal of the book is perhaps also its deepest: “there was sorrow then too, and gathering dark, but great valour, and great deeds that were not wholly vain.” Not wholly vain — it is the cool middle point between illusion and disillusionment. ~ C S Lewis,

1324:World's Worth 'TIS of the Father Hilary. He strove, but could not pray; so took The steep-coiled stair, where his feet shook A sad blind echo. Ever up He toiled. 'Twas a sick sway of air That autumn noon within the stair, As dizzy as a turning cup. His brain benumbed him, void and thin; He shut his eyes and felt it spin; The obscure deafness hemmed him in. He said: “O world, what world for me?” He leaned unto the balcony Where the chime keeps the night and day; It hurt his brain, he could not pray. He had his face upon the stone: Deep 'twixt the narrow shafts, his eye Passed all the roofs to the stark sky, Swept with no wing, with wind alone. Close to his feet the sky did shake With wind in pools that the rains make; The ripple set his eyes to ache. He said: “O world, what world for me?” He stood within the mystery Girding God's blessed Eucharist: The organ and the chaunt had ceas'd. The last words paused against his ear Said from the altar: drawn round him The gathering rest was dumb and dim. And now the sacring-bell rang clear And ceased; and all was awe,—the breath Of God in man that warranteth The inmost utmost things of faith. He said: “O God, my world in Thee!” ~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

1325:It seems the ban on virginal theatrics has been lifted.” Poppy replied with stilted dignity. “I don’t think it’s theatrical to pull away when I don’t want to be kissed.” “A diamond necklace for one kiss. Is that such a bad bargain?” Her cheeks went scarlet. “I appreciate your generosity. But you’re wrong to think that you can buy or bargain for my favors. I’m not a mistress, Harry.” “Obviously. Because in return for such a necklace, a mistress would go to that bed, lie there willingly and offer to do whatever I wanted.” “I’ve never denied you your marital rights,” she said. “If you wish, I’ll go to that bed willingly and do whatever you want, this very moment. But not because you gave me a necklace, as if it were part of some transaction.” Far from being appeased, Harry regarded her with gathering outrage. “The thought of you laid out like a martyr on the sacrificial altar is not what I had in mind.” “Why isn’t it enough that I’m willing to submit to you?” Poppy asked, her own temper flaring. “Why must I be eager to lie with you, when you’re not the husband I wanted?” The very second the words left her lips, Poppy regretted them. But it was too late. Harry’s eyes turned to ice. His lips parted, and she braced herself, knowing he was about to say something decimating. Instead, he turned and walked from the room. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1326:Compare two commitments that will change some aspects of your life: buying a comfortable new car and joining a group that meets weekly, perhaps a poker or book club. Both experiences will be novel and exciting at the start. The crucial difference is that you will eventually pay little attention to the car as you drive it, but you will always attend to the social interaction to which you committed yourself. By WYSIATI (it's an acronym explained at the beginning of the book to explain how we only take into account minimal information of the type that we can most readily access e.g. how we're feeling right at this moment to answer how we feel about our lives in general) you are likely to exaggerate the long-term benefits of the car, but you are not likely to make the same mistake for a social gathering or for inherently attention-demanding activities such as playing tennis or learning to play the cello. The focusing illusion (your focus on something makes it feel more important than it actually is at that moment in time when you're focussing on it) creates a bias in favour of goods and experiences that are initially exciting, even if they will eventually lose their appeal. Time is neglected, causing experiences that will retain their attention value in the long term to be appreciated less than they deserve to be. ~ Daniel Kahneman,

1327:Will you take me out walking each day, so that I may continue to get stronger?” “If that’s what you’re wanting, aye.” There was an unusual edge to his voice, almost protective in nature. His attention was focused elsewhere, and when she turned her head, her heart nearly stopped. There, at the edge of the path, stood Thomas Kingford, the Viscount Burkham. The man she’d once dreamed of marrying. He was here with a young lady, and behind them strolled two matrons as chaperones. The blood seemed to drain away from her face, and a numbness settled over her. Rose felt lightheaded, and Iain tightened his grip on her arm. “It’s him, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Even her voice sounded faraway, as if she were speaking through a tunnel. “Look at me, Rose.” He locked his gaze with hers. “What are you wanting to do? Shall we stay here, or do you wish to speak with him?” “I—I don’t know.” She had to gather her senses. For all she knew, Lord Burkham might not have noticed her. But then again, the four of them were continuing on their walk, while the young lady talked animatedly. “If it’s your wish to speak with him, I will stop. Or we can avoid them if you want to maintain your secret longer.” She took a deep breath, gathering strength from his presence. “Lord Burkham has avoided me for half a year. I think it’s time we spoke again. ~ Michelle Willingham,

1328:Gathering her bags, Alani started around the side of her house to the front door. She drew up short at the sight of Jackson sprawled on her porch steps, a cowboy hat on his head, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes. He didn’t move, and neither did she. He had an utterly relaxed look about him. But then, Jackson had perfected a deceptively indolent pose that hid razor-sharp reflexes and phenomenal speed. Last night, all night, he’d been far from indolent. Breathing fast, Alani studied him. His continued stillness suggested sleep. Even when she inched closer, he didn’t move. He was now clean-shaven. A white T-shirt was pulled across his wide chest and shoulders, and hung looser around his taut abs. Awareness stiffened her knees. Memories of touching his body, tasting hit hot flesh, sent a tide of sensation through her veins. She swallowed audibly—and stared some more. He sat with his long legs loose, one foot braced on a step, the other stretched out, his elbows back, his breathing deep and even. Alani licked her lips and started to slowly, silently retreat. “Don’t make me chase you, darlin’.” Shock snapped her shoulders back. The big faker! He’d been watching her watch him. Teeth set, Alani asked, “What are you doing here?” He gave a slow smile. “Whatever it takes . . . ~ Lori Foster,

1329:The voice boomed from the Throne. "One more goodbye." Together, Luce and Daniel turned to acknowledge the Throne, but the second their eyes fell upon it, the stately figure of the woman blazed into white-hot glory, and they had to shield their eyes. The Throne was indiscernible again, a gathering of light too brilliant to be gazed upon by angels. "Hey, guys." Arriane sniffed. "I think she meant for you two to say goodbye to each other." "Oh," Luce said, turning to Daniel, suddenly panicked. "Right now? We have to-" He took her hand. His wings brushed hers. He kissed the centers of her cheeks. "I'm afraid," she whispered. "What did I tell you?" She sifted through the million exchanges she and Daniel had ever shared-the good, the sad, the ugly. One rose above the clouds of her mind. She was shaking. "That you will always find me." "Yes. Always. No matter what." "Daniel-" "I can't wait to make you the love of my mortal life." "But you won't know me. You won't remember. Everything will be different." He wiped away her tear with his thumb. "And you think that will stop me?" She closed her eyes. "I love you too much to say goodbye." "It isn't goodbye." He gave her one last angelic kiss and embraced her so tightly she could hear his steady heartbeat, overlapping her own. "It's until we meet again. ~ Lauren Kate,

1330:How could I not fall in love with him," she asked. And on the tail end of her words, her bedroom door flew open and closed just as fast. Jen bent over, panting heavily as she looked up at Sally. "Hey Sally girl. Who we falling in love with?" Jen asked breathlessly. "Jen, what's wrong?" Sally paused and then decided on a better question. "What have you done now?" Jen stood up and took two deep breaths. Seeming to have regained her wind, she spoke quickly. "First off, I've changed my mind. I don't want you to name your first born after me." Sally interrupted. "Thank goodness for that," she muttered. "I want you to name your entire freaking litter after me," Jen growled. "Do you know what I've been through?" Jen's arms were flinging around as she glared at Sally. "I did that little strip tease to try and keep things from escalating with the rest of the pack and Decebel was beyond pissed. I had to sneak out of the gathering room and make a run for it. I've been running through the freaking forest trying to throw him off by changing back and forth so that I could place my clothes that I carried in my freaking muzzle. CARRIED IN MY MUZZLE SALLY! I put them in different places to throw off him off my scent." Jen went over to Sally's window and was trying to judge the danger of using it as an exit. ~ Quinn Loftis,

1331:One evening Milarepa returned to his cave after gathering firewood, only to find it filled with demons. They were cooking his food, reading his books, sleeping in his bed. They had taken over the joint. He knew about nonduality of self and other, but he still didn’t quite know how to get these guys out of his cave. Even though he had the sense that they were just a projection of his own mind—all the unwanted parts of himself—he didn’t know how to get rid of them. So first he taught them the dharma. He sat on this seat that was higher than they were and said things to them about how we are all one. He talked about compassion and shunyata and how poison is medicine. Nothing happened. The demons were still there. Then he lost his patience and got angry and ran at them. They just laughed at him. Finally, he gave up and just sat down on the floor, saying, “I’m not going away and it looks like you’re not either, so let’s just live here together.” At that point, all of them left except one. Milarepa said, “Oh, this one is particularly vicious.” (We all know that one. Sometimes we have lots of them like that. Sometimes we feel that’s all we’ve got.) He didn’t know what to do, so he surrendered himself even further. He walked over and put himself right into the mouth of the demon and said, “Just eat me up if you want to.” Then that demon left too. ~ Pema Ch dr n,

1332:i was dead i came alive i was tears i became laughter all because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal love said to me you are not crazy enough you don’t fit this house i went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains love said you are not intoxicated enough you don’t fit the group i went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism i went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you i am no more a candle spreading light i gather no more crowds and like smoke i am all scattered now love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader i am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes love said you already have your own wings i will not give you more feathers and then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life now even the heavens are thankful that because of love i have become the giver of light ~ Rumi,

1333:In the City Market is the Meet Café. Followers of obsolete, unthinkable trades doodling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet synthesized, pushers of souped-up harmine, junk reduced to pure habit offering precarious vegetable serenity, liquids to induce Latah, Tithonian longevity serums, black marketeers of World War III, excusers of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, investigators of infractions denounced by bland paranoid chess players, servers of fragmentary warrants taken down in hebephrenic shorthand charging unspeakable mutilations of the spirit, bureaucrats of spectral departments, officials of unconstituted police states, a Lesbian dwarf who has perfected operation Bang-utot, the lung erection that strangles a sleeping enemy, sellers of orgone tanks and relaxing machines, brokers of exquisite dreams and memories tested on the sensitized cells of junk sickness and bartered for raw materials of the will, doctors skilled in the treatment of diseases dormant in the black dust of ruined cities, gathering virulence in the white blood of eyeless worms feeling slowly to the surface and the human host, maladies of the ocean floor and the stratosphere, maladies of the laboratory and atomic war... A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vibrating soundless hum... Larval entities waiting for a Live One... ~ William S Burroughs,

1334:Developing Conviction It sounds simple: “Think like an owner.” In fact, it is hard to do. It requires you to put yourself in the shoes of the decision maker. You may realize that you prefer not to be in those shoes. There’s too much pressure; there are too many considerations; there are too many constituencies. With all the complexity, constant change, and myriad of issues in the modern world, it may be easier to rationalize more narrow thinking: Dammit, it’s not my job! Yes, it is your job, if you want to be a leader. If it frustrates you, or makes you agonize, or even creates a heightened level of stress for you, then you need to get used to experiencing those feelings. The more you practice this, the better you’ll get at doing it. I would urge you to begin to believe and internalize the view that thinking like an owner is central to your effectiveness in your job. Thinking like an owner means getting to conviction. “Conviction” is meant to describe a threshold level beyond which you feel a high level of confidence about what you truly believe should be done. Many leaders spend their lives striving to get to conviction about what they would do in a particular situation. The reality is that, much of the time, they may not have a strong point of view. They keep gathering information, agonizing, and assessing until they reach a threshold level of confidence. ~ Robert S Kaplan,

1335:I was dead I came alive I was tears I became laughter All because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal Love said to me you are not crazy enough you don’t fit this house I went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains Love said you are not intoxicated enough you don’t fit the group I went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness Love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism I went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all Love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you I am no more a candle spreading light I gather no more crowds and like smoke I am all scattered now Love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader I am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes Love said you already have your own wings I will not give you more feathers And then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life Now even the heavens are thankful that because of love I have become the giver of light ~ Rumi,

1336:i was dead i came alive i was tears i became laughter all because of love when it arrived my temporal life from then on changed to eternal love said to me you are not crazy enough you don't fit this house i went and became crazy crazy enough to be in chains love said you are not intoxicated enough you don't fit the group i went and got drunk drunk enough to overflow with light-headedness love said you are still too clever filled with imagination and skepticism i went and became gullible and in fright pulled away from it all love said you are a candle attracting everyone gathering every one around you i am no more a candle spreading light i gather no more crowds and like smoke i am all scattered now love said you are a teacher you are a head and for everyone you are a leader i am no more not a teacher not a leader just a servant to your wishes love said you already have your own wings i will not give you more feathers and then my heart pulled itself apart and filled to the brim with a new light overflowed with fresh life now even the heavens are thankful that because of love i have become the giver of light. ~ Rumi,

1337:Facing the couple, Cardinal Fitzroy said, “My dear friends, you have come together in this place so that the Lord may seal and strengthen your love in the presence of the Church’s minister and this gathering of friends. Christ abundantly blesses this love. Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your hands, and declare your consent. Byron, do you take Jean to be your wife, to be true to her in good times and bad, to love and honor her in all the days of your life?” “I do,” he said. Jean made the same promises to Byron. Knowing that standing was still a challenge for the groom, Fitzroy had kept things short and cut to the quick. He said, “You have both declared your consent. May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with His blessings. Frank stepped forward and handed a ring to Byron. In a clear, evenly paced voice, the groom put the ring on Jean’s finger, saying, “Jean, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Frank gave his sister a second ring. She placed it on her groom’s finger. “Byron, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Fitzroy concluded, “Lord, grant that those who wear these rings may always have a deep faith in each other. May they always live together in peace, good will and love.” Beaming now, the Cardinal added, “And as we in the Church are wont to say, ‘Amen.’ Kiss your beautiful wife, lad. ~ Joseph Flynn,

1338:It never occurred to me that somehow women did know about it. It just never occurred to me. Yes I am wearing sneakers too. You are in a suit, I am comfortable. So when she explained to me that this was the first event really of its kind, it floored me. So I called my daughter who is in her 30s now and I said “do you know what endometriosis is?” She said, “what? Have to pack the pack the busters.” I said “no man, you have never heard of it?” No she said. I do not know what it is, and it occurred to me that my 30-year-old daughter who I told about endometriosis and it didn’t stick. If she didn’t know, and she is one of the hippest people I know, and her daughter doesn’t know, she has 19-year-old and she is a 13-year-old. The boy, we don’t care much about if he knows about it so much. There is other stuff for him to learn. Like how to roll a condom, things like that. You know, and it occurred to me that if they didn’t know that there were hundreds of thousands girls out there that don’t know. It is not because their mothers don’t want to tell them, because it’s not religion, it’s pure ignorance. We don’t know, we don’t have the information, we have it now, and so now is why this very first gathering is happening. Now is why we’re all sitting here looking really fabulous as you are... [Whoopi Goldberg on endometriosis awareness from the 2009 Blossom Ball] ~ Whoopi Goldberg,

1339:On one hand the Christian missionaries sought to convert the heathen, by fire and sword if need be, to the gospel of peace, brotherhood, and heavenly beatitude; on the other, the more venturesome spirits wished to throw off the constraining traditions and customs, and begin life afresh, levelling distinctions of class, eliminating superfluities and luxuries, privileges and distinctions, and hierarchical rank. In short, to go back to the Stone Ages, before the institutions of Bronze Age civilization had crystallized. Though the Western hemisphere was indeed inhabited, and many parts of it were artfully cultivated, so much of it was so sparsely occupied that the European thought of it as a virgin continent against whose wildness he pitted his manly strength. In one mood the European invaders preached the Christian gospel to the native idolaters, subverted them with strong liquors, forced them to cover their nakedness with clothes, and worked them to an early death in mines; in another, the pioneer himself took on the ways of the North American Indian, adopted his leather costume, and reverted to the ancient paleolithic economy: hunting, fishing, gathering shellfish and berries, revelling in the wilderness and its solitude, defying orthodox law and order, and yet, under pressure, improvising brutal substitutes. The beauty of that free life still haunted Audubon in his old age. ~ Lewis Mumford,

1340:In my lifelong study of the scores of species of ants to be found in the tropical forests of Dal Hon, I am led to the conviction that all forms of life are engaged in a struggle to survive, and that within each species there exists a range of natural but variable proclivities, of physical condition and of behaviour, which in turn weighs for or against in the battle to survive and procreate. Further, it is my suspicion that in the act of procreation, such traits are passed on. By extension, one can see that ill traits reduce the likelihood of both survival and procreation. On the basis of these notions, I wish to propose to my fellow scholars at this noble gathering a law of survival that pertains to all forms of life. But before I do so, I must add one more caveat, drawn from the undeniable behavioural characteristics of, in my instance of speciality, ants. To whit, success of one form of life more often than not initiates devastating population collapse among competitors, and indeed, sometimes outright extinction. And that such annihilation of rivals may in fact be a defining feature of success. Thus, my colleagues, I wish to propose a mode of operation among all forms of life, which I humbly call-in my four-volume treatise-‘The Betrayal of the Fittest’. Obsessional Scrolls Sixth Day Proceedings Address Of Skavat Gill Unta, Malazan Empire, 1097 Burn's Sleep ~ Steven Erikson,

1341:Luke Havergal Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal, There where the vines cling crimson on the wall, And in the twilight wait for what will come. The leaves will whisper there of her, and some, Like flying words, will strike you as they fall; But go, and if you listen she will call. Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal-Luke Havergal. No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes; But there, where western glooms are gathering, The dark will end the dark, if anything: God slays Himself with every leaf that flies, And hell is more than half of paradise. No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies-In eastern skies. Out of a grave I come to tell you this, Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss That flames upon your forehead with a glow That blinds you to the way that you must go. Yes, there is yet one way to where she is, Bitter, but one that faith may never miss. Out of a grave I come to tell you this-To tell you this. There is the western gate, Luke Havergal, There are the crimson leaves upon the wall. Go, for the winds are tearing them away,-Nor think to riddle the dead words they say, Nor any more to feel them as they fall; But go, and if you trust her she will call. There is the western gate, Luke Havergal-Luke Havergal. ~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,

1342:I’ll write the recipe down for you.” “I’ll just screw it up, anyway.” Gram laughed. “All you do is mix the ingredients together, pour it in a bag with the salmon and half an hour later give it to Sean to throw on the grill. He cooked the salmon to perfection tonight.” Of course he did. As he’d told her earlier, she had nothing to worry about because the Y chromosome came with an innate ability to master the barbecue grill. “The salad was good, too,” Sean said. “Thanks,” Emma muttered. “Even I can’t screw up shredding lettuce.” The man looked incredibly relaxed for somebody who'd probably been raked over the coals by his aunt and was now relaxing with two women he barely knew. She, on the other hand, felt as if she was detoxing. Jumpy. Twitching. A trickle of sweat at the small of her back. Sean stood and started gathering dishes, but held out a hand when Emma started to get up. “You ladies sit and visit. I’ll take care of the cleanup.” Once he was inside, Gram smiled and raised her eyebrows. “He does dishes, too? No wonder you snapped him up.” It was tempting to point out a few of his less attractive traits, like the fact that he was a sexist baboon who wouldn’t let her drive. But he was doing a good job of convincing Gram he was Emma’s Prince Charming, which was the whole point, so she bit back her annoyance with the Saint Sean routine. “He’s a keeper. ~ Shannon Stacey,

1343:He reached over and with one deft gesture stripped the black ribbon from her hair, freeing it around her shoulders. "Will you dance or will you play?" She rose abruptly, angry, though she wasn't quite sure why. He was so determined to prove himself a villain- she could hardly have expected him to admit to honorable impulses. Still, she'd half hoped for a gentle word. Silly, of course. "Neither, my lord," she said, pushing away from the clavichord and starting past him, carefully out of reach. She should have known better. He barely seemed to move, but her hand was caught in his. "Dancing it is," he murmured. She had learned long ago that there was no escape from a man like Killoran. The hand holding hers was neither tight nor painful, but it was a prison as he led her through the same, intricate moves that Nathaniel had. There was no music, no off-tune humming, no sound at all but the rhythmic swish of her black skirts against the floor. The gathering darkness, broken only by the candlelight, threw eerie shadows that danced with them, ghosts of a darker time, hovering, watching them, mimicking their footsteps, embracing them with the chill of night. Emma sank into a deep curtsy as Killoran bowed, all mocking flourish. She stayed down. Her heart was racing, her pulses pounding, her face flushed. Without music the silent dance had been strangely, frighteningly intimate. ~ Anne Stuart,

1344:If our shallow, self-critical culture sometimes seems to lack a sense of the numinous or spiritual it’s only in the same way a fish lacks a sense of the ocean. Because the numinous is everywhere, we need to be reminded of it. We live among wonders. Superhuman cyborgs, we plug into cell phones connecting us to one another and to a constantly updated planetary database, an exo-memory that allows us to fit our complete cultural archive into a jacket pocket. We have camera eyes that speed up, slow down, and even reverse the flow of time, allowing us to see what no one prior to the twentieth century had ever seen — the thermodynamic miracle of broken shards and a puddle gathering themselves up from the floor to assemble a half-full wineglass. We are the hands and eyes and ears, the sensitive probing feelers through which the emergent, intelligent universe comes to know its own form and purpose. We bring the thunderbolt of meaning and significance to unconscious matter, blank paper, the night sky. We are already divine magicians, already supergods. Why shouldn’t we use all our brilliance to leap in as many single bounds as it takes to a world beyond ours, threatened by overpopulation, mass species extinction, environmental degradation, hunger, and exploitation? Superman and his pals would figure a way out of any stupid cul-de-sac we could find ourselves in — and we made Superman, after all. ~ Grant Morrison,

1345:GO to the western gate, Luke Havergal,— There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,— And in the twilight wait for what will come. The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some,— Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall; But go, and if you trust her she will call. Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal— Luke Havergal. No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies To rift the fiery night that ’s in your eyes; But there, where western glooms are gathering, The dark will end the dark, if anything: God slays Himself with every leaf that flies, And hell is more than half of paradise. No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies— In eastern skies. Out of a grave I come to tell you this,— Out of grave I come to quench the kiss That flames upon your forehead with a glow That blinds you to the way that you must go. Yes, there is yet one way to where she is,— Bitter, but one that faith can never miss. Out of a grave I come to tell you this— To tell you this. There is the western gate, Luke Havergal, There are the crimson leaves upon the wall. Go,—for the winds are tearing them away,— Nor think to riddle the dead words they say, Nor any more to feel them as they fall; But go! and if you trust her she will call. There is the western gate, Luke Havergal— Luke Havergal. ~ Edwin Arlington Robinson,

1346:Maybe! That’s the moral of many, many stories. Chaos emerges in a household, bit by bit. Mutual unhappiness and resentment pile up. Everything untidy is swept under the rug, where the dragon feasts on the crumbs. But no one says anything, as the shared society and negotiated order of the household reveals itself as inadequate, or disintegrates, in the face of the unexpected and threatening. Everybody whistles in the dark, instead. Communication would require admission of terrible emotions: resentment, terror, loneliness, despair, jealousy, frustration, hatred, boredom. Moment by moment, it’s easier to keep the peace. But in the background, in Billy Bixbee’s house, and in all that are like it, the dragon grows. One day it bursts forth, in a form that no one can ignore. It lifts the very household from its foundations. Then it’s an affair, or a decades-long custody dispute of ruinous economic and psychological proportions. Then it’s the concentrated version of the acrimony that could have been spread out, tolerably, issue by issue, over the years of the pseudo-paradise of the marriage. Every one of the three hundred thousand unrevealed issues, which have been lied about, avoided, rationalized away, hidden like an army of skeletons in some great horrific closet, bursts forth like Noah’s flood, drowning everything. There’s no ark, because no one built one, even though everyone felt the storm gathering. ~ Jordan Peterson,

1347:This seemed to be happening more and more lately out in Greater Los Angeles, among gatherings of carefree youth and happy dopers, where Doc had begun to notice older men, there and not there, rigid, unsmiling, that he knew he'd seen before, not the faces necessarily but a defiant posture, an unwillingness to blur out, like everyone else at the psychedelic events of those days, beyond official envelopes of skin. Like the operatives who'd dragged away Coy Harlingen the other night at that rally at the Century Plaza. Doc Knew these people, he'd seen enough of them in the course of business. They went out to collect cash debts, they broke rib cages, they got people fired, they kept an unforgiving eye on anything that might become a threat. If everything in this dream of prerevolution was in fact doomed to end and the faithless money-driven world to reassert its control over all the lives it felt entitled to touch, fondle, and molest, it would be agents like these, dutiful and silent, out doing the shitwork, who'd make it happen. Was it possible, that at every gathering--concert, peace rally, love-in, be-in, and freak-in, here, up north, back east, wherever--those dark crews had been busy all along, reclaiming the music, the resistance to power, the sexual desire from epic to everyday, all they could sweep up, for the ancient forces of greed and fear? 'Gee,' he said to himself out loud, 'I dunno... ~ Thomas Pynchon,

1348:It seemed so easy for so many people to divide war from peace, to confine their definitions to the unambivalent. Marching soldiers, pitched battles and slaughter. Locked armouries, treaties, fêtes and city gates opened wide. But Fiddler knew that suffering thrived in both realms of existence – he’d witnessed too many faces of the poor, ancient crones and babes in a mother’s arms, figures lying motionless on the roadside or in the gutters of streets – where the sewage flowed unceasing like rivers gathering their spent souls. And he had come to a conviction, lodged like an iron nail in his heart, and with its burning, searing realization, he could no longer look upon things the way he used to, he could no longer walk and see what he saw with a neatly partitioned mind, replete with its host of judgements – that critical act of moral relativity – this is less, that is more. The truth in his heart was this: he no longer believed in peace. It did not exist except as an ideal to which endless lofty words paid service, a litany offering up the delusion that the absence of overt violence was sufficient in itself, was proof that one was better than the other. There was no dichotomy between war and peace – no true opposition except in their particular expressions of a ubiquitous inequity. Suffering was all-pervasive. Children starved at the feet of wealthy lords no matter how secure and unchallenged their rule. ~ Steven Erikson,

1349:Maybe! That’s the moral of many, many stories. Chaos emerges in a household, bit by bit. Mutual unhappiness and resentment pile up. Everything untidy is swept under the rug, where the dragon feasts on the crumbs. But no one says anything, as the shared society and negotiated order of the household reveals itself as inadequate, or disintegrates, in the face of the unexpected and threatening. Everybody whistles in the dark, instead. Communication would require admission of terrible emotions: resentment, terror, loneliness, despair, jealousy, frustration, hatred, boredom. Moment by moment, it’s easier to keep the peace. But in the background, in Billy Bixbee’s house, and in all that are like it, the dragon grows. One day it bursts forth, in a form that no one can ignore. It lifts the very household from its foundations. Then it’s an affair, or a decades-long custody dispute of ruinous economic and psychological proportions. Then it’s the concentrated version of the acrimony that could have been spread out, tolerably, issue by issue, over the years of the pseudo-paradise of the marriage. Every one of the three hundred thousand unrevealed issues, which have been lied about, avoided, rationalized away, hidden like an army of skeletons in some great horrific closet, bursts forth like Noah’s flood, drowning everything. There’s no ark, because no one built one, even though everyone felt the storm gathering. ~ Jordan B Peterson,

1350:Unprecedented,” blared Foreign Policy and a host of other publications on what was being described as the Trump administration’s “assault” or “war” on the State Department. But for all the ways in which the developments were shocking, to describe them as unprecedented was simply not true. The Trump administration brought to a new extreme a trend that had, in fact, been gathering force since September 11, 2001. From Mogadishu to Damascus to Islamabad, the United States cast civilian dialogue to the side, replacing the tools of diplomacy with direct, tactical deals between our military and foreign forces. At home, White Houses filled with generals. The last of the diplomats, keepers of a fading discipline that has saved American lives and created structures that stabilized the world, often never made it into the room. Around the world, uniformed officers increasingly handled the negotiation, economic reconstruction, and infrastructure development for which we once had a devoted body of trained specialists. As a result, a different set of relationships has come to form the bedrock of American foreign policy. Where civilians are not empowered to negotiate, military-to-military dealings still flourish. America has changed whom it brings to the table, and, by extension, it has changed who sits at the other side. Foreign ministries are still there. But foreign militaries and militias often have the better seats. ~ Ronan Farrow,

1351:What frightens you? What makes the hair on your arms rise, your palms sweat, the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged? Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of a bedtime story, ghosts and goblins and witches hiding in the shadows? Is it the way the wind picks up just before a storm, the hint of wet in the air that makes you want to scurry home to the safety of your fire? Or is it something deeper, something much more frightening, a monster deep inside that you've glimpsed only in pieces, the vast unknown of your own soul where secrets gather with a terrible power, the dark inside? If you will listen I will tell you a story-one whose ghost cannot be banished by the comfort of a roaring fire, I will tell you the story of how we found ourselves in a realm where dreams are formed, destiny is chosen, and magic is as real as your handprint in the snow. I will tell you how we unlocked the Pandora's box of ourselves, tasted freedom, stained our souls with blood and choice, and unleashed a horror on the world that destroyed its dearest Order. These pages are a confession of all that has led to this cold, gray dawn. What will be now, I cannot say. Is your heart beating faster? Do the clouds seem to be gathering on the horizons? Does the skin on your neck feel stretched tight, waiting for a kiss you both fear and need? Will you be scared? Will you know the truth? Mary Dowd, April 7, 1871 ~ Libba Bray,

1352:Coming up behind me, Jack touched my shoulders with his palms and let them coast down my upper arms, the warmth of his hands making the cool skin prickle pleasantly. He took one of my hands in his. Folding my icy fingers more tightly in his, Jack lowered his mouth to the vulnerable curve of my neck. There was a sensual promise in the way his lips grazed my skin. He continued to kiss me there, searching for the most acute place, and when he found it, I backed up against him reflexively. “Jack . . . You’re not still mad because Dane slept over, are you?” His hand wandered along my front, charting every curve and plane, pausing at every flicker of response. My body caught a tense, pleasured arch. Dimly I realized he was gathering information, softly winnowing out the pulses and twitches from all the places I was most vulnerable. “Actually, Ella . . . every time I think about it, I want to bend a crowbar in half.” “But nothing happened,” I protested. “That’s the only reason I haven’t hunted him down and dropped him.” I couldn’t tell how much of the macho bravado was for show, or how much Jack actually meant. I strove for a reasonable, ironic tone, which was difficult as I felt his fingers slip beneath the edge of my neckline. “You’re not going to take it out on me, are you?” “Afraid so.” His breath fractured as he discovered I wasn’t wearing a bra. “Tonight you’re in for it, blue eyes. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1353:The goal of Combined Intelligence Objectives Subcommittee was to investigate all things related to German science. Target types ran the gamut: radar, missiles, aircraft, medicine, bombs and fuses, chemical and biological weapons labs. And while CIOS remained an official joint venture, there were other groups in the mix, with competing interests at hand. Running parallel to CIOS operations were dozens of secret intelligence-gathering operations, mostly American. The Pentagon’s Special Mission V-2 was but one example. By late March 1945, Colonel Trichel, chief of U.S. Army Ordnance, Rocket Branch, had dispatched his team to Europe. Likewise, U.S. Naval Technical Intelligence had officers in Paris preparing for its own highly classified hunt for any intelligence regarding the Henschel Hs 293, a guided missile developed by the Nazis and designed to sink or damage enemy ships. The U.S. Army Air Forces (AAF) were still heavily engaged in strategic bombing campaigns, but a small group from Wright Field, near Dayton, Ohio, was laying plans to locate and capture Luftwaffe equipment and engineers. Spearheading Top Secret missions for British intelligence was a group of commandos called 30 Assault Unit, led by Ian Fleming, the personal assistant to the director of British naval intelligence and future author of the James Bond novels. Sometimes, the members of these parallel missions worked in consort with CIOS officers in the field. ~ Annie Jacobsen,

1354:Most of this material is accessible in the Dunayevskaya and Glaberman collections in the Wayne State University Archives of Labor and Urban Affairs in Detroit. When occasionally I look up something in the collections, I find it hard to believe that we wrote so much and took on so many literary critics and historians. The Johnson-Forest Tendency consisted of a small number of members—never more than sixty to seventy in an organization of several hundred. But the fervor with which we supported the independent black struggle and attacked the alienation of human beings in the process of capitalist production made us stand out in any gathering. Most members of the Johnson-Forest Tendency were part of the new generation who had joined the radical movement in the 1940s because we wanted to make a second American Revolution—which to us meant mainly encouraging the struggles of rank-and-file workers to take over control of production inside the plant and supporting the black struggle for full social, economic, and political equality. Black, white, Asian, and Chicano, workers and intellectuals, living on the East Coast, West Coast, and in the Midwest, we were a representative sample of the new human forces that were emerging in the United States during World War II. Because CLR could not be publicly active, we acted as his transmission belt to the larger American community. Our little organization was a collective way to know reality. ~ Grace Lee Boggs,

1355:The Garden-Chair TWO PORTRAITS. A PLEASANT picture, full of meanings deep, Old age, calm sitting in the July sun, On withered hands half-leaning--feeble hands, That after their life-labors, light or hard, Their girlish broideries, their marriage-ringed Domestic duties, their sweet cradle cares, Have dropped into the quiet-folded ease Of fourscore years. How peacefully the eyes Face us! Contented, unregretful eyes, That carry in them the whole tale of life With its one moral--'Thus all was--thus best.' Eyes now so near unto their closing mild They seem to pierce direct through all that maze, As eyes immortal do. Here--Youth. She stands Under the roses, with elastic foot Poised to step forward; eager-eyed, yet grave Beneath the mystery of the unknown To-come, Though longing for its coming. Firm prepared (So say the lifted head and close, sweet mouth) For any future: though the dreamy hope Throned on her girlish forehead, whispers fond, 'Surely they err who say that life is hard; Surely it shall not be with me as these.' God knows: He only. And so best, dear child, Thou woman-statured, sixteen-year-old child, Meet bravely the impenetrable Dark Under thy roses. Bud and blossom thou Fearless as they--if thou art planted safe, Whether for gathering or for withering, safe In the King's garden. ~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,

1356:Okay. Allow me to explain. We are very interested in you. In your talent." "Talent?" "Talent is not exactly the right word. Ability." "Wait. Who, exactly, is this 'we'? You and your pimp friends?" "Pimp ...? No. We, in this case, are a government intelligence-gathering agency." "Ha! Right. Like what, the CIA?" "No, we are not the CIA. And I'm not joking." "Ah, so you're FBI." "Actually, no." "Okay, well, I don't really believe you, so you might as well tell me who you are - or, in this case, who you are pretending to be." "RAITH." "Excuse me?" "An operational intelligence organization. Reconnaissance and Intelligence AuTHority. R.A.I.T.H." "That acronym totally makes no sense." He shrugs. "I wasn't in charge of branding." "RAITH. So I suppose its mission is to travel through the fires of Mordor and retrieve a magical yet corrupting ring?" "Come again?" "RAITH. That is a Lord of the Rings reference." "Never saw it." "Now I know you're a psycho. And the correct answer is never read it. As in, I have never read the entire J. R. R. Tolkien Lord of the Rings series and then avidly gone to see the films with initial excitement and then, through the years, a bit of disappointment." "Okay, I have neither read the Lord of the Rings books nor seen the films." "One more question." "Yes." "Are you a robot?" "Very amusing. ~ Andrea Portes,

1357:He moved to the trees. Where the bark was peeling from the trunks it lifted in tiny tendrils, almost fluffs. Brian plucked some of them loose, rolled them in his fingers. They seemed flammable, dry and nearly powdery. He pulled and twisted bits off the trees, packing them in one hand while he picked them with the other, picking and gathering until he had a wad close to the size of a baseball. Then he went back into the shelter and arranged the ball of birchbark peelings at the base of the black rock. As an afterthought he threw in the remains of the twenty-dollar bill. He struck and a stream of sparks fell into the bark and quickly died. But this time one spark fell on one small hair of dry bark—almost a thread of bark—and seemed to glow a bit brighter before it died. The material had to be finer. There had to be a soft and incredibly fine nest for the sparks. I must make a home for the sparks, he thought. A perfect home or they won’t stay, they won’t make fire. He started ripping the bark, using his fingernails at first, and when that didn’t work he used the sharp edge of the hatchet, cutting the bark in thin slivers, hairs so fine they were almost not there. It was painstaking work, slow work, and he stayed with it for over two hours. Twice he stopped for a handful of berries and once to go to the lake for a drink. Then back to work, the sun on his back, until at last he had a ball of fluff as big as a grapefruit—dry birchbark fluff. ~ Gary Paulsen,

1358:The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage. “I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.” “Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, “we will . . . we’re sorry . . .” With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley. “It’s like being a house-elf,” complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding’s over, the happier I’ll be.” “Yeah,” said Harry, “then we’ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . . It’ll be like a holiday, won’t it?” Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley’s room, stopped quite abruptly. ~ J K Rowling,

1359:All invitations must proceed from heaven perhaps; perhaps it is futile for men to initiate their own unity, they do but widen the gulfs between them by the attempt. So at all events thought old Mr. Graysford and young Mr. Sorley, the devoted missionaries who lived out beyond the slaughterhouses, always travelled third on the railways, and never came to the club. In our Father's house are many mansions, they taught, and there alone will the incompatible multitudes of mankind be welcomed and soothed. Not one shall be turned away by the servants on that verandah, be he black or white, not one shall be kept standing who approaches with a loving heart. And why should the divine hospitality cease here? Consider, with all reverence, the monkeys. May there not be a mansion for the monkeys also? Old Mr. Graysford said No, but young Mr. Sorley, who was advanced, said Yes; he saw no reason why monkeys should not have their collateral share of bliss, and he had sympathetic discussions about them with his Hindu friends. And the jackals? Jackals were indeed less to Mr. Sorley's mind but he admitted that the mercy of God, being infinite, may well embrace all mammals. And the wasps? He became uneasy during the descent to wasps, and was apt to change the conversation. And oranges, cactuses, crystals and mud? and the bacteria inside Mr. Sorley? No, no, this is going too far. We must exclude someone from our gathering, or we shall be left with nothing. ~ E M Forster,

1360:Many social and political changes have swept the world clean of the apprehension of sacred things: the rejection of custom and ceremony; the conversion of marriage into a defeasible contract; the relaxing of the laws governing, sexual conduct and obscenity; the decline of faith and saintliness. As those changes take their effect, the experience of erotic love becomes darigerous and uncertain in its outcome. Our responsibility retreats further from the confused terrain of sexual experience, and threatens even to void it of desire. Hence, it might be said, my ability to reflect, in so neutral and philosophical a fashion, on the nature of this phenomenon is perhaps already an index of its decline: of the fact that desire does not, now, have the importance for us that formerly caused men to conceal it in poetry or overcome it through prayer. What we understand of our condition may also pass from us in the act of understanding. For we were never meant to have knowledge of this thing; we were meant only to be subject to its command. No phenomenon, perhaps, illustrates more profoundly the great poetical utterance of Hegel; that When philosophy paints its grey in grey, then has a shape of life grown old. By philosophy's grey in grey it cannot be rejuvenated but only understood. The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the gathering of the dusk. On the other hand, it is a century and a half since Hegel wrote those words, and life goes on. ~ Roger Scruton,

1361:poetry readings have to be some of the saddest damned things ever, the gathering of the clansmen and clanladies, week after week, month after month, year after year, getting old together, reading on to tiny gatherings, still hoping their genius will be discovered, making tapes together, discs together, sweating for applause they read basically to and for each other, they can't find a New York publisher or one within miles, but they read on and on in the poetry holes of America, never daunted, never considering the possibility that their talent might be thin, almost invisible, they read on and on before their mothers, their sisters, their husbands, their wives, their friends, the other poets and the handful of idiots who have wandered in from nowhere. I am ashamed for them, I am ashamed that they have to bolster each other, I am ashamed for their lisping egos, their lack of guts. if these are our creators, please, please give me something else: a drunken plumber at a bowling alley, a prelim boy in a four rounder, a jock guiding his horse through along the rail, a bartender on last call, a waitress pouring me a coffee, a drunk sleeping in a deserted doorway, a dog munching a dry bone, an elephant's fart in a circus tent, a 6 p.m. freeway crush, the mailman telling a dirty joke anything anything but these. ~ Charles Bukowski,

1362:At first of course everybody had been quiet, fearful. The funeral procession snaked its way through the drab, slushy little city in dead silence. The only sound was the slap-slap-slap of thousands of sockless shoes on the silver-wet road that led to the Mazar-e-Shohadda. Young men carried seventeen coffins on their shoulders. Seventeen plus one, that is, for the re-murdered Usman Abdullah, who obviously could not be entered twice in the books. So, seventeen-plus-one tin coffins wove through the streets, winking back at the winter sun. To someone looking down at the city from the ring of high mountains that surrounded it, the procession would have looked like a column of brown ants carrying seventeen-plus-one sugar crystals to their anthill to feed their queen. Perhaps to a student of history and human conflict, in relative terms that's all the little procession amounted to: a column of ants making off with some crumbs that had fallen from the high table. As wars go, this was only a small one. Nobody paid much attention. So it went on and on. So it folded and unfolded over decades, gathering people into its unhinged embrace. Its cruelties became as natural as the changing seasons, each came with its own unique range of scent and blossom, its own cycle of loss and renewal, disruption and normalcy, uprisings and elections. Of all the sugar crystals carried by the ants that winter morning, the smallest crystal of course went by the name of Miss Jebeen. ~ Arundhati Roy,

1363:I always wished a little that the church was not a church, set off as it was behind its barriers of doctrine and creed, so that all the people of the town and neighborhood might two or three times a week freely have come there and sat down together - though I knew perfectly well that, in the actual world, any gathering would exclude some, and some would not consent to be gathered, and some (like me) would be outside even when inside. I liked the naturally occurring silences - the one, for instance, just before the service began and the other, the briefest imaginable, just after the last Amen. Occasionally a preacher would come who had a little bias toward silence, and then my attendance would become purposeful. At a certain point in the service the preacher would ask that we observe a moment of silence . . . And then the quiet that was almost the quiet of the empty church would come over us and unite us as we were not united even in singing, and the little sounds (maybe a bird's song) from the world outside would come in to us, and we would completely hear it. But always too soon the preacher would become abashed (after all, he was being paid to talk) and start a prayer, and the beautiful moment would end. I would think again how I would like for us all just to go there from time to time and sit in silence. Maybe I am a Quaker of sorts, but I am told that the Quakers sometimes speak at their meetings. I would've preferred no talk, no noise at all. ~ Wendell Berry,

1364:For Woman, in her weakness, is yet the strongest force upon the earth. She is the helm of all things human; she comes in many shapes and knocks at many doors; she is quick and patient, and her passion is not ungovernable like that of man, but as a gentle steed that she can guide e'en where she will, and as occasion offers can now bit up and now give rein. She has a captain's eye, and stout must be that fortress of the heart in which she finds no place of vantage. Does thy blood beat fast in youth? She will outrun it, nor will her kisses tire. Art thou set toward ambition? She will unlock thy inner heart, and show thee roads that lead to glory. Art thou worn and weary? She has comfort in her breast. Art thou fallen? She can lift thee up, and to the illusion of thy sense gild defeat with triumph. Ay, Harmachis, she can do these things, for Nature ever fights upon her side; and while she does them she can deceive and shape a secret end in which thou hast no part. And thus Woman rules the world. For her are wars; for her men spend their strength in gathering gains; for her they do well and ill, and seek for greatness, to find oblivion. But still she sits like yonder Sphinx, and smiles; and no man has ever read all the riddle of her smile, or known all the mystery of her heart. Mock not! mock not! Harmachis; for he must be great indeed who can defy the power of Woman, which, pressing round him like the invisible air, is often strongest when the senses least discover it. ~ H Rider Haggard,

1365:The gathering of information to control people is fundamental to any ruling power. As resistance to land acquisition and the new economic policies spreads across India, in the shadow of outright war in Central India, as a containment technique, India’s government has embarked on a massive biometrics program, perhaps one of the most ambitious and expensive information gathering projects in the world—the Unique Identification Number (UID). People don’t have clean drinking water, or toilets, or food, or money, but they will have election cards and UID numbers. Is it a coincidence that the UID project run by Nandan Nilekani, former CEO of Infosys, ostensibly meant to “deliver services to the poor,” will inject massive amounts of money into a slightly beleaguered IT industry?50 To digitize a country with such a large population of the illegitimate and “illegible”—people who are for the most part slum dwellers, hawkers, Adivasis without land records—will criminalize them, turning them from illegitimate to illegal. The idea is to pull off a digital version of the Enclosure of the Commons and put huge powers into the hands of an increasingly hardening police state. Nilekani’s technocratic obsession with gathering data is consistent with Bill Gates’s obsession with digital databases, numerical targets, and “scorecards of progress” as though it were a lack of information that is the cause of world hunger, and not colonialism, debt, and skewed profit-oriented corporate policy.51 ~ Arundhati Roy,

1366:Fast Break In Memory of Dennis Turner, 1946-1984 A hook shot kisses the rim and hangs there, helplessly, but doesn't drop, and for once our gangly starting center boxes out his man and times his jump perfectly, gathering the orange leather from the air like a cherished possession and spinning around to throw a strike to the outlet who is already shoveling an underhand pass toward the other guard scissoring past a flat-footed defender who looks stunned and nailed to the floor in the wrong direction, trying to catch sight of a high, gliding dribble and a man letting the play develop in front of him in slow motion, almost exactly like a coach's drawing on the blackboard, both forwards racing down the court the way that forwards should, fanning out and filling the lanes in tandem, moving together as brothers passing the ball between them without a dribble, without a single bounce hitting the hardwood until the guard finally lunges out and commits to the wrong man 12 while the power-forward explodes past them in a fury, taking the ball into the air by himself now and laying it gently against the glass for a lay-up, but losing his balance in the process, inexplicably falling, hitting the floor with a wild, headlong motion for the game he loved like a country and swiveling back to see an orange blur floating perfectly though the net. ~ Edward Hirsch,

1367:I’ll stay with you, Reep,” said Edmund. “And I too,” said Caspian. “And me,” said Lucy. And then Eustace volunteered also. This was very brave of him because never having read of such things or even heard of them till he joined the Dawn Treader made it worse for him than for the others. “I beseech your Majesty--” began Drinian. “No, my Lord,” said Caspian. “Your place is with the ship, and you have had a day’s work while we five have idled.” There was a lot of argument about this but in the end Caspian had his way. As the crew marched off to the shore in the gathering dusk none of the five watchers, except perhaps Reepicheep, could avoid a cold feeling in the stomach. They took some time choosing their seats at the perilous table. Probably everyone had the same reason but no one said it out loud. For it was really a rather nasty choice. One could hardly bear to sit all night next to those three terrible hairy objects which, if not dead, were certainly not alive in the ordinary sense. On the other hand, to sit at the far end, so that you would see them less and less as the night grew darker, and wouldn’t know if they were moving, and perhaps wouldn’t see them at all by about two o’clock--no, it was not to be thought of. So they sauntered round and round the table saying, “What about here?” and “Or perhaps a bit further on,” or “Why not on this side?” till at last they settled down somewhere about the middle but nearer to the sleepers than to the other end. ~ C S Lewis,

1368:Dear Colette Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face enduring after thirty, forty, fifty. . . hangs above my desk like my own muse. I want to tell you how your hands reach out from your books & seize my heart. I want to tell you how your hair electrifies my thoughts like my own halo. I want to tell you how your eyes penetrate my fear & make it melt. I want to tell you simply that I love you-though you are "dead" & I am still "alive." Suicides & spinsters-all our kind! Even decorous Jane Austen never marrying, & Sappho leaping, & Sylvia in the oven, & Anna Wickham, Tsvetaeva, Sara Teasdale, & pale Virginia floating like Ophelia, & Emily alone, alone, alone. . . . But you endure & marry, 47 go on writing, lose a husband, gain a husband, go on writing, sing & tap dance & you go on writing, have a child & still you go on writing, love a woman, love a man & go on writing. You endure your writing & your life. Dear Colette, I only want to thank you: for your eyes ringed with bluest paint like bruises, for your hair gathering sparks like brush fire, for your hands which never willingly let go, for your years, your child, your lovers, all your books. . . . Dear Colette, you hold me to this life. ~ Erica Jong,

1369:Look, Jordan, you’re not alone any more. It’s my job to protect you while I’m here and I can’t do that if you keep pushing me away.” “That’s the problem, Michael,” I shot back. “You have more responsibilities to your boss than you do to me. You taught me how to defend myself, how to heal myself, and that should be good enough. You can’t keep babysitting one little human when you have an entire cosmos to worry about.” He faced me again, those green eyes boring into mine as if he could see straight through me. “Are you saying you want me to leave?” My chest tightened. I hadn’t expected him to say that. I bit my bottom lip, glancing away. “That’s not what I mean.” “Then what do you mean?” “Since when have I ever known what the hell I mean?” He touched my right cheek, making me face him. “You do when it counts.” Staring up at him, shirtless, vulnerable, and wounded, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. He had a knack for picking my walls apart brick by brick. It bothered me. He took a step closer, casting a shadow over me. “Stop,” I mumbled, fixing my eyes on the floor. He brushed a lock of hair behind my ear, sliding his warm hand to lift my chin so I’d have to look at him. “Stop what?” he murmured. “Looking at me.” “Why?” “That’s how Terrell used to look at me before we kissed.” His lips parted to say something but I pushed past him, gathering up my duster from where it lay on the bed next to the dress. “Get dressed. We have more ghosts to help. ~ Kyoko M,

1370:MANAGING GOD’S MONEY Honor the Lord with your wealth, with the firstfruits of all your crops; then your barns will be filled to overflowing, and your vats will brim over with new wine. Proverbs 3:9–10 This concept of fiscal responsibility was not lost on me as governor of Alaska. That’s why I used my line-item veto to cut spending by almost 10 percent. I rejected a pay raise. (As mayor, I took a voluntary pay cut.) I invested billions of dollars in state savings. I forward-funded education. See, I knew the resources were not mine to squander and that I had to do right by the people who hired me. Alaska reaped the benefits of that fiscal responsibility: during my tenure, both Standard & Poor’s and Moody’s upgraded Alaska’s credit rating. Our politicians in Washington should be so wise with taxpayer dollars because what’s good for an individual, family, and state is also good for a nation; God’s principles apply across the board. Wasteful spending that robs the American people—like $500,000 to study shrimp on a treadmill, or subsidizing the annual National Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Senator Harry Reid’s state of Nevada—doesn’t seem to qualify as the fiscal responsibility this Scripture describes. And funding Planned Parenthood certainly does not honor God—fiscally or morally. SWEET FREEDOM IN Action What’s in your hand is not yours. It’s a loan. God expects you to be obedient and wise with what He’s allowed you to manage. Today, honor Him for His blessings and pray America does the same. ~ Sarah Palin,

1371:The reality [of what life was like for the whole of our species for at least 90 percent of its history] was very different to the traditional Western image of such people as uncultured 'savages', living hard and miserable lives in 'a state of nature', with a bitter and bloody struggle to wrest a livelihood matched by a 'war of all against all', which made life 'nasty, brutish and short'. People lived in loose-knit groups of 30 or 40 which might periodically get together with other groups in bigger gatherings of up to 200. But life in such 'band societies' was certainly no harder than for many millions of people living in more 'civilised' agricultural or industrial societies. One eminent anthropologist has even called them 'the original affluent society'. ...An early Jesuit missionary noted of another hunter-gathering people, the Montagnais of Canada, 'The two tyrants who provide hell and torture for many of our Europeans do not reign in their great forests--I mean ambition and avarice...not one of them has given himself to the devil to acquire wealth'. ...Richard Lee is quite right to insist: "It is the long experience of egalitarian sharing that has moulded our past. Despite our seeming adaptation to life in hierarchical societies, and despite the rather dismal track record of human rights in many parts of the world, there are signs that humankind retains a deep-rooted sense of egalitarianism, a deep-rooted commitment to the norm of reciprocity, a deep-rooted...sense of community. ~ Chris Harman,

1372:She buys only the best couverture, from a fair trade supplier down near Marseille, and pays for it all in cash. A dozen blocks of each kind, to begin with, she says; but I already know from her eager response that a dozen blocks will not be enough. She used to make all her own stock, so she tells me, and though I'll admit I didn't quite believe it at first, the way she has thrown herself back into the business tells me that she was not exaggerating. The process is deft and peculiarly therapeutic to watch. First comes the melting and tempering of the raw couverture: the process that enables it to leave its crystalline state and take on the glossy, malleable form necessary to make the chocolate truffles. She does it all on a granite slab, spreading out the melted chocolate like silk and gathering it back toward her using a spatula. Then it goes back into the warm copper, the process to be repeated until she declares it done. She rarely uses the sugar thermometer. She has been making chocolates for so long, she tells me, that she can simply sense when the correct temperature has been reached. I believe her; certainly over the past three days I have been watching her, she has never produced a less than flawless batch. During that time I have learned to observe with a critical eye: to check for streaks in the finished product; for the unappealing pale bloom that denotes incorrectly tempered chocolate; for the high gloss and sharp snap that are the indicators of good-quality work. ~ Joanne Harris,

1373:His path was in some ways traditional—Stanford to Stanford Law to judicial clerkship to high-powered law firm—but it was also marked by bouts of rebellion. At Stanford he created and published a radical conservative journal called The Stanford Review, then he wrote a book that railed against multiculturalism and “militant homosexuals” on campus, despite being both gay and foreign born. His friends thought he might become a political pundit. Instead he became a lawyer. Then one day, surprising even himself, he walked out of one of the most prestigious securities law firms in the world, Sullivan & Cromwell, after seven months and three days on the job. Within a few short years, Thiel formed and then sold PayPal, an online payments company, to eBay for $ 1.5 billion in July 2002, the month that Nick Denton registered the domain for his first site, Gizmodo. With proceeds of some $ 55 million, Thiel assembled an empire. He retooled a hedge fund called Clarium into a vehicle to make large, counterintuitive bets on global macro trends, seeding it with $ 10 million of his own money. In 2003, Thiel registered a company called Palantir with the Securities and Exchange Commission. In 2004, he would found it in earnest. The company would take antifraud technology from PayPal and apply it to intelligence gathering—fighting terrorism, predicting crime, providing military insights. It would take money from the venture capital arm of the CIA and soon take on almost every other arm of the government as clients. ~ Ryan Holiday,

1374:THE NEXT AFTERNOON, they all got together at the Capitol, in the governor’s conference room: Henderson, Grant, Smalls, Mitford, Rose Marie, Lucas, Connie Schiffer, and Alice Green, still working as Taryn’s security. For a political gathering, there was a remarkable lack of even symbolic amity. The governor shook hands with everybody, but nobody shook hands with anybody else. The governor sat at the head of the conference table, cleared his throat, and said, “I don’t expect all of us to be pals after this, but I’d at least like to get things clear for everybody. Senator-elect Grant has, of course, made it clear that she didn’t have anything to do with the rogue security people on her campaign staff, and in fact feels that she was being set up for long-term blackmail by those same people. In any case, she will not resign and will take her seat in the Senate in January.” Smalls said, “I think that—” The governor: “Shut up for a minute, will you, Porter? Let me finish.” “I just—” “You’ll have your chance,” Henderson said. He looked at Taryn Grant and asked, “Setting aside all the BS aimed at the media, am I correct that this is your position?” Grant nodded: “Yes.” Connie Schiffer started to say, “I think we all know that Senator Smalls—” The governor interrupted: “No. Be quiet. We don’t want any of that. So we know that Senator-elect Grant will take her seat in the Senate. I’ll now turn to Lucas Davenport, the lead investigator in this case. Lucas, do you have any issues that you will continue to pursue? ~ John Sandford,

1375:When Jack turned from Mel, Rick took one look at the storm gathering on Jack’s face, the way he clenched his fists open and closed, and stepped out of his way. Jack walked over to Lassiter and stuck out a hand to assist him in standing. “Good thing you stopped him,” Lassiter said, putting out his hand for assistance. “I’d have had his ass.” Jack pulled him to his feet with a snarl, and once he was upright, threw a punch into his face that blew him across the street four feet. He walked the few feet and stood over Lassiter, looking down at him. “Now you gonna have mine?” he asked. Lassiter looked up at him, blood immediately spurting from his nose. “What the hell...?” He got clumsily to his feet and faced off with Jack, his fists up as a boxer would do. He shuffled his feet a little, dancing, ready to land a blow with a closed fist. Jack actually laughed, completely loose, relaxed. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said. He wiggled his fingers. “Come on.” Lassiter came at him, then retreated suddenly, whirled in a crouch and came up with a high kick aimed at Jack’s head. But Jack stopped the assault of Lassiter’s foot with a fast hand that grabbed his ankle. Jack yanked hard and Lassiter landed on his back, his ankle still in Jack’s grip. “What you going to do, buddy? Kick me?” “Let go!” Jack dropped the leg and reached down to pull him to his feet by the front of his expensive shirt. He threw a punch into his gut, doubling Lassiter over. Then another one to his face, reeling him backward onto the ground. At ~ Robyn Carr,

1376:A Stream’s Singing O HOW beautiful is Morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies, And the kingcups fill the meadow Like a golden-shielded army Marching to the uplands fair;-I am going forth to battle, And life's uplands rise before me, And my golden shield is ready, And I pause a moment, timing My heart's pæan to the waters, As with cheerful song incessant Onwards runs the little stream; Singing ever, onward ever, Boldly runs the merry stream. O how glorious is Noon-day! With the cool large shadows lying Underneath the giant forest, The far hill-tops towering dimly O'er the conquered plains below;-I am conquering--I shall conquer In life's battle-field impetuous: And I lie and listen dreamy To a double-voiced, low music,-Tender beech-trees sheeny shiver Mingled with the diapason Of the strong, deep, joyful stream, Like a man's love and a woman's; So it runs--the happy stream! O how grandly cometh Even, Sitting on the mountain summit, Purple-vestured, grave, and silent, Watching o'er the dewy valleys, Like a good king near his end:-I have labored, I have governed; Now I feel the gathering shadows Of the night that closes all things: And the fair earth fades before me, 35 And the stars leap out in heaven, While into the infinite darkness Solemn runs the steadfast stream-Onward, onward, ceaseless, fearless, Singing runs the eternal stream. ~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,

1377:chairman.” And that is what Amelio did. The announcement was made that evening—December 20, 1996—in front of 250 cheering employees at Apple headquarters. Amelio did as Jobs had requested and described his new role as merely that of a part-time advisor. Instead of appearing from the wings of the stage, Jobs walked in from the rear of the auditorium and ambled down the aisle. Amelio had told the gathering that Jobs would be too tired to say anything, but by then he had been energized by the applause. “I’m very excited,” Jobs said. “I’m looking forward to get to reknow some old colleagues.” Louise Kehoe of the Financial Times came up to the stage afterward and asked Jobs, sounding almost accusatory, whether he was going to end up taking over Apple. “Oh no, Louise,” he said. “There are a lot of other things going on in my life now. I have a family. I am involved at Pixar. My time is limited, but I hope I can share some ideas.” The next day Jobs drove to Pixar. He had fallen increasingly in love with the place, and he wanted to let the crew there know he was still going to be president and deeply involved. But the Pixar people were happy to see him go back to Apple part-time; a little less of Jobs’s focus would be a good thing. He was useful when there were big negotiations, but he could be dangerous when he had too much time on his hands. When he arrived at Pixar that day, he went to Lasseter’s office and explained that even just being an advisor at Apple would take up a lot of his time. He said he wanted ~ Walter Isaacson,

1378:As soon as I reached my room I took out the Marquise’s letter and reread it, even though by then I knew it word for word. It seemed impossible that Branaric’s arrival on the same day--with Shevraeth--was a coincidence. I sighed. Now I could not ask my brother outright about this letter. He was as tactless as he was honest. I could easily imagine him blurting it out over dinner. He might find it diverting, though I didn’t think Shevraeth would, for the same reason I couldn’t ask him his opinion of Arthal Merindar: because the last time we had discussed the possible replacement for Galdran Merindar, I had told him flatly I’d rather see my brother crowned than another lying courtier. Remembering that conversation--in Shevraeth’s father’s palace, with his father listening--I winced. It wasn’t just Bran who lacked tact. Oria is probably right, I thought glumly, there are too many misunderstandings between the Marquis and me. The problem with gathering my courage and broaching the subject was the very fact of the kingship. If I hadn’t been able to resolve those misunderstandings before Galdran’s death, when Shevraeth was just the Marquis, it seemed impossible to do it now when he was about to take the crown. My motives might be mistaken and he’d think me one of those fawning courtiers at the royal palace. Ugh! So I asked Oria to tell them I was sick. I holed up in my room with a book and did my best to shove them all out of my mind--as well as the mysterious Marquise of Merindar. ~ Sherwood Smith,

1379:So they had that great gathering and there they pondered the matter. Out of it came the Athanasian Creed. You know, most of us are so busy reading religious fiction that we never get around to the creeds. Here’s what it says: “There is one person of the Father and another of the Son and another of the Holy Ghost, but the Godhead of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost is but one. The glory is equal and the majesty co-eternal such as the Father is, such is the Son, such is the Holy Ghost. “The Father is uncreated, the Son is uncreated, and the Holy Ghost is uncreated. The Father is infinite, the: Son is infinite, and the Holy Ghost is infinite. The Father is eternal, the Son is eternal, the Holy Ghost is eternal, and yet there are not three eternals, but one eternal. So there are not three uncreated nor three infinite but one uncreated and one infinite. “So also the Father is almighty and the Son almighty and the Holy Spirit almighty. But there are not three almighties but one. The Father is God, the Son is God and the Holy Ghost is God, yet there are not three Gods but one God. The Father is Lord, the Son is Lord, the Holy Ghost is Lord, yet there are not three Lords, but one Lord. So the Father is God and the Son is God and so the Father is Lord and the Son is Lord and the Holy Ghost is also these things. The Father is made of none, neither created nor begotten, the Son is of the Father alone, not made nor created, and the Holy Ghost is of the Father and the Son, not made nor created nor begotten but proceeding. ~ A W Tozer,

1380:I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain’d, I stand and look at them long and long.   They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.   So they show their relations to me and I accept them, They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their possession.   I wonder where they get those tokens, Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?   Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velocity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them, Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remembrancers, Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms.   A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground, Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.   His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him, His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return.   I but use you a minute, then I resign you, stallion, Why do I need your paces when I myself out-gallop them? Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you. ~ Walt Whitman,

1381:Lucia Robson's facts can be trusted if, say, you're a teacher assigning her novels as supplemental reading in a history class. “Researching as meticulously as a historian is not an obligation but a necessity,” she tells me. “But I research differently from most historians. I'm looking for details of daily life of the period that might not be important to someone tightly focused on certain events and individuals. Novelists do take conscious liberties by depicting not only what people did but trying to explain why they did it.” She adds, “I depend on the academic research of others when gathering material for my books, but I don't think that my novels should be considered on par with the work of accredited historians. I wouldn't recommend that historians cite historical novels as sources.” And they sure don't. They wouldn't risk the scorn of their colleagues by citing novels. But, Lucia adds: “I think historical fiction and nonfiction work well together. … I'd bet that historical novels lead more readers to check out nonfiction on the subject rather than the other way around,” she says, and then notes: One of the wonderful ironies of writing about history is that making stuff up doesn't mean it's not true. And obversely, declaring something to be true doesn't guarantee that it is. In writing about events that happened a century or more ago, no one knows what historical ‘truth’ is, because no one living today was there. That's right. Weren't there. But will be, once a good historical novelist puts us there. ~ James Alexander Thom,

1382:Were you sure about me? Did you know my response before you asked?” “I wasn’t sure; I held my breath when I started talking to you about working together. I thought I knew—hoped I knew—what your response would be.” Nate started shuffling the papers on the table. “Then things became complicated …” Time to shut up. Jesus. Her toes started wiggling again. “And the other,” said Dominika, “was that part of the operation, my recruitment?” Nate’s upper lip was a little wet, and the papers were sticking to his hands. “What do you mean ‘the other’?” said Nate. “What do you suppose I mean?” said Dominika. “When we made love.” “What do you think, Domi?” said Nate. “Do you remember what I said to you in Estonia before you crossed the bridge back to Russia? I said—” “You said we didn’t have time for you to tell me you are sorry for what you said to me, no time to tell me what I meant to you as a woman, as a lover, as a partner, no time to tell me how much you will miss me.” Silence and the sound of a car horn on the street below. Dominika looked down at her hands in her lap. “Have I remembered correctly?” she said softly. “How lucky for us, on the eve of our meeting with Jamshidi, that your well-known memory hasn’t failed you,” said Nate. He stopped gathering the papers and looked into her eyes. “I meant what I said.” Her mouth twitched, suppressing a smile, or perhaps some other emotion. “Well, it is good to be working together again,” she said quickly. The bubble popped; they both knew it. It was the only way. ~ Jason Matthews,

1383:Did I ever tell you about Asin? She is the wild woman of the woods. It's an old story of the People. My mom used to tell me about Asin. Asin couldn't bear being married or having children or having friends. She always wanted to run wild. She ran wild through the woods. If you saw her running you had to run to water as fast as you could and drink or her restlessness would come into you like a thirst that could never be quenched. She was happy and unhappy. She had wild long hair and she was very tall and she ran like the wind. When you saw dunegrass rippling in a line she was running through it. When the wind changed direction suddenly that was Asin. She was never satisfied or content and so she ran and ran and ran. She would grab men who were fishing alone and make love to them and then throw them down on the ground and run away weeping. She would grab children who wandered too far alone in the woods but she would return them to the same spot after three days and run away again. She would listen to women talking by the fire or working in the village or gathering berries but if they invited her to join them she ran away. You could hear her crying sometimes when the sun went down. She wanted something but she never knew what it was so she had nothing. She was as free as anyone ever could be and she was trapped. When I was young I wanted to be Asin. Many times I wanted to be Asin. So do you, Nora. I know. It's okay. It's alright. My sweet love. Poor Asin. Sometimes I think to be Asin would be the saddest thing in the world. Poor thing. ~ Brian Doyle,

1384:Wish there were a “good news” channel? I usually have news stations humming in the background to keep up with worldwide events, but that constant white noise is sometimes like a cloud descending on the home. I defined for Piper the term “pet peeve” a few years ago. “Got it, Mom,” she responded. “My ‘pet peeve’ then is Fox News.” Yikes. I turned the volume down after that one slapped me upside the head. From crazy politicians pushing treaties with terrorist nations to thugs trashing neighborhood Walgreens in the name of “free speech,” bad news is exhausting. Some days it would be nice just to hear about Joe Six Pack and his hardworking family and his kid who got an “A” in Algebra today. Jesus tells of weeds thrown by the enemy into a field of good seed. Those weeds remind me of all the bad news we hear about in the media. As the time draws nearer to the return of Jesus, the Bible says the hearts of man will become increasingly hardened and they will refuse to repent of their crimes (Rev. 9:21). Sorcery, murder, immorality, and theft will rise, while at the same time God’s followers are called to stand firm in righteousness. Both the good seed and the bad seed will grow to fullness, until the final harvest of the “wheat.” At the great harvest, according to the Word, the Lord will take up the weeds to burn them, while gathering the wheat unto Him. SWEET FREEDOM IN Action Today, stand strong in the midst of weeds; mute the droning on and on of constant bad news; and anticipate that this era’s closing comments get very good for believers! ~ Sarah Palin,

1385:President Josiah Bartlet: Good. I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an abomination. Dr. Jenna Jacobs: I don't say homosexuality is an abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does. President Josiah Bartlet: Yes, it does. Leviticus. Dr. Jenna Jacobs: 18:22. President Josiah Bartlet: Chapter and verse. I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here. I'm interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. She's a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, always cleared the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be? While thinking about that, can I ask another? My Chief of Staff Leo McGarry insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or is it okay to call the police? Here's one that's really important 'cause we've got a lot of sports fans in this town: Touching the skin of a dead pig makes one unclean. Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the Washington Redskins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point? Does the whole town really have to be together to stone my brother John for planting different crops side by side? Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads? Think about those questions, would you? One last thing: While you may be mistaking this for your monthly meeting of the Ignorant Tight-Ass Club, in this building, when the President stands, nobody sits. ~ Aaron Sorkin,

1386:Western people today may have acquaintances, but few have relationships that even remotely approximate the honest, vulnerable, committed, covenantal relationships that weave the body of Christ together in the New Testament. Related to this, while the New Testament views the church as a community of people who unite around a mission, who spend significant amounts of time together in study, worship, and ministry, and who help one another become “fully mature in Christ” (Col. 1:28; cf. Eph. 4:13; James 1:4), most Westerners assume church is a place they go to once a week to sit alongside strangers, sing a few songs, and listen to a message before returning to their insulated lives. So too, whereas the New Testament envisions the bride of Christ as a community of people who convince the world that Jesus is for real by the way our unity reflects and participates in the loving unity of the Trinity (John 17:20–23), the Western church today has been reduced to little more than a brief gathering of consumers who are otherwise unconnected and who attend the weekend event with hopes of getting something that will benefit their lives. From a kingdom perspective, this individualistic and impoverished consumer-driven view of the church is nothing short of tragic, as is the perpetual immaturity of the believers who are trapped in it. If we are serious about our covenant with Christ, we have no choice but to get serious about cultivating covenant relationships with other disciples. There are no individual brides of Christ. Jesus is not a polygamist! There ~ Gregory A Boyd,

1387:Away! the moor is dark beneath the moon, Rapid clouds have drank the last pale beam of even: Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon, And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven. Pause not! The time is past! Every voice cries, Away! Tempt not with one last tear thy friends ungentle mood: Thy lovers eye, so glazed and cold, dares not entreat thy stay: Duty and dereliction guide thee back to solitude. Away, away! to thy sad and silent home; Pour bitter tears on its desolated hearth; Watch the dim shades as like ghosts they go and come, And complicate strange webs of melancholy mirth. The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head: The blooms of dewy spring shall gleam beneath thy feet: But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead, Ere midnights frown and mornings smile, ere thou and peace may meet. The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose, For the weary winds are silent, or the moon is in the deep: Some respite to its turbulence unresting ocean knows; Whatever moves, or toils, or grieves, hath its appointed sleep. Thou in the grave shalt restyet till the phantoms flee Which that house and heath and garden made dear to thee erewhile, Thy remembrance, and repentance, and deep musings are not free From the music of two voices and the light of one sweet smile. Composed at Bracknell, April, 1814. Published with Alastor, 1816.    ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Stanzas. -- April, 1814 ,

1388:The Fury Of Sunrises Darkness as black as your eyelid, poketricks of stars, the yellow mouth, the smell of a stranger, dawn coming up, dark blue, no stars, the smell of a love, warmer now as authentic as soap, wave after wave of lightness and the birds in their chains going mad with throat noises, the birds in their tracks yelling into their cheeks like clowns, lighter, lighter, the stars gone, the trees appearing in their green hoods, the house appearing across the way, the road and its sad macadam, the rock walls losing their cotton, lighter, lighter, letting the dog out and seeing fog lift by her legs, a gauze dance, lighter, lighter, yellow, blue at the tops of trees, more God, more God everywhere, lighter, lighter, more world everywhere, sheets bent back for people, the strange heads of love and breakfast, that sacrament, lighter, yellower, like the yolk of eggs, the flies gathering at the windowpane, 283 the dog inside whining for good and the day commencing, not to die, not to die, as in the last day breaking, a final day digesting itself, lighter, lighter, the endless colors, the same old trees stepping toward me, the rock unpacking its crevices, breakfast like a dream and the whole day to live through, steadfast, deep, interior. After the death, after the black of black, the lightness, not to die, not to die that God begot. ~ Anne Sexton,

1389:From The Roof This wild night, gathering the washing as if it were flowers animal vines twisting over the line and slapping my face lightly, soundless merriment in the gesticulations of shirtsleeves, I recall out of my joy a night of misery walking in the dark and the wind over broken earth, halfmade foundations and unfinished drainage trenches and the spaced-out &n bsp;circles of glaring light marking streets that were to be walking with you but so far from you, and now alone in October's first decision towards winter, so close to you-my arms full of playful rebellious linen, a freighter going down-river two blocks away, outward bound, the green wolf-eyes of the Harborside Terminal &n bsp;glittering on the Jersey shore, and a train somewhere under ground bringing you towards me to our new living-place from which we can see a river and its traffic (the Hudson and the hidden river, who can say which it is we see, we see something of both. Or who can say the crippled broom-vendor yesterday, who passed 29 just as we needed a new broom, was not one of the Hidden Ones?) Crates of fruit are unloading across the street on the cobbles, and a brazier flaring to warm the men and burn trash. He wished us luck when we bought the broom. But not luck brought us here. By design clean air and cold wind polish the river lights, by design we are to live now in a new place. ~ Denise Levertov,

1390:He said, One of the Fathers has told us that joy always depends on pain. Pain is part of joy. We are hungry and then think how we enjoy our food at last. We are thirsty...He stopped suddenly, with his eyes glancing away into the shadows, expecting the cruel laugh that did not come. He said, We deny ourselves so that we can enjoy. You have heard of rich men in the north who eat salted foods, so that they can be thirsty—for what they call the cocktail. Before the marriage, too, there is the long betrothal... Again he stopped. He felt his own unworthiness like a weight at the back of the tongue. There was a smell of hot wax from where a candle drooped in the nocturnal heat; people shifted on the hard floor in the shadows. The smell of unwashed human beings warred with the wax. He cried out stubbornly in a voice of authority, That is why I tell you that heaven is here: this is a part of heaven just as pain is a part of pleasure. He said, Pray that you will suffer more and more and more. Never get tired of suffering. The police watching you, the soldiers gathering taxes, the beating you always get from the jefe because you are too poor to pay, smallpox and fever, hunger...that is all part of heaven—the preparation. Perhaps without them, who can tell, you wouldn't enjoy heaven so much. Heaven would not be complete. And heaven. What is heaven? Literary phrases form what seemed now to be another life altogether—the strict quiet life of the seminary—became confused on his tongue: the names of precious stones: Jerusalem the Golden. But these people had never seen gold. ~ Graham Greene,

1391:What sin have you committed for which you seek absolution, mon fils?" the priest said, then added, "This time." "Father..." "Did you act in anger?" the hermit asked this according to ancient tradition, urging a confession from the sinner through questioning. During the two years Vitor had lived in a hilltop monastery in the Serra dal Estrela, he'd read everything in the library of the Benedictine brothers, including confessor manuals. This hermit not did not fix upon the sin of anger at whim. He knew Vitor's special interest in it. "No," he replied, his throat dry. "Not anger." Not this time. "Greed?" "No." "Pride?" "No." "Envy?" "No." "It could not have been sloth." The hermit's voice gentled. "You've never slept a full night in your life, young vagabond." "No." Get to the relevant sin. "Did you lie?" "No." "Did you steal?" A case could be made for it. "Not quite." "Did you covet your neighbor's goods?" Momentarily, though "goods" didn't quite express it, really. "No." "Son-" "Father..." Vitor pressed his brow into his knuckles. The priest paused for a moment that stretched in the chill air. "Did you commit murder again?" "No." The Frenchman's breath of relief whispered across the chancel. He sat back on his heels and folded his arms within voluminous sleeves. "Then what did you do that brings you from the gathering at the house where your half brother needs you now?" "I kissed a girl." Silence. "Father?" "Vitor, you are bound for the madhouse." -Denis & Vitor ~ Katharine Ashe,

1392:There are some secrets that women should always keep secret. Disgusting habits, how many sex partners they’ve had, and most importantly the fact that they’re skilled in espionage. Lainey Rostov, Russian surveillance spy, trained at gathering information about Navy SEALs and reporting back intelligence is coming out to play. It wasn’t easy moving to Virginia Beach with the goal of finding, dating, and then extracting information from a Navy SEAL. Actually it was quite a bit more difficult than that—I had to weave myself into the community, befriend SEAL girlfriends and wives, I had to blend in. You’d be surprised the amount of details men are willing to give out while drinking at a bar and better yet, in between the sheets. I’d fathom a guess that I’m a million times better at espionage than my male counterparts. I have more parts to use to my benefit. Does Cody know? Of course he knows. He called me out right at the get-go. I think that’s why I fell so hard for him. Intelligence looks divine on that man with such brawn. I glance over at him with his freshly fucked hair and mussed clothing and smile. He winks at me while he continues his phone conversation. He’s just as deranged as I was...am. A match made in fucked up heaven. What happens when a spy falls in love with her target? My fucking life. This is what happens. And Vadim wants to screw with me again. I don’t think so. I don’t think so. I wink back, lick my lips, and calculate just how dangerous this territory will be. Desperate times call for desperate measures. No matter what the cost. No one is taking him from me again. ~ Rachel Robinson,

1393:Men profess to prophesy. I will prophesy that the signs of the coming of the Son of Man are already commenced. One pestilence will desolate after another. We shall soon have war and bloodshed. . . . The hearts of the children of men will have to be turned to the fathers, and the fathers to the children, living or dead, to prepare them for the coming of the Son of Man. If Elijah did not come, the whole earth would be smitten. There will be here and there a Stake for the gathering of the Saints. Some may have cried peace, but the Saints and the world will have little peace from henceforth. Let this not hinder us from going to the Stakes; for God has told us to flee, not dallying, or we shall be scattered, one here, and another there. There your children shall be blessed, and you in the midst of friends where you may be blessed. . . . The time is soon coming, when no man will have any peace but in Zion and her stakes. I saw men hunting the lives of their own sons, and brother murdering brother, women killing their own daughters, and daughters seeking the lives of their mothers. I saw armies arrayed against armies. I saw blood, desolation, fires. The Son of Man has said that the mother shall be against the daughter, and the daughter against the mother. These things are at our doors. They will follow the Saints of God from city to city. Satan will rage, and the spirit of the devil is now enraged. I know not how soon these things will take place; but with a view of them, shall I cry peace? No! I will lift up my voice and testify of them. [DHC3:390-391] ~ Joseph Smith Jr,

1394:To Autumn" Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. ~ John Keats,

1395:When o'er the chords thy fingers stray, My spirit leaves its mortal clay, A statue there I stand; Thy spell controls e'en life and death, As when the nerves a living breath Receive by Love's command! [1] More gently zephyr sighs along To listen to thy magic song; The systems formed by heavenly love To sing forever as they move, Pause in their endless-whirling round To catch the rapture-teeming sound; 'Tis for thy strains they worship thee, Thy look, enchantress, fetters me! From yonder chords fast-thronging come Soul-breathing notes with rapturous speed, As when from out their heavenly home The new-born seraphim proceed; The strains pour forth their magic might, As glittering suns burst through the night, When, by Creation's storm awoke, From chaos' giant-arm they broke. Now sweet, as when the silv'ry wave Delights the pebbly beach to lave; And now majestic as the sound Of rolling thunder gathering round; Now pealing more loudly, as when from yon height Descends the mad mountain-stream, foaming and bright; Now in a song of love Dying away, As through the aspen grove Soft zephyrs play: Now heavier and more mournful seems the strain, As when across the desert, death-like plain, Whence whispers dread and yells despairing rise, Cocytus' sluggish, wailing current sighs. Maiden fair, oh, answer me! Are not spirits leagued with thee? Speak they in the realms of bliss Other language e'er than this? ~ Friedrich Schiller, To Laura At The Harpsichord ,

1396:You said earlier today that you wanted to talk about something,” Halt said. Crowley nodded, gathering his thoughts before he began. “We seem to share a lot of the same skills,” he said. “And the same weapons. I noticed you carry a saxe knife and a throwing knife like mine. I wondered where you came by them.” Crowley, of course, carried his two knives in the distinctive Ranger-issue double scabbard. Halt’s were in separate scabbards, placed close together on the left side of his belt. He glanced at them now, where the belt was draped over a rock beside the campfire. “My mentor gave them to me,” he said. “He was a Ranger, like you.” Crowley sat up at that piece of information. “A Ranger?” he said. “In Hibernia? What was his name?” “He called himself Pritchard. He was an amazing man.” “He was indeed,” Crowley affirmed, and now it was Halt’s turn to look surprised. “You knew him?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “I was his apprentice for five years. He taught me everything I know. How did you come to meet him?” “He turned up at Du . . . Droghela, some three years ago. He took me under his wing and taught me silent movement, knife work, tracking and the rest. I could already shoot, but he tightened up my technique quite a bit.” Crowley noticed the hesitation and correction when Halt mentioned the name of the place where he’d met Pritchard. But he let it pass. “Yes. He was very big on technique.” “And practice,” Halt agreed. Crowley smiled at the memory of his old teacher. “He had a saying. An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right. A Ranger—” “Practices until he never gets it wrong.” Halt ~ John Flanagan,

1397:se "in-between times" to get things done. For example, it takes 15 minutes or less to change the sheets on a bed. So when you're waiting for dinner to finish cooking, to go somewhere, or for something to finish up, make a bed. Planning saves you time. Know what you have to do-and set your priorities. ere's a fun idea! Why not lighten a gathering together load a little by hosting a tea "potluck." It's a great way to widen your circle of friends and expand your recipe files. You provide the beautiful setting-and, of course, the tea. Invite each guest to bring a wonderful tea-time treat to share, along with the recipe. Have fun sampling all the goodies. You can also invite someone to play the piano, the guitar, or even do a dramatic reading of some sort. After the gathering, create a package of recipes and send them to each participant, along with a "thank you for coming" note. Friends are the continuous threads that help hold our lives together. f you have a fireplace, make it the focus of the room. Add plants, a teddy bear collection, or whatever you like to catch the eye. Add homey touches with a favorite stuffed toy, a framed picture of yourself with your grandmother. Photos and vacation souvenirs are great to liven up a room. Slipcovers help you make incredible changes in your decor simply. In winter months, toss an afghan over a sofa or chair. When you're not using afghans or blankets, stack them neatly under a shelf or a table to add texture to a room. Instead of a lamp table, stack wooden trunks or packing boxes together. These make great tables and provide storage. ~ Emilie Barnes,

1398:All people have religions. It's like we have religion receptors built into our brain cells, or something, and we'll latch onto anything that'll fill that niche for us. Now, religion used to be essentially viral -- a piece of information that replicated inside the human mind, jumping from one person to the next. That's the way it used to be, and unfortunately, that's the way it's headed right now. But there have been several efforts to deliver us from the hands of primitive, irrational religion. The first was made by someone named Enki about four thousand years ago. The second was made by Hebrew scholars in the eighth century B.C., driven out of their homeland by the invasion of Sargon II, but eventually it just devolved into empty legalism. Another attempt was made by Jesus -- that one was hijacked by viral influences within fifty days of his death. The virus was suppressed by the Catholic Church, but we're in the middle of a big epidemic that started in Kansas in 1900 and has been gathering momentum ever since." "Do you believe in God or not?" Hiro says. First things first. "Definitely." "Do you believe in Jesus?" "Yes. But not in the physical, bodily resurrection of Jesus." "How can you be a Christian without believing in that?" "I would say," Juanita says, "how can you be a Christian with it? Anyone who takes the trouble to study the gospels can see that the bodily resurrection is a myth that was tacked onto the real story several years after the real histories were written. It's so National Enquirer-esque, don't you think? ~ Neal Stephenson,

1399:What does one wear to a ranch early in the morning? I wondered. I was stumped. I had enough good sense, thank God, to know my spiked black boots--the same boots I’d worn on basically every date with Marlboro Man thus far--were out of the question. I wouldn’t want them to get dirty, and besides that, people might look at me funny. I had a good selection of jeans, yes, but would I go for the dark, straight-leg Anne Kleins? Or the faded, boot-cut Gaps with contrast stitching? And what on earth would I wear on top? This could get dicey. I had a couple of nice, wholesome sweater sets, but the weather was turning warmer and the style didn’t exactly scream “ranch” to me. Then there was the long, flax-colored linen tunic from Banana Republic--one I loved to pair with a chunky turquoise necklace and sandals. But that was more Texas Evening Barbecue than Oklahoma Early-Morning Cattle Gathering. Then there were the myriad wild prints with sparkles and stones and other obnoxious adornments. But the last thing I wanted to do was spook the cattle and cause a stampede. I’d seen it happen in City Slickers when Billy Crystal fired up his cordless coffee grinder, and the results weren’t the least bit pretty. I considered cancelling. I had absolutely nothing to wear. Every pair of shoes I owned was black, except for a bright yellow pair of pumps I’d bought on a whim in Westwood one California day. Those wouldn’t exactly work, either. And I didn’t own a single shirt that wouldn’t loudly broadcast *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* *CLUELESS CITY GIRL!* I wanted to crawl under my covers and hide. ~ Ree Drummond,

1400:On The Death Of Princess Charlotte Yes, Britain mourns, as with electric touch, For youth, for love, for happiness destroyed, Her universal population melts In grief spontaneous, and hard hearts are moved, And rough unpolished natures learn to feel For those they envied, leveled in the dust By Fate's impartial stroke; and pulpits sound With vanity and woe to earthly goods, And urge and dry the tear.—Yet one there is Who midst this general burst of grief remains In strange tranquillity; whom not the stir And long-drawn murmurs of the gathering crowd, That by his very windows trail the pomp Of hearse, and blazoned arms, and long array Of sad funereal rites, nor the loud groans And deep-felt anguish of a husband's heart, Can move to mingle with this flood one tear: In careless apathy, perhaps in mirth, He wears the day. Yet is he near in blood, The very stem on which this blossom grew, And at his knees she fondled in the charm And grace spontaneous which alone belongs To untaught infancy:—Yet O forbear! Nor deem him hard of heart; for awful, struck By Heaven's severest visitation, sad, Like a scathed oak amidst the forest trees, Lonely he stands;—leaves bud, and shoot, and fall; He holds no sympathy with living nature Or time's incessant change. Then in this hour, While pensive thought is busy with the woes And restless change of poor humanity, Think then, O think of him, and breathe one prayer, From the full tide of sorrow spare one tear, For him who does not weep! ~ Anna Laetitia Barbauld,

1401:The Book I am thinking about would not be religious in the usual sense, but it would have to discuss many things with which religions have been concerned—the universe and man’s place in it, the mysterious center of experience which we call “I myself,” the problems of life and love, pain and death, and the whole question of whether existence has meaning in any sense of the word. For there is a growing apprehension that existence is a rat-race in a trap: living organisms, including people, are merely tubes which put things in at one end and let them out at the other, which both keeps them doing it and in the long run wears them out. So to keep the farce going, the tubes find ways of making new tubes, which also put things in at one end and let them out at the other. At the input end they even develop ganglia of nerves called brains, with eyes and ears, so that they can more easily scrounge around for things to swallow. As and when they get enough to eat, they use up their surplus energy by wiggling in complicated patterns, making all sorts of noises by blowing air in and out of the input hole, and gathering together in groups to fight with other groups. In time, the tubes grow such an abundance of attached appliances that they are hardly recognizable as mere tubes, and they manage to do this in a staggering variety of forms. There is a vague rule not to eat tubes of your own form, but in general there is serious competition as to who is going to be the top type of tube. All this seems marvelously futile, and yet, when you begin to think about it, it begins to be more marvelous than futile. Indeed, it seems extremely odd. ~ Alan W Watts,

1402:As Father, the authority he claims for himself is the authority of compassion. That authority comes from letting the sins of his children pierce his heart. There is no lust, greed, anger, resentment, jealousy, or vengeance in his lost children that has not cause immense grief to his heart. The grief is so deep because the heart is so pure. From the deep inner place where love embraces all human grief, the Father reaches out to his children. The touch of his hands, radiating inner light, seeks only to heal. Here is the God I want to believe in: a Father who, from the beginning of creation, has stretched out his arms in merciful blessing, never forcing himself on anyone, but always waiting; never letting his arms drop down in despair, but always hoping that his children will return so that he can speak words of love to them and let his tired arms rest on their shoulders. His only desire is to bless. In Latin, to bless is benedicere, which means literally: saying good things. The Father wants to say, more with his touch than with his voice, good things of his children. He has no desire to punish them. They have always been punished excessively by their own inner or outer waywardness. The Father wants simply to let them know that the love they have searched for in such distorted ways has been, is, and always will be there for them. The Father wants to say, more with his hands than with his mouth: 'You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests.' He is the shepherd, 'feeding his flock, gathering lambs in his arms, holding them against his breast.' The true center of Rembrandt's painting is the hands of the father. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

1403:Come over early tomorrow morning,” Marlboro Man asked over the phone one night. “We’re gathering cattle, and I want you to meet my mom and dad.” “Oh, okay,” I agreed, wondering to myself why we couldn’t just remain in our own isolated, romantic world. And the truth was, I wasn’t ready to meet his parents yet. I still hadn’t successfully divorced myself from California J’s dear, dear folks. They’d been so wonderful to me during my years of dating their son and had become the California version of my parents, my home away from home. I hated that our relationship couldn’t continue despite, oh, the minor detail of my breaking up with their son. And already? Another set of parents? I wasn’t ready. “What time do you want me there?” I asked. I’d do anything for Marlboro Man. “Can you be here around five?” he asked. “In the evening…right?” I responded, hopeful. He chuckled. Oh, no. This was going to turn out badly for me. “Um…no,” he said. “That would be five A.M.” I sighed. To arrive at his ranch at 5:00 A.M. would mean my rising by 4:00 A.M.--before 4:00 A.M. if I wanted to shower and make myself presentable. This meant it would still be dark outside, which was completely offensive and unacceptable. There’s no way. I’d have to tell him no. “Okay--no problem!” I responded. I clutched my stomach in pain. Chuckling again, he teased, “I can come pick you up if you need me to. Then you can sleep all the way back to the ranch.” “Are you kidding?” I replied. “I’m usually up by four anyway. That’s when I usually do my running, as you well know.” “Uh…huh,” he said. “Gotcha.” Another chuckle. Lifeblood to my soul. ~ Ree Drummond,

1404:1078 Vacation Time Vacation time! How glad it seemed When as a boy I sat and dreamed Above my school books, of the fun That I should claim when toil was done; And, Oh, how oft my youthful eye Went wandering with the patch of sky That drifted by the window panes O'er pleasant fields and dusty lanes, Where I would race and romp and shout The very moment school was out. My artful little fingers then Feigned labor with the ink and pen, But heart and mind were far away, Engaged in some glad bit of play. The last two weeks dragged slowly by; Time hadn't then learned how to fly. It seemed the clock upon the wall From hour to hour could only crawl, And when the teacher called my name, Unto my cheeks the crimson came, For I could give no answer clear To questions that I didn't hear. 'Wool gathering, were you?' oft she said And smiled to see me blushing red. Her voice had roused me from a dream Where I was fishing in a stream, And, if I now recall it right, Just at the time I had a bite. And now my youngsters dream of play In just the very selfsame way; And they complain that time is slow And that the term will never go. Their little minds with plans are filled For joyous hours they soon will build, And it is vain for me to say, That have grown old and wise and gray, That time is swift, and joy is brief; They'll put no faith in such belief. 1079 To youthful hearts that long for play Time is a laggard on the way. 'Twas, Oh, so slow to me back then Ere I had learned the ways of men! ~ Edgar Albert Guest,

1405:You said that if a killer zombie can’t find his murderer and have his revenge, he can start killing and eating anything that gets in his way, right?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Then shouldn’t giving the vampires over to the zombies quiet some of them?’ ‘It might, but we’d be giving two legal citizens over to be torn limb from limb. Vampires are a lot harder to kill than humans usually, which means the vamps would stay alive a lot longer during the process.’ He nodded. ‘Makes sense.’ ‘That would be a really bad way to die, Nicky.’ ‘Yeah.’ He said it as if to say, So what? ‘If we were just going to execute the vamps anyway, and it would save dozens of lives …’ Yancey let his words trail off. Badger looked at him. ‘You could do that, give someone over to the thing we saw today?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a thought; we’re just brainstorming and gathering information, right?’ ‘They’re rotting vampires,’ Nicky said. ‘If you can’t teach them how to look human, the woman seemed to want to die.’ ‘They should have two forms; one should be totally human and as attractive as they were in life,’ I said. Dev and Lisandro came over to us. ‘What has you guys all serious face?’ Dev asked, smiling. ‘We’re debating on whether giving the two vampires in custody over to the zombies of their murder victims would make the zombies stop killing other people,’ I said. Dev’s eyes widened and he went pale. ‘Who came up with the idea?’ Lisandro asked. ‘I did,’ Nicky said. ‘You are a sick motherfucker,’ Lisandro said. ‘Yes, yes, I am,’ Nicky said, totally unbothered by the comment. Lisandro laughed, as if he couldn’t quite believe it, but he did. ~ Laurell K Hamilton,

1406:One can do only so much to control one's life,' Ernestine said, and with that, a summary statement as philosophically potent as any she cared to make, she returned the wallet to her handbag, thanked me for lunch, and, gathering herself almost visibly back into that orderly, ordinary existence that rigorously distanced itself from delusionary thinking, whether white or black or in between, she left the car. Instead of my then heading home, I drove crosstown to the cemetery and, after parking on the street, walked in through the gate, and not quite knowing what was happening, standing in the falling darkness beside the uneven earth mound roughly heaped over Coleman's coffin, I was completely seized by his story, by its end and by its beginning, and, then and there, I began this book. I began by wondering what it had been like when Coleman had told Faunia the truth about that beginning--assuming that he ever had; assuming, that is, that he had to have. Assuming that what he could not outright say to me on the day he burst in all but shouting, "Write my story, damn you!" and what he could not say to me when he had to abandon (because of the secret, I now realized) writing the story himself, he could not in the end resist confessing to her, to the college cleaning woman who'd become his comrade-in-arms, the first and last person since Ellie Magee for whom he could strip down and turn around so as to expose, protruding from his naked back, the mechanical key by which he had wound himself up to set off on his great escapade. Ellie, before her Steena, and finally Faunia. The only woman never to know his secret is the woman he spent his life with, his wife. Why Faunia? ~ Philip Roth,

1407:Last question, why are you riding alone? Wouldn’t things be more effective with your army?” “I move fastest alone,” he said. “And my own people are in place, and have been for some time.” I thought of Nessaren--and the fact that I hadn’t seen her around Athanarel for weeks. “When I want them,” he said, reaching into the pouch at his belt, “I will summon them with this.” And he held up something that glowed blue briefly: the summons-stone I had seen so long ago. “Each riding has one. At the appropriate moment, we will converge and, ah, convince the Marquise and her allies to accompany us back to Athanarel. It is the best way of avoiding bloodshed.” In the distance the time-change rang. “What about those Denlieff warriors?” I asked. “If their leaders are unable to give them orders, they will have to take orders from me.” I thought about the implied threat, then shook my head. “I’m glad I have the easy job,” I said. “Speaking of which…” He smiled. “There’s a room adjacent. I suggest you change your clothes and ride dry for a time.” Before I could say anything, he rose, stepped to the tapestry, and summoned the maid. Very soon I was in the little bedroom, struggling out of my soggy clothing. It felt good to get into dry things, though I knew I wouldn’t be dry long. There was no hope for my cloak, except to wring it out and put it back on. But when I left the room, I found my cloak gone, and in its place a long, black, waterproof one that I recognized at once. With very mixed feelings I pulled it on, gathering it up in my arms so it wouldn’t drag on the ground behind me. Then I settled my hat on my head, and very soon I was on the road to the west. ~ Sherwood Smith,

1408:The media have indeed informed the public about threats to our air, water and food. Ever since 1962, when Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, more and more information has been made available. And the public has responded. About fifteen years ago, public interest in the environment reached its height. In 1988, George Bush Senior promised that, if elected, he would be an environmental president. In the same year, Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney was re-elected, and to indicate his ecological concern he moved the minister of the environment into the inner Cabinet. Newly created environment departments around the world were poised to cut back on fossil-fuel use, monitor the effects of acid rain and other pollutants, clean up toxic wastes, and protect plant and animal species. Information about our troubled environment had reached a large number of people, and that information, as expected, led to civic and political action. In 1992, it all reached its apex as the largest-ever gathering of heads of state in human history met at the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro. “Sustainable development” was the rallying cry, and politicians and business leaders promised to take a new path. Henceforth, they said, the environment would be weighed in every political, social and economic decision. Yet only two weeks after all the fine statements of purpose and government commitments were signed in Rio, the Group of Seven industrialized nations met in Munich and not a word was mentioned about the environment. The main topic was the global economy. The environment, it was said, had fallen off the list of public concerns, and environmentalism had been relegated to the status of a transitory fad. ~ David Suzuki,

1409:The Reed Flute's Song Listen to the story told by the reed, of being separated. "Since I was cut from the reedbed, I have made this crying sound. Anyone apart from someone he loves understands what I say. Anyone pulled from a source longs to go back. At any gathering I am there, mingling in the laughing and grieving, a friend to each, but few will hear the secrets hidden within the notes. No ears for that. Body flowing out of spirit, spirit up from body: no concealing that mixing. But it's not given us to see the soul. The reed flute is fire, not wind. Be that empty." Hear the love fire tangled in the reed notes, as bewilderment melts into wine. The reed is a friend to all who want the fabric torn and drawn away. The reed is hurt and salve combining. Intimacy and longing for intimacy, one song. A disastrous surrender and a fine love, together. The one who secretly hears this is senseless. A tongue has one customer, the ear. A sugarcane flute has such effect because it was able to make sugar in the reedbed. The sound it makes is for everyone. Days full of wanting, let them go by without worrying that they do. Stay where you are inside such a pure, hollow note. Every thirst gets satisfied except that of these fish, the mystics, who swim a vast ocean of grace still somehow longing for it! No one lives in that without being nourished every day. But if someone doesn't want to hear the song of the reed flute, it's best to cut conversation short, say good-bye, and leave. ~ Rumi,

1410:On The Steamer The stir of leaves, the chilly morning air Were like delirium; half awake Jaws clamped; the dawn beyond the Kama glared Blue, as the plumage of a drake. There was A yawning And in the Within the a clattering of crockery, steward taking stock, depth, as high as candlesticks, river, glow-worms flocked. They hung from streets along the waterfront, A scintillating string; it chimed Three times; the steward with a napkin tried To scratch away some candle grime. Like a grey rumour, crawling from the past, A mighty epic of the reeds, With ripples in the beads of street lamps, fast Towards Perm the Kama ran upon a breeze. Choking on waves, and almost drowning, but Still swimming on beyond the boat A star kept diving and resurfacing An icon's shining light afloat. A smell of paint mixed with the galley smells, And on the Kama all along, The twilight drifted, secrets gathering, With not a splash it drifted on… A glass in hand, your pupils narrowing You watched the slips of tongue perform A whirling play on words, at suppertime, But were not drawn into their swarm. You called your partner to old happenings, To waves of days before your day, To plunge in them, a final residue Of the last drop, and fade away. 107 The stir of leaves in chilly morning air Was like delirium; half awake One yawned; the east beyond the Kama glared Blue, as the plumage of a drake. And, like a bloodbath now the morning came, A flaming flood of oil - to drown The steamer's gaslights in the stateroom and The waning street lamps of the town. ~ Boris Pasternak,

1411:Think about it. Why does one eat a snack? Why is a snack necessary? The answer—and we’ve done a million studies on this—is because our lives are filled with tedium and drudgery and endless toil and we need a tiny blip of pleasure to repel the gathering darkness. Thus, we give ourselves a treat. “But here’s the thing,” Periwinkle continues, his eyes all aglow, “even the things we do to break the routine become routine. Even the things we do to escape the sadness of our lives have themselves become sad. What this ad acknowledges is that you’ve been eating all these snacks and yet you are not happy, and you’ve been watching all these shows and yet you still feel lonely, and you’ve been seeing all this news and yet the world makes no sense, and you’ve been playing all these games and yet the melancholy sinks deeper and deeper into you. How do you escape?” “You buy a new chip.” “You buy a missile-shaped chip! That’s the answer. What this ad does is admit something you already deeply suspect and existentially fear: that consumerism is a failure and you will never find any meaning there no matter how much money you spend. So the great challenge for people like me is to convince people like you that the problem is not systemic. It’s not that snacks leave you feeling empty, it’s that you haven’t found the right snack yet. It’s not that TV turns out to be a poor substitute for human connection, it’s that you haven’t found the right show yet. It’s not that politics are hopelessly bankrupt, it’s that you haven’t found the right politician yet. And this ad just comes right out and says it. I swear to god it’s like playing poker against someone who’s showing his cards and yet still bluffing by force of personality. ~ Nathan Hill,

1412:To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life. In a sense it might even be said that our failure is to form habits: for, after all, habit is relative to a stereotyped world, and meantime it is only the roughness of the eye that makes two persons, things, situations, seem alike. While all melts under our feet, we may well grasp at any exquisite passion, or any contribution to knowledge that seems by a lifted horizon to set the spirit free for a moment, or any stirring of the sense, strange dyes, strange colours, and curious odours, or work of the artist’s hands, or the face of one’s friend. Not to discriminate every moment some passionate attitude in those about us, and in the very brilliancy of their gifts some tragic dividing on their ways, is, on this short day of frost and sun, to sleep before evening. With this sense of the splendour of our experience and of its awful brevity, gathering all we are into one desperate effort to see and touch, we shall hardly have time to make theories about the things we see and touch. What we have to do is to be for ever curiously testing new opinions and courting new impressions, never acquiescing in a facile orthodoxy, of Comte, or of Hegel, or of our own. Philosophical theories or ideas, as points of view, instruments of criticism, may help us to gather up what might otherwise pass unregarded by us. “Philosophy is the microscope of thought.” The theory or idea or system which requires of us the sacrifice of any part of this experience, in consideration of some interest into which we cannot enter, or some abstract theory we have not identified with ourselves, or of what is only conventional, has no real claim upon us. ~ Walter Pater,

1413:Fine!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Yes, you mean something to me. What you did for me on Thanksgiving—that made me…” My voice cracked. “That made me happy. You made me happy. And I still care about you. Okay? You mean something to me—something I can’t really even put into words because everything seems too lame in comparison. I’ve always wanted you, even when I hated you. I want you even though you drive me freaking insane. And I know I screwed everything up. Not just for you and me, but for Dee.” My breath caught on a sob. The words rushed from me, one after another. “And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive —not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.” Tears pricked my eyes as I stepped back. My chest was swelling so fast it hurt. “But none of this matters, because I know you really hate me now . I understand that. I just wish I could go back and change everything! I—” Daemon was suddenly in front of me, clasping my cheeks in his warm hands. “I never hated you.” I blinked back the wetness gathering in my eyes. “But—” “I don’t hate you now , Kat.” He stared intently into my eyes. “I’m mad at you—at myself. I’m so angry, I can taste it. I want to find Blake and rearrange parts of his body. But do you know w hat I thought about all day yesterday? All night? The one single thought I couldn’t escape, no matter how pissed off I am at you?” “No,” I whispered. “That I’m lucky, because the person I can’t get out of my head, the person who means more to me than I can stand, is still alive. She’s still there. And that’s you. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,

1414:Music is silenced, the dark descending slowly Has stripped unending skies of all companions. Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizons Dumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears. Still, O bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and falls Of an ocean's drowsy booming, Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam. Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves? Where the nest and the branch's hold? Still, O bird, my sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. Stretching in front of you the night's immensity Hides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun; Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimming Across the shoreless dark a crescent moon Has thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon. But O my bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. From upper skies the stars with pointing fingers Intently watch your course and death's impatience Lashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves; And sad entreaties line the farthest shore With hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!' Still, O bird, O sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings. All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes; All that is lost: your words and lamentation; No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers. For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard, And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction. Dear bird, my sightless bird, Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings! ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Hard Times ,

1415:Insight, then. Wisdom. The quest for knowledge, the derivation of theorems, science and technology and all those exclusively human pursuits that must surely rest on a conscious foundation. Maybe that's what sentience would be for— if scientific breakthroughs didn't spring fully-formed from the subconscious mind, manifest themselves in dreams, as full-blown insights after a deep night's sleep. It's the most basic rule of the stymied researcher: stop thinking about the problem. Do something else. It will come to you if you just stop being conscious of it... Don't even try to talk about the learning curve. Don't bother citing the months of deliberate practice that precede the unconscious performance, or the years of study and experiment leading up to the gift-wrapped Eureka moment. So what if your lessons are all learned consciously? Do you think that proves there's no other way? Heuristic software's been learning from experience for over a hundred years. Machines master chess, cars learn to drive themselves, statistical programs face problems and design the experiments to solve them and you think that the only path to learning leads through sentience? You're Stone-age nomads, eking out some marginal existence on the veldt—denying even the possibility of agriculture, because hunting and gathering was good enough for your parents. Do you want to know what consciousness is for? Do you want to know the only real purpose it serves? Training wheels. You can't see both aspects of the Necker Cube at once, so it lets you focus on one and dismiss the other. That's a pretty half-assed way to parse reality. You're always better off looking at more than one side of anything. Go on, try. Defocus. It's the next logical step. ~ Peter Watts,

1416:To A Canadian Aviator Who Died For His Country In France Tossed like a falcon from the hunter's wrist, A sweeping plunge, a sudden shattering noise, And thou hast dared, with a long spiral twist, The elastic stairway to the rising sun. Peril below thee and above, peril Within thy car; but peril cannot daunt Thy peerless heart: gathering wing and poise, Thy plane transfigured, and thy motor-chant Subduéd to a whisper -- then a silence, -And thou art but a disembodied venture In the void. But Death, who has learned to fly, Still matchless when his work is to be done, Met thee between the armies and the sun; Thy speck of shadow faltered in the sky; Then thy dead engine and thy broken wings Drooped through the arc and passed in fire, A wreath of smoke -- a breathless exhalation. But ere that came a vision sealed thine eyes, Lulling thy senses with oblivion; And from its sliding station in the skies Thy dauntless soul upward in circles soared To the sublime and purest radiance whence it sprang. In all their eyries, eagles shall mourn thy fate, And leaving on the lonely crags and scaurs Their unprotected young, shall congregate High in the tenuous heaven and anger the sun With screams, and with a wild audacity Dare all the battle danger of thy flight; Till weary with combat one shall desert the light, Fall like a bolt of thunder and check his fall On the high ledge, smoky with mist and cloud, Where his neglected eaglets shriek aloud, And drawing the film across his sovereign sight Shall dream of thy swift soul immortal 140 Mounting in circles, faithful beyond death. ~ Duncan Campbell Scott,

1417:A beautiful example of a long-term intention was presented by A. T. Ariyaratane, a Buddhist elder, who is considered to be the Gandhi of Sri Lanka. For seventeen years there had been a terrible civil war in Sri Lanka. At one point, the Norwegians were able to broker peace, and once the peace treaty was in effect, Ariyaratane called the followers of his Sarvodaya movement together. Sarvodaya combines Buddhist principles of right livelihood, right action, right understanding, and compassion and has organized citizens in one-third of that nation’s villages to dig wells, build schools, meditate, and collaborate as a form of spiritual practice. Over 650,000 people came to the gathering to hear how he envisioned the future of Sri Lanka. At this gathering he proposed a five-hundred-year peace plan, saying, “The Buddha teaches we must understand causes and conditions. It’s taken us five hundred years to create the suffering that we are in now.” Ari described the effects of four hundred years of colonialism, of five hundred years of struggle between Hindus, Muslims, and Buddhists, and of several centuries of economic disparity. He went on, “It will take us five hundred years to change these conditions.” Ariyaratane then offered solutions, proposing a plan to heal the country. The plan begins with five years of cease-fire and ten years of rebuilding roads and schools. Then it goes on for twenty-five years of programs to learn one another’s languages and cultures, and fifty years of work to right economic injustice, and to bring the islanders back together as a whole. And every hundred years there will be a grand council of elders to take stock on how the plan is going. This is a sacred intention, the long-term vision of an elder. ~ Jack Kornfield,

1418:Oh, God—” “Don’t move.” Rohan’s voice was astonishingly calm. “Don’t swat at them.” She had never known such primal fear, welling up from beneath her skin, leaking through every pore. No part of her body seemed to be under her control. The air was boiling with them, bees and more bees. It was not going to be a pleasant way to die. Closing her eyes tightly, Amelia willed herself to be still, when every muscle strained and screamed for action. Insects moved in sinuous patterns around her, tiny bodies touching her sleeves, hands, shoulders. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” she heard Rohan say. Amelia highly doubted that. “These are not f-frightened bees.” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. “These are f-furious bees.” “They do seem a bit annoyed,” Rohan conceded, approaching her slowly. “It could be the dress you’re wearing—they tend not to like dark colors.” A short pause. “Or it could be the fact that you just ripped down half their hive.” “If you h-have the nerve to be amused by this—” She broke off and covered her face with her hands, trembling all over. His soothing voice undercut the buzzing around them. “Be still. Everything’s fine. I’m right here with you.” “Take me away,” she whispered desperately. Her heart was pounding too hard, making her bones shake, driving every coherent thought from her head. She felt him brush a few inquisitive insects from her hair and back. His arms went around her, his shoulder sturdy beneath her cheek. “I will, sweetheart. Put your arms around my neck.” She groped for him blindly, feeling sick and weak and disoriented. The flat muscles at the back of his neck shifted as he bent toward her, gathering her up as easily as if she were a child. “There,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1419:The Keys Broken ivories playing the blue piano of the sea. We have come from the bitter city to heal ourselves. We have come looking for a patch of beach not yet built into a fortress of real-estate greed, a coral reef not yet picked clean of buried treasure, not yet bare of birds. The first night in the Keys, I dreamed I was a bird soaring over a hilly city, soaring & dipping like a gull or egret. & I thought: 'Ah- this is a flying dream! Enjoy it.' But I really think that my soul has been transported for a night into the body of a bird & I was flying. I woke up exhausted, arms weary, eyes red. The beach was dazzling 211 with its white sand, the sun blinding, & I seemed to know the palm trees from above as well as below. They root in the sand with elephant feet, yet they also root their delicate fronds in air. & these are a comfort as you fly half bird, half human through a dream of sky. Everything was new to a spirit so divided between two kingdoms. The water was alive with fish, the air with birds & palm fronds, clouds, thunderous presences of rain gathering & parting, & fiery sun playing through. I knew that I stood on a patch of earth connected to the sky, that my heart beat with the sea, that my arms moved with the clouds, that my flesh was finally irrelevant though it surrounded me as the case of a piano surrounds its strings, 212 while the fingers play on the ivory keys & the human music rises to the sky. ~ Erica Jong,

1420:18 You have not come to a physical mountain,* to a place of flaming fire, darkness, gloom, and whirlwind, as the Israelites did at Mount Sinai. 19 For they heard an awesome trumpet blast and a voice so terrible that they begged God to stop speaking. 20 They staggered back under God’s command: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned to death.”* 21 Moses himself was so frightened at the sight that he said, “I am terrified and trembling.”* 22 No, you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to countless thousands of angels in a joyful gathering. 23 You have come to the assembly of God’s firstborn children, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God himself, who is the judge over all things. You have come to the spirits of the righteous ones in heaven who have now been made perfect. 24 You have come to Jesus, the one who mediates the new covenant between God and people, and to the sprinkled blood, which speaks of forgiveness instead of crying out for vengeance like the blood of Abel. 25 Be careful that you do not refuse to listen to the One who is speaking. For if the people of Israel did not escape when they refused to listen to Moses, the earthly messenger, we will certainly not escape if we reject the One who speaks to us from heaven! 26 When God spoke from Mount Sinai his voice shook the earth, but now he makes another promise: “Once again I will shake not only the earth but the heavens also.”* 27 This means that all of creation will be shaken and removed, so that only unshakable things will remain. 28 Since we are receiving a Kingdom that is unshakable, let us be thankful and please God by worshiping him with holy fear and awe. 29 For our God is a devouring fire. ~ Anonymous,

1421:Leaving the Connecticut River March 8, 1704 Temperature 40 degrees They marched until the captives could not take another step. Eben dragged Eliza half the way and Sarah dragged her the rest. Mercy and Joseph took turns hauling Ruth. That night they slept like rocks, and in the morning Mercy understood why bears spent the whole winter sleeping. It sounded good to Mercy. Perhaps it sounded good to the Indians too, because they did not leave camp. Instead, they built two fires, gathering an enormous woodpile. Joseph was stripped of his English clothes. Too torn and filthy to bother with, they were tossed into the woods. He was given a long deerskin shirt and leggings that hung from thigh to ankle, held up by cords strung to a belt. Then came coat, hat and mittens, all Indian. How dark Joseph’s hair was. How tan his skin. Joseph looked like a young brave. In a moment, the Indians did the same with Eben, whose coloring was very English, ruddy cheeks and straw-yellow hair. He did not look at all Indian, but in deerskin, he looked tough and strong and much older. The girls were nervous. They did not want their clothes stripped off their bodies, no matter how torn and filthy. But Eben’s Indian, Thorakwaneken, hoisted a flintlock musket and looked questioningly at each girl. Mercy could not imagine what he was asking of her. Eliza did not notice him or the gun. And Ruth was the last person to whom a sensible Indian would hand a weapon. Sarah, however, nodded. “I’m a good shot.” She took the musket from Thorakwaneken. Food was such a problem that even Joseph and Eben would be armed and sent forth to hunt. The girls would stay by the fire with enough wood to last for days, and Sarah to fend off wolves. ~ Caroline B Cooney,

1422:I'll fix things up with George soon as she gets here," Anthony mumbled. "You may depend upon it." "Oh,I know you will, but you'll have to hie yourself back to London to do so, since she ain't coming here. Didn't want to inflict her dour mood on the festivities, so decided it ould be best to absent herself." Anthony looked appalled now and complained, "You didn't say she was that mad." "Didn't I? Think you're wearing that black eye just because she's a mite annoyed?" "That will do," Jason said sternly. "This entire situation is intolerable.And frankly, I find it beyond amazing that you have both utterly lost your finesse in dealing ith women since you married." That,of course, hit quite below the belt where these two ex[rakes were concerned. "Ouch," James muttered, then in his own defense, "American women are an exception to any known rule, and bloody stubbron besides." "So are Scots,for that matter," Anthony added. "They just don't behave like normal Enlgishwomen,Jason,indeed they don't." "Regardless.You know my feelings on the entire family gathering here for Christmas.This is not the time for anyone in the family to be harboring any ill will of any sort.You both should have patched this up before the holidays began. See that you do so immediately, if you both have to return to London to do so." Having said his peace, Jason headed for the door to leave his brothers to mull over their conduct,or rather, misconduct, but added before he left, "You both look like bloody panda bears.D'you have any idea what kind of example that sets for the children?" "Panda bears indeed," Anthony snorted as soon as the door closed. James looked up to reply drolly, "Least the roof is still intact. ~ Johanna Lindsey,

1423:Amelia stopped before him, her skirts crowded between his parted knees. The clean, salty, evergreen scent of him drifted to her nostrils. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, trying for a businesslike tone. “A very sensible one. You see—” She paused to clear her throat. “I’ve been thinking about your problem.” “What problem?” Cam played lightly with the folds of her skirts, watching her face alertly. “Your good-luck curse. I know how to get rid of it. You should marry into a family with very, very bad luck. A family with expensive problems. And then you won’t have to be embarrassed about having so much money, because it will flow out nearly as fast as it comes in." "Very sensible.” Cam took her shaking hand in his, pressed it between his warm palms. And touched his foot to her rapidly tapping one. “Hummingbird,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous with me.” Gathering her courage, Amelia blurted out, “I want your ring. I want never to take it off again. I want to be your romni forever”—she paused with a quick, abashed smile—“whatever that is.” “My bride. My wife.” Amelia froze in a moment of throat-clenching delight as she felt him slide the gold ring onto her finger, easing it to the base. “When we were with Leo, tonight,” she said scratchily, “I knew exactly how he felt about losing Laura. He told me once that I couldn’t understand unless I had loved someone that way. He was right. And tonight, as I watched you with him . . . I knew what I would think at the very last moment of my life.” His thumb smoothed over the tender surface of her knuckle. “Yes, love?” "I would think,” she continued,” ‘Oh, if I could have just one more day with Cam. I would fit a lifetime into those few hours. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1424:Rose, let me show you upstairs to your new room. Do you know that my brother has bought the contents of an entire toy shop for you? Dolls and books, and the biggest doll house you've ever seen.” As the little girl squealed with delight and followed her at once, Holly stared at Zachary Bronson with rapidly dawning disapproval. “An entire toy shop?” “It was nothing like that,” Bronson said immediately. “Elizabeth is prone to exaggeration.” He threw a warning glance at Paula, silently demanding that she agree with him. “Isn't that right, Mother?” “Well,” Paula said uncertainly, “actually, you did rather—” “I'm certain Lady Holland will want a tour of the house while her belongings are unpacked,” Bronson interrupted hastily. “Why don't you take her around?” Clearly overwhelmed by shyness, Mrs. Bronson gave a noncommittal murmur and sped away, leaving the two of them alone in the parlor. Faced with Holly's disapproving stare, Zachary shoved his hands in his pockets, while the toe of his expensive shoe beat a quick, impatient rhythm on the floor. “What harm is there in an extra toy or two?” he finally said in an excessively reasonable tone. “Her room was about as cheerful as a prison cell. I thought a doll and a handful of books would make the place more appealing for her—” “First of all,” Holly interrupted, “I doubt that any room in this house could be described as a prison cell. Second… I will not have my daughter spoiled and overwhelmed, and influenced by your taste for excess.” “Fine,” he said with a gathering scowl. “We'll get rid of the damned toys, then.” “Please do not swear in my presence,” Holly said, and sighed. “How am I to remove the toys after Rose has seen them? You don't know very much about children, do you?” “No,” he said shortly. “Only how to bribe them. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1425:Elements Of Composition Composed as I am, like others, of elements on certain well-known lists, father's seed and mother's egg gathering earth, air, fire, mostly water, into a mulberry mass, moulding calcium, carbon, even gold, magnesium and such, into a chattering self tangled in love and work, scary dreams, capable of eyes that can see, only by moving constantly, the constancy of things like Stonehenge or cherry trees; add uncle's eleven fingers making shadow-plays of rajas and cats, hissing, becoming fingers again, the look of panic on sister's face an hour before her wedding, a dated newspaper map, of a place one has never seen, maybe no longer there after the riots, downtown Nairobi, that a friend carried in his passport as others would a woman's picture in their wallets; add the lepers of Madurai, male, female, married, with children, lion faces, crabs for claws, clotted on their shadows under the stone-eyed goddesses of dance, mere pillars, moving as nothing on earth can move &mdash I pass through them as they pass through me taking and leaving affections, seeds, skeletons, millennia of fossil records of insects that do not last a day, body-prints of mayflies, a legend half-heard in a train of the half-man searching for an ever-fleeing other half through Muharram tigers, hyacinths in crocodile waters, and the sweet twisted lives of epileptic saints, and even as I add I lose, decompose, into my elements into other names and forms, past, and passing, tenses without time, caterpillar on a leaf, eating, 10 being eaten. ~ A. K. Ramanujan,

1426:He walked me to the door, and we stood on the top step. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he kissed me on the nose and said, “I’m glad I came back.” God, he was sweet. “I’m glad you did, too,” I replied. “But…” I paused for a moment, gathering courage. “Did you have something you wanted to say?” It was forward, yes--gutsy. But I wasn’t going to let this moment pass. I didn’t have many more moments with him, after all; soon I’d be gone to Chicago. Sitting in coffee shops at eleven at night, if I wanted. Working. Eventually going back to school. I’d be danged if I was going to miss what he’d started to say a few minutes earlier, before my mom and her cashmere robe showed up and spoiled everything. Marlboro Man looked up at me and smiled, apparently pleased that I’d shown such assertiveness. An outgoing middle child all my life, with him I’d become quiet, shy--an unrecognizable version of myself. He’d captured my heart so unexpectedly, so completely, I’d been rendered utterly incapable of speaking. He had this uncanny way of sucking the words right out of me and leaving nothing but pure, unadulterated passion in their place. He grabbed me even more tightly. “Well, first of all,” he began, “I really…I really like you.” He looked into my eyes in a seeming effort to transmit the true meaning of each word straight into my psyche. All muscle tone disappeared from my body. Marlboro Man was so willing to put himself out there, so unafraid to put forth his true feelings. I simply wasn’t used to this. I was used to head games, tactics, apathy, aloofness. When it came to love and romance, I’d developed a rock-solid tolerance for mediocrity. And here, in two short weeks, Marlboro Man had blown it all to kingdom come. There was nothing mediocre about Marlboro Man. ~ Ree Drummond,

1427:The Boys' And Girls' Thanksgiving Of 1892 Never since the race was started, Had a boy in any clime, Cause to be so thankful-hearted, As the boys of present time. Not a girl in old times livingLet the world talk as it mayFound such reasons for Thanksgiving, As the girls who live to-day! Grandmas, in their corners sitting, Toiling till the day grew late, What knew they with endless knitting, Of the jolly roller-skate? Grandpas sitting by the fender, Reading by the faggots' blaze, What knew they of modern splendor Found in incandescent rays? Where they toiled in bitter weather, Braving rain and snow and sleet, Gathering sticks of wood together, We have radiators' heat. But these fruits of modern science They first planted seed by seed, In their strength and self-reliance We may find a noble creed. With the dawn of great inventions, Came the anti-warring days. Men are sick of armed contentions, God be thanked with heart-felt praise. Once a boy was trained for fighting, Now the world is better taught, 'Tis an age when wrongs are righting By the force of common thought. 557 Once a girl was trained for sewing, Spinning, knitting, nothing more. She must never think of knowing Aught of things outside her door. If she soared above her spinning, If she sought a life more broad, She was looked upon as sinning 'Gainst the laws of man and God. Now a girl is taught she's human, Brain and body, soul and heartAll are needed by the woman Who to-day would play her part. Swift and sure the world advances, Let the critic carp who may. God be praised for all the chances Boys and girls enjoy to-day. ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,

1428:The evil heart which still remaineth in the Christian, doth always, when it is not attacking or obstructing, still reign and dwell within him. My heart is just as bad when no evil emanates from it, as when it is all over vileness in its external developments. A volcano is ever a volcano; even when it sleeps, trust it not. A lion is a lion, even though he play like a kid; and a serpent, is a serpent, even though you may stroke it while for a season it slumbers; there is still a venom in its sting when its azure scales invite the eye. My heart, even though for an hour, it may not have had an evil thought, is still evil. If it were possible that I could live for days without a single temptation from my own heart to sin, it would be still just as evil as it was before; and it is always either displaying its vileness, or else preparing for another display. It is either loading its cannon to shoot against us, or else it is positively at warfare with us. You may rest assured that the heart is never other than it originally was; the evil nature is still evil; and when there is no blaze, it is heaping up the wood, wherewith it is to blaze another day. It is gathering up from my joys, from my devotions, from my holiness, and from all I do, some materials to attack me at some future period. The evil nature is only evil, and that continually, without the slightest mitigation or element of good. The new nature must always wrestle and fight with it; and when the two natures are not wrestling and fighting, there is no truce between them. When they are not in conflict, still they are foes. We must not trust our heart at any time; even when it speaks most fair, we must call it liar; and when it pretends to the most good, still we must remember its nature, for it is evil, and that continually. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,

1429:Even yet I do not know why the ocean holds such a fascination for me. But then, perhaps none of us can solve those things—they exist in defiance of all explanation. There are men, and wise men, who do not like the sea and its lapping surf on yellow shores; and they think us strange who love the mystery of the ancient and unending deep. Yet for me there is a haunting and inscrutable glamour in all the ocean's moods. It is in the melancholy silver foam beneath the moon's waxen corpse; it hovers over the silent and eternal waves that beat on naked shores; it is there when all is lifeless save for unknown shapes that glide through sombre depths. And when I behold the awesome billows surging in endless strength, there comes upon me an ecstasy akin to fear; so that I must abase myself before this mightiness, that I may not hate the clotted waters and their overwhelming beauty. Vast and lonely is the ocean, and even as all things came from it, so shall they return thereto. In the shrouded depths of time none shall reign upon the earth, nor shall any motion be, save in the eternal waters. And these shall beat on dark shores in thunderous foam, though none shall remain in that dying world to watch the cold light of the enfeebled moon playing on the swirling tides and coarse-grained sand. On the deep's margin shall rest only a stagnant foam, gathering about the shells and bones of perished shapes that dwelt within the waters. Silent, flabby things will toss and roll along empty shores, their sluggish life extinct. Then all shall be dark, for at last even the white moon on the distant waves shall wink out. Nothing shall be left, neither above nor below the sombre waters. And until that last millennium, and beyond the perishing of all other things, the sea will thunder and toss throughout the dismal night. ~ H P Lovecraft,

1430:There was a few seconds' pause. Then Amit said: I meant, what were you thinking just now. When? said Lata. When you were looking at Pran and Savita. Over the pudding. Oh. Well, what? I can't remember, said Lata with a smile. Amit laughed. Why are you laughing? asked Lata I like making you feel uncomfortable, I suppose. Oh. Why? --Or happy--or puzzled--just to see your change of mood. It's such fun. I pity you! Why? said Lata, startled. Because you'll never know what a pleasure it is to be in your company. Do stop talking like that, said Lata. Ma will come in any minute. You're quite right. In that case: Will you marry me? Lata dropped her cup. It fell to the floor and broke. She looked at the broken pieces--luckily, it has been empty--and then at Amit. Quick! said Amit. Before they come running to see what's happened. Say yes. Lata had knelt down; she was gathering he bits of the cup together and placing them on the delicately patterned blue-and-gold saucer. Amit joined her on the floor. Her face was only a few inches away from his, but her mind appeared to be somewhere else. he wanted to kiss her but he sensed that there was no question of it. One by one she picked up the shards of china. Was it a family heirloom? asked Amit. What? I'm sorry--said Lata, snapped out of her trance by the words. Well, I suppose I'll have to wait. I was hoping that by springing it on you like that I'd surprise you into agreeing... ...Do stop being idotic, Amit, said Lata. You're so brilliant, do you have to be so stupid as well? I should only take you seriously in black and white. And in sickness and health. Lata laughed: For better and for worse, she added. ~ Vikram Seth,

1431:But I awoke at three, feeling terribly sad, and feeling rebelliously that I didn't want to study sadness, madness, melancholy, and despair. I wanted to study triumphs, the rediscoveries of love, all that I know in the world to be decent, radiant, and clear. Then the word "love", the impulse to love, welled up in me somewhere above my middle. Love seemed to flow from me in all directions, abundant as water--love for Cora, love for Flora, love for all my friends and neighbors, love for Penumbra. This tremendous flow of vitality could not be contained within its spelling, and I seemed to seize a laundry marker and write "luve" on the wall. I wrote "luve" on the staircase, "luve" on the pantry, "luve" on the oven, the washing machine, and the coffeepot, and when Cora came down in the morning (I would be nowhere around) everywhere she looked she would read "luve", "luve", "luve." Then I saw a green meadow and a sparkling stream. On the ridge there were thatched-roof cottages and a square church tower, so I knew it must be England. I climbed up from the meadow to the streets of the village, looking for the cottage where Cora and Flora would be waiting for me. There seemed to have been some mistake. No one knew their names. I asked at the post office, but the answer here was the same. Then it occurred to me that they would be at the manor house. How stupid I had been! I left the village and walked up a sloping lawn to a Georgian house, where a butler let me in. The squire was entertaining. There were twenty-five or thirty people in the hall, drinking sherry. I took a glass from a tray and looked through the gathering for Flora and my wife, but they were not there. Then I thanked my host and walked down the broad lawn, back to the meadow and the sparkling brook, where I lay on the grass and fell into a sweet sleep. ~ John Cheever,

1432:Litany This is a litany of lost things, a canon of possessions dispossessed, a photograph, an old address, a key. It is a list of words to memorize or to forget–of amo, amas, amat, the conjugations of a dead tongue in which the final sentence has been spoken. This is the liturgy of rain, falling on mountain, field, and ocean– indifferent, anonymous, complete– of water infinitesimally slow, sifting through rock, pooling in darkness, gathering in springs, then rising without our agency, only to dissolve in mist or cloud or dew. This is a prayer to unbelief, to candles guttering and darkness undivided, to incense drifting into emptiness. It is the smile of a stone Madonna and the silent fury of the consecrated wine, a benediction on the death of a young god, brave and beautiful, rotting on a tree. This is a litany to earth and ashes, to the dust of roads and vacant rooms, to the fine silt circling in a shaft of sun, settling indifferently on books and beds. This is a prayer to praise what we become, 'Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return.' Savor its taste–the bitterness of earth and ashes. This is a prayer, inchoate and unfinished, for you, my love, my loss, my lesion, a rosary of words to count out time's illusions, all the minutes, hours, days the calendar compounds as if the past existed somewhere–like an inheritance still waiting to be claimed. 10 Until at last it is our litany, mon vieux, my reader, my voyeur, as if the mist steaming from the gorge, this pure paradox, the shattered river rising as it falls– splintering the light, swirling it skyward, neither transparent nor opaque but luminous, even as it vanishes–were not our life. ~ Dana Gioia,

1433:Uh-oh, I forgot about the whole saying grace aspect of Thanksgiving. I watch Dad closely as hands begin to link around the table. Will he go along? Kyle snatches Dad’s left hand. I exhale in relief as he doesn’t pull away, and I pick up his right. When the circle is fully linked, Betty begins. “Dear Lord, we just want to thank you for the glory and power of your amazing works in bringing us such a magnificent dinner this year….. “Uh-huh.” Vonda and Wesley murmur an affirmation. I should have known this wouldn’t be the quick and tidy Episcopal grace of my grandmother’s table. I cast a furtive glance from under my bangs. How’s Dad holding up? Everyone else is looking down, but Dad is studying Betty intently. “…and Lord, we want to offer up praise for gathering in so many of your lambs that we thought might be lost, but they ain’t lost no more…” “Praise Jesus!” Vonda shouts. Ty and Marcus manage to look both embarrassed and grateful. Dad’s gaze hasn’t left Betty’s face. I’m hoping Betty might be winding down, but she seems to be gathering more steam. “…and Lord we want to shout our praise for sending us the gift of a woman who opened up her home to us today and who gave our Ty a second chance and that would be your sweet child, Audrey…” “Shout it out!’ Vonda calls. “Uh-huh,” the rest of the guests murmur. Dad is silent. I feel his fingers twitch in my hand. Poor little Kyle is ready to face-plant into the mashed potatoes as Betty takes yet another breath. “Lord, ain’t none of us know what tomorrow will bring. Might be joy, might be pain. We try to walk on a righteous path, Lord, but let’s face it, we all sinners and we probably gonna stray. But we know you gonna forgive us. That’s what keeps us goin’. Brothers and sisters, believe the good news—we are forgiven!” Silence shimmers and twists before us. I can’t look up. “Amen. ~ S W Hubbard,

1434:Drowning in guilt and fear and desire, she tried to push his caressing hand away from her throat. His fingers delved into her hair with a grip just short of painful. His mouth was close to hers. He was surrounding her, all the strength and force and maleness of him, and she closed her eyes as her senses went quiet and dark in helpless waiting. "I'll make you tell me," she heard him mutter. And then she was kissing her. Somehow, Beatrix thought hazily, Christopher seemed to be under the impression she would find his kisses so objectionable that she would confess anything to make him desist. She couldn't think how he had come by such a notion. In fact, she couldn't really think at all. His mouth moved over hers in supple, intimate angles, until he found some perfect alignment that made her weak all over. She reached around his neck to keep from dropping bonelessly to the floor. Gathering her closer into the hard support of his body, he explored her slowly, the tip of his tongue stroking, tasting. Her body listed more heavily against his as her limbs became weighted with pleasure. She sensed the moment when his anger was eclipsed by passion, desire changing to white-hot need. Her fingers sank into his beautiful hair, the shorn locks heavy and vibrant, his scalp hot against her palms. With each inhalation, she drew in more of his fragrance, the trace of sandalwood on warm male skin. His mouth slid from hers and dragged roughly along her throat, crossing sensitive places that made her writhe. Blindly turning her face, she rubbed her lips against his ear. He drew in a sharp breath and jerked his head back. His hand came to her jaw, clamping firmly. "Tell me what you know," he said, his breath searing her lips. "Or I'll do worse than this. I'll take you here and now. Is that what you want?" As a matter of fact ... ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1435:Hamilton was more persuasive than he realized, and a delegation of business leaders soon approached him to subscribe to a “money-bank” that would thwart Livingston’s land bank. “I was a little embarrassed how to act,” Hamilton confessed sheepishly to Church, “but upon the whole I concluded it best to fall in with them.” 51 Instead of launching a separate bank, Hamilton decided to represent Church and Wadsworth on the board of the new bank. Ironically, he held in his own name only a single share of the bank that was long to be associated with his memory. On February 23, 1784, The New-York Packet announced a landmark gathering: “It appearing to be the disposition of the gentlemen in this city to establish a bank on liberal principles . . . they are therefore hereby invited to meet tomorrow evening at six o’clock at the Merchant’s Coffee House, where a plan will be submitted to their consideration.” 52 At the meeting, General Alexander McDougall was voted the new bank’s chairman and Hamilton a director. Snatching an interval of leisure during the next three weeks, Hamilton drafted, singlehandedly, a constitution for the new institution—the sort of herculean feat that seems almost commonplace in his life. As architect of New York’s first financial firm, he could sketch freely on a blank slate. The resulting document was taken up as the pattern for many subsequent bank charters and helped to define the rudiments of American banking. In the superheated arena of state politics, the bank generated fierce controversy among those upstate rural interests who wanted a land bank and believed that a money bank would benefit urban merchants to their detriment. Within the city, however, the cause of the Bank of New York made improbable bedfellows, reconciling radicals and Loyalists who were sparring over the treatment of confiscated wartime properties. ~ Ron Chernow,

1436:What super-sure looks like A multitude of fascinating factors come under the ‘looking confident ‘umbrella. There isn’t space here to explore the thousands of subtle signs that signal confidence. I cover them in my book How to Talk to Anyone. However, here are a few hints to tide you over. Self-assureds do the following things instinctively. You can do them consciously until they become second nature. 1. When you are at a gathering, do not stand close to the wall or by the snacks. Walk directly to the dead-centre of the room. That’s where all the important people instinctively stand. 2. When you are going through a large door or open double doors, don’t walk on one side. Walk straight through the middle. It signifies confidence. 3. At a restaurant, unless there is an established hierarchy, go for the seat at the end of the table facing the door. That is the power position. 4. Sit in the highest chair in a meeting or on the arm of the couch – but not higher than the boss! 5. Make larger, more fluid movements. Confident people’s bodies occupy more space. Shys take as little as possible, as if to say, ‘Excuse me for taking up this much of the earth.’ 6. Keep your hands away from your face and never fidget. 7. When you agree with someone, nod your head up from neutral (jaw parallel to the floor), not down. 8. When walking towards someone and passing, be the last person to break eye-contact. 9. For men: Don’t strut like a bantam rooster. But to look like a leader, swing your arms more significantly when you walk. When you are seated, put one arm up on the back of a chair. Occasionally lean back with your arms up and your hands behind your head. 10. For women: To seem self-assured, square your body towards the person you’re talking to and stand a tad closer. Naturally, give a big smile but let it come ever so slightly so it looks sincere, not nervous. ~ Leil Lowndes,

1437:Boswell, like Lecky (to get back to the point of this footnote), and Gibbon before him, loved footnotes. They knew that the outer surface of truth is not smooth, welling and gathering from paragraph to shapely paragraph, but is encrusted with a rough protective bark of citations, quotations marks, italics, and foreign languages, a whole variorum crust of "ibid.'s" and "compare's" and "see's" that are the shield for the pure flow of argument as it lives for a moment in one mind. They knew the anticipatory pleasure of sensing with peripheral vision, as they turned the page, gray silt of further example and qualification waiting in tiny type at the bottom. (They were aware, more generally, of the usefulness of tiny type in enhancing the glee of reading works of obscure scholarship: typographical density forces you to crouch like Robert Hooke or Henry Gray over the busyness and intricacy of recorded truth.) They liked deciding as they read whether they would bother to consult a certain footnote or not, and whether they would read it in context, or read it before the text it hung from, as an hors d'oeuvre. The muscles of the eye, they knew, want vertical itineraries; the rectus externus and internus grow dazed waggling back and forth in the Zs taught in grade school: the footnote functions as a switch, offering the model-railroader's satisfaction of catching the march of thought with a superscripted "1" and routing it, sometimes at length, through abandoned stations and submerged, leaching tunnels. Digression—a movement away from the gradus, or upward escalation, of the argument—is sometimes the only way to be thorough, and footnotes are the only form of graphic digression sanctioned by centuries of typesetters. And yet the MLA Style Sheet I owned in college warned against lengthy, "essay-like" footnotes. Were they nuts? Where is scholarship going? ~ Nicholson Baker,

1438:Dream Meditation Practices are best performed in an isolated (close to nature) chamber that is clean and dry. Diet should be modified before practice so that solid food is reduced and a sense of lightness is obtained. This meditation is best done after bathing; the student can be nude or wear a light robe. Begin by lying on your back. Focus your mind on the lower tan tien. Summon the spirits residing in the organs by chanting their names in the order of the creation cycle: Houhou or Shen (heart), Beibei or Yi (spleen), Yanyan or Po (lungs), Fu Fu or Zhi (kidneys), and Jianjian or Hun (liver).20 Repeat the chanting and gathering until a bright light and warmth appear in the lower tan tien. Opening this place will automatically open the Microcosmic Orbit. Coordinate your breathing with this meditation to assist the process: inhaling stimulates the kidneys and liver, while exhaling moves the heart and lungs to the centerpoint—the stomach and spleen. Bring the merged five spirits from the lower tan tien (you can also include the other four spirits) up to the heart, and then to the Crystal Palace (also known as the Divine Palace or Hall of Light). The team of merged spirits—now the Yuan Shen or Original Spirit—can exit via the crown. Being conscious during the whole dream, or alternatively remembering the dream after waking, completes the process. You also have the choice of practicing meditation during your dream state. Process the content of the dream during the day, taking any actions in the material world that are now necessary. Remember that one of our goals with the Kan and Li practice is to merge the everyday mind with your dream landscape and meditation. Fusion of these three minds (different from the three tan tiens) is a feature of the developing sage. Ideally, dreaming can include the practice of Microcosmic Orbit, Fusion, and even Kan and Li. ~ Mantak Chia,

1439:A Dedication They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less Of sound than of words, In lands where bright blossoms are scentless, And songless bright birds; Where, with fire and fierce drought on her tresses, Insatiable Summer oppresses Sere woodlands and sad wildernesses, And faint flocks and herds. Where in drieariest days, when all dews end, And all winds are warm, Wild Winter's large floodgates are loosen'd, And floods, freed by storm; From broken-up fountain heads, dash on Dry deserts with long pent up passion-Here rhyme was first framed without fashion, Song shaped without form. Whence gather'd?--The locust's glad chirrup May furnish a stave; The ring os rowel and stirrup, The wash of a wave. The chauntof a marsh frog in rushes That chimes through the pauses and hushes Of nightfall, the torrent that gushes, The tempests that rave. In the deep'ning of dawn, when it dapples The dusk of the sky, With streaks like the redd'ning of apples, The ripening of rye. To eastward, when cluster by cluster, Dim stars and dull planets, that muster, Wax wan in a world of white lustre That spreads far and high. In the gathering of night gloom o'er head, in The still silent change, All fire-flush'd when forest trees redden On slopes of the range. When the gnarl'd knotted trunks Eucalyptian Seemed carved like weird columns Egyptian With curious device--quaint inscription, And heiroglyph strange. In the Spring, when the wattle gold trembles 'Twixt shadow and shine, When each dew-laden air draught resembles A long draught of wine; When the skyline's blue burnished resistance Makes deeper the dreamiest distance, Some song in all hearts hath existence,-Such songs have been mine. ~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,

1440:Many Horses was putting the finishing touches on a bow he had been making when Hunter entered the tepee. Setting the weapon aside, he fastened his wizened old eyes on his eldest son and pursed his crinkled lips. “You look like you’ve been eating She Who Shakes’s plum pudding and bit into a plum pit.” Hunter was in no mood for jokes. “My woman has my hackles raised.” Sitting cross-legged, he picked up the iron poker next to him and began prodding the charred wood and ashes in his father’s firepit. “One unto the other, with no horizon, that is what she wants! Imagine her setting up a lodge, tanning hides, sewing, cooking, gathering wood, all by herself. And what if she became ill while I was away? Who would tend her? Who would keep her company? The way she believes, if I was gone for a long while, she couldn’t even go to Warrior to seek solace.” “Would you wish for her to?” Hunter gave the ashes a vicious poke, sending up a cloud of gray that made Many Horses cough. The truth was, he couldn’t bear the thought of Loretta with another man. “Right now, I’d give her away to the first man stupid enough to take her.” Many Horses kept silent. “All my children would be--” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Can you see me, surrounded by White Eyes?” “Ah, that is the trouble. She is a White Eyes.” Many Horses nodded and, in a teasing voice, said, “I don’t blame you there. No man could be proud of a son with white blood. He’d be weak and cowardly, a shame to any who claimed him.” Hunter froze and glanced up. The white blood in his own veins was an unspoken truth between him and his father. Never before had Many Horses alluded to it. Many Horses sniffed and rubbed the ash from his nose. “Of course, there are the rare exceptions. I suppose a man could raise a child of mixed blood and teach him to be one of the true People. It would take work, though. ~ Catherine Anderson,

1441:THE WRATH TO COME. — MATTHEW 3:7 I t is pleasant to pass over a country after a storm has spent itself—to smell the freshness of the herbs after the rain has passed away, and to note the drops while they glisten like purest diamonds in the sunlight. That is the position of a Christian. He is going through a land where the storm has spent itself upon His Savior’s head, and if there be a few drops of sorrow falling, they distill from clouds of mercy, and Jesus cheers him by the assurance that they are not for his destruction. But how terrible it is to witness the approach of a tempest—to note the forewarnings of the storm; to mark the birds of heaven as they droop their wings; to see the cattle as they lay their heads low in terror; to discern the face of the sky as it grows black, and to find the sun obscured, and the heavens angry and frowning! How terrible to await the dread advance of a hurricane, to wait in terrible apprehension till the wind rushes forth in fury, tearing up trees from their roots, forcing rocks from their pedestals, and hurling down all the dwelling-places of man! And yet, sinner, this is your present position. No hot drops have fallen as yet, but a shower of fire is coming. No terrible winds howl around you, but God’s tempest is gathering its dread artillery. So far the water-floods are dammed up by mercy, but the floodgates will soon be opened: The thunderbolts of God are still in His storehouse, the tempest is coming, and how awful will that moment be when God, robed in vengeance, shall march forth in fury! Where, where, where, O sinner, will you hide your head, or where will you run to? May the hand of mercy lead you now to Christ! He is freely set before you in the Gospel: His pierced side is the place of shelter. You know your need of Him; believe in Him, cast yourself upon Him, and then the fury shall be past forever. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,

1442:If the threat was from the borders, it seemed unlikely that I’d find Renselaeus warriors roaming around the royal palace Athanarel. So, was there a threat at home? Like a rival for the kingship? My thoughts went immediately to the Marquise of Merindar--and to the conversation with Shevraeth at the inn. The Marquise had made no attempt to communicate with me, and I had not even seen her subsequent to that dinner the night of my arrival. In the days since, I’d managed to lose sight of my purpose in coming. When I’d surprised Shevraeth in the archive, it had seemed he was actually willing to discuss royal business--at least that portion that pertained to cleaning up after Galdran--for why else would he offer me a look at the old king’s papers? But I’d managed to turn the discussion into a quarrel, and so lost the chance. I groaned aloud. What was wrong with me? As I hurried up the steps to our wing, I promised myself that next time Shevraeth tried to talk to me, I’d listen, and even if he insulted me, my family, and my land, I’d keep my tongue between my teeth. “My own conscience demands that I make the attempt.” Would there even be another try? I sighed as I opened my door, then Nessaren and Shevraeth and the rain went out of my mind when I saw that my letter table was not empty. Two items awaited me. The first was a letter--and when I saw the device on the heavy seal, my heart sped: the Marquise of Merindar. I ripped it open, to find only an invitation to a gathering three weeks hence. No hint of any personal message. Laying it aside, I turned my gaze to the other object. Sitting in the middle of the table was a fine little vase cut from luminous starstone, and in it, bordered by the most delicate ferns, was a single rose, just barely blooming. One white rose. I knew what that meant, thanks to Nee: Purity of Intent. ~ Sherwood Smith,

1443:I told Trent I had to be at work, and then he finally agreed to let me and some of the others go.” Agreed to let her go. Really? “You didn’t think to take Dixie home?” I asked, trying to hide my outrage. Her shoulders stiffened. “I was goin’ to, but Trent said he’d do it.” I really needed to have another talk with Trent. “How many other people were at the party? Who were they?” “About twelve or so.” She took a breath as if gathering her courage. “Monica and Blane Hyde. Rebecca Smelt. Matt Greenwood. And Amelia. Oh, and Rick Springfield.” She paused. “That’s it.” That lined up with the list Dixie had given me. Neither of them had mentioned Nash Jackson. “What about Rick’s cousin?” Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Why would Rick’s cousin show up at Trent’s party?” Her tone indicated she was talking about the bald one Amber had mentioned. “Not Herbert. Nash.” “Who’s Nash?” Why had no one heard of this guy? I shook my head. “Rick’s cousin, Nash Jackson, has been hanging around, and no one seems to know who he is. Could he have been there?” She shrugged. “Maybe . . . ? Rick didn’t stay long. He showed up early but left while Dixie was in the bathroom.” “Rick was in the house while Dixie was there?” “He may not have gone in the house. Most of us use the gate at the side of the house. The Dunbars added one of those fancy iron fences a few years back.” “But he could have gone inside.” And if Dixie had left her drink on a counter or table, he would have had access to drug her. But why drug her if he was leaving? So far I had more questions than answers. “Who was still there when you left?” “Amelia. And Gabby and Mark. Wait . . . ,” she said, her eyes widening. “Bruce showed up around the time I was leavin’.” “Bruce Jepper?” He wasn’t on Dixie’s list, but then he wouldn’t have been if he’d arrived after she lost consciousness. “Yeah. He looked pissed and drunk, but ~ Denise Grover Swank,

1444:Would you like something to eat?" "No." "A little water to drink, then?" "I do not want anything." "But you must be hungry . . . thirsty . . ." "Please, child.  Just leave me alone." He needed to grieve in privacy, to try to come to terms with what had happened to him, to think what to do next.  He needed to contact his commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Maddison; he needed to get a letter off to Lucien in England; and oh, God, he needed Juliet.  Badly.  He dug his knuckles into his eyes to stop the sudden threat of tears.  Oh, so very, very badly — He wiped a hand over his face, and as he did, his elbow hit a tankard the girl, who was getting to her feet, was holding, sloshing its contents all down his chin and neck. Charles's temper, normally under as tight a control as everything else about him, exploded. "Plague take it, woman, just leave me the devil alone!  I am in torment enough without someone trying to nanny me!" "I'm only trying to help —" "Then go away and leave me be, damn you!" he roared, plowing his fingers into his hair and gathering great hunks of it in his fists.  "Go away, go away, go away!" Stunned silence.  And then he heard her get to her feet. "I'm sorry, Captain de Montforte.  I should have realized that you'd need time to come to terms with what's happened to you."  A pause.  "I'll leave this jug of hard cider next to you in case you get thirsty.  It's not as potent as rum, but maybe it'll let you escape from your troubles for a while."  Her voice had lost its sparkle, and Charles knew then — much to his own dismay and self-loathing — that she was a sensitive little thing beneath that cheerfulness, and that he'd hurt her feelings.  He suddenly felt like a monster, especially when her voice faltered and she said, "I'll be just across the room, peeling vegetables for supper . . . if you need anything, just call and I'll be right there." She ~ Danelle Harmon,

1445:Last Stanzas Of The Bush WHERE is Australia, singer, do you know? These sordid farms and joyless factories, Mephitic mines and lanes of pallid woe? Those ugly towns and cities such as these With incense sick to all unworthy power, And all old sin in full malignant flower? No! to her bourn her children still are faring: She is a temple that we are to build: For her the ages have been long preparing: She is a prophecy to be fulfilled! All that we love in olden lands and lore Was signal of her coming long ago! Bacon foresaw her, Campanella, More, And Plato’s eyes were with her star aglow! Who toiled for Truth, whate’er their countries were, Who fought for Liberty, they yearned for her! No corsair’s gathering ground, nor tryst for schemers, No chapman Carthage to a huckster Tyre, She is the Eldorado of old dreamers, The Sleeping Beauty of the world’s desire. She is the scroll on which we are to write Mythologies our own and epics new: She is the port of our propitious flight From Ur idolatrous and Pharaoh’s crew. She is our own, unstained, if worthy we, By dream, or god, or star we would not see: Her crystal beams all but the eagle dazzle. Her wind-wide ways none but the strong-winged sail: She is Eutopia, she is Hy-Brasil, The watchers on the tower of morning hail! Yet she shall be as we, the Potter, mould: Altar or tomb, as we aspire, despair: What wine we bring shall she, the chalice, hold: What word we write shall she, the script, declare: Bandage our eyes, she shall be Memphis, Spain: Barter our souls, she shall be Tyre again: 25 And if we pour on her the red oblation, All o’er the world shall Asshur’s buzzards throng: Love-lit, her Chaos shall become Creation: And dewed with dream, her silence flower in song. ~ Bernard O'Dowd,

1446:I saw a group of women standing by a station wagon. There were seven of them, pushing cartons and shopping bags over the open tailgate into the rear of the car. Celery stalks and boxes of Gleem stuck out of the bags. I took the camera from my lap, raised it to my eye, leaned out the window a bit, and trained it on the ladies as if I were shooting. One of them saw me and immediately nudged her companion but without taking her eyes off the camera. They waved. One by one the others reacted. They all smiled and waved. They seemed supremely happy. Maybe they sensed that they were waving at themselves, waving in the hope that someday if evidence is demanded of their passage through time, demanded by their own doubts, a moment might be recalled when they stood in a dazzling plaza in the sun and were registered on the transparent plastic ribbon; and thirty years away, on that day when proof is needed, it could be hoped that their film is being projected on a screen somewhere, and there they stand, verified, in chemical reincarnation, waving at their own old age, smiling their reassurance to the decades, a race of eternal pilgrims in a marketplace in the dusty sunlight, seven arms extended in a fabulous salute to the forgetfulness of being. What better proof (if proof is ever needed) that they have truly been alive? Their happiness, I think, was made of this, the anticipation of incontestable evidence, and had nothing to do with the present moment, which would pass with all the others into whatever is the opposite of eternity. I pretended to keep shooting, gathering their wasted light, letting their smiles enter the lens and wander the camera-body seeking the magic spool, the gelatin which captures the image, the film which threads through the waiting gate. Sullivan came out of the supermarket and I lowered the camera. I could not help feeling that what I was discovering here was power of a sort. ~ Don DeLillo,

1447:Where Are The Temperance People? In Reply To A Query Where are the temperance people? Well, scattered here and there: Some gathering in their produce To show at the autumn fair; Some threshing wheat for market, And others threshing rye, That will go to the fat distiller For whiskey by-and-by. And some are selling their hop crops At a first-rate price, this year, And the seller pockets the money, While the drunkard swallows the beer. And some 'staunch temperance workers'(?) Who'd do anything for the cause, Save to give it a dime or a moment, Or work for temperance laws, May be seen from now to election, Near any tavern stand Where liquor flows in plenty, With a voter on either hand. And these temperance office-seekers That we hear of far and near Are the ones who furnish the money That buys the lager-beer. But these are only the black sheep Who want the temperance name Without living up to the precepts, And so bring themselves to shame. And the true, brave temperance people, Who have the cause at heart, Are doing the work that's nearest, 908 Each his allotted part: Some lifting the fallen drunkard, Some preaching unto men, Some aiding the cause with money, And others with the pen. Each has a different mission, Each works in a different way, But their works shall melt together In one grand result, some day. And one, our chief (God bless him), Is working day and night: With his sword of burning eloquence, He is fighting the noble fight. Whether in lodge or convention, Whether at home or abroad, He is reaping a golden harvest To lay at the feet of God. Where are the temperance people? All scattered here and there, Sowing the seeds of righteous deeds, That the harvest may be fair. ~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,

1448:Winter Mask To the memory of W. B. Yeats Towards nightfall when the wind Tries the eaves and casements (A winter wind of the mind Long gathering its will) I lay the mind's contents Bare, as upon a table, And ask, in a time of war, Whether there is still To a mind frivolously dull Anything worth living for. II If I am meek and dull And a poor sacrifice Of perverse will to cull The act from the attempt, Just look into damned eyes And give the returning glare; For the damned like it, the more Damnation is exempt From what would save its heir With a thing worth living for. III The poisoned rat in the wall Cuts through the wall like a knife, Then blind, drying, and small And driven to cold water, Dies of the water of life: Both damned in eternal ice, The traitor become the boor Who had led his friend to slaughter, Now bites his head not nice, The food that he lives for. IV 122 I supposed two scenes of hell, Two human bestiaries, Might uncommonly well Convey the doom I thought; But lest the horror freeze The gentler estimation I go to the sylvan door Where nature has been bought In rational proration As a thing worth living for. Should the buyer have been beware? It is an uneven trade For man has wet his hair Under the winter weather With only fog for shade: His mouth a bracketed hole Picked by the crows that bore Nature to their hanged brother, Who rattles against the bole The thing that he lived for. VI I asked the master Yeats Whose great style could not tell Why it is man hates His own salvati6n, Prefers the way to hell, And finds his last safety In the self-made curse that bore Him towards damnation: The drowned undrowned by the se The sea worth living for. ~ Allen Tate,

1449:Thoughts In A Wheat-Field IN his wide fields walks the Master, In his fair fields, ripe for harvest, Where the evening sun shines slant-wise On the rich ears heavy bending; Saith the Master: 'It is time.' Though no leaf shows brown decadence, And September's nightly frost-bite Only reddens the horizon, 'It is full time,' saith the Master, The wise Master, 'It is time.' Lo, he looks. That look compelling Brings his laborers to the harvest; Quick they gather, as in autumn Passage-birds in cloudy eddies Drop upon the seaside fields; White wings have they, and white raiment, White feet shod with swift obedience, Each lays down his golden palm branch, And uprears his sickle shining, 'Speak, O Master,--is it time?' O'er the field the servants hasten, Where the full-stored ears droop downwards, Humble with their weight of harvest: Where the empty ears wave upward, And the gay tares flaunt in rows: But the sickles, the sharp sickles, Flash new dawn at their appearing, Songs are heard in earth and heaven, For the reapers are the angels, And it is the harvest time. O Great Master, are thy footsteps Even now upon the mountains? Are thou walking in thy wheat-field? Are the snowy-wingèd reapers Gathering in the silent air? Are thy signs abroad, the glowing 196 Of the distant sky, blood-reddened,-And the near fields trodden, blighted, Choked by gaudy tares triumphant,-Sure, it must be harvest time? Who shall know the Master's coming? Whether it be at dawn or sunset, When night dews weigh down the wheat-ears, Or while noon rides high in heaven, Sleeping lies the yellow field? Only, may thy voice, Good Master, Peal above the reapers' chorus, And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,-'Gather all into My garner, For it is My harvest time.' ~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,

1450:When they got back to town the hunters had returned and Mel was delighted to see no evidence of murdered wildlife in the truck beds or tied to roofs. But her elation was short-lived, because once inside the bar she learned that they had bagged two bucks, four-by-fours, both of which had already been taken to the meat processor to be butchered. “Oh,” she whined emotionally. “Who did it?” Jack looked at his feet. But he made an attempt. “I think Ricky did it.” Mel met Rick’s eyes and the boy put up two hands, palms toward her. It wasn’t him. Mel leaned against her husband and, unbelievably, started to cry. Jack shook his head, put an arm around her and led her away from the gathering, back toward the kitchen. As he did so, David was bouncing up and down on Mel’s hip, waving his arms wildly and reaching for his dad. “Melinda,” Jack said. “You knew we were going hunting. We didn’t torture the deer. We’re going to have venison.” “I hate it,” she sniveled. “I know you hate it, but it’s not a cruel thing. It’s probably more humane than the way cattle are slaughtered.” “Don’t try to make me feel better about this.” “Jesus, I wouldn’t dare,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?” “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “I’m weepy.” “No shit. Here, let me have him. He’s out of his mind.” “Sugar,” she said. “I should go nurse him.” “He’s going to be riding his bike up to the breast before long.” “He doesn’t want to give it up.” “Understandable. But you’re worn out. Maybe you should go home and go to bed.” “I don’t sleep till he sleeps. And he isn’t going to sleep until he detoxes.” “All right,” Jack said, taking his son. “Go cry or wash your face or nap or something. I’ll hang on to the wild one until he calms down a little.” He kissed her forehead. “This really isn’t like you. Not even over deer.” “By the way, you smell really bad,” she said. “Thank you, my love. You smell really good. I’ll wash this off before I smell the rest of you, how’s that?” She ~ Robyn Carr,

1451:Summer Some men there are who find in nature all Their inspiration, hers the sympathy Which spurs them on to any great endeavor, To them the fields and woods are closest friends, And they hold dear communion with the hills; The voice of waters soothes them with its fall, And the great winds bring healing in their sound. To them a city is a prison house Where pent up human forces labour and strive, Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man; But where in winter they must live until Summer gives back the spaces of the hills. To me it is not so. I love the earth And all the gifts of her so lavish hand: Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds, Thick branches swaying in a winter storm, And moonlight playing in a boat's wide wake; But more than these, and much, ah, how much more, I love the very human heart of man. Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky, Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake Lazily reflecting back the sun, And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns. The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops The green crest of the hill on which I sit; And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer, The very crown of nature's changing year When all her surging life is at its full. To me alone it is a time of pause, A void and silent space between two worlds, When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps, Gathering strength for efforts yet to come. For life alone is creator of life, And closest contact with the human world Is like a lantern shining in the night To light me to a knowledge of myself. I love the vivid life of winter months In constant intercourse with human minds, 222 When every new experience is gain And on all sides we feel the great world's heart; The pulse and throb of life which makes us men! ~ Amy Lowell,

1452:Fergus . This whole day have I followed in the rocks, And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape, First as a raven on whose ancient wings Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed A weasel moving on from stone to stone, And now at last you wear a human shape, A thin grey man half lost in gathering night. Druid . What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings? Fergus . This would I Say, most wise of living souls: Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me When I gave judgment, and his words were wise, And what to me was burden without end, To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown Upon his head to cast away my sorrow. Druid . What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings? Fergus . A king and proud! and that is my despair. I feast amid my people on the hill, And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels In the white border of the murmuring sea; And still I feel the crown upon my head Druid. What would you, Fergus? Fergus . Be no more a king But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours. Druid . Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks And on these hands that may not lift the sword, This body trembling like a wind-blown reed. No woman's loved me, no man sought my help. Fergus . A king is but a foolish labourer Who wastes his blood to be another's dream. Druid . Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams; Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round. Fergus . I See my life go drifting like a river From change to change; I have been many things A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill, An old slave grinding at a heavy quern, A king sitting upon a chair of gold And all these things were wonderful and great; But now I have grown nothing, knowing all. Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing! ~ William Butler Yeats, Fergus And The Druid ,

1453:began taking their churches above ground. They rented buildings and started running services the way we do in America. It was great for a while, but these pastors became so discouraged. I wish I could convey the frustration and desperation in their voices. They talked about the good old days, when their people were risking their lives and radically sharing the gospel, making disciples. But now these pastors were lamenting the way their people attend services and expect the leaders to feed them and cater to them. They had seen this same transition in Korea and were terrified it would happen in their context as well. All anyone wanted was a Jesus and a church that served their needs and kept them comfortable. What started as a movement became a bunch of people sitting safely in services. My mind flashed back to five years prior when my daughter and I went to an underground gathering in China. Young people were praying so passionately, begging God to send them to the most dangerous places. They were actually hoping to die as martyrs! I had never seen anything like it. I still can’t get over the fearless passion for Jesus this church embodied. As they shared stories of persecution, I sat in amazement and asked for more stories. After a while, they asked why I was so intrigued. I told them the church in America was nothing like this. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it was to try to explain to them that people attend ninety-minute services once a week in buildings and that’s what we call “church.” I told them about how people switch churches if they find better teaching, more exciting music, or more robust programs for their kids. As I described church life in America, they began to laugh. Not just small chuckles; they were laughing hysterically. I felt like a stand-up comedian, but I was simply describing the American church as I’ve experienced it. They found it laughable that we could read the same Scriptures they were reading and then create something so incongruent. ~ Francis Chan,

1454:February 25 MORNING “The wrath to come.” — Matthew 3:7 IT is pleasant to pass over a country after a storm has spent itself; to smell the freshness of the herbs after the rain has passed away, and to note the drops while they glisten like purest diamonds in the sunlight. That is the position of a Christian. He is going through a land where the storm has spent itself upon His Saviour’s head, and if there be a few drops of sorrow falling, they distil from clouds of mercy, and Jesus cheers him by the assurance that they are not for his destruction. But how terrible it is to witness the approach of a tempest: to note the forewarnings of the storm; to mark the birds of heaven as they droop their wings; to see the cattle as they lay their heads low in terror; to discern the face of the sky as it groweth black, and look to the sun which shineth not, and the heavens which are angry and frowning! How terrible to await the dread advance of a hurricane — such as occurs, sometimes, in the tropics — to wait in terrible apprehension till the wind shall rush forth in fury, tearing up trees from their roots, forcing rocks from their pedestals, and hurling down all the dwelling-places of man! And yet, sinner, this is your present position. No hot drops have as yet fallen, but a shower of fire is coming. No terrible winds howl around you, but God’s tempest is gathering its dread artillery. As yet the water-floods are dammed up by mercy, but the flood-gates shall soon be opened: the thunderbolts of God are yet in His storehouse, but lo! the tempest hastens, and how awful shall that moment be when God, robed in vengeance, shall march forth in fury! Where, where, where, O sinner, wilt thou hide thy head, or whither wilt thou flee? O that the hand of mercy may now lead you to Christ! He is freely set before you in the gospel: His riven side is the rock of shelter. Thou knowest thy need of Him; believe in Him, cast thyself upon Him, and then the fury shall be overpast for ever. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,

1455:Giant Toad I am too big. Too big by far. Pity me. My eyes bulge and hurt. They are my one great beauty, even so. They see too much, above, below. And yet, there is not much to see. The rain has stopped. The mist is gathering on my skin in drops. The drops run down my back, run from the corners of my downturned mouth, run down my sides and drip beneath my belly. Perhaps the droplets on my mottled hide are pretty, like dewdrops, silver on a moldering leaf? They chill me through and through. I feel my colors changing now, my pigments gradually shudder and shift over. Now I shall get beneath that overhanging ledge. Slowly. Hop. Two or three times more, silently. That was too far. I'm standing up. The lichen's gray, and rough to my front feet. Get down. Turn facing out, it's safer. Don't breathe until the snail gets by. But we go travelling the same weathers. Swallow the air and mouthfuls of cold mist. Give voice, just once. O how it echoed from the rock! What a profound, angelic bell I rang! I live, I breathe, by swallowing. Once, some naughty children picked me up, me and two brothers. They set us down again somewhere and in our mouths they put lit cigarettes. We could not help but smoke them, to the end. I thought it was the death of me, but when I was entirely filled with smoke, when my slack mouth was burning, and all my tripes were hot and dry, they let us go. But I was sick for days. I have big shoulders, like a boxer. They are not muscle, however, and their color is dark. They are my sacs of poison, the almost unused poison that I bear, my burden and my great responsibility. Big wings of poison, folded on my back. Beware, I am an angel in disguise; my wings are evil, but not deadly. If I will it, the poison could break through, blue-black, and dangerous to all. Blue-black fumes would rise upon the air. Beware, you frivolous crab. ~ Elizabeth Bishop,

1456:Name Of Horses All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding and steerhide over the ash hames, to haul sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer, for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range. In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields, dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with oats. All summer you mowed the grass in meadow and hayfield, the mowing machine clacketing beside you, while the sun walked high in the morning; and after noon's heat, you pulled a clawed rake through the same acres, gathering stacks, and dragged the wagon from stack to stack, and the built hayrack back, uphill to the chaffy barn, three loads of hay a day from standing grass in the morning. Sundays you trotted the two miles to church with the light load a leather quartertop buggy, and grazed in the sound of hymns. Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the windowsill of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass. When you were old and lame, when your shoulders hurt bending to graze, one October the man, who fed you and kept you, and harnessed you every morning, led you through corn stubble to sandy ground above Eagle Pond, and dug a hole beside you where you stood shuddering in your skin, and lay the shotgun's muzzle in the boneless hollow behind your ear, and fired the slug into your brain, and felled you into your grave, shoveling sand to cover you, setting goldenrod upright above you, where by next summer a dent in the ground made your monument. For a hundred and fifty years, in the Pasture of dead horses, roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs, yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter frost heaved your bones in the ground - old toilers, soil makers: O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost. 15 ~ Donald Hall,

1457:The Female Exile Written at Brighthelmstone in Nov. 1792. NOVEMBER'S chill blast on the rough beach is howling, The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore, Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling, And the white cliffs re-echo the wild wintry roar. Beneath that chalk rock, a fair stranger reclining, Has found on damp sea-weed a cold lonely seat; Her eyes fill'd with tears, and her heart with repining, She starts at the billows that burst at her feet. There, day after day, with an anxious heart heaving, She watches the waves where they mingle with air; For the sail which, alas! all her fond hopes deceiving, May bring only tidings to add to her care. Loose stream to wild winds those fair flowing tresses, Once woven with garlands of gay summer flowers; Her dress unregarded, bespeaks her distresses, And beauty is blighted by grief's heavy hours. Her innocent children, unconscious of sorrow, To seek the gloss'd shell, or the crimson weed stray; Amused with the present, they heed not to-morrow, Nor think of the storm that is gathering to-day. The gilt, fairy ship, with its ribbon sail spreading, They launch on the salt pool the tide left behind; Ah! victims--for whom their sad mother is dreading The multiplied miseries that wait on mankind! To fair fortune born, she beholds them with anguish, Now wanderers with her on a once hostile soil, Perhaps doom'd for life in chill penury to languish, Or abject dependence, or soul-crushing toil. But the sea-boat, her hopes and her terrors renewing, O'er the dim grey horizon now faintly appears; She flies to the quay, dreading tidings of ruin, All breathless with haste, half expiring with fears. Poor mourner!--I would that my fortune had left me The means to alleviate the woes I deplore; But like thine my hard fate has of affluence bereft me, I can warm the cold heart of the wretched no more! 175 ~ Charlotte Smith,

1458:Imagine a drug that can intoxicate us, can infuse us with energy, and can do so when taken by mouth. It doesn’t have to be injected, smoked, or snorted for us to experience its sublime and soothing effects. Imagine that it mixes well with virtually every food and particularly liquids, and that when given to infants it provokes a feeling of pleasure so profound and intense that its pursuit becomes a driving force throughout their lives. Overconsumption of this drug may have long-term side effects, but there are none in the short term—no staggering or dizziness, no slurring of speech, no passing out or drifting away, no heart palpitations or respiratory distress. When it is given to children, its effects may be only more extreme variations on the apparently natural emotional roller coaster of childhood, from the initial intoxication to the tantrums and whining of what may or may not be withdrawal a few hours later. More than anything, our imaginary drug makes children happy, at least for the period during which they’re consuming it. It calms their distress, eases their pain, focuses their attention, and then leaves them excited and full of joy until the dose wears off. The only downside is that children will come to expect another dose, perhaps to demand it, on a regular basis. How long would it be before parents took to using our imaginary drug to calm their children when necessary, to alleviate pain, to prevent outbursts of unhappiness, or to distract attention? And once the drug became identified with pleasure, how long before it was used to celebrate birthdays, a soccer game, good grades at school? How long before it became a way to communicate love and celebrate happiness? How long before no gathering of family and friends was complete without it, before major holidays and celebrations were defined in part by the use of this drug to assure pleasure? How long would it be before the underprivileged of the world would happily spend what little money they had on this drug rather than on nutritious meals for their families? ~ Gary Taubes,

1459:You can't work in the library without going into the Old Levels," said Mirelle somberly. "At least some of the time. I wouldn't be keen on going to some parts of the Library, myself." Lirael listened, wondering what they were talking about. The Great Library of the Clayr was enormous, but she had never heard of the Old Levels. She knew the general layout well. The Library was shaped like a nautilus shell, a continuous tunnel that wound down into the mountain in an ever-tightening spiral. This main spiral was an enormously long, twisting ramp that took you from the high reaches of the mountain down past the level of the valley floor, several thousand feet below. Off the main spiral, there were countless other corridors, rooms, halls, and strange chambers. Many were full of the Clayr's written records, mainly documenting the prophesies and visions of many generations of seers. But they also contained books and papers from all over the Kingdom. Books of magic and mystery, knowledge both ancient and new. Scrolls, maps, spells, recipes, inventories, stories, true tales, and Charter knew what else. In addition to all these written works, the Great Library also housed other things. There were old armories within it, containing weapons and armor that had not been used for centuries but still stayed bright and new. There were rooms full of odd paraphernalia that no one now knew how to use. There were chambers where dressmakers' dummies stood fully clothed, displaying the fashions of bygone Clayr or the wildly different costumes of the barbaric North. There were greenhouses tended by sendings, with Charter marks for light as bright as the sun. There were rooms of total darkness, swallowing up the light and anyone foolish enough to enter unprepared. Lirael had seen some of the Library, on carefully escorted excursions with the rest of her year gathering. She had always hankered to enter the doors they passed, to step across the red rope barriers that marked corridors or tunnels where only authorized librarians might pass. ~ Garth Nix,

1460:Dom, are you out here?” called a voice from somewhere beyond the stables. Damn it all. It was Tristan. Swiftly Dom donned his shirt. “Be quiet,” he whispered to Jane, “and he’ll go away.” Tristan’s voice sounded again, even nearer now. “I swear to God, Dom, if you ride off to London in the dark and make a liar out of me before Ravenswood, I will kick you from here to France!” “He won’t go away,” Jane whispered back, a hint of desperation in her voice. “He promised Ravenswood that you wouldn’t head for London with broken carriage lamps, and now he’ll want to make sure that you don’t.” Which meant his arse of a brother wasn’t going to stop looking for him. Any minute now, he’d be striding into the harness room. Then Jane would have to marry Dom. As soon as the thought entered Dom’s head, it apparently occurred to her, too, for she paled and stepped near enough to whisper, “Please. Not like this.” He stared at her ashen face, and his stomach sank. He couldn’t force her to wed him. After what had happened between them years ago, she would never forgive him for taking her choice away from her yet again. Besides, he didn’t want to force her into anything. The only way he could prove that he didn’t intend to run roughshod over her for the rest of their lives was to walk away now. Even if it killed him. Bloody hell. “I’ll draw Tristan away from the stables,” Dom said tersely as he shoved his stocking feet into his boots. “That will give you a chance to finish dressing and sneak back into the house.” Relief spreading over her face, she bobbed her head. He buttoned up his shirt. “It will also give you a chance to decide what you want.” Gathering up his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, he added in a low murmur, “But know this, Jane. I am not, nor ever intend to be, a man like your father. Somewhere inside of you, you must…” He winced. “You surely do know it.” He waited long enough to see uncertainty flicker in her eyes. Then he strode out of the harness room and closed the door behind him. ~ Sabrina Jeffries,

1461:Brunelleschi’s successor as a theorist of linear perspective was another of the towering Renaissance polymaths, Leon Battista Alberti (1404 –1472), who refined many of Brunelleschi’s experiments and extended his discoveries about perspective. An artist, architect, engineer, and writer, Alberti was like Leonardo in many ways: both were illegitimate sons of prosperous fathers, athletic and good-looking, never-married, and fascinated by everything from math to art. One difference is that Alberti’s illegitimacy did not prevent him from being given a classical education. His father helped him get a dispensation from the Church laws barring illegitimate children from taking holy orders or holding ecclesiastical offices, and he studied law at Bologna, was ordained as a priest, and became a writer for the pope. During his early thirties, Alberti wrote his masterpiece analyzing painting and perspective, On Painting, the Italian edition of which was dedicated to Brunelleschi. Alberti had an engineer’s instinct for collaboration and, like Leonardo, was “a lover of friendship” and “open-hearted,” according to the scholar Anthony Grafton. He also honed the skills of courtiership. Interested in every art and technology, he would grill people from all walks of life, from cobblers to university scholars, to learn their secrets. In other words, he was much like Leonardo, except in one respect: Leonardo was not strongly motivated by the goal of furthering human knowledge by openly disseminating and publishing his findings; Alberti, on the other hand, was dedicated to sharing his work, gathering a community of intellectual colleagues who could build on each other’s discoveries, and promoting open discussion and publication as a way to advance the accumulation of learning. A maestro of collaborative practices, he believed, according to Grafton, in “discourse in the public sphere.” When Leonardo was a teenager in Florence, Alberti was in his sixties and spending much of his time in Rome, so it is unlikely they spent time together. Alberti was a major influence nonetheless. ~ Walter Isaacson,

1462:On June 23 the Detroit Free Press printed Jimmy’s last letter to the editor under the title “Race: The Issue Isn’t Black and White.” This letter said: It is no longer useful to look at the racial climate of this country only in terms of black and white. People from more than 100 ethnic groups live here. By 2040 European Americans and African Americans will be among the many minorities who make up the United States. Blacks in Detroit are a majority; they need to stop thinking like a minority or like victims. Both African Americans and European Americans should be thinking of how to integrate with Detroiters of Latino and Arab descent. To the very end Jimmy was striking out at two of his favorite targets: racial (or what he called biological) thinking, and blacks viewing themselves as a minority. When Ossie and Ruby stopped by to see us in June, he met them at the door with a three-page memo suggesting things for them to work on. The next week Ruby sent him a big batch of rich dark gingerbread that she had baked. A few weeks before his death he called Clementine to alert her to the killing of children that was going on in Liberia and to instruct her how to intervene. A few days later he spoke at a Detroit Summer gathering. The next day he went out with a friend (without his oxygen tank) to supervise the moving of a refrigerator. The week before he died he did a two-hour interview with a local radio reporter. Up to two days before his death, he was grooming himself as carefully as always. Then, suddenly on Tuesday night, July 20, he began to stumble, sat down in a bedroom chair, and never got up or spoke again. I was all alone and wasn’t sure what I should do. There didn’t seem to be any point in calling anybody. So I kept stroking him and saying to him over and over: You are a helluva guy. You raised a whole lot of hell—and a helluva lot of questions. You made a helluva lot of friends—and a helluva lot of enemies. You had a helluva lot of ideas— And wrote a helluva lot of books and pamphlets. You made a helluva lot of difference to a helluva lot of people. ~ Grace Lee Boggs,

1463:This water is greatly valued,” Kassandra said. “Event today, we bring ewers of it to the temples for blessings.” She looked at him again, a bit anxiously, he thought, but as before the impression was swiftly gone. Bending, she cupped her palm, caught sparkling drops of water and drank. The liquid slipped down her throat, cool, clear and incredibly pure. She drank a little more and felt the tension easing from her body, little by little, almost imperceptibly at first, but gathering in strength with each passing moment. “Why don’t you try it?” she suggested and stood aside so that he could do so. As Royce bent to catch the water in his hand, Kassandra almost reached out to stop him but drew back at the last moment. He was a strong man, it would still be his voice. The water was merely…encouragement. From time immemorial, Akoran husbands and wives had enjoyed a goblet of the water taken from the buried temple on their wedding night. Years later, old couples basking in the sun would remember it fondly and share secret looks of tender passion. Of course, it was also possible that the water did nothing and all was mere legend. She wanted to believe that, for it eased her conscience, but the heat seeping through her made her uncertain. She stared at Royce as he drank, watching the ripple of the water ease down his throat. He was such a beautiful man, so perfectly formed in body and mind. The memory of him on the field at the Games, on horseback wearing only a kilt, his powerful muscles flexing as he threw the javelin, haunted her dreams. Ever since then, she had been living in a nightmare. Atreus…the danger to Akora…her own death the price to save both family and home…all seemed to close around her until she could scarcely breathe. Until the moment when she emerged from her desperate, futile quest for vision to see in Royce’s beloved face the future for which she yearned with all her heart. A future that in all likelihood was impossible. That being the case, was it so terribly wrong to steal a little happiness in the fleeting present? ~ Josie Litton,

1464:Then suddenly Tamara was before me. “But we have strayed far enough from our purpose. Come, friends. I bid you to be silent. The Countess did promise to entertain us by describing her adventures in the late war.” I did? I thought, trying to recall what she’d said--and what I’d promised. My thoughts were tangled, mixing present with memory, and finally I shook my head and looked around. Every face was turned expectantly toward me. My vision seemed to be swimming gently. “Uh,” I said. “Mouth dry?” Tamara’s voice was right behind me. “Something to wet it.” She pressed a chilled goblet into my hands. I raised it and saw Savona directly across from me, a slight frown between his brows. He glanced from me to Tamara, then I blocked him from my view as I took a deep sip of iced--bristic. A cold burn numbed my mouth and throat, and my hand started to drop. Fingers nipped the goblet from mine before I could spill it. I realized I had been about to spill it and looked aside, wondering how I’d gotten so clumsy. My hand seemed a long way from my body. Even farther away was Tamara’s voice. “Did you really fight a duel to the death with our late king?” “It was more of a duel to the--” I felt the room lurch as I stood up. That was a mistake. “A duel,” I repeated slowly, “to--” I wetted my lips again. “To--burn it! I actually had a witty saying. Fer onsh…once. What’s wrong with my mouth? A duel to the dust!” I giggled inanely, than noticed that no one else was laughing. I blinked, trying to see, to explain. “He knocked me outa the saddle…y’see…an’ I fell in the--in the--” Words were no longer possible, but I hardly noticed. The room had begun to revolve with gathering speed. I lost my footing and started to pitch forward, but before I could land on my face, strong hands caught my shoulders and righted me. I blinked up into a pair of very dark eyes. “You’re not well,” said Savona. “I will escort you back to the Residence.” I hiccuped, then made a profound discovery. “I’m drunk,” I said and, as if to prove it, was sick all over Lady Tamara’s exquisite carpet. ~ Sherwood Smith,

1465:She let herself be had. With two women in the room behind her and her staff wandering the halls, she relaxed into his hold and returned his kiss. He tasted of the tea, of the sweetness of sugar; he tasted like a very bad idea that she would soon regret, but not now. Never now, while he kissed her yet. His hand skimmed down her body, shaping her breast. She opened her eyes and discovered him watching her, so blue his eyes were, and his palm over her stiffening nipple suddenly seemed to carry a message, too. The audacity of his touch, paired with the frank boldness of his look, made her laugh from sheer delight. She felt him grin against her mouth. His hand slipped farther yet, seizing her by the waist and pulling her more solidly against him. Her joints felt like melting waxworks, incapable of supporting her. She flung her arms around him and let him have all of her weight—and hit the wall harder yet as he stepped straight into her. Now she was doubly pinned, the tight, taut planes of his body as unyielding as the plaster behind her. Again he kissed her, harder yet, as though trying to convince her of something. What? What was the aim of his persuasion? She kissed him back eagerly, for did he not see? She was already convinced. She found his hair, soft and a touch too long, where it brushed against his collar. The skin beneath was hot and smooth. Her palm wrapped around his nape, and as she gripped him, she shuddered. This need felt elemental. Like hunger or thirst. From the entry hall far below came the sound of voices. They froze. Her eyes snapped open. His were so very, very blue. Someone would see them. They stood in plain view. His face turned into her neck. She heard, felt, the great breath he drew. Very low, against her skin, the roughness of his jaw abrading her, he spoke. “Friendship is not what I want.” Her hands broke free of her caution. They found his back, gathering in handfuls the soft wool of his jacket. Think. There were reasons, very good reasons, to discourage him. Money: he had none. Power: he had too much over her. He simply didn’t realize it. ~ Meredith Duran,

1466:No News From The War I.— At The Camp. 'IS she sitting in the meadow Where the brook leaps to the mill, Leaning low against the poplar, Dreamily and still? Now, with joined hands, grave, now smiling, Gathering now and then From her lap her woodland darlings, Pale sweet cyclamen? Sitting as she sat that evening, Trying to feel that sweet same Who was waiting me and knew not, Feel as when I came? Feel again the strange shy newness, The betrothing one first kiss? Oh, my own, you are remembering In an hour like this.' II.— In The Meadow. 'HERE, here it was he made me promise him; He stood beneath that branch; here was his seat, Just where the bole's shade makes the sunlights dim, Beside me, at my feet. Ah, since, so many times we have sat here: And who can tell when that shall be again? My love! my love!—But what have I to fear? Could prayers like mine be vain? He will not fall, my hero; he will come Bringing ripe honours more to honour me; He will come scatheless back, and tell his home He helped to keep it free. 132 Oh, love! I was so proud of you before, How can I be so much much prouder now? And how can I grow prouder more and more? Ah! but my heart knows how.' III.— From A Special Correspondent's Letter. 'AND still no news to matter. Fights each day; Hundreds of killed and wounded; but we wait This great impending battle which, they say, Will be more terrible even than the late. It must come soon: to-morrow it might be. Now, since I can tell nothing, let me give An incident, merely to make you see How near to death all of us here must live. This morning, on my chosen slope, from whence My watch, I thought, was safe, I chanced to see A young and stalwart captain leap a fence To pluck a cyclamen, not far from me, Which made me note his face: this afternoon On that same slope I saw his body lie Among a dozen. Well, you may look soon For tidings of some moment. Now, good-bye.' ~ Augusta Davies Webster,

1467:Why the devil couldn’t it have been blue?” I said to myself. And this thought—one of the most profound ever made since the discovery of butterflies—consoled me for my misdeed and reconciled me with myself. I stood there, looking at the corpse with, I confess, a certain sympathy. The butterfly had probably come out of the woods, well-fed and happy, into the sunlight of a beautiful morning. Modest in its demands on life, it had been content to fly about and exhibit its special beauty under the vast cupola of a blue sky, al sky that is always blue for those that have wings. It flew through my open window, entered by room, and found me there. I suppose it had never seen a man; therefore it did not know what a man was. It described an infinite number of circles about my body and saw that I moved, that I had eyes, arms, legs, a divine aspect, and colossal stature. Then it said to itself, “This is probably the maker of butterflies.” The idea overwhelmed it, terrified it; but fear, which is sometimes stimulating, suggested the best way for it to please its creator was to kiss him on the forehead, and so it kissed me on the forehead. When I brushed it away, it rested on the windowpane, saw from there the portrait of my father, and quite possibly perceived a half-truth, i.e., that the man in the picture was the father of the creator of butterflies, and it flew to beg his mercy. Then a blow from a towel ended the adventure. Neither the blue sky’s immensity, nor the flowers’ joy, nor the green leaves’ splendor could protect the creature against a face towel, a few square inches fo cheap linin. Note how excellent it is to be superior to butterflies! For, even if it had been blue, its life would not have been safe; I might have pierced it with a pin and kept it to delight my eyes. It was not blue. This last thought consoled me again. I placed the nail of my middle finger against my thumb, gave the cadaver a flip, and it fell into the garden. It was high time; the provident ants were already gathering around…Yes, I stand by my first idea: I think that it would have been better for the butterfly if it had been born blue. ~ Machado de Assis,

1468:Nevertheless they come up with their own history of creation, the Dreaming. The first man was Ber-rook-boorn. He was made by Baiame, the uncreated, who was the beginning of everything, and who loved and took care of all living things. In other words, a good man, this Baiame. Friends called him the Great Fatherly Spirit. After Baiame established Ber-rook-boorn and his wife in a good place, he left his mark on a sacred tree—yarran—nearby, which was the home of a swarm of bees. “ ‘You can take food from anywhere you want, in the whole of this country that I have given you, but this is my tree,’ he warned the two people. ‘If you try to take food from there, much evil will befall you and those who come after you.’ Something like that. At any rate, one day Ber-rook-boorn’s wife was collecting wood and she came to the yarran tree. At first she was frightened at the sight of the holy tree towering above her, but there was so much wood lying around that she did not follow her first impulse—which was to run away as fast as her legs could carry her. Besides, Baiame had not said anything about wood. While she was gathering the wood around the tree she heard a low buzzing sound above her head, and she gazed up at the swarm of bees. She also saw the honey running down the trunk. She had only tasted honey once before, but here there was enough for several meals. The sun glistened on the sweet, shiny drops, and in the end Ber-rook-boorn’s wife could not resist the temptation and she climbed up the tree. “At that moment a cold wind came from above and a sinister figure with enormous black wings enveloped her. It was Narahdarn the bat, whom Baiame had entrusted with guarding the holy tree. The woman fell to the ground and ran back to her cave where she hid. But it was too late, she had released death into the world, symbolized by the bat Narahdarn, and all of the Ber-rook-boorn descendants would be exposed to its curse. The yarran tree cried bitter tears over the tragedy that had taken place. The tears ran down the trunk and thickened, and that is why you can find red rubber on the bark of the tree nowadays.” Andrew puffed happily on his cigar. ~ Jo Nesb,

1469:What have I done, Obie?" Obie flung his hand in the air, the gesture encompassing all the rotten things that had occur under Archie's command, at Archie's direction. The ruined kids, the capsized hopes. Renault last fall and poor Tubs Casper and all the others including even the faculty. Like Brother Eugene. "You know what you've done, Archie. I don't need to draw up a list-" "You blame me for everything, right, Obie? You and Carter and all the others. Archie Costello, the bad guy. The villain. Archie, the bastard. Trinity would be such a beautiful place without Archie Costello. Right, Obie? But it's not me, Obie, it's not me...." "Not you?" Obie cried, fury gathering in his throat, his chest, his guts. "What the hell do you mean, not you? This could have been a beautiful place to be, Archie. A beautiful time for all of us. Christ, who else, if not you?" "Do you really want to know who?" "Okay, who then?" Impatient with his crap, the old Archie crap. "It's you, Obie. You and Carter and Bunting and Leon and everybody. But especially you, Obie. Nobody forced you to do anything, buddy. Nobody made you join the Vigils. Nobody twisted your arm to make you secretary of the Vigils. Nobody pain you to keep a notebook with all that crap about the students, all their weaknesses, soft points. The notebook made your job easier, didn't it, Obie? And what was your job? Finding the victims. You found them, Obie. You found Renault and Tubs Casper and Gendreau-the first one, remember, when we were sophomores?-how you loved it all, didn't you Obie?" Archie flicked a finger against the metal of the car, and the ping was like a verbal exclamation mark. "Know what, Obie? You could have said no anytime, anytime at all. But you didn't...." Archie's voice was filled with contempt, and he pronounced Obie's name as if it were something to be flushed down a toilet. "Oh, I'm an easy scapegoat, Obie. For you and everybody else at Trinity. Always have been. But you had free choice, buddy. Just like Brother Andrew always says in Religion. Free choice, Obie, and you did the choosing.... ~ Robert Cormier,

1470:The Last Envoy THIS wind, that through the silent woodland blows, O'er rippling corn and dreaming pastures goes Straight to the garden where the heart of spring Faints in the heart of summer's earliest rose. Dimpling the meadow's grassy green and grey, By furze that yellows all the common way, Gathering the gladness of the flowering broom, And too persistent fragrance of the may-- Gathering whatever is of sweet and dear, The wandering wind has passed away from here, Has passed to where within your garden waits The concentrated sweetness of the year. And in your leafed enclosure as you stood, Training your flowers to new beatitude-Ah! did you guess the wind that kissed your hair Had kissed my forehead in this solitude-- Had kissed my lips, and gathered there the heat It breathed upon your mouth, my only sweet-Had gathered from my eyes the tender thought That drooped your eyes, and stirred your pulses' beat? You only thought the sun's caress too warm That lay upon your bosom and your arm; You did not guess the wind had brought from me The unacknowledged fancy's fire and charm-- You only said, 'Too strong these sunlit skies, More dear the moments when the daylight dies!' And then you dreamed of meetings by your gate 322 In sanctity of sunset and moonrise. To-night, when he shall come and meet you there, To kiss your lips and hands and eyes and hair, To light with love and hope youth's waiting shrine-Think of my love, and my assured despair! To-night the wind will rob the languid flowers Of secret scents kept close through daylit hours; It will blow coolly over dewy lawns, Where the laburnums fall in silent showers. I, too, shall learn a secret then--shall wrest Life's hidden things from out her languorous breast, Shall learn the way that leads away from life Into the land where nothing lives but rest. You will not know that the cold air you prize, After the stormy sweetness of his sighs, Is cold from blowing through a moonlit wood Over the hollow where a dead man lies! ~ Edith Nesbit,

1471:Unwashed and undernourished, having spent over four days on five different trains and four military jeeps, Alexander got off at Molotov on Friday, June 19, 1942. He arrived at noon and then sat on a wooden bench near the station. Alexander couldn’t bring himself to walk to Lazarevo. He could not bear the thought of her dying in Kobona, getting out of the collapsed city and then dying so close to salvation. He could not face it. And worse—he knew that he could not face himself if he found out that she did not make it. He could not face returning—returning to what? Alexander actually thought of getting on the next train and going back immediately. The courage to move forward was much more than the courage he needed to stand behind a Katyusha rocket launcher or a Zenith antiaircraft gun on Lake Ladoga and know that any of the Luftwaffe planes flying overhead could instantly bring about his death. He was not afraid of his own death. He was afraid of hers. The specter of her death took away his courage. If Tatiana was dead, it meant God was dead, and Alexander knew he could not survive an instant during war in a universe governed by chaos, not purpose. He would not live any longer than poor, hapless Grinkov, who had been cut down by a stray bullet as he headed back to the rear. War was the ultimate chaos, a pounding, soul-destroying snarl, ending in blown-apart men lying unburied on the cold earth. There was nothing more cosmically chaotic than war. But Tatiana was order. She was finite matter in infinite space. Tatiana was the standard-bearer for the flag of grace and valor that she carried forward with bounty and perfection in herself, the flag Alexander had followed sixteen hundred kilometers east to the Kama River, to the Ural Mountains, to Lazarevo. For two hours Alexander sat on the bench in unpaved, provincial, oak-lined Molotov. To go back was impossible. To go forward was unthinkable. Yet he had nowhere else to go. He crossed himself and stood up, gathering his belongings. When Alexander finally walked in the direction of Lazarevo, not knowing whether Tatiana was alive or dead, he felt he was a man walking to his own execution. ~ Paullina Simons,

1472:To Poesy Yet do not thou forsake me now, Poesy, with Peace-together! Ere this last disastrous blow Did lay my struggling fortunes low, In love unworn have we not borne Much wintry weather? The storm is past, perhaps the last, Its rainy skirts are wearing over But though yet a sunnier glow Should give my ice-bound hopes to flow, Forlorn of thee, ’twere nought to me A lonely rover! Ah, misery! what were then my lot Amongst a race of unbelievers Sordid men who all declare That earthly gain alone is fair, And they who pore on bardic lore Deceived deceivers. That all the love I’ve felt to move Round beauty in thy fountain laving, Move in music through the air, Gathering increase everywhere, The more to bless her loveliness, Was Folly raving! That to believe thought yet shall weave,— Although with arm’d oppression coping, Truth-bright banners which, unfurled, Shall herald freedom through the world, And give to man her kindly plan, Is Folly hoping! On thy breast in sabbath rest How often have I lain, deep musing In the golden eventide, Till all the dead, for truth that died, Looked from the skies with starry eyes, 268 Great thoughts infusing! But can it be life’s mystery Is but a baseless panorama, Peopled thick with passing dreams, Wild writhing glooms, and wandering gleams, And soul a breath exhaled by death, Which ends the drama? Then is the scope of this world’s hope No more than worldlings deem it ever, Earth and sky, with nought between Of spiritual truth serene: And if so, fly! for thou and I At once should sever. But if there lives, as love believes, All underneath this silent heaven, In yon shades, and by yon streams, As we have seen them in our dreams, A deathless race; still let thy grace My being leaven! Thy mystic grace! that face to face Full converse I may hold with nature, Seeing published everywhere In forms, the soul that makes her fair, And grow the while to her large style In mental stature. ~ Charles Harpur,

1473:From the Greek of Bion. I mourn Adonis deadloveliest Adonis-- Dead, dead Adonis--and the Loves lament. Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof-- Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown Of Death,--'tis Misery calls,--for he is dead. The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains, His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there. The dark blood wanders o'er his snowy limbs, His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet. A deep, deep wound Adonis... A deeper Venus bears upon her heart. See, his beloved dogs are gathering round-- The Oread nymphs are weeping--Aphrodite With hair unbound is wandering through the woods, 'Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled--the thorns pierce Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood. Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy, Her love, her husband, calls--the purple blood From his struck thigh stains her white navel now, Her bosom, and her neck before like snow. Alas for Cythereathe Loves mourn-- The lovely, the beloved is gone!--and now Her sacred beauty vanishes away. For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair-- Alas! her loveliness is dead with him. The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! The springs their waters change to tears and weep-- The flowers are withered up with grief... Ai! ai! ... Adonis is dead Echo resounds ... Adonis dead. Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound Of her Adonissaw the life-blood flow From his fair thigh, now wasting,wailing loud She clasped him, and cried ... 'Stay, Adonis! Stay, dearest one,... and mix my lips with thine-- Wake yet a while, Adonisoh, but once, That I may kiss thee now for the last time-- But for as long as one short kiss may live-- Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck That...' ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Fragment Of The Elegy On The Death Of Adonis ,

1474:Abe held my gaze a bit longer and then broke into an easy smile. ʺOf course, of course. This is a family gathering. A celebration. And look: hereʹs our newest member.ʺ Dimitri had joined us and wore black and white like my mother and me. He stood beside me, conspicuously not touching. ʺMr. Mazur,ʺ he said formally, nodding a greeting to both of them. ʺGuardian Hathaway.ʺ Dimitri was seven years older than me, but right then, facing my parents, he looked like he was sixteen and about to pick me up for a date. ʺAh, Belikov,ʺ said Abe, shaking Dimitriʹs hand. ʺIʹd been hoping weʹd run into each other. Iʹd really like to get to know you better. Maybe we can set aside some time to talk, learn more about life, love, et cetera. Do you like to hunt? You seem like a hunting man. Thatʹs what we should do sometime. I know a great spot in the woods. Far, far away. We could make a day of it. Iʹve certainly got a lot of questions Iʹd like to ask you. A lot of things Iʹd like to tell you too.ʺ I shot a panicked look at my mother, silently begging her to stop this. Abe had spent a good deal of time talking to Adrian when we dated, explaining in vivid and gruesome detail exactly how Abe expected his daughter to be treated. I did not want Abe taking Dimitri off alone into the wilderness, especially if firearms were involved. ʺActually,ʺ said my mom casually. ʺIʹd like to come along. I also have a number of questions—especially about when you two were back at St. Vladimirʹs.ʺ ʺDonʹt you guys have somewhere to be?ʺ I asked hastily. ʺWeʹre about to start.ʺ That, at least, was true. Nearly everyone was in formation, and the crowd was quieting. ʺOf course,ʺ said Abe. To my astonishment, he brushed a kiss over my forehead before stepping away. ʺIʹm glad youʹre back.ʺ Then, with a wink, he said to Dimitri: ʺLooking forward to our chat.ʺ ʺRun,ʺ I said when they were gone. ʺIf you slip out now, maybe they wonʹt notice. Go back to Siberia." "Actually," said Dimitri, "I'm pretty sure Abe would notice. Don't worry, Roza. I'm not afraid. I'll take whatever heat they give me over being with you. It's worth it. ~ Richelle Mead,

1475:The Song Of The Surf White steeds of ocean, that leap with a hollow and wearisome roar On the bar of ironstone steep, not a fathom's length from the shore, Is there never a seer nor sophist can interpret your wild refrain, When speech the harshest and roughest is seldom studied in vain ? My ears are constantly smitten by that dreary monotone, In a hieroglyphic 'tis written—'tis spoken in a tongue unknown ; Gathering, growing, and swelling, and surging, and shivering, say ! What is the tale you are telling ? what is the drift of your lay ? You come, and your crests are hoary with the foam of your countless years ; You break, with a rainbow of glory, through the spray of your glittering tears. Is your song a song of gladness ? a paean of joyous might ? Or a wail of discordant sadness for the wrongs you never can right ? For the empty seat by the ingle ? for children reft of their sire ? For the bride, sitting sad, and single, and pale, by the flickering fire ? For your ravenous pools of suction ? for your shattering billow swell ? For your ceaseless work of destruction ? for your hunger insatiable ? Not far from this very place, on the sand and the shingle dry, He lay, with his batter'd face upturned to the frowning sky. When your waters wash'd and swill'd high over his drowning head, When his nostrils and lungs were filled, when his feet and hands were as lead, When against the rock he was hurl'd, and suck'd again to the sea, On the shores of another world, on the brink of eternity, On the verge of annihilation, did it come to that swimmer strong, The sudden interpretation of your mystical weird-like song ? 'Mortal ! that which thou askest, ask not thou of the waves ; Fool ! thou foolishly taskest us—we are only slaves ; Might, more mighty, impels us—we must our lot fulfil, He who gathers and swells us curbs us, too, at His will. Think'st thou the wave that shatters questioneth His decree ? Little to us matters, and naught it matters to thee. Not thus, murmuring idly, we from our duty would swerve, Over the world spread widely ever we labour and serve. ~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,

1476:Squaring her shoulders, Megan stepped out into the hall and her bare foot was almost flattened by a remote-control car. She jumped out of the way just in time and watched the thing zip down the hall and hop a makeshift ramp. Megan’s eyes widened in horror as she saw what was at the other end of the jump. Oh…my…God! The car slammed into a mountain of wrapped tampons, which exploded all over the hallway at impact. Ian raced past her, laughing maniacally, wielding the controls. Doug came out of his room to check out the commotion, picked up one of the tampons, and smirked. “Super-absorbency?” he said, just as Evan and Finn emerged from their rooms on opposite sides of the hall. “What’s super-absorbency?” Ian asked, his forehead wrinkling. “I don’t even want to know,” Doug replied, chucking the tampon in Megan’s direction. She caught it, feeling like her body temperature could singe a hole in the rug. Doug laughed and took off down the stairs with Ian barreling after him. “Ignore him. We all do,” Evan said with a groggy smile. “Uh…dude,” Finn said, glancing down at Evan’s boxers, which were covered in cartoon frogs and gaping open. Then Finn glanced over at Megan. Then Evan went back into his room and closed the door. No shame whatsoever. “Here, I’ll…help you clean this up,” Finn said, dropping to the floor and picking up a few tampons. “No!” Megan lurched forward and Finn fell back from his knees to his butt. She grabbed the tampons from his hands. “I’d really rather you didn’t.” “But I can--” “No. Just…I’m fine,” Megan said, awkwardly gathering up the slippery wrappers in her arms. “Thanks.” “Okay,” Finn said. He stood and hovered for a second, prolonging Megan’s mortification. Finally Finn walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Left alone, it was all Megan could do to keep from bursting into tears. They had been in her room. They had gone through her stuff. And Evan had seen her tampons. This was definitely the worst morning of her life. Megan stood up, clamped her things to her chest, walked into her room, and dropped everything on her bed. Okay, get a grip, she told herself. It could have been worse. Somehow. ~ Kate Brian,

1477:Six express tracks and twelve locals pass through Palimpsest. The six Greater Lines are: Stylus, Sgraffito, Decretal, Foolscap, Bookhand, and Missal. Collectively, in the prayers of those gathered prostrate in the brass turnstiles of its hidden, voluptuous shrines, these are referred to as the Marginalia Line. They do not run on time: rather, the commuters of Palimpsest have learned their habits, the times of day and night when they prefer to eat and drink, their mating seasons, their gathering places. In days of old, great safaris were held to catch the great trains in their inexorable passage from place to place, and women grappled with them with hooks and tridents in order to arrive punctually at a desk in the depth, of the city. As if to impress a distracted parent on their birthday, the folk of Palimpsest built great edifices where the trains liked to congregate to drink oil from the earth and exchange gossip. They laid black track along the carriages’ migratory patterns. Trains are creatures of routine, though they are also peevish and curmudgeonly. Thus the transit system of Palimpsest was raised up around the huffing behemoths that traversed its heart, and the trains have not yet expressed displeasure. To ride them is still an exercise in hunterly passion and exactitude, for they are unpredictable, and must be observed for many weeks before patterns can be discerned. The sport of commuting is attempted by only the bravest and the wildest of Palimpsest. Many have achieved such a level of aptitude that they are able to catch a train more mornings than they do not. The wise arrive early with a neat coil of hooked rope at their waist, so that if a train is in a very great hurry, they may catch it still, and ride behind on the pauper’s terrace with the rest of those who were not favored, or fast enough, or precise in their calculations. Woe betide them in the infrequent mating seasons! No train may be asked to make its regular stops when she is in heat! A man was once caught on board when an express caught the scent of a local. The poor banker was released to a platform only eight months later, when the two white leviathans had relinquished each other with regret and tears. ~ Catherynne M Valente,

1478:A Country Nosegay Where have you been through the long sweet hours That follow the fragrant feet of June? By the dells and the dingles gathering flowers, Ere the dew of the dawn be sipped by noon. And sooth each wilding that buds and blows You seem to have found and clustered here, Round the rustic sprays of the child-like rose That smiles in one's face till it stirs a tear. The clambering vetch, and the meadow-sweet tall, That nodded good-day as you sauntered past, And the poppy flaunting atop of the wall, Which, proud as glory, will fade as fast. The campion bladders the children burst, The bramble that clutches and won't take nay, And the pensive delicate foxgloves nursed In woods that curtain from glare of day. The prosperous elder that always smells Of homely joys and the cares that bless, And the woodbine's waxen and honeyed cells, A hive of the sweetest idleness. And this wayside nosegay is all for me, For me, the poet-the word sounds strong;Well, for him at least, whatever he be, Who has loitered his morning away in song. And though sweetest poems that ever were writ, With the posy that up to my gaze you lift, Seem void of music and poor of wit, Yet I guess your meaning, and take your gift. For 'tis true among fields and woods I sing, Aloof from cities, and my poor strains Were born, like the simple flowers you bring, In English meadows and English lanes. 18 If e'er in my verse lurks tender thought, 'Tis borrowed from cushat or blackbird's throat; If sweetness any, 'tis culled or caught From boughs that blossom and clouds that float. No rare exotics nor forced are these; They budded in darkness and throve in storm; They drank their colour from rain and breeze, And from sun and season they took their form. They peeped through the drift of the winter snows; They waxed and waned with the waning moon; Their music they stole from the deep-hushed rose, And all the year round to them is June. So let us exchange, nor ask who gains, What each has saved from the morning hours: Take, such as they are, my wilding strains, And I will accept your wilding flowers. ~ Alfred Austin,

1479:know that taking a long walk was his preferred way to have a serious conversation. It turned out that he wanted me to write a biography of him. I had recently published one on Benjamin Franklin and was writing one about Albert Einstein, and my initial reaction was to wonder, half jokingly, whether he saw himself as the natural successor in that sequence. Because I assumed that he was still in the middle of an oscillating career that had many more ups and downs left, I demurred. Not now, I said. Maybe in a decade or two, when you retire. I had known him since 1984, when he came to Manhattan to have lunch with Time’s editors and extol his new Macintosh. He was petulant even then, attacking a Time correspondent for having wounded him with a story that was too revealing. But talking to him afterward, I found myself rather captivated, as so many others have been over the years, by his engaging intensity. We stayed in touch, even after he was ousted from Apple. When he had something to pitch, such as a NeXT computer or Pixar movie, the beam of his charm would suddenly refocus on me, and he would take me to a sushi restaurant in Lower Manhattan to tell me that whatever he was touting was the best thing he had ever produced. I liked him. When he was restored to the throne at Apple, we put him on the cover of Time, and soon thereafter he began offering me his ideas for a series we were doing on the most influential people of the century. He had launched his “Think Different” campaign, featuring iconic photos of some of the same people we were considering, and he found the endeavor of assessing historic influence fascinating. After I had deflected his suggestion that I write a biography of him, I heard from him every now and then. At one point I emailed to ask if it was true, as my daughter had told me, that the Apple logo was an homage to Alan Turing, the British computer pioneer who broke the German wartime codes and then committed suicide by biting into a cyanide-laced apple. He replied that he wished he had thought of that, but hadn’t. That started an exchange about the early history of Apple, and I found myself gathering string on the subject, just in case I ever decided to do such a book. When my Einstein biography came out, he came to a book event in Palo Alto and ~ Walter Isaacson,

1480:That’s What the Dead Do That’s what the dead do. The ones who’ve died, who’ve given up their lives, who’ve died for us so that they say to us see here this is all it means to be dead — to be no longer living and to be both never and always as never before and after. This is all it means the dead ones say, So you die, and everyone left living sticks around. You and everyone who loves you and whom you love take some time to mourn with speechless desire, and unspoken awe, our long faces and our sideways glances (as if you might be somewhere off to the side), here we come with our living fruit baskets and soon to wilt white flowers, good things intended to sublimate pain to substitute one thing for another & others pay their respects & others have their curiosity piqued & a very few are glad you’re gone though would never dare say so & most of all most can’t care at all and rightly so, everyone can’t be this faced with this much that often & that’s what a death does beyond doubt one death says what every death is, & what’s out of sight just over the horizon not so long later, a year or so at most, every one’s up & gone on to other matters the kinds of matters that matter to the living (your matter’s been burned or by nature’s routine chemistry mostly dissolved) (but you knew that) (you knew all along) finding reasons to stay alive finding work first for fuel & then for pleasure & sex & maybe love or what passes for love & sex maybe for adding another living human into the mix for the rest of us that’re left & other ways to pass the time. Once thoughts about how many of us there are involved in so much doing and coming & going & searching & hunting & gathering & using up time & space & materials. ~ Dara Wier,

1481:The Christian life requires a form adequate to its content, a form that is at home in the Christian revelation and that respects each person's dignity and freedom with plenty of room for all our quirks and particularities. Story provides that form. The biblical story invites us in as participants in something larger than our sin-defined needs, into something truer than our culture-stunted ambitions. We enter these stories and recognize ourselves as participants, whether willing or unwilling, in the life of God. Unfortunately, we live in an age in which story has been pushed from its biblical frontline prominence to a bench on the sidelines and then condescended to as "illustration" or "testimony" or "inspiration." Our contemporary unbiblical preference, both inside and outside the church, is for information over story. We typically gather impersonal (pretentiously called "scientific" or "theological") information, whether doctrinal or philosophical or historical, in order to take things into our own hands and take charge of how we will live our lives. And we commonly consult outside experts to interpret the information for us. But we don't live our lives by information; we live them in relationships in the context of a personal God who cannot be reduced to formula or definition, who has designs on us for justice and salvation. And we live them in an extensive community of men and women, each person an intricate bundle of experience and motive and desire. Picking a text for living that is characterized by information-gathering and consultation with experts leaves out nearly everything that is uniquely us - our personal histories and relationships, our sins and guilt, our moral character and believing obedience to God. Telling and listening to a story is the primary verbal way of accounting for life the way we live it in actual day-by-day reality. There are no (or few) abstractions in a story. A story is immediate, concrete, plotted, relational, personal. And so when we lose touch with our lives, with our souls - our moral, spiritual, embodied God-personal lives - story is the best verbal way of getting us back in touch again. And that is why God's word is given for the most part in the form of story, this vast, overarching, all-encompassing story, this meta-story. ~ Eugene H Peterson,

1482:Before she could answer, the door vibrated with a demanding thump. “Sydney,” came a muffled voice from the other side. “Yes,” Nick said, rising to his feet. Sir Ross’s tall form filled the doorway. His face was expressionless as he looked at the two of them. “I was just told of Lord Radnor’s presence.” He went directly to Lottie, crouching before her much as Nick had. Seeing her bruised arm, Sir Ross gestured toward it carefully. “May I?” His voice was more gentle than she had ever heard it. “Yes,” Lottie murmured, allowing him to take her hand in his. Sir Ross examined the darkened wrist with a gathering frown. His face was very close, and his gray eyes were so kind and concerned that Lottie wondered how she could have ever thought him aloof. She recalled his reputed compassion for women and children— a focal point of his magisterial career, Sophia had told her. Sir Ross’s mouth flexed in a faint, reassuring smile as he released her hand. “This won’t happen again— I can promise you that.” “Wonderful party,” Nick said sarcastically. “Perhaps you can tell us who the hell included Lord Radnor on the guest list?” “Nick,” Lottie interceded, “it’s all right, I am certain that Sir Ross did not—” “It is not all right,” Sir Ross countered quietly. “I hold myself responsible for this, and I humbly beg your forgiveness, Charlotte. Lord Radnor was most certainly not included on the guest list that I approved, but I will find out how he managed to obtain an invitation.” His brow creased as he continued. “Lord Radnor’s behavior tonight was irrational as well as reprehensible… it bespeaks an obsession with Charlotte that will likely not end with this incident.” “Oh, it’s going to end,” Nick said darkly. “I have several methods in mind that will cure Radnor’s obsession. To start with, if he hasn’t left the premises by the time I go back out there—” “He’s gone,” Sir Ross interrupted. “Two of the runners are here— I bid them to remove him in as discreet a manner as possible. Calm yourself, Sydney— it will do no good for you to rampage like a maddened bull.” Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me how calm you would be if someone had left those bruises on Sophia.” Sir Ross nodded with a short sigh. “Point taken.” -Sir Ross, Nick, & Lottie ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1483:This is the real sense and drive of what we see as evolution: the multiplication and variation of forms is only the means of its process. Each gradation contains the possibility and the certainty of the grades beyond it: the emergence of more and more developed forms and powers points to more perfected forms and greater powers beyond them, and each emergence of consciousness and the conscious beings proper to it enables the rise to a greater consciousness beyond and the greater order of beings up to the ultimate godheads of which Nature is striving and is destined to show herself capable. Matter developed its organised forms until it became capable of embodying living organisms; then life rose from the subconscience of the plant into conscious animal formations and through them to the thinking life of man. Mind founded in life developed intellect, developed its types of knowledge and ignorance, truth and error till it reached the spiritual perception and illumination and now can see as in a glass dimly the possibility of supermind and a truthconscious existence. In this inevitable ascent the mind of Light is a gradation, an inevitable stage. As an evolving principle it will mark a stage in the human ascent and evolve a new type of human being; this development must carry in it an ascending gradation of its own powers and types of an ascending humanity which will embody more and more the turn towards spirituality, capacity for Light, a climb towards a divinised manhood and the divine life.    In the birth of the mind of Light and its ascension into its own recognisable self and its true status and right province there must be, in the very nature of things as they are and very nature of the evolutionary process as it is at present, two stages. In the first, we can see the mind of Light gathering itself out of the Ignorance, assembling its constituent elements, building up its shapes and types, however imperfect at first, and pushing them towards perfection till it can cross the border of the Ignorance and appear in the Light, in its own Light. In the second stage we can see it developing itself in that greater natural light, taking its higher shapes and forms till it joins the supermind and lives as its subordinate portion or its delegate.    ~ Sri Aurobindo, Essays In Philosophy And Yoga, Mind of Light, 587,

1484:Fragment of the Elegy on the Death of Adonis Prom the Greek of Bion Published by Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S.", 1876. I mourn Adonis dead—loveliest Adonis— Dead, dead Adonis—and the Loves lament. Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof— Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown Of Death,—'tis Misery calls,—for he is dead. The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains, His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there. The dark blood wanders o'er his snowy limbs, His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet. A deep, deep wound Adonis... A deeper Venus bears upon her heart. See, his beloved dogs are gathering round— The Oread nymphs are weeping—Aphrodite With hair unbound is wandering through the woods, 'Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled—the thorns pierce Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood. Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy, Her love, her husband, calls—the purple blood From his struck thigh stains her white navel now, Her bosom, and her neck before like snow. Alas for Cytherea—the Loves mourn— The lovely, the beloved is gone!—and now Her sacred beauty vanishes away. For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair— Alas! her loveliness is dead with him. The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! The springs their waters change to tears and weep— The flowers are withered up with grief... Ai! ai! ... Adonis is dead Echo resounds ... Adonis dead. Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound Of her Adonis—saw the life-blood flow From his fair thigh, now wasting,—wailing loud She clasped him, and cried ... 'Stay, Adonis! Stay, dearest one,... and mix my lips with thine— Wake yet a while, Adonis—oh, but once, That I may kiss thee now for the last time— But for as long as one short kiss may live— Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck That...' NOTE: 23 his Rossetti, Dowden, Woodberry; her Boscombe manuscript, Forman ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley,

1485:Dickinson left the rostrum to applause, loud shouts of approval. Franklin was surprised, looked toward Adams, who returned the look, shook his head. The chamber was dismissed, and Franklin pushed himself slowly up out of the chair. He began to struggle a bit, pain in both knees, the stiffness holding him tightly, felt a hand under his arm. “Allow me, sir.” Adams helped him up, commenting as he did so, “We have a substantial lack of backbone in this room, I’m afraid.” Franklin looked past him, saw Dickinson standing close behind, staring angrily at Adams, reacting to his words. “Mr. Dickinson, a fine speech, sir,” said Franklin. Adams seemed suddenly embarrassed, did not look behind him, nodded quickly to Franklin, moved away toward the entrance. Franklin saw Dickinson following Adams, began to follow himself. My God, let’s not have a duel. He slipped through the crowd of delegates, making polite acknowledgments left and right, still keeping his eye on Dickinson. The man was gone now, following Adams out of the hall. Franklin reached the door, could see them both, heard the taller man call out, saw Adams turn, a look of surprise. Franklin moved closer, heard Adams say, “My apologies for my indiscreet remark, sir. However, I am certain you are aware of my sentiments.” Dickinson seemed to explode in Adams’ face. “What is the reason, Mr. Adams, that you New England men oppose our measures of reconciliation? Why do you hold so tightly to this determined opposition to petitioning the king?” Franklin heard other men gathering behind him, filling the entranceway, Dickinson’s volume drawing them. He could see Adams glancing at them and then saying, “Mr. Dickinson, this is not an appropriate time...” “Mr. Adams, can you not respond? Do you not desire an end to talk of war?” Adams seemed struck by Dickinson’s words, looked at him for a long moment. “Mr. Dickinson, if you believe that all that has fallen upon us is merely talk, I have no response. There is no hope of avoiding a war, sir, because the war has already begun. Your king and his army have seen to that. Please, excuse me, sir.” Adams began to walk away, and Franklin could see Dickinson look back at the growing crowd behind him, saw a strange desperation in the man’s expression, and Dickinson shouted toward Adams, “There is no sin in hope! ~ Jeff Shaara,

1486:We need to leave as soon as possible." "Okay," Luce said. "I have to go home, then, pack, get my passport..." Her mind whirled in a hundred directions as she started making a mental to-do list. Her parents would be at the mall for at least another couple of hours, enough time for her to dash in and get her things together... "Oh, cute." Annabelle laughed, flitting over to them, her feet inches off the ground. Her wings were muscular and dark silver like a thundercloud, protruding through the invisible slits in her hot-pink T-shirt. "Sorry to butt in but...you've never traveled with an angel before, have you?" Sure she had. The feeling of Daniel's wings soaring her body through the air was as natural as anything. Maybe her flights had been brief, but they'd been unforgettable. They were when Luce felt closest to him: his arms threaded around her waist, his heart beating close to hers, his white wings protecting them, making Luce feel unconditionally and impossibly loved. She had flown with Daniel dozens of times in dreams, but only three times in her waking hours: once over the hidden lake behind Sword & Cross, another time along the coast at Shoreline, and down from the clouds to the cabin just the previous night. "I guess we've never flown that far together," she said at last. "Just getting to first base seems to be a problem for you two," Cam couldn't resist saying. Daniel ignored him. "Under normal circumstances, I think you'd enjoy the trip." His expression turned stormy. "But we don't have room for normal for the next nine days." Luce felt his hands on the backs of her shoulders, gathering her hair and lifting it off her neck. He kissed her along the neckline of her sweater as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Luce closed her eyes. She knew what was coming next. The most beautiful sound there was-that elegant whoosh of the love of her life letting out his driven-snow-white wings. The world on the other side of Luce's eyelids darkened slightly under the shadow of his wings, and warmth welled in her heart. When she opened her eyes, there they were, as magnificent as ever. She leaned back a little, cozying into the wall of Daniel's chest as he pivoted toward the window. "This is only a temporary separation," Daniel announced to the others. "Good luck and wingspeed. ~ Lauren Kate,

1487:recalled Stephen Crocker, a graduate student on the UCLA team who had driven up with his best friend and colleague, Vint Cerf. So they decided to meet regularly, rotating among their sites. The polite and deferential Crocker, with his big face and bigger smile, had just the right personality to be the coordinator of what became one of the digital age’s archetypical collaborative processes. Unlike Kleinrock, Crocker rarely used the pronoun I; he was more interested in distributing credit than claiming it. His sensitivity toward others gave him an intuitive feel for how to coordinate a group without trying to centralize control or authority, which was well suited to the network model they were trying to invent. Months passed, and the graduate students kept meeting and sharing ideas while they waited for some Powerful Official to descend upon them and give them marching orders. They assumed that at some point the authorities from the East Coast would appear with the rules and regulations and protocols engraved on tablets to be obeyed by the mere managers of the host computer sites. “We were nothing more than a self-appointed bunch of graduate students, and I was convinced that a corps of authority figures or grownups from Washington or Cambridge would descend at any moment and tell us what the rules were,” Crocker recalled. But this was a new age. The network was supposed to be distributed, and so was the authority over it. Its invention and rules would be user-generated. The process would be open. Though it was funded partly to facilitate military command and control, it would do so by being resistant to centralized command and control. The colonels had ceded authority to the hackers and academics. So after an especially fun gathering in Utah in early April 1967, this gaggle of graduate students, having named itself the Network Working Group, decided that it would be useful to write down some of what they had conjured up.95 And Crocker, who with his polite lack of pretense could charm a herd of hackers into consensus, was tapped for the task. He was anxious to find an approach that did not seem presumptuous. “I realized that the mere act of writing down what we were talking about could be seen as a presumption of authority and someone was going to come and yell at us—presumably some adult out of the east. ~ Walter Isaacson,

1488:Next Day Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All, I take a box And add it to my wild rice, my Cornish game hens. The slacked or shorted, basketed, identical Food-gathering flocks Are selves I overlook. Wisdom, said William James, Is learning what to overlook. And I am wise If that is wisdom. Yet somehow, as I buy All from these shelves And the boy takes it to my station wagon, What I’ve become Troubles me even if I shut my eyes. When I was young and miserable and pretty And poor, I’d wish What all girls wish: to have a husband, A house and children. Now that I’m old, my wish Is womanish: That the boy putting groceries in my car See me. It bewilders me he doesn’t see me. For so many years I was good enough to eat: the world looked at me And its mouth watered. How often they have undressed me, The eyes of strangers! And, holding their flesh within my flesh, their vile Imaginings within my imagining, I too have taken The chance of life. Now the boy pats my dog And we start home. Now I am good. The last mistaken, Ecstatic, accidental bliss, the blind Happiness that, bursting, leaves upon the palm Some soap and water-- It was so long ago, back in some Gay Twenties, Nineties, I don’t know . . . Today I miss My lovely daughter Away at school, my sons away at school, My husband away at work--I wish for them. The dog, the maid, And I go through the sure unvarying days At home in them. As I look at my life, I am afraid Only that it will change, as I am changing: I am afraid, this morning, of my face. It looks at me From the rear-view mirror, with the eyes I hate, The smile I hate. Its plain, lined look Of gray discovery Repeats to me: “You’re old.” That’s all, I’m old. And yet I’m afraid, as I was at the funeral I went to yesterday. My friend’s cold made-up face, granite among its flowers, Her undressed, operated-on, dressed body Were my face and body. As I think of her I hear her telling me How young I seem; I am exceptional; I think of all I have. But really no one is exceptional, No one has anything, I’m anybody, I stand beside my grave Confused with my life, that is commonplace and solitary. ~ Randall Jarrell,

1489:A beautiful example of a long-term intention was presented by A. T. Ariyaratane, a Buddhist elder, who is considered to be the Gandhi of Sri Lanka. For seventeen years there had been a terrible civil war in Sri Lanka. At one point, the Norwegians were able to broker peace, and once the peace treaty was in effect, Ariyaratane called the followers of his Sarvodaya movement together. Sarvodaya combines Buddhist principles of right livelihood, right action, right understanding, and compassion and has organized citizens in one-third of that nation’s villages to dig wells, build schools, meditate, and collaborate as a form of spiritual practice. Over 650,000 people came to the gathering to hear how he envisioned the future of Sri Lanka. At this gathering he proposed a five-hundred-year peace plan, saying, “The Buddha teaches we must understand causes and conditions. It’s taken us five hundred years to create the suffering that we are in now.” Ari described the effects of four hundred years of colonialism, of five hundred years of struggle between Hindus, Muslims, and Buddhists, and of several centuries of economic disparity. He went on, “It will take us five hundred years to change these conditions.” Ariyaratane then offered solutions, proposing a plan to heal the country. The plan begins with five years of cease-fire and ten years of rebuilding roads and schools. Then it goes on for twenty-five years of programs to learn one another’s languages and cultures, and fifty years of work to right economic injustice, and to bring the islanders back together as a whole. And every hundred years there will be a grand council of elders to take stock on how the plan is going. This is a sacred intention, the long-term vision of an elder. In the same way, if we envision the fulfillment of wisdom and compassion in the United States, it becomes clear that the richest nation on earth must provide health care for its children; that the most productive nation on earth must find ways to combine trade with justice; that a creative society must find ways to grow and to protect the environment and plan sustainable development for generations ahead. A nation founded on democracy must bring enfranchisement to all citizens at home and then offer the same spirit of international cooperation and respect globally. We are all in this together. ~ Jack Kornfield,

1490:Hymn: Ye Are The Salt Of The Earth Salt of the earth, ye virtuous few, Who season human-kind; Light of the world, whose cheering ray Illumes the realms of mind: Where Misery spreads her deepest shade, Your strong compassion glows; From your blest lips the balm distils, That softens mortal woes. By dying beds, in prison glooms, Your frequent steps are found; Angels of love! you hover near, To bind the stranger's wound. You wash with tears the bloody page Which human crimes deform; When vengeance threats, your prayers ascend, And break the gathering storm. As down the summer stream of vice The thoughtless many glide; Upward you steer your steady bark, And stem the rushing tide. Where guilt her foul contagion breathes, And golden spoils allure; Unspotted still your garments shine— Your hands are ever pure. Whene'er you touch the poet's lyre, A loftier strain is heard; Each ardent thought is yours alone, And every burning word. Yours is the large expansive thought, The high heroic deed; Exile and chains to you are dear— To you 'tis sweet to bleed. You lift on high the warning voice, When public ills prevail; Yours is the writing on the wall That turns the tyrant pale. The dogs of hell your steps pursue, 73 With scoff, and shame, and loss; The hemlock bowl 'tis yours to drain, To taste the bitter cross. E'en yet the steaming scaffolds smoke, By Seine's polluted stream; With your rich blood the fields are drenched, Where Polish sabres gleam. E'en now, through those accursed bars, In vain we send our sighs; Where, deep in Olmutz' dungeon glooms, The patriot martyr lies. Yet yours is all through History's rolls The kindling bosom feels; And at your tomb, with throbbing heart, The fond enthusiast kneels. In every faith, through every clime, Your pilgrim steps we trace; And shrines are dressed, and temples rise, Each hallowed spot to grace; And pæans loud, in every tongue, And choral hymns resound; And lengthening honours hand your name To time's remotest bound. Proceed! your race of glory run, Your virtuous toils endure! You come, commissioned from on high, And your reward is sure. ~ Anna Laetitia Barbauld,

1491:Where is Albert?" "He'll be here momentarily. I asked our housekeeper to fetch him." Christopher blinked. "She's not afraid of him?" "Of Albert? Heavens, no, everyone adores him." The concept of someone, anyone, adoring his belligerent pet was difficult to grasp. Having expected to receive an inventory of all the damage Albert had caused, Christopher gave her a blank look. And then the housekeeper returned with an obedient and well-groomed dog trotting by her side. "Albert?" Christopher said. The dog looked at him, ears twitching. His whiskered face changed, eyes brightening with excitement. Without hesitating, Albert launched forward with a happy yelp. Christopher knelt on the floor, gathering up an armful of joyfully wriggling canine. Albert strained to lick him, and whimpered and dove against him repeatedly. Christopher was overwhelmed by feelings of kinship and relief. Grabbing the warm, compact body close, Christopher murmured his name and petted him roughly, and Albert whined and trembled. "I missed you, Albert. Good boy. There's my boy." Unable to help himself, Christopher pressed his face against the rough fur. He was undone by guilt, humbled by the fact that even though he had abandoned Albert for the summer, the dog showed nothing but eager welcome. "I was away too long," Christopher murmured, looking into the soulful brown eyes. "I won't leave you again." He dragged his gaze up to Beatrix's. "It was a mistake to leave him," he said gruffly. She was smiling at him. "Albert won't hold it against you. To err is human, to forgive, canine." To his disbelief, Christopher felt an answering smile tug at the corners of his lips. He continued to pet the dog, who was fit and sleek. "You've taken good care of him." "He's much better behaved than before," she said. "You can take him anywhere now." Rising to his feet, Christopher looked down at her. "Why did you do it?" he asked softly. "He's very much worth saving. Anyone could see that." The awareness between them became unbearably aware. Christopher's heart worked in hard, uneven beats. How pretty she was in the white dress. She radiated a healthy female physicality that was very different from the fashionable frailty of London women. He wondered what it would be like to bed her, if she would be as direct in her passions as she was in everything else. ~ Lisa Kleypas,

1492:I remember that as I sat there, my initial reaction was: flummoxed. Pray to God to heal a baby’s defective heart? Really? But doesn’t God, being omniscient, already know that this baby’s heart is defective? And doesn’t God, being omnipotent, already have the ability to heal the baby’s heart if he wants to? Isn’t the defective heart thus part of God’s plan? What good is prayer, then? Do these people really think that God will alter his will if they only pray hard enough? And if they don’t pray hard enough, he’ll let the baby die? What kind of a God is that? Such coldly skeptical thoughts percolated through my fifteen-year-old brain. But they soon fizzled out. As I sat there looking at the crying couple, listening to the murmur of prayers all around me, my initial skepticism was soon supplanted by a sober appreciation and empathetic recognition of what I was witnessing and experiencing. Here was an entire body of people all expressing their love and sympathy for a young couple with a dying baby. Here were hundreds of people caringly, genuinely, warmly pouring out their hearts to this poor unfortunate man, woman, and child. The love and sadness in the gathering were palpable, and I “got” it. I could see the intangible benefit of such a communal act. There was that poor couple at the front of the church, crying, while everyone around them was showering them with support and hope. While I didn’t buy the literal words of the pastor, I surely understood their deeper significance: they were making these suffering people feel a bit better. And while I didn’t think the congregation’s prayers would realistically count for a hill of beans toward actually curing that baby, I was still able to see that it was a serenely beneficial act nonetheless, for it offered hope and solace to these unlucky parents, as well as to everyone else present there in that church who was feeling sadness for them, or for themselves and their own personal misfortunes. So while I sat there, absolutely convinced that there exists no God who heals defective baby hearts, I also sat there equally convinced that this mass prayer session was a deeply good thing. Or if not a deeply good thing, then at least a deeply understandable thing. I felt so sad for that young couple that day. I could not, and still cannot, fathom the pain of having a new baby who, after only a few months of life, begins to die. ~ Phil Zuckerman,

1493:My mother's suffering grew into a symbol in my mind, gathering to itself all the poverty, the ignorance, the helplessness; the painful, baffling, hunger-ridden days and hours; the restless moving, the futile seeking, the uncertainty, the fear, the dread; the meaningless pain and the endless suffering. Her life set the emotional tone of my life, colored the men and women I was to meet in the future, conditioned my relation to events that had not yet happened, determined my attitude to situations and circumstances I had yet to face. A somberness of spirit that I was never to lose settled over me during the slow years of my mother's unrelieved suffering, a somberness that was to make me stand apart and look upon excessive joy with suspicion, that was to make me keep forever on the move, as though to escape a nameless fate seeking to overtake me. At the age of twelve, before I had one year of formal schooling, I had a conception of life that no experience would ever erase, a predilection for what was real that no argument could ever gainsay, a sense of the world that was mine and mine alone, a notion as to what life meant that no education could ever alter, a conviction that the meaning of living came only when one was struggling to wring a meaning out of meaningless suffering. At the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical. The spirit I had caught gave me insight into the sufferings of others, made me gravitate toward those whose feelings were like my own, made me sit for hours while others told me of their lives, made me strangely tender and cruel, violent and peaceful. It made me want to drive coldly to the heart of every question and it open to the core of suffering I knew I would find there. It made me love burrowing into psychology, into realistic and naturalistic fiction and art, into those whirlpools of politics that had the power to claim the whole of men's souls. It directed my loyalties to the side of men in rebellion; it made me love talk that sought answers to questions that could help nobody, that could only keep alive in me that enthralling sense of wonder and awe in the face of the drama of human feeling which is hidden by the external drama of life. ~ Richard Wright,

1494:his niece. I replay the day in my head. She looked out the door at me. Maybe she saw him. It’s the only explanation for her mysterious sudden illness. I knew it didn’t add up. Her interest in baseball. In him. And then her unwillingness to see him. But not everything makes sense. “Why was she hiding from her brother?” I muse aloud. Ethan shrugs. “If she wanted to hide the baby from Grant, it may have been her only choice. Alexa’s father is out of the picture and her mother is deceased, so Caden is probably the first person Grant would have gone to in order to find her. Abused women often have to cut off ties with their entire family in order to protect themselves and their children.” I run my hands through my hair. Shit. My instinct is to find her. Protect her. But I already tried protecting her once and she didn’t let me. Things are different now. Six months ago, if I’d found her, I think I would have thrown her over my shoulder and dragged her to my apartment, baby stroller and all. But now—I’ve had time to think about things. And even with knowing her identity and more details of her past, it’s obvious my feelings were not reciprocated. She was nice to me. She even kissed me when I kissed her. But I was her doctor. And patients sometimes mistakenly see their doctors as saviors. Not men they can build a life with. The fact is, she didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth. She didn’t love me enough to trust me. She stole my heart and then she tore it to shreds. Even if she didn’t mean to. I gaze through the window of Ethan’s office. I can’t keep doing this. I have to move on. I have moved on. I’ve gone back to basics. My job. That is what I’m living for. I never should have lost focus. I’ve vowed never to allow myself to get close to a patient again. Get close to a woman again. At least until I’ve accomplished my goals. “Caden should know,” I say, gathering up all the paperwork and putting it into a folder. “I need to contact him and tell him everything. But then I’m done.” ~ Samantha Christy ~ Samantha Christy ~ Samantha Christy I pick up my third beer of the night and crack it open, waiting for my pepperoni pizza to arrive. I’m spent. Exhausted from my meeting with Caden. When he was here earlier, we put all the pieces together. Caden never liked Grant. He didn’t think he was right for his sister. He and Alexa would get into arguments about him from time to time. ~ Samantha Christy,

1495:10:8 thieves and robbers. Robbers typically accosted travelers whereas thieves broke into homes, but here they are paired more generally as dangerous threats to the sheep’s welfare (like wolves in v. 12). Those who attacked at night were considered most dangerous and faced serious penalties if caught. 10:9 come in and go out. Jesus may here refer to the sheep pen, but he also evokes OT language. Shepherds God had appointed over his people had led them “out and . . . in” (Nu 27:17; a literal rendering of 2Sa 5:2). Sheep would start grazing at dawn, take shelter from heat starting around noon, and then would graze until, in the evening, they would return to their night shelter. 10:10 steal and kill and destroy . . . that they may have life. Robbers desire to exploit the sheep (see vv. 1, 8), but shepherds watch for the sheep’s welfare. 10:11 I am the good shepherd. Although Moses and David were shepherds of Israel, Israel’s chief shepherd in a greater number of OT passages was God himself, an observation that fits John’s message about Jesus. Because the human shepherds of Israel failed to care for the sheep properly, God himself promised to shepherd his people (Eze 34:11–17). The good shepherd lays down his life to protect the sheep—thus suffering at the hands of the thieves, robbers, and wolves mentioned in the context. 10:12 hired hand. Other ancient writers noted that a hired hand often did not watch over the animals as carefully as an owner would; on leaders who failed to care for the sheep, cf. Jer 23:1–2; Eze 34:2–10. when he sees the wolf coming. Writers often depicted wolves as sheep’s enemies. 10:14–15 my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. In the promised new covenant (Jer 31:31), God’s people would know him (Jer 31:34), perhaps as intimately as a wife ideally knows her husband (cf. Jer 31:32; Hos 2:19–20). Exceeding the context’s metaphor of sheep knowing the shepherd’s voice, the intimate relationship between the Father and the Son depicted elsewhere in this Gospel is here shared with believers (cf. Jn 15:15; 16:13–15). 10:16 other sheep . . . one flock and one shepherd. In the Prophets, uniting sheep from different folds represented gathering God’s scattered people (Eze 37:21–24; Mic 2:12), though Jesus may include here Gentiles grafted in through loyalty to him. The new king from the house of David would be the “one shepherd” (Eze 34:23; 37:24). ~ Anonymous,

1496:Hamar-Made Matches 'Here your Hamar-made matches!'Of them these verses I sang; A thought to which humor attaches, But yet to my heart sparks sprang. Sparks from the box-side flying Sank deep in my memory, Till in a light undying Two eyes cast their spell on me,Light on the fire that's present, When faith blazes forth in deed. Know, that to every peasant Those eyes sent a light in need. Sent to souls without measure The flame of love's message broad, Gathering in one treasure Fatherland, home, and God. For it was Herman Anker Took of his fathers' gold, Loaned it as wisdom's banker, Spread riches of thought untold, Scattered it wide as living Seed for the soil to enwrap; Flowers spring from his giving Over all Norway's lap. Flowers spring forth, though stony The ground where it fell, and cold. Never did patrimony Bear fruitage so many fold. Heed this, Norwegian peasant, Heed it, you townsman, too! That fruit of love's seed may be present, Our thanks must fall fresh as dew. 50 'Here your Hamar-made matches!' My thanks kindle fast. And oh! This song at your heart-strings catches, That kindling your thanks may glow. The matches hold them in hiding,Scratching one you will find The light with a warmth abiding Carries them to his mind. 'Here your Hamar-made matches!' Only to strike one here, Our thanks far-away dispatches, With peace his fair home to cheer. His matches in thousands of houses, In great and in small as well!The light that thanksgiving arouses Shall scatter the darkness fell. His matches in thousands of houses!Some eve from his factory He'll see how thanksgiving arouses The land, and its love flames free. He'll see in the eyes so tender, Through gleams that his matches woke, The thanks that his nation would render, His glistening wreath of oak,He'll feel that Norway with double The warmth of other lands glows; The harvest must more be than trouble, When faith in its future grows. 'Here your Hamar-made matches!' No phosphorus-poison more! The bearer of light up-catches The work of the school before:From home all the poison taking, 51 Hastening the light's advance, Longings to warm light waking, That lay there and had no chance. ~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,

1497:Johan Ludvig Heiberg 1860 To the grave they bore him sleeping, Him the aged, genial gardener; Now the children gifts are heaping From the flower-bed he made. There the tree that he sat under, And the garden gate is open, While we cast a glance and wonder Whether some one sits there still. He is gone. A woman only Wanders there with languid footsteps, Clothed in black and now so lonely, Where his laughter erst rang clear. As a child when past it going, Through the fence she looked with longing, Now great tears so freely flowing Are her thanks that she came in. Fairy-tales and thoughts high-soaring Whispered to him 'neath the foliage. She flits softly, gathering, storing Them as solace for her woe. Far his wanderings once bore him, Bore this aged, genial searcher; One who listening sat before him Much could learn from time to time. Life and letters were his ladder Up toward that which few discover, Thought's wide realm, with vision gladder He explored, each summit scaled. In his manhood he defended All that greatness has and beauty; 65 Later he the stars attended In their silent course to God. Older men remember rather "New Year!" ringing o'er the Northland. How it power had to gather Leaders to a greater age Do you him remember leaping Forth, his horn so gladly winding, Back the mob on all sides sweeping From the progress of the great? Play of thought 'mid tears and laughter, Fauns and children were about him; Freedom's beacons high thereafter Kindled slowly of themselves. And his words soon found a hearing, Peace of heart flowed from his music; All the land thrilled to the nearing Of a great prophetic choir. ** In his manhood he defended All that greatness has and beauty; Later he the stars attended In their silent course to God. Northern flowers were his pleasure, As an aged genial gardener, From his nation's springtime treasure Culling seed for deathless growth. Now with humor, now sedately, He kept planting or uprooting, While the Danish beech-tree stately Gave his soul its evening peace. 66 There the tree we saw him under, And the garden gate is open, While we cast a glance and wonder Whether some one sits there still. ~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,

1498:In silence the man reined in his horse, dismounted, lifted me down to a high grassy spot that was scarcely damp. In the gathering gloom he tended to his horse, which presently cropped at the grass. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness; the flare of light from a Fire Stick, and the reddish flicker of a fire, startled me. At first I turned away, for the unsteady flame hurt my eyes, but after a time the prospect of warmth brought me around, and I started inching toward the fire. The man looked up, dropped what he was doing, and took a step toward me. “I can carry you,” he said. I waved him off. “I’ll do it myself,” I said shortly, thinking, Why be polite now? So I’ll be in a good mood when you dump me in Galdran’s dungeon? He hesitated. I ignored him and turned my attention to easing forward. After a moment he returned to whatever he had been doing. After a little experimenting, I found that it was easiest to sit backward and inchworm along, dragging my left leg. Soon enough I was near to his fire, which was properly built in a ring of rocks. Using the tip of his rapier, he held out chunks of bread with cheese, toasting them just enough. The smell made my mouth water. In silence he divided the food into two portions, laying mine on a flat rock near my hand. Then he held up a camp kettle. “Want tea? Or just water?” “Tea,” I said. He walked off toward the waterfall. I peered after him into the gloom, saw the horse standing near the pool where the water fell. One chance of escape gone. I’d never get to the horse before he could stop me. With a small sense of relief, I turned my attention to the bread. I was suddenly ravenous, and even though the cheese was still hot, I wolfed my share down and licked my fingers to catch the last crumbs. By then the man had returned and set the kettle among the embers. Then he looked up, paused, then picked up his share of the bread and reached over to put it in front of me. “That’s yours,” I said. “You appear to need it more than I do,” he said, looking amused. “Go ahead. I won’t starve.” I picked up the bread, feeling a weird sense of unreality: Did he expect me to be grateful? The situation was so strange I simply had to turn it into absurdity--it was either that or sink into fear and apprehension. “Well, does it matter if I starve?” I said. “Or do Galdran’s torturers require only plump victims for their arts? ~ Sherwood Smith,

1499:I pity those reviewers above, and people like them, who ridicule authors like R.A. Boulay and other proponents of similar Ancient Astronaut theories, simply for putting forth so many interesting questions (because that's really what he often throughout openly admits is all he does does) in light of fascinating and thought-provoking references which are all from copious sources. Some people will perhaps only read the cover and introduction and dismiss it as soon as any little bit of information flies in the face of their beliefs or normalcy biases. Some of those people, I'm sure, are some of the ones who reviewed this book so negatively without any constructive criticism or plausible rebuttal. It's sad to see how programmed and indoctrinated the vast majority of humanity has become to the ills of dogma, indoctrination, unverified status quos and basic ignorance; not to mention the laziness and conformity that results in such acquiescence and lack of critical thinking or lack of information gathering to confirm or debunk something. Too many people just take what's spoon fed to them all their lives and settle for it unquestioningly. For those people I like to offer a great Einstein quote and one of my personal favorites and that is: "Condemnation without investigation is the highest form of ignorance" I found this book to be a very interesting gathering of information and collection of obscure and/or remote antiquated information, i.e. biblical, sacred, mythological and otherwise, that we were not exactly taught to us in bible school, or any other public school for that matter. And I am of the school of thought that has been so for intended purposes. The author clearly cites all his fascinating sources and cross-references them rather plausibly. He organizes the information in a sequential manner that piques ones interest even as he jumps from one set of information to the next. The information, although eclectic as it spans from different cultures and time periods, interestingly ties together in several respects and it is this synchronicity that makes the information all the more remarkable. For those of you who continue to seek truth and enlightenment because you understand that an open mind makes for and lifelong pursuit of such things I leave you with these Socrates quotes: "True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us. ~ Socrates,

1500:I have a proposition for you,” she said, trying for a businesslike tone. “A very sensible one. You see—” She paused to clear her throat. “I’ve been thinking about your problem.” “What problem?” Cam played lightly with the folds of her skirts, watching her face alertly. “Your good-luck curse. I know how to get rid of it. You should marry into a family with very, very bad luck. A family with expensive problems. And then you won’t have to be embarrassed about having so much money, because it will flow out nearly as fast as it comes in.” “Very sensible.” Cam took her shaking hand in his, pressed it between his warm palms. And touched his foot to her rapidly tapping one. “Hummingbird,” he whispered, “you don’t have to be nervous with me.” Gathering her courage, Amelia blurted out, “I want your ring. I want never to take it off again. I want to be your romni forever”— she paused with a quick, abashed smile—“ whatever that is.” “My bride. My wife.” Amelia froze in a moment of throat-clenching delight as she felt him slide the gold ring onto her finger, easing it to the base. “When we were with Leo, tonight,” she said scratchily, “I knew exactly how he felt about losing Laura. He told me once that I couldn’t understand unless I had loved someone that way. He was right. And tonight, as I watched you with him … I knew what I would think at the very last moment of my life.” His thumb smoothed over the tender surface of her knuckle. “Yes, love?” “I would think,” she continued, “‘ Oh, if I could have just one more day with Cam. I would fit a lifetime into those few hours.’” “Not necessary,” he assured her gently. “Statistically speaking, we’ll have at least ten, fifteen thousand days to spend together.” “I don’t want to be apart from you for even one of them.” Cam cupped her small, serious face in his hands, his thumbs skimming the trace of tears beneath her eyes. His gaze caressed her. “Are we to live in sin, love, or will you finally agree to marry me?” “Yes. Yes. I’ll marry you. Although … I still can’t promise to obey you.” Cam laughed quietly. “We’ll manage around that. If you’ll at least promise to love me.” Amelia gripped his wrists, his pulse steady and strong beneath her fingertips. “Oh, I do love you, you’re—” “I love you, too.” “— my fate. You’re everything I—” She would have said more, if he had not pulled her head to his, kissing her with hard, thrilling pressure. ~ Lisa Kleypas,