--- DICTIONARIES (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

--- QUOTES [1 / 1 - 86 / 86] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

KEYS (10k)

   1 Waking Life

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   3 Rick Riordan
   3 Melissa de la Cruz
   2 T M Frazier
   2 Sarah Palin
   2 John Grisham
   2 John Corey Whaley
   2 James A Michener
   2 Henri J M Nouwen
   2 Harlan Coben
   2 E Lockhart
   2 Anonymous

1:Chapter 18 - Trapped in a Dream(A guy is playing a pinball machine, seemingly the same guy who rode with him in the back of the boat car. This part is played by Richard Linklater, aka, the director.)Hey, man.Hey.Weren't you in a boat car? You know, the guy, the guy with the hat? He gave me a ride in his car, or boat thing, and you were in the back seat with me?I mean, I'm not saying that you don't know what you're talking about, but I don't know what you're talking about.No, you see, you guys let me off at this really specific spot that you gave him directions to let me off at, I get out, and end up getting hit by a car, but then, I just woke up because I was dreaming, and later than that, I found out that I was still dreaming, dreaming that I'd woken up.Oh yeah, those are called false awakenings. I used to have those all the time.Yeah, but I'm still in it now. I, I can't get out of it. It's been going on forever, I keep waking up, but, but I'm just waking up into another dream. I'm starting to get creeped out, too. Like I'm talking to dead people. This woman on TV's telling me about how death is this dreamtime that exists outside of life. I mean, (desperate sigh) I'm starting to think that I'm dead.I'm gonna tell you about a dream I once had. I know that's, when someone says that, then usually you're in for a very boring next few minutes, and you might be, but it sounds like, you know, what else are you going to do, right? Anyway, I read this essay by Philip K. Dick.What, you read it in your dream?No, no. I read it before the dream. It was the preamble to the dream. It was about that book, um Flow My Tears the Policeman Said. You know that one?Uh, yeah yeah, he won an award for that one.Right, right. That's the one he wrote really fast. It just like flowed right out of him. He felt he was sort of channeling it, or something. But anyway, about four years after it was published, he was at this party, and he met this woman who had the same name as the woman character in the book. And she had a boyfriend with the same name as the boyfriend character in the book, and she was having an affair with this guy, the chief of police, and he had the same name as the chief of police in his book. So she's telling him all of this stuff from her life, and everything she's saying is right out of his book. So that's totally freaking him out, but, what can he do?And then shortly after that, he was going to mail a letter, and he saw this kind of, um, you know, dangerous, shady looking guy standing by his car, but instead of avoiding him, which he says he would have usually done, he just walked right up to him and said, "Can I help you?" And the guy said, "Yeah. I, I ran out of gas." So he pulls out his wallet, and he hands him some money, which he says he never would have done, and then he gets home and thinks, wait a second, this guy, you know, he can't get to a gas station, he's out of gas. So he gets back in his car, he goes and finds the guy, takes him to the gas station, and as he's pulling up at the gas station, he realizes, "Hey, this is in my book too. This exact station, this exact guy. Everything."So this whole episode is kind of creepy, right? And he's telling his priest about it, you know, describing how he wrote this book, and then four years later all these things happened to him. And as he's telling it to him, the priest says, "That's the Book of Acts. You're describing the Book of Acts." And he's like, "I've never read the Book of Acts." So he, you know, goes home and reads the Book of Acts, and it's like uncanny. Even the characters' names are the same as in the Bible. And the Book of Acts takes place in 50 A.D., when it was written, supposedly. So Philip K. Dick had this theory that time was an illusion and that we were all actually in 50 A.D., and the reason he had written this book was that he had somehow momentarily punctured through this illusion, this veil of time, and what he had seen there was what was going on in the Book of Acts.And he was really into Gnosticism, and this idea that this demiurge, or demon, had created this illusion of time to make us forget that Christ was about to return, and the kingdom of God was about to arrive. And that we're all in 50 A.D., and there's someone trying to make us forget that God is imminent. And that's what time is. That's what all of history is. It's just this kind of continuous, you know, daydream, or distraction.And so I read that, and I was like, well that's weird. And than that night I had a dream and there was this guy in the dream who was supposed to be a psychic. But I was skeptical. I was like, you know, he's not really a psychic, you know I'm thinking to myself. And then suddenly I start floating, like levitating, up to the ceiling. And as I almost go through the roof, I'm like, "Okay, Mr. Psychic. I believe you. You're a psychic. Put me down please." And I float down, and as my feet touch the ground, the psychic turns into this woman in a green dress. And this woman is Lady Gregory.Now Lady Gregory was Yeats' patron, this, you know, Irish person. And though I'd never seen her image, I was just sure that this was the face of Lady Gregory. So we're walking along, and Lady Gregory turns to me and says, "Let me explain to you the nature of the universe. Now Philip K. Dick is right about time, but he's wrong that it's 50 A.D. Actually, there's only one instant, and it's right now, and it's eternity. And it's an instant in which God is posing a question, and that question is basically, 'Do you want to, you know, be one with eternity? Do you want to be in heaven?' And we're all saying, 'No thank you. Not just yet.' And so time is actually just this constant saying 'No' to God's invitation. I mean that's what time is. I mean, and it's no more 50 A.D. than it's two thousand and one. And there's just this one instant, and that's what we're always in."And then she tells me that actually this is the narrative of everyone's life. That, you know, behind the phenomenal difference, there is but one story, and that's the story of moving from the "no" to the "yes." All of life is like, "No thank you. No thank you. No thank you." then ultimately it's, "Yes, I give in. Yes, I accept. Yes, I embrace." I mean, that's the journey. I mean, everyone gets to the "yes" in the end, right?Right.So we continue walking, and my dog runs over to me. And so I'm petting him, really happy to see him, you know, he's been dead for years. So I'm petting him and I realize there's this kind of gross oozing stuff coming out of his stomach. And I look over at Lady Gregory, and she sort of coughs. She's like [cough] [cough] "Oh, excuse me." And there's vomit, like dribbling down her chin, and it smells really bad. And I think, "Well, wait a second, that's not just the smell of vomit," which is, doesn't smell very good, "that's the smell of like dead person vomit." You know, so it's like doubly foul. And then I realize I'm actually in the land of the dead, and everyone around me is dead. My dog had been dead for over ten years, Lady Gregory had been dead a lot longer than that. When I finally woke up, I was like, whoa, that wasn't a dream, that was a visitation to this real place, the land of the dead.So what happened? I mean how did you finally get out of it?Oh man. It was just like one of those like life altering experiences. I mean I could never really look at the world the same way again, after that.Yeah, but I mean like how did you, how did you finally get out of the dream? See, that's my problem. I'm like trapped. I keep, I keep thinking that I'm waking up, but I'm still in a dream. It seems like it's going on forever. I can't get out of it, and I want to wake up for real. How do you really wake up?I don't know, I don't know. I'm not very good at that anymore. But, um, if that's what you're thinking, I mean you, you probably should. I mean, you know if you can wake up, you should, because you know someday, you know, you won't be able to. So just, um ... But it's easy. You know. Just, just wake up. ~ Waking Life,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain. ~ Yann Martel,

2:Don't make assumptions. Ask and let me explain. Don't decide what you think I feel. ~ Debbie Macomber,

3:The phone rings. “Asshole,” she mutters. She picks it up. “Will you let me explain?” “No.” She hangs up. ~ Lisa McMann,

4:Let me explain my job very simply: My job is to line up five, seven, 10 yards in front of a man and run into him at full speed. ~ Ray Lewis,

5:Let me explain something to you - you have not been standing in front of thirty thousand decibals for thirty-five years - write me a note! ~ Ozzy Osbourne,

6:I accept the responsibility but not the blame. Let me explain the difference. Those who are to blame lose their jobs. Those who are responsible do not. ~ David Frye,

7:Let me explain something to you, he said. If you want to get something out of a man, dashing out his brains against a lamppost isn't the way to do it. ~ Loretta Chase,

8:Let me explain something to you. When you’ve made a woman mad by spying on her, you don’t fix it by telling her she has a nice backside. That’ll just get you bitch-slapped. (Jesse) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,

9:Ok let me explain, if you were bitten by a mad infected dog, who will you blame? the dog or its owner? Definitely the owner, so, all the blame is on the USA Government’s shoulders for adopting and supporting a state like Israel ~ Robert De Niro,

10:to a lean, healthy shape. But in the case of this magazine, these words have additional meaning. Let me explain. A few months back, Shape joined forces with its sister title Fitness , creating what we consider the biggest, boldest, most ~ Anonymous,

11:I’m getting this all wrong. Clove, I’m sorry,” her dad – Tom - said. “Let me explain properly.“ He faltered. Jen patted his hand again. “Maybe it’s best if I just come right out with it. What do you know about Matthew Galloway and Katherine Finchley? ~ Lauren James,

12:Let me explain something you already know. I'm from Texas and we understand the nature of a border. From what I've seen, vigilant Texans are being ordered to stand down and allow criminals to pass. Mr. President, prepare to see Texans ignoring those orders. ~ Tommy Lee Jones,

13:Domingo, your family needs you. Let me explain why I feel strongly that you must stay with them. I had a family once too that loved me. But I made a mistake. I was lured away by other things. When I realized they were what mattered, it was already too late. ~ Tess Uriza Holthe,

14:Let me explain something about guitar playing. Everyone's got their own character, and that's the thing that's amazed me about guitar playing since the day I first picked it up. Everyone's approach to what can come out of six strings is different from another person, but it's all valid. ~ Jimmy Page,

15:And where is your shirt?” “Let me explain,” said Jared. “I had just gone to bed, like a reasonable person, when you decided to get tossed into a well like a crazy person. And then it was a matter of some urgency to reach you. You’re lucky I tripped over my jeans on the way out the door. ~ Sarah Rees Brennan,

16:Please, sweetie, let me explain.” Taking a deep breath, Sara tried to gather her thoughts before proceeding. “It goes farther back, to your great-great-great-grandfather, Wilhelm Grimm, and his brother, Jacob.” “The Grimms. Do you mean the ones who wrote the fairy tales?” “Yes, the very same. And ~ Chanda Hahn,

17:Inevitably we construct ourselves. Let me explain. I enter this house and immediately I become what I have to become, what I can become: I construct myself. That is, I present myself to you in a form suitable to the relationship I wish to achieve with you. And, of course, you do the same with me. ~ Luigi Pirandello,

18:I've done a great job at being universal in my stand-up, which is why, for 'Let Me Explain,' I toured all over the world. These movies I have coming out - 'Ride Along,' 'Grudge Match,' 'About Last Night,' 'Think Like a Man Too' - are putting me in a position to become universal on an even bigger scale. ~ Kevin Hart,

19:I wanted the world to sit back, listen up, and let me explain to it that when someone is sad and hopeless, the last thing they need to feel is that they are the only ones in the world with that feeling. So, if you feel sorry for someone, don't pretend to be happy. Don't pretend to care only about their problems. ~ John Corey Whaley,

20:Before I became governor of the great state of Alaska, I was mayor of my hometown. And since our opponents in this presidential election seem to look down on that experience, let me explain to them what the job involves. I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a 'community organizer,' except that you have actual responsibilities. ~ Sarah Palin,

21:Before I became governor of the great state of Alaska, I was mayor of my hometown. And since our opponents in this presidential election seem to look down on that experience, let me explain to them what the job involves. I guess a small-town mayor is sort of like a 'community organizer,' except that you have actual responsibilities. ~ Sarah Palin,

22:Granddad’s voice boomed across the yard. “This is the United States of America,” he said. “You don’t seem to understand that, Penny, so let me explain. In America, here is how we operate: We work for what we want, and we get ahead. We never take no for answer, and we deserve the rewards of our perseverance. Will, Taft, are you listening? ~ E Lockhart,

23:Let me explain: Like two great athletes who don’t play on the same team but meet up on the world stage, blacks and women have always convened at the Oppressed Olympics and given each other a friendly head nod, similar to how when I’m in line at the grocery store and I notice the person in the next checkout line is also buying lemonade. ~ Phoebe Robinson,

24:Trust is the foundation of real teamwork. And so the first dysfunction is a failure on the part of team members to understand and open up to one another. And if that sounds touchy-feely, let me explain, because there is nothing soft about it. It is an absolutely critical part of building a team. In fact, it’s probably the most critical. ~ Patrick Lencioni,

25:Let me explain before another word is written: I have never once asked a cat, "So tell me what's up, Charlie?" and Charlie says, "Jeez Jackson, thanks for asking. A little annoyed by the fluorescent lights, and will you please check out this tiny piece-of-junk pan I have to crap in but, hey, I still got my legs, you know? Can't complain, pal. ~ Jackson Galaxy,

26:Let me explain it to you then. I just had a beautiful girl trust me enough to touch her and see her in a way no one else ever has. I got to hold her and watch her and feel her as she came apart in my arms. It was like nothing else I'd ever experienced. She was breathtaking and she was responding to me. She wanted me. I was the one making her spiral out of control. ~ Abbi Glines,

27:My point taken further is that True and False (hence what we call "belief") play a poor, secondary role in human decisions; it is the payoff from the True and the False that dominates-and it is almost always asymmetric, with one consequence much bigger than the other, i.e., harboring positive and negative asymmetries (fragile or antifragile). Let me explain. ~ Nassim Nicholas Taleb,

28:What happened in Kosovo was the exact reversal of what happened in 'Fortress Europe' in 1943-45. Let me explain. Air Marshall 'Bomber' Harris used to say that 'Fortress Europe' was a fortress without a roof, since the Allies had air supremacy. Now, if we look at the Kosovo War, what do we see? We see a fortress without walls  but with a roof! Isn't that disappearance extraordinary?! ~ Paul Virilio,

29:It was––how shall I put it?––a painfully solitary building. Let me explain. Say we have a concept. It goes without saying that there will be slight exceptions to that norm. Now, over time these exceptions spread like stains until finally they form a separate concept. To which other exceptions crop up. It was that kind of building, some ancient life form that had evolved blindly, toward who knows what end. ~ Haruki Murakami,

30:Let me explain what happened. I’ll try to keep it as emotion free as possible for the sake of all the people who can’t deal with the ups and the downs, and the drama and the angst. This is because I’m one of those people. I can’t deal with the drama. Admittedly, this is likely because I was raised in a drama-free household. I once tried being dramatic when I was fourteen. My mother told me to add it to the calendar. ~ Penny Reid,

31:Let me explain this to you,” he said, calmly. Too calmly. He reached out and cupped my cheek in his hand, rubbing over it with the pad of his thumb. “You and I are going to have a coming-to-Jesus moment. You’re gonna tell me your shit. I’m gonna tell you my shit, and then I’m going to fuck you. Long and hard, until you don’t remember your real name or the one you chose to go by because you’ll be too busy screaming mine. ~ T M Frazier,

32:I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end? I should. And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing? I do not understand, he said. Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye? Certainly not. Or hear, except with the ear? No. These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs? They may. ~ Plato,

33:Nolan grabbed my wrist. “Let me explain this to you,” he said, calmly. Too calmly. He reached out and cupped my cheek in his hand, rubbing over it with the pad of his thumb. “You and I are going to have a coming-to-Jesus moment. You’re gonna tell me your shit. I’m gonna tell you my shit, and then I’m going to fuck you. Long and hard, until you don’t remember your real name or the one you chose to go by because you’ll be too busy screaming mine. ~ T M Frazier,

34:Grandad's voice boomed across the yard. 'This is the United States of America,' he said. 'You don't seem to understand that, Penny, so let me explain. In America, here is how we operate. We work for what we want, and we get ahead. We never take no for an answer, and we deserve the rewards of our perseverance... We Sinclairs are a grand, old family. That is something to be proud of. Our traditions and values form the bedrock on which future generations stand. ~ E Lockhart,

35:Let me explain: there are dragons, and then there are drakons. Drakons are several millennia older than dragons, andmuch larger. They look like giant serpents. Most don't have wings. Most don't breathe fire (though some do). All are poisonous. All are immensely strong, with scales harder than titanium. Their eyes can paralyze you; not the turn-you~to-stone Medusa-type paralysis, buttheoh~my~gods-that~big~snake~is~going~to~eat~me type of paralysis, which is just as bad. ~ Rick Riordan,

36:You think she needs a chaperone?” When they didn’t answer, the nun tutted disapprovingly. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Attaviano, and I hope your daughter is listening, though I cannot be sure. Morally speaking, the only chaperone a young girl of good character requires is her own sense of decency and pride. She who possesses these qualities doesn’t need a chaperone – ever. She who lacks them...” The nun laughed lightly. “Argus himself couldn’t chaperone her. ~ Paullina Simons,

37:HE was standing across the street, staring at her with a look of shock and dismay. One look in Oliver's eyes and she knew he knew. But how? How could he have known? The'd been so careful to keep their love a secret. The grief etched all over his face was too much to bear. Schuyler felt the words catch in her throat as she crossed the stree to stand in front of him. "Ollie...it's not..." Oliver shot her a look of pure hatred, turned on his heel and began to run away. "OLIVER, please,let me explain. ~ Melissa de la Cruz,

38:HE was standing across the street, staring at her with a look of shock and dismay. One look in Oliver's eyes and she knew he knew. But how? How could he have known? The'd been so careful to keep their love a secret. The grief etched all over his face was too much to bear. Schuyler felt the words catch in her throat as she crossed the stree to stand in front of him. "Ollie...it's not..." Oliver shot her a look of pure hatred, turned on his heel and began to run away. "OLIVER, please,let me explain.. ~ Melissa de la Cruz,

39:The men watched as Annwyl the Bloody took a stand against something from their darkest nightmares. Too afraid to fight, but too terrified for their leader to run away. And then Brastias saw the girl do something he would never forget. She kicked the beast. Right in the knee. Brastias and Danelin exchanged glances. “Well, you always thought she was insane,” Brastias offered. “I didn’t think I was right.” “You lying toe-rag!” she yelled up at him. “Let me explain.” “Go to hell!” “Annwyl.” “No! ~ G A Aiken,

40:Let me explain why we haven’t talked before. Part of my arrangement with Monte Leburne was that it would remain between the two of us. I won’t hand you a line about honor among thieves, but I want you to understand. I couldn’t say anything because I was sworn to secrecy. If I did, I would be betraying a loyal employee.” “Who might in return change his mind about not implicating you.” “The pragmatic is always a consideration,” Cozone agreed. “But mostly, I wanted to demonstrate to Monte and to my other employees that I am a man of my word.” “And ~ Harlan Coben,

41:Mr. Buckley, let me explain it this way. And I'll do so very carefully and slowly so that even you will understand it. If I was the sheriff, I would not have arrested him. If I was on the grand jury, I would not have indicted him. If I was the judge, I would not try him. If I was the D.A., I would not prosecute him. If I was on the trial jury, I would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, and I would send him home to his family. And, Mr. Buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, I hope I have the guts to do what he did. ~ John Grisham,

42:Mr. Buckley, let me explain it this way. And I'll do so very carefully & slowly so that even you will understand it. If I was the sheriff, I would not have arrested him. If I was on the grand jury, I would not have indicted him. If I was the judge, I would not try him. If I was the D.A., I would not prosecute him. If I was on the trial jury, I would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, & I would send him home to his family. And, Mr. Buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, I hope I have the guts to do what he did. ~ John Grisham,

43: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,

44:Let me explain how such a thing might occasionally happen,' Goebbels said. 'All during the twelve years of the Weimar Republic our people were virtually in jail. Now our party is in charge and they are free again. When a man has been in jail for twelve years and he is suddenly freed, in his joy he may do something irrational, perhaps even brutal. Is that not a possibility in your country also?' Ebbutt, his voice even, noted a fundamental difference in how England might approach such a scenario. 'If it should happen,' he said, 'we would throw the man right back in jail. ~ Erik Larson,

45:Public education does not exist for the benefit of students or the benefit of their parents. It exists for the benefit of the social order. We have discovered as a species that it is useful to have an educated population. You do not need to be a student or have a child who is a student to benefit from public education. Every second of every day of your life, you benefit from public education. So let me explain why I like to pay taxes for schools, even though I don't personally have a kid in school: It's because I don't like living in a country with a bunch of stupid people. ~ John Green,

46:Let me explain why. "Perfection" is man's ultimate illusion. It simply doesn't exist in the universe. There is no perfection. It's really the world's greatest con game; it promises riches and delivers misery. The harder you strive for perfection, the worse your disappointment will become because it's only an abstraction, a concept that doesn't fit reality. Everything can be improved if you look at it closely and critically enough—every person, every idea, every work of art, every experience, everything. So if you are a perfectionist, you are guaranteed to be a loser in whatever you do. ~ David D Burns,

47:Percy and Reyna occupied matching praeters' chairs on the dais, which made Percy self-conscious. It wasn't easy looking dignified wearing a bedsheet and a purple cape. "The camp is safe," Octavian continued. " I'll be the first to congragulate our heroes for bringing back the legion's eagle and so much Imperial gold! Truly we have been blessed with good fortune. But why do more? Why tempt fate?" "I'm glad you asked." Percy stood, taking the question as an opening. Octavian stammered, " I wasn't--" "--Part of the quest," Percy said. "Yes I know. And your'e wise to let me explain, since I was. ~ Rick Riordan,

48:Percy and Reyna occupied matching praeters' chairs on the dais, which made Percy self-conscious. It wasn't easy looking dignified wearing a bedsheet and a purple cape. "The camp is safe," Octavian continued. " I'll be the first to congragulate our heroes for bringing back the legion's eagle and so much Imperial gold! Truly we have been blessed with good fortune. But why do more? Why tempt fate?" "I'm glad you asked." Percy stood, taking the question as an opening. Octavian stammered, " I wasn't--" "--Part of the quest," Percy said. "Yes I know. And your'e wise to let me explain, since I was. ~ Rick Riordan,

49:Let me explain: there are dragons, and then there are drakons. Drakons are several millennia older than dragons, andmuch larger. They look like giant serpents. Most don't have wings. Most don't breathe fire (though some do). All are poisonous. All are immensely strong, with scales harder than titanium. Their eyes can paralyze you; not the turn-you~ Rick Riordanto-stone Medusa-type paralysis, buttheoh~ Rick Riordanmy~ Rick Riordangods-that~ Rick Riordanbig~ Rick Riordansnake~ Rick Riordanis~ Rick Riordangoing~ Rick Riordanto~ Rick Riordaneat~ Rick Riordanme type of paralysis, which is just as bad. ~ Rick Riordan,

50:Many of you know little about storytelling. Before I begin, let me explain. The Story is the story of us all. If understood properly, it is of immense power. It tells you who you are, what you might expect from this life. Some believe it can foretell the future. Mastery of the Story gives you mastery over life itself. It contains precious, holy relics of the age of giants which preceded us. It tells of our rise, our glories and our occasional disgraces. It tells of our fathers and grandfathers, of the animals and the trees and the spirits, containing all the knowledge you need to please them so they will help rather than punish you. ~ Iain Pears,

51:Let me explain a simple concept,” Per Lomax said. “Perhaps you can understand then. In the earliest days of proto-humanity, survival of the fittest ensured that the hardy and clever humans passed on their genetic material to the ensuing generations. The slow and the dull-witted died out, weeding their genes from the collective pool of possibilities. Your modern society has reversed the process. The hardy and clever have few children as they use their time and energy to amass wealth and position. The slothful and ignorant have mass broods, filling your planets with sub-standard stock. It is killing the human race. This will all change under the Throne World’s guidance. ~ Vaughn Heppner,

52:The word is always a word for others. Words need to be heard. When we give words to what we are living, these words need to be received and responded to. A speaker needs a listener. A writer needs a reader. When the flesh – the lived human experience – becomes word, community can develop. When we say, 'Let me tell you what we saw. Come and listen to what we did. Sit down and let me explain to you what happened to us. Wait until you hear whom we met,' we call people together and make our lives into lives for others. The word brings us together and calls us into community. When the flesh becomes word, our bodies become part of a body of people. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

53:So I think that a protest,' she went on, 'like a work of dance or a work of music, is something done, at least in part, by the protestor for the protestor.' She saw I was about to interrupt so said, 'One more minute. Let me explain. Of course one hopes and plans for impact, for audience, for change, for efficacy. But, like dance, like music, a protest can be a religious ritual too, one that needn't be derisively looked down upon as magical thinking, but a spiritual act where the act itself is the goal. And that act may on some level be co-opted, but in the subjective world of the protestor it is a way, in itself, to be. Even in solipsism, the subject can be moral. You can call it hokum if you wish, but for the protestor, the protest makes a moral world in which she can abide. ~ Eugene Lim,

54:company? Damn right I could!! How dare he use me this way!  He had no right to play with my emotions, hurting me, like I was merely a chess piece in his slimy scheme to take over the Baroness’ account and further his career, at my heart’s expense.             Standing knee deep in the murky water of the Atlantic ocean, I felt completely numb. I was so desensitized that I couldn’t even feel Patrick’s hand on my shoulder.             “Chloe, please let me explain,” he said in a soft voice. His words compelled me to turn around, and I could see the desperation and pleading in his eyes. My brain was on fire; my heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself into my throat. My entire body was wracked and wrenched with hurt!             “Explain what, Patrick? That you used me and ~ Eve Carter,

55:See, I’m the worst breed of human. Let me explain. Some people are dead inside. They go through life knowing this, and they manage fine enough, because, well, they’re dead inside. They aren’t bitter because they don’t care enough to change. They just try to get by with the things they can control. Others live in the fucking clouds, watch romantic comedies, and dream about everything being perfect one day. These people are always fine because they have an everlasting well of hope inside them, and no matter what happens they’ll just romanticize their existence. But when it comes to me…I’m someone who’s mostly dead inside but still has a little hope for something extraordinary, which, as I said, is the worst breed of human, because it means that I know everything is bullshit, but that I secretly hope for the day when it might not be. The tension makes me wish I were just completely dead inside. It would makes things much easier for me. ~ Nick Miller,

56:I slowly became aware, but only in my head, of something about “the first love” and “the second love.” Let me explain. I became more and more intellectually clear that the first love comes from the ultimate life force we call God, who has loved me unconditionally before others knew or loved me. “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” And I saw that the second love, the love of parents, family, and friends, was only a modified expression of the first love. I reasoned that the source of my suffering was the fact that I expected from the second love what only the first love could give. When I hoped for total self- giving and unconditional love from another human being who was imperfect and limited in ability to love, I was asking for the impossible. I knew from experience that the more I demanded, the more others moved away, cut loose, got angry, or left me, and the more I experienced anguish and the pain of rejection. But I felt helpless to change my behavior. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,

57:For example, the central idea in Einstein's theory of general relativity is that gravity is not some mysterious, attractive force that acts across space but rather a manifestation of the geometry of the inextricably linked space and time. Let me explain, using a simple example, how a geometrical property of space could be perceived as an attractive force, such as gravity. Imagine two people who start to travel precisely northward from two different point on Earth's equator. This means that at their starting points, these people travel along parallel lines (two longitudes), which, according to the plane geometry we learn in school, should never meet. Clearly, however, these two people will meet at the North Pole. if these people did not know that they were really traveling on the curved surface of a sphere, they would conclude that they must have experienced some attractive force, since they arrived at the same point in spite of starting their motions along parallel lines. Therefore, the geometrical curvature of space can manifest itself as an attractive force. ~ Mario Livio,

58:The more perfect something is, the less it can be loved -- like a face, a body, voice, tone, color, or music itself. In playing a piece, don't strive for perfection: it will kill the piece in that it will prevent it from entering the emotions. That's the kind of advice you can't do anything with except perhaps later, when you don't even know you're doing it. It's part of the freeze of counterpoint.' 'I've never heard that expression,' she said. 'Stasis may be a better word -- the liberation of the space between two contradictions. Let me explain if I can. If two waves of equal but opposite amplitude meet in water, what do you get' 'Flat water.' 'In sound?' 'Silence.' 'Right. From agitation, peace, a perfection that you might have thought unobtainable from the clash of contradictory elements.' 'I think you've explained the magic of counterpoint very well.' 'Not really. It's inexplicable. I've noted it, that's all. Half of humanity's troubles arise from the inability to see that contradictory propositions can be valid simultaneously. ~ Mark Helprin,

59:Bet you can't even name one romantic movie you like," she teased. She felt smug when a few minutes went by and Oliver was still unable to name one romantic movie he could profess to enjoy. The Empire Strikes Back," Oliver finally declared, tapping his horn at a Prius that wandered over the line. The Empire Strikes Back? The Star Wars movie? That's not romantic!" Schuyler huffed, fiddling with the air conditioner controls. Au contraire, my dear, it's very romantic. The last scene, you know, when they're about to put Han in that freezing cryogenic chamber or whatever? Remember?" Schuyler mmm-hmmmed. And Leia leans over the ledge and says, 'I love you.'" That's cheesy, not romatic," Schuyler argued, although she did like that part. Let me explain. What's romantic is what Han says back. Remember what he says to her? After she says 'I love you'?" Schuyler grinned. Maybe Oliver had a point. "Han says, 'I know.'" Exactly," Oliver tapped the wheel. "He doesn't have to say anything so trite as 'I love you." Because that's already understood. And that's romantic. ~ Melissa de la Cruz,

60:Uncle," she said. "Let me explain what will happen the instant one of your men makes a move toward me. Let's say, for instance, one of your archers lets an arrow fly. You've not come to many of my practices, Uncle. You haven't seen me dodge arrows; but your archers have. If one or your archers releases an arrow, I'll drop to the floor. The arrow will doubtless hit one of your guards. The sword and the dagger of that guard will be in my hands before anyone in the room has time to realize what's happened. A fight will break out with the guards; but only seven or eight of them can surround me at once, Uncle, and seven or eight is nothing to me. As I kill the guards I'll take their daggers and begin throwing them into the hearts of your archers, who of course will have no sighting on me once the brawl with the guards has broken out. I'll get out of the room alive, Uncle, but most of the rest of you will be dead. Of course, this is only what will happen if I wait for one of your men to make a move. I could move first. I could attack a guard, steal his dagger, and hurl it into your chest this instant. ~ Kristin Cashore,

61:The Igbo people of Southern Nigeria are more than ten million strong and must be accounted one of the major peoples of Africa. Conventional practice would call them a tribe, but I no longer follow that convention. I call them a nation. "Here we go again!," you might be thinking. Well, let me explain. My Pocket Oxford Dictionary defines tribe as follows: "group of (esp. primitive) families or communities linked by social, religious or blood ties and usually having a common culture and dialect and a recognized leader." If we apply the different criteria of this definition to Igbo people we will come up with the following results: a. Igbo people are not primitive; if we were I would not be offering this distinguished lecture, or would I?; b. Igbo people are not linked by blood ties; although they may share many cultural traits; c. Igbo people do not speak one dialect; they speak one language which has scores of major and minor dialects; d. and as for having one recognized leader, Igbo people would regard the absence of such a recognized leader as the very defining principle of their social and political identity. ~ Chinua Achebe,

62:Let me explain a little: Certain things are bad so far as they go, such as pain, and no one, not even a lunatic, calls a tooth-ache good in itself; but a knife which cuts clumsily and with difficulty is called a bad knife, which it certainly is not. It is only not so good as other knives to which men have grown accustomed. A knife is never bad except on such rare occasions as that in which it is neatly and scientifically planted in the middle of one's back. The coarsest and bluntest knife which ever broke a pencil into pieces instead of sharpening it is a good thing in so far as it is a knife. It would have appeared a miracle in the Stone Age. What we call a bad knife is a good knife not good enough for us; what we call a bad hat is a good hat not good enough for us; what we call bad cookery is good cookery not good enough for us; what we call a bad civilization is a good civilization not good enough for us. We choose to call the great mass of the history of mankind bad, not because it is bad, but because we are better. This is palpably an unfair principle. Ivory may not be so white as snow, but the whole Arctic continent does not make ivory black. ~ G K Chesterton,

63:Can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Harry shook his head. "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help." Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want... whatever we want..." "Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed. ~ J K Rowling,

64:I was wondering,” she began as if the argument hadn’t happened. “If I went to buy the new bedding, would you pick out the mattress? It would save time.” “Huh?” His eyebrows went up. “I don’t need to test it,” she said hastily. “Well, I’m not going to be sleeping on it.” Kenzie didn’t respond directly to his faintly mocking comment. “Let me explain. You’re a guy. You don’t know what it’s like to lie down on a mattress with a store salesman grinning at you.” Linc could see her point. It was all too easy to imagine her stretched out on a satin-topped, brand-new double. Fully clothed, of course. But even so. “It’s on Norm.” She reached into her pocket for a handful of hundreds. “Just get whatever mattress seems reasonable, so long as it’s in stock and they can deliver it today.” His arms uncrossed but he didn’t take the money. “Did I say yes to this? I don’t think I did.” “Please, Linc.” He studied her, making her wait. The room was nothing to write home about but she seemed happy here and, all of a sudden, a lot less tense, judging by her body language. He gave in. “All right.” Claws retracted, Kenzie patted his cheek. “Thank you so much.” A while later, he was tying a plastic-wrapped mattress to the top of his car. ~ Janet Dailey,

65:JACK I’m Jack, the Sword of Summer, Sumarbrander, Blade of Frey. That is, I was his, until he tossed me away. FREY Jack, I did you wrong. You know I’m feeling the guilt. JACK Yeah, right. Forget you, man. Talk to my hilt! FREY Come on, Slice! Give me a chance. At least let me explain why I passed you off to Skirnir— JACK I know why. You were insane. You sat on Odin’s throne to search for Freya, your lost sister. A giantess caught your eye. So much for Freya. You just dissed her. FREY Gerd was gorgeous. Total hottie. I dream of her still. Shining face, lovely hair— JACK I think I’m going to be ill. FREY I know you’ve suffered, Blade of Frey, Sword of Summer, Sumarbrander. JACK The worst is yet to come, when I’m with my new commander. FREY You mean Surt, at Ragnarok. JACK The Black One of Muspellheim. On the day of doom, he’ll wield me— FREY —and free the Wolf. Chaos time. JACK Boiling seas. Bloodred skies. FREY Gods will vanish. Giants rise. JACK I’ll be sad to see you go. FREY Will you really? JACK Really? No. FREY Destiny is destiny. We all have our parts to play. JACK I’ll act mine now then, Nature Boy, and say, “See you later, Frey.” FREY There’ll never be another quite like you, Sword of Summer. Our paths may cross again. If not…good-bye, old friend. ~ Rick Riordan,

66:I scrambled off the water buffalo, biting back a wince as I struggled for some balance. Catching my breath, I backed away from Amar. In the shadows, the hood over his face glinted sinister. “Do not come near me!” I hissed. Amar halted. “Let me explain,” he began. “I understand that this is not--” I lunged for a stick and brandished it at him. “Who are you?” Amar laughed. “A stick? I’ve brought you to the Night Bazaar; do you really think a stick would protect you?” I gripped the stick harder. “Not that you need protection from me,” he added quickly. “Who are you?” “Amar.” “Where are you from?” “Akaran.” I gave him a hard look, but I wasn’t sure how much he could see through his covering. “What are you?” He drew himself up. “A raja and your husband.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “Why have you brought me here?” My voice shook. I couldn’t stop staring at the Night Bazaar. There it was. And here I was. Standing on the same plot of land shared with beings that--until now--had only existed in stories. “What do you want from me?” He stopped. The smile was gone from his lips. “I want your perspective and honesty,” he said, before adding in a softer voice, “I want to be humbled by you. ~ Roshani Chokshi,

67:His gaze meandered along my chest. "Hey!" I crossed my arms over my breasts. "Those are…" "Patrick's?" "Well, his name isn't tattooed on them, but yeah, currently they are reserved for him." I peered at him and noted the similarities between him and his sons. "Ruadan, I presume?" "Got it in one," he said, silver eyes twinkling. "You scared the shit out of me." One corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. He picked up the parchment and tapped on it. "So, you're Patrick's soul mate." "No." "But you read the scroll. Only his sonuachar can do that." "Let me explain." I paused. "No, there is too much. Let me sum up." " The Princess Bride!" Ruadan exclaimed in happy surprise. "I love that movie. 'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!'" He leapt off the bed and made fencing motions. "Ruadan, we're in a bit of crisis around here." "Hey! My swords." He practically skipped to the dresser where I had left them when I got ready for my bath. He whirled the half-swords like a master swordsman, which, of course, he was. "My mother really knows how to smith a weapon, doesn't she? Real fairy gold." He stabbed an invisible foe's chest with one and his stomach with the other. "Die, evil one! Die!" He jumped up and down, the swords held above his head, and did a victory dance. "You're like a big puppy!" I exclaimed. "A big, dumb puppy. ~ Michele Bardsley,

68:Logotherapy focuses rather on the future, that is to say, on the meanings to be fulfilled by the patient in his future. (Logotherapy, indeed, is a meaning-centered psychotherapy.) At the same time, logotherapy defocuses all the vicious-circle formations and feedback mechanisms which play such a great role in the development of neuroses. Thus, the typical self-centeredness of the neurotic is broken up instead of being continually fostered and reinforced. To be sure, this kind of statement is an oversimplification; yet in logotherapy the patient is actually confronted with and reoriented toward the meaning of his life. And to make him aware of this meaning can contribute much to his ability to overcome his neurosis. Let me explain why I have employed the term “logotherapy” as the name for my theory. Logos is a Greek word which denotes “meaning.” Logotherapy, or, as it has been called by some authors, “The Third Viennese School of Psychotherapy,” focuses on the meaning of human existence as well as on man’s search for such a meaning. According to logotherapy, this striving to find a meaning in one’s life is the primary motivational force in man. That is why I speak of a will to meaning in contrast to the pleasure principle (or, as we could also term it, the will to pleasure) on which Freudian psychoanalysis is centered, as well as in contrast to the will to power on which Adlerian psychology, using the term “striving for superiority,” is focused. ~ Anonymous,

69:THIRSTY. Sand in the throat. Eyes won’t open. Or maybe they do. Total darkness. Engine roar. I sense someone standing over me. “Terese . . .” I think I say it out loud, but I’m not sure.       NEXT snippet of memory: voices. They seem very far away. I don’t understand any of the words. Sounds, that’s all. Something angry. It gets closer. Louder. In my ear now. My eyes open. I see white. The voice keeps repeating the same thing over and over. Sounds like “Al-sabr wal-sayf.” I don’t understand. Gibberish maybe. Or a foreign language. I don’t know. “Al-sabr wal-sayf.” Someone is shouting in my ear. My eyes squeeze shut. I want it to stop. “Al-sabr wal-sayf.” The voice is angry, incessant. I think I say I’m sorry. “He doesn’t understand,” someone says. Silence.       PAIN in my side. “Terese . . . ,” I say again. No reply. Where am I? I hear a voice again, but I can’t understand what it’s saying. Feel alone, isolated. I’m lying down. I think I’m shaking.       “LET me explain the situation to you.” I still can’t move. I try to open my mouth, but I can’t. Open my eyes. Blurry. Feels like my entire head is wrapped in thick, sticky cobwebs. I try to scrape the cobwebs away. They stay. “You used to work for the government, didn’t you?” Is the voice talking to me? I nod but stay very still. “Then you know places like this exist. That they’ve always existed. You heard the rumors, at the very least.” I never believed the rumors. Maybe after 9/11. But not before. I think I say no but that might just be in my head. ~ Harlan Coben,

70:People didn't like having to come up with something smart or helpful or sensitive to say, and they weren't intelligent enough to realize that all we wanted, all I wanted, was to be treated the same as I had been three months before. I wanted to be ignored because of my eccentricities, not because of my brother. And I wanted to be offered help from people because they cared about me, not because they felt some strange social obligation to do so. I wanted the world to sit back, listen up, and let me explain to it that when someone is sad and hopeless, the last thing they need to feel is that they are the only ones in the world with that feeling. So, if you feel sorry for someone, don't pretend to be happy. Don't pretend to care only about their problems. People aren't stupid. Not all of us, anyway. If someone's little brother disappears, don't give him a free hamburger to make him feel better-- it doesn't work. It's a good burger, sure, but it means nothing. It means something only to the Mr. Burkes of the world. Offering free meals, free stays in condos in Florida, even free plumbing. And we let them. We let them because they need it, not us. We didn't let them help us because we needed it, we let them help us because inside of humans is this thing, this unnamed need to feel as if we were useful in the world. To feel as if we have something significant to contribute. So, old ladies, make your casseroles and set them on doorsteps. And old men, grill your burgers and give them to teenagers with cynical worldviews. The world can't be satisfied, but that need to fix it all can. ~ John Corey Whaley,

71:What are you eating?” “I don’t know,” she admitted. “She gave it to me.” She pointed at the tall woman who had been standing at the sink and watching their conversation with a worried look on her face. Lock turned to her. “Mumzell? Chara vena Kat Kala ala noosh?” She nodded her head rapidly. “Ja, ja! Shiba ava Kala ala noosh.” Then she hugged Lock and stood on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “What? What is she saying?” Kat demanded. Deep frowned. “She’s saying you asked for it. She thinks you wanted it because…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Because what? What does it do?” Kat asked, worried. Had she poisoned herself with the strange fruit? Or had she somehow eaten something she wasn’t supposed to eat for religious reasons? Damn it, she didn’t know anything about this stupid planet. She had to get herself some translation bacteria! Lock finally finished speaking to the older woman. He turned back to Kat and spoke in a low voice. “What you ate are Kala fruit—what we call bonding fruit. They have uh…a special significance to our people.” Deep snorted. “That’s an understatement.” “Deep, please.” Lock gave him a warning look. “Will you just let me explain?” “They’re not poisonous or anything, right?” Kat asked. “I mean, I’m sure the nice lady wouldn’t have let me eat them if they were but—” “That ‘nice lady’ is our mother,” Deep said harshly. “And she now believes that you intend to mate with Lock and myself. Immediately. Because why else would anyone eat an entire bowl of bonding fruit in one sitting?” “What?” Kat felt a sudden rush of panic. “No, no,” she said to the woman, shaking her head rapidly. “It’s not like that with us. Really, it’s not. ~ Evangeline Anderson,

72:You need to realize that when you practice from the state of the beginner all the way to the stage of immutable wisdom, then you must go back to the status of the beginner again. Let me explain in terms of your martial arts. As a beginner you know nothing of stance or sword position, so you have nothing in yourself to dwell on mentally. If someone strikes at you, you just fight, without thinking of anything. Then when you learn various things like stance, how to wield a sword, where to place the attention, and so on, your mind lingers on various points, so you find yourself all tangled up when you try to strike. But if you practice day after day and month after month, eventually stance and swordplay don’t hang on your mind anymore, and you are like a beginner who knows nothing. This is the sense in which it is said that the beginning and the end are the same, just as one and ten become neighbors when you have counted from one to ten. It is also like the highest and lowest notes of a musical scale becoming neighbors below and above a cycle of the scale. Just as the highest and lowest notes resemble each other, since buddhas are the highest human development they appear to be like people who know nothing of Buddha or Buddhism, having none of the external trappings that people envision of buddhas. Therefore the afflictions of unaware lingering in the beginning and the immutable wisdom in the end become one. The cogitating side of your brain will vanish, and you will come to rest in a state where there is no concern. Completely ignorant people don’t show their wits, it seems, because they haven’t got any. Highly developed intelligence doesn’t show because it has already gone into hiding. It is because of pseudo-erudition that intelligence goes to one’s head, a ludicrous sight. ~ Shambhala Publications,

73:America," he begged. I turned to Maxon. "They're fine. The rebels were slow, and everyone here knows what to do in an emergency." I nodded. We stood there quietly for a minute, and I could tell he was about to move on. "Maxon," I whispered. He turned back, a little surprised to be addressed so casually. "About last night. Let me explain. When they came to prep us, to get us ready to come here, there was a man who told me that I was never to turn you down. No matter what you asked for. Not ever." He was dumbfounded. "What?" "He made it sound like you might ask for certain things. And you said yourself that you hadn't been around many women. After eighteen years...and then you sent the cameras away. I just got scared when you got that close to me." Maxon shook his head, trying to process all this. Humiliation, rage, and disbelief all played across his typically even-tempered face. "Was everyone told this?" he asked, sounding appalled at the idea. "I don't know. I can't imagine many girls would need such a warning. They're probably waiting to pounce on you," I noted, nodding my head toward the rest of the room. He gave a dark chuckle. "But you're not, so you had absolutely no qualms about kneeing me in the groin, right?" "I hit your thigh!" "Oh, please. A man doesn't need that long to recover from a knee to the thigh," he replied, his voice full of skepticism. A laugh escaped me. Thankfully, Maxon join in. Just then another mass hit the windows, and we stopped in unison. For a moment I had forgotten where I was. "So how are you handling a roomful of crying women?" I asked. There was a comical bewilderment in his expression. "Nothing in the world is more confusing!" he whispered urgently. "I haven't the faintest clue how to stop it." This was the man who was going to lead our country: the guy rendered useless by tears. It was too funny. ~ Kiera Cass,

74:So, did you see that community center I was talking about?” “What? Where?” “We walked right past it, just before that grocery store. I mentioned it on the way to the city? You just drop in and take classes. They’ve got all sorts of stuff. I bet you can get a student rate, even.” “But I’m not a student—” “You’re young enough that they’ll assume—” “—and how am I supposed to find the time to take dance classes, now that I’m the dessert?” “I’m starting to really regret using that metaphor,” Silas says, grinning. “And let me explain something, Rosie.” He takes a swig of the coffee and presses his lips together, searching for words. “I’m from a long, long, long, long line of woodsmen. My brothers are all supertalented. They all built their own rooms. For god’s sake, Lucas built a freaking wooden hot tub in his bedroom with wooden monkeys pouring water into it.” “Monkeys?” “Don’t ask. Anyway, I can do some woodworking. I know my way around the forest, I can handle an ax better than most, I can make a tree grow where nothing else will, I can live off berries and hunt for my food, and I’ve known about the Fenris since I could crawl. I’m a woodsman, for all intents and purposes. But that doesn’t mean I live for it any more than the fact that you’re good at hunting means you have to live for that. So maybe breaking out of the hunting lifestyle for a few hours here and there will help you figure out if it’s really for you or not.” I shake my head, confused as to why he’d even think that was possible. “I can’t just not hunt, Silas. So yeah, I take a few random classes, and what if I decide that I hate hunting and want to quit? That doesn’t mean I can. I owe Scarlett my life, and if she wants to cash in by having me spend my life hunting beside her, so be it. It’d kill her if she ever thought I wanted to quit.” “Rosie,” Silas says quietly. “I’m not suggesting you drop your sister like a bad habit and take up intense ballet training. ~ Jackson Pearce,

75:Let me explain, Eoin. I’m not a witch. I . . .”  He immediately interrupted me with more words in Gaelic that I didn’t understand before he turned and walked over to the window seat to stare outside.  “What do ye expect me to do with ye now, lass? I should’ve left ye down in the dungeon to rot, but I expect ye spelled me so that I would relent and release ye, aye? What did ye plan to do, Blaire, place spells on us to do yer bidding and torture me for having married ye? I canna believe Arran was right! What a wicked bitch ye are!” Anger flared within me, and I made no effort to continue the accent I’d tried so hard to use over the past weeks. “Are you crazy? Have I done or said anything to anyone since I’ve been here that would make you think that I wanted to hurt you? If you’d just stop all of your insane ranting and listen to me, I could explain what I was doing in the spell room.” “How did ye even know about the room, Blaire? Ye had no business being in that part of the castle at all!” “Mary showed me. It’s where she found me when I showed up here.” “Ye are a damned liar, Blaire! Do ye no remember the day ye arrived? Ye insulted just about everyone in the castle, and ye nearly broke poor Kip’s back with the inconsiderate load ye piled onto him!” “No!” I was no longer afraid, but I was so angry I was on the verge of tears. Each breath seemed painful in my chest. “I don’t remember the day Blaire arrived because I’m not Blaire! I don’t understand why or how I got here, but I’ve spent almost every minute since I showed up in this godforsaken place trying to get back home to Texas.” “Not Blaire? Texas? God, Arran was right! How could I have been so blind? Well, I’ll no more be fooled by ye, and I’ll no have ye causing havoc here anymore.” He reached as if to grab for my arm, but I evaded him, jumping quickly to the left and chunking the nearest object I could reach at his head. It hit him square on the nose. With a ferocious growl, he leapt in my direction once more. ~ Bethany Claire,

76:A Roman came to Rabbi Gimzo the Water Carrier, and asked, "What is this study of the law that you Jews engage in?" and Gimzo replied, "I shall explain. There were two men on a roof, and they climbed down the chimney. One's face became sooty. The other's not. Which one washed his face?" The Roman said, "That's easy, the sooty one, of course." Gimzo said, "No. The man without the soot looked at his friend, saw that the man's face was dirty, assumed that his was too, and washed it." Cried the Roman, "Ah ha! So that's the study of law. Sound reasoning." But Gimzo said, "You foolish man, you don't understand. Let me explain again. Two men on a roof. They climb down a chimney. One's face is sooty, the other's not. Which one washes?" The Roman said, "As you just explained, the man without the soot." Gimzo cried,"No, you foolish one! There was a mirror on the wall and the man with the dirty face saw how sooty it was and washed it." The Roman said, "Ah ha! So that's the study of law! Conforming to the logical." But Rabbi Gimzo said, "No, you foolish one. Two men climbed down the chimney. One's face became sooty? The other's not? That's impossible. You're wasting my time with such a proposition." And the Roman said, "So that's the law! Common sense." And Gimzo said, "You foolish man! Of course it was possible. When the first man climbed down the chimney he brushed the soot away. So the man who followed found none to mar him." And the Roman cried, "That's brilliant, Rabbi Gimzo. Law is getting at the basic facts." And for the last time Gimzo said, "No, you foolish man. Who could brush all the soot from a chimney? Who could ever understand all the facts?" Humbly the Roman asked, "Then what is the law?" And Gimzo said quietly, "It's doing the best we can to ascertain God's intention, for there were indeed two men on a roof, and they did climb down the same chimney. The first man emerged completely clean while it was the second who was covered with soot, and neither man washed his face, because you forgot to ask me whether there was any water in the basin. There was none. ~ James A Michener,

77:What was I thinking? I thought him sitting across from me would make it easier. Stupid me! Now I have to stare right at the warrior archangel and try to stay focused. I closed my eyes for a minute. Come on, Kells. Focus. Focus. You can do this! “Okay, Ren, there really is something that we need to discuss.” “Alright. Go ahead.” I blew out a breath. “You see, I can’t…reciprocate your feelings. Or your, umm, affections.” He laughed. “What are you talking about?” “Well, what I mean is, I-“ He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, full of meaning. “Kelsey, I know you reciprocate my feelings. Don’t pretend anymore that you don’t have them.” When did he figure all this out? Maybe when you were kissing him like an idiot, Kells. I’d hoped that I’d fooled him, but he could see right through me. I decided to play dumb and pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about. I waved my hand in the air. “Okay! Yes! I admit that I’m attracted to you.” Who wouldn’t be? “But it won’t work out,” I finished. There, it was out. Ren looked confused. “Why not?” “Because I’m too attracted to you.” “I don’t understand what you’re saying. How can your being attracted to me be a problem? I would think that’s a good thing.” “For normal people…it is,” I stated. “So I’m not normal?” “No. Let me explain it this way. It’s like this…a starving man would gladly eat a radish, right? In fact, a radish would be a feast if that’s all he had. But if he had a buffet in front of him, the radish would never be chosen.” Ren paused a moment. “I don’t get it. What are you saying?” “I’m saying…I’m the radish.” “And what am I? The buffet??” I tried to explain it further. “No…you’re the man. Now…I don’t really want to be the radish. I mean, who does? But I’m grounded enough to know what I am, and I am not a buffet. I mean, you could be having chocolate eclairs, for heaven’s sake.” “But not radishes.” “No.” “What…” Ren paused thoughtfully, “if I like radishes?” “You don’t. You don’t know any better. ~ Colleen Houck,

78:She knew that he would stop her. Perhaps he would be cunning about it. Maybe he would go to the steward behind her back, tell him of the theft and challenge, and ask to be brought before the judge and Irex. If that plan didn’t suit Arin, he would find another. He was going to be a problem. “You’re right,” she told him. Arin blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “In fact,” she continued, “if you had let me explain, I would have told you that I had already decided to call off the duel.” “You have.” She showed him the two letters. The one addressed to her father was on top. She let the mere edge of the other letter show. “One is for my father, telling him what has happened. The other is for Irex, making my apologies and inviting him to collect his five hundred gold pieces whenever he likes.” Arin still looked skeptical. “He’ll also collect you, of course. Knowing him, he’ll have you whipped until you’re unconscious and even after that. I’m sure that when you wake up, you’ll be very glad that I decided to do exactly as you wanted.” Arin snorted. “If you doubt me, you’re welcome to walk with me to the barracks to watch as I give my father’s letter to a soldier, with orders for its swift delivery.” “I think I will.” He opened the library door. They left the house and crossed the hard ground. Kestrel shivered. She hadn’t stopped to fetch a cloak. She couldn’t risk that Arin would change his mind. When they entered the barracks, Kestrel looked among the six off-duty guards. She was relieved, since she had counted on finding only four, and not necessarily Rax, whom she trusted most. She approached him, Arin just a step behind her. “Bring this to the general as swiftly as you can.” She gave Rax the first letter. “Have a messenger deliver this other letter to Jess and Ronan.” “What?” Arin said. “Wait--” “And lock this slave up.” Kestrel turned so that she wouldn’t see what happened next. She heard the room descend into chaos. She heard the scuffle, a shout, the sound of fists thudding against flesh. She let the door shut behind her and walked away. ~ Marie Rutkoski,

79:He loved to tell his students a story which summarized his attitudes on this matter of intellectual inspection: “A Roman came to Rabbi Gimzo the Water Carrier, and asked, ‘What is this study of the law that you Jews engage in?’ and Gimzo replied, ‘I shall explain. There were two men on a roof, and they climbed down the chimney. One’s face became sooty. The other’s not. Which one washed his face?’ The Roman said, ‘That’s easy, the sooty one, of course.’ Gimzo said, ‘No. The man without the soot looked at his friend, saw that the man’s face was dirty, assumed that his was too, and washed it.’ Cried the Roman, ‘Ah ha! So that’s the study of law. Sound reasoning.’ But Gimzo said, ‘You foolish man, you don’t understand. Let me explain again. Two men on a roof. They climb down a chimney. One’s face is sooty, the other’s not. Which one washes?’ The Roman said, ‘As you just explained, the man without the soot.’ Gimzo cried, ‘No, you foolish one! There was a mirror on the wall and the man with the dirty face saw how sooty it was and washed it.’ The Roman said, ‘Ah ha! So that’s the study of law! Conforming to the logical.’ But Rabbi Gimzo said, ‘No, you foolish one. Two men climbed down the chimney. One’s face became sooty? The other’s not? That’s impossible. You’re wasting my time with such a proposition.’ And the Roman said, ‘So that’s the law! Common sense.’ And Gimzo said, ‘You foolish man! Of course it was possible. When the first man climbed down the chimney he brushed the soot away. So the man who followed found none to mar him.’ And the Roman cried, ‘That’s brilliant, Rabbi Gimzo. Law is getting at the basic facts.’ And for the last time Gimzo said, ‘No, you foolish man. Who could brush all the soot from a chimney? Who can ever understand all the facts?’ Humbly the Roman asked, ‘Then what is the law?’ And Gimzo said quietly, ‘It’s doing the best we can to ascertain God’s intention, for there were indeed two men on a roof, and they did climb down the same chimney. The first man emerged completely clean while it was the second who was covered with soot, and neither man washed his face, because you forgot to ask me whether there was any water in the basin. There was none.’  ~ James A Michener,

80:Anna: Right. I can only imagine. Etienne: And what, exactly, ist hat supposed to mean? Anna: Forget it. Etienne: No. Let’s not forget it. I’m sick and tired of forgetting it, Anna. Anna: You’re tired of forgetting it? I’ve had to do nothing BUT forget it. Do you think it’s easy sitting in my room every night, thinking about you and Ellie? Do you think any of this has been easy for me? Etienne: I’m sorry. Anna: You tell me I’m beautiful, and that you like my hair and you like my smile. You rest your leg against mine in darkened theatres, and then you acta s if nothing happened when the lights go up. You slept in my bed for three nights straight, and then you jsut … blew me off for the next month. What am I supposed to do with that, St. Clair? You said on my birthday that you were afraid of being alone, but I’ve been here this whole time. This whole time. Etienne: Anna. I am so sorry that I’ve hur you. I’ve made terrible decisions. And I realize it’s possible that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, because it’s taken me this long to get here. But I don’t understand why you’re not giving me the chance. You didn’t even let me explain myself lad weekend. You just tore into me, expected the worst of me. But the only truth I know is what i feel when we’re together. I thought you trusted those feelings, too. I thought you trusted me, I thought you knew me … Anna: But that’s just it! I don’t know you. I tell you everything, St. Clair. About my dad, about Bridgette and Toph, about Matt and Cherrie. I told you about being a virgin. And what have you told me? Nothing! I know nothing about you. Not about your father, not about Ellie … Etienne: You know me better than anyone. Andi f you ever bothered to pay attention, you’d understand that things with my father are beyond shite right now. And I can’t believe you think so poorly of me that you’d assume I’d wait the entire year to kiss you, and then the moment it happened, I’d … I’d be done with you. OF COURSE I was with Ellie that night. I WAS BLODDY BREAKING UP WITH HER! You say that I’m afraid of being alone, and it’s true. I am And I’m not proud o fit. But you need to take a good look at yourself, Anna, because I am not the only one in this room who suffers this problem. ~ Stephanie Perkins,

81:44. Let The Mountain Give You Strength This is something I couldn’t quite get my head round when I was younger. One of my heroes, Sir Edmund Hillary, used to say that he drew strength from the mountain, and I just couldn’t understand what he meant. Then one day I experienced it for myself. Let me explain… Mountains - and all the natural struggles and obstacles they present - are also arenas to find out what we are made of. Inside every challenge, high on every mountain, is the opportunity to find a strength within us to survive and thrive. It just takes us to be willing to dig deep and push on hard enough and long enough to find that strength. But most people give up before they find it. This is why most people never reach the summit of their goals. They quit when the winds pick up. They let their heads dip when it gets hard. But I have learnt that on the mountains, the winds invariably pick up as you near the summit. (There is a scientific reason for this called the venturi effect, which means that as the wind hits the steep faces it gets squeezed, and when wind is compressed it speeds up. Hence windswept mountaintops.) So don’t be daunted or downhearted when it gets tough, don’t shy away - step up to the plate, rise up to the challenge, and embrace the mountain. When we do this, the mountain will reward you, it will ‘give’ you the strength to overcome. I don’t always know where this strength comes from but I have often felt it within me. The tougher it becomes, the more I have felt this strength welling up inside. So embrace that push, don’t hide from the squeeze, but push on and allow the mountain to give you that strength. Edmund Hillary found it, many explorers when really up against the ropes have found it, and I have found it. The key to its discovery is a willingness to push on and feed off the scale of the climb or the obstacle. Do this and the strength will come. Dig a little deeper, keep going a little longer, and somehow the summit will eventually come into view. It might not be until dawn, when the sun rises, but if you hang on in there long enough, it will inevitably come. And so often the darkest hour is just before the dawn. You just have to hang on in there through those dark hours - don’t give up, let the mountain sustain you and empower you, and you will experience the mountain within you. ~ Bear Grylls,

82:Mrs. Brown, I hurried over as soon as I heard..." Ollie Clark ducked through the low front door and removed his hat as he noticed Lily sitting in the old rocker she had brought with her from Mississippi. His gaze stopped at the child at her feet. "Come in, Mr. Clark, have a seat. You've had word of Jim?" Lily’s breath caught in her lungs as she waited for the words she didn't want to hear. Ollie took the overlarge wing chair that had once decorated a bedroom parlor and wrung his hat between his hands. "No, ma'am, I didn't mean to get your hopes up none. I was talkin' 'bout Cade. The boys were just funnin' about him the other day. He's a drunken half-breed, Mrs. Brown. You don't want the likes of him about the place. Let me explain things to him and send him on his way. It ain't right for a respectable lady like yourself to have to deal with a man like that." "I can't dismiss a man without giving him a chance, Mr. Clark. Even drunk, he's showed more sense than some sober men I could name. If Colonel Martin could use him, I don't see why I can't." He took a deep breath. "He ain't even white, Lily. You'll give me permission to call you Lily?" When she didn't reply, Ollie hurried on. "He's half-Indian, half-Mexican. You'd be better off hiring one of your father's slaves. At least they listen when you whip them. Cade's more likely to turn and kill you. He's done it before. You've got to get him out of here." Ollie was speaking sense from his own point of view. Beneath his placid exterior. Cade undoubtedly had a violent temper. Lily had seen evidence of that already. And Ralph had told her he'd been in prison for killing another man. So Ollie was speaking the truth, but only one side of the truth. Lily knew all about that kind of lie. "I'll give Cade his chance, Mr. Clark. Jim would want it that way." Lily watched gleefully as she used this two-edged sword to make Clark squirm. How many times had she resentfully heard those words when the men wouldn't listen to her? Clark scowled and rose. "Jim wouldn't have taken on a drunken Indian. I'll set about finding you a decent man to help out. You'll be needing him soon enough." He gave the child on the floor another glance, one of puzzlement, but he didn't ask the question that obviously was on his mind. And Lily didn't answer it. Sweetly, she held out her hand and offered her best Southern-belle smile. "I'm so grateful for your concern, Mr. Clark. Please do come and visit sometime. Perhaps you could bring Miss Bridgewater. I'd be happy for the company." The name of the young girl whom the town gossip had Clark courting only brought a milder frown to his handsome face. "That's mighty kind of you, Mrs. Brown. I hope you hear from Jim soon." Lily watched him go with a sigh of relief and a small sense of triumph. She didn't know why Ollie Clark was suddenly so all-fired concerned with her welfare, but surely she had set him properly in his place. Now, ~ Patricia Rice,

83:Here’s the thing, people: We have some serious problems. The lights are off. And it seems like that’s affecting the water flow in part of town. So, no baths or showers, okay? But the situation is that we think Caine is short of food, which means he’s not going to be able to hold out very long at the power plant.” “How long?” someone yelled. Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.” “Why can’t you get him to leave?” “Because I can’t, that’s why,” Sam snapped, letting some of his anger show. “Because I’m not Superman, all right? Look, he’s inside the plant. The walls are thick. He has guns, he has Jack, he has Drake, and he has his own powers. I can’t get him out of there without getting some of our people killed. Anybody want to volunteer for that?" Silence. “Yeah, I thought so. I can’t get you people to show up and pick melons, let alone throw down with Drake.” “That’s your job,” Zil said. “Oh, I see,” Sam said. The resentment he’d held in now came boiling to the surface. “It’s my job to pick the fruit, and collect the trash, and ration the food, and catch Hunter, and stop Caine, and settle every stupid little fight, and make sure kids get a visit from the Tooth Fairy. What’s your job, Zil? Oh, right: you spray hateful graffiti. Thanks for taking care of that, I don’t know how we’d ever manage without you.” “Sam…,” Astrid said, just loud enough for him to hear. A warning. Too late. He was going to say what needed saying. “And the rest of you. How many of you have done a single, lousy thing in the last two weeks aside from sitting around playing Xbox or watching movies? “Let me explain something to you people. I’m not your parents. I’m a fifteen-year-old kid. I’m a kid, just like all of you. I don’t happen to have any magic ability to make food suddenly appear. I can’t just snap my fingers and make all your problems go away. I’m just a kid.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam knew he had crossed the line. He had said the fateful words so many had used as an excuse before him. How many hundreds of times had he heard, “I’m just a kid.” But now he seemed unable to stop the words from tumbling out. “Look, I have an eighth-grade education. Just because I have powers doesn’t mean I’m Dumbledore or George Washington or Martin Luther King. Until all this happened I was just a B student. All I wanted to do was surf. I wanted to grow up to be Dru Adler or Kelly Slater, just, you know, a really good surfer.” The crowd was dead quiet now. Of course they were quiet, some still-functioning part of his mind thought bitterly, it’s entertaining watching someone melt down in public. “I’m doing the best I can,” Sam said. “I lost people today…I…I screwed up. I should have figured out Caine might go after the power plant.” Silence. “I’m doing the best I can.” No one said a word. Sam refused to meet Astrid’s eyes. If he saw pity there, he would fall apart completely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. ~ Michael Grant,

84:The white liberal is the worst enemy to America, and the worst enemy to the black man. Let me explain what I mean by the white liberal. In America there is no such thing as Democrat or Republican anymore. In America you have liberals and conservatives. The only people living in the past who think in terms of I’m a Democrat or Republican, is the American Negro. He’s the one that runs around bragging about party affiliation. He’s the one that sticks to the Democrat or sticks to the Republican. But white people are divided into two groups, liberals and conservative. The Democrats who are conservative, vote with the Republicans who are conservative. The Democrats who are liberal vote with the Republicans that are liberal. The white liberal aren’t white people who are for independence, who are moral and ethical in their thinking. They are just a faction of white people that are jockeying for power. The same as the white conservative is a faction of white people that are jockeying for power. They are fighting each other for power and prestige, and the one that is the football in the game is the Negro, 20 million black people. A political football, a political pawn, an economic football, and economic pawn. A social football, a social pawn. The liberal elements of whites are those who have perfected the art of selling themselves to the Negro as a friend of the Negro. Getting sympathy of the Negro, getting the allegiance of the Negro, and getting the mind of the Negro. Then the Negro sides with the white liberal, and the white liberal use the Negro against the white conservative. So that anything that the Negro does is never for his own good, never for his own advancement, never for his own progress, he’s only a pawn in the hands of the white liberal. The worst enemy that the Negro have is this white man that runs around here drooling at the mouth professing to love Negros, and calling himself a liberal, and it is following these white liberals that has perpetuated problems that Negros have. If the Negro wasn’t taken, tricked, or deceived by the white liberal then Negros would get together and solve our own problems. I only cite these things to show you that in America the history of the white liberal has been nothing but a series of trickery designed to make Negros think that the white liberal was going to solve our problems. Our problems will never be solved by the white man. The only way that our problem will be solved is when the black man wakes up, clean himself up, stand on his own feet and stop begging the white man, and take immediate steps to do for ourselves the things that we have been waiting on the white man to do for us. Once we do for self then we will be able to solve our own problems’ "The white conservatives aren't friends of the Negro either, but they at least don't try to hide it. They are like wolves; they show their teeth in a snarl that keeps the Negro always aware of where he stands with them. But the white liberals are foxes, who also show their teeth to the Negro but pretend that they are smiling. The white liberals are more dangerous than the conservatives; they lure the Negro, and as the Negro runs from the growling wolf, he flees into the open jaws of the "smiling" fox. One is the wolf, the other is a fox. No matter what, they’ll both eat you. ~ Malcolm X,

85:You told your brother and some guy I don’t even know the things I told you in confidence.” “Yes.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m not sure this helps, but Charlie knows Logan.” “You talked to Charlie?” “Yes, he helped us with the details I didn’t know.” “So you went behind my back, talked to my friends, and told your brothers and some guy everything.” She pressed her lips together. “Yes.” “And you told them things about the blackmail that’s not public knowledge.” Maddie swallowed hard as her throat constricted. “I did.” “I trusted you with information about my family that nobody knows.” “Mitch, I’d never jeopardize you or your family. I’d never tell them if I didn’t trust them implicitly. You know that.” She had to make him understand. He leaned forward, putting elbows on his knees. “I want you to leave.” “What? No. Let me explain.” The blood rushed in her ears as a wave of hot dizziness engulfed her. Fear and desperation warred inside her. “I’m sorry, but you wouldn’t listen.” “You didn’t ask.” Flat. She wrung her hands. “You would have said no.” “I see,” he said, so coldly that it was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. “So that makes it right? You didn’t think I’d agree, so you went behind my back, talked to my friends, your family, and some black-ops guy, revealing the things I’ve told you in private, because you know best?” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Yes, the same way you went behind my back and stalled the repairs on my car so I wouldn’t leave.” His head snapped back. “That’s not the same thing, Maddie.” “You lied, just like me. You went behind my back. Just like me.” She hoped he could see reason, but his expression said otherwise. “I told you those things,” he said through gritted teeth, “because I thought I could trust you.” “You can.” Her stomach clenched. “The evidence says otherwise, now doesn’t it?” Cold, cold words. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please understand, I did it for you.” “No, you didn’t. You did it for you,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Tell me something. Why are you so interested in meddling in my life when you have your own to worry about?” She reared back, stepping toward the door, unable to figure out how to handle this dead, cold Mitch who treated her like a stranger. “I wanted to help you.” “You know how you could have helped me?” There was a cruel twist to his lips. “By being the one fucking person who didn’t betray me.” “I didn’t. That’s not what . . .” She trailed off, feeling helpless. She hung her head and said softly, “I’d never betray you.” “Bullshit. If you thought what you were doing was right, you would have talked to me. ” This ice. She’d prepared for fire, for burning anger, not this. She had no defense. No plan. She walked over to him and fell to her knees, taking his hands in hers. He didn’t even flinch. It was like he was made of stone, and she met his eyes. Hard chips of gold. “Mitch, I’m sorry, I wanted to help.” He studied her as though she was a stranger. “You need to leave now.” The words were a crushing blow, threatening to break her. She did the only thing she could think of and confessed the truth. “I love you.” His mouth firmed. Eyes flashing, he pulled away and stood, moving around her and going over to the window that overlooked the nearly deserted parking lot. “I need you to leave.” Her heart shattered into a million pieces and desolation swept over her. She hadn’t felt anything like this since her father had died and she’d woken in a hospital bed. That same heavy weight crushed her chest, numbing her limbs. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she wiped them away. Her voice trembled as she spoke, already knowing the answer but unable to keep from asking the question. “Is there anything I can do?” “Yes.” His tone was distant and unreachable. “Leave.” There ~ Jennifer Dawson,

86: Notes On An Unadorned Night after Rene Char Let's agree that the night is a blank canvas, a station break, a bridge of a song. Let's agree further that activities at night—movies, campfires, reading by a lamp—are all basically an homage to the day. I have come to regard these two statements as contradictory. Let me explain. First, set aside that one could see a movie, torch a fire, and read with the sun blazing over us. The in-between aspect of night need not spark a flurry of activity, is all I'm saying. You could do nothing at night! Just lay and sleep! A Cézanne sketch I looked at last night bears mentioning. A big Gallic face, reclining upwards, looks up at three boxcars on train tracks. The man's eyes are wide open and unfulfilled. The two disemboweled deer I saw the night before also bear mentioning. The torsos of both deer were connected to faces, both looking up. I assumed they were struck by trains near the house where I was sleeping. Anyway, it occurred to me that as I looked into these two dead deer's eyes that so much has fallen at me, rather than simply by me. I want to be among people. I do. But I just want the easy parts skipped, for bodies to rub up against each other, to always feel as new flesh touches new flesh. Those deer weren't an emblem of anything. I'm not like that. I don't need dead animals to mirror my own interior world. But what I am saying is that the dead eyes did shock me, and it didn't help things that it was by a dark highway. And it did force me to feel my own heart bumping fast, me in my sweatpants and jogging sneakers. I felt like a damn idiot out there, under the moon with two dead deer at my feet. It made me want to go home and watch a big, dumb, funny movie. At least it did at first. I turned the movie on, but I couldn't focus. It seemed as if what I was watching—the man and woman's looks of madcap surprise, the snappy music cues—were fake re-enactments. Which, of course, they were. And then the whole idea of movies, especially watching them at home, especially big, dumb, funny movies, seemed to be the stupidest idea in the world. Watching them in a room with complete strangers, in a dark room—that's a better idea. At the theater where I see most of my movies, an employee makes seating announcements over a PA speaker. All the patrons wait and corral inside a rope, much like livestock, until the announcement is made. We then descend down an escalator, silent, and go into the theater. My head has to crane uncomfortably to see the screen, since I have this long gawky neck. The theater doesn't have what they call "stadium seating." Another thing about the theater is that every few minutes during the movie, you can hear the train—the 6, the D, Q, and F—rumbling beneath your feet. No one, at least to my knowledge, has complained about this to the managers. It's somehow reassuring that people are going somewhere while you're seeing a movie with other people. It's a good theater because the movies there are of a high quality, and you're with other people who want to see a movie. One time, Cindy Crawford, the famous fashion model, was in the same theater as me, right behind me and my date. Everyone tried not to look at her, but of course we all did. I was on a date with an Irish girl who was an interior designer. We went to see a movie that took place in Ireland, in a swamp. It was a very quiet movie, and about halfway through, I fell asleep. The rumble of the trains woke me up. When I woke up, I at once smelled the Irish girl's hair and saw the movie screen. The scene was a little girl, petting the head of a deer. The sound of a nearby brook was heard in the back speakers. Cindy Crawford had gone. When we left the theater, it was still daylight outside. I was still sleepy. Submitted by da ~ Daniel Nester,

--- IN CHAPTERS (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

0

   20 Science
   20 Christianity
   9 Integral Yoga
   2 Philosophy
   2 Occultism


   20 Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
   5 The Mother
   4 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   2 Satprem
   2 Plato
   2 Aleister Crowley


   18 Let Me Explain
   2 The Future of Man
   2 Questions And Answers 1950-1951
   2 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07
   2 Agenda Vol 04