classes ::: noun,
children :::
branches ::: Rainbow

bookmarks: Instances - Definitions - Quotes - Chapters - Wordnet - Webgen


object:Rainbow
word class:noun

see also :::

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now begins generated list of local instances, definitions, quotes, instances in chapters, wordnet info if available and instances among weblinks


OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

TOPICS
SEE ALSO


AUTH

BOOKS
Heart_of_Matter
Letters_On_Yoga
Letters_On_Yoga_III
Modern_Man_in_Search_of_a_Soul
Savitri
The_Essential_Songs_of_Milarepa
The_Republic
Toward_the_Future

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
0_1958-03-07
0_1961-07-28
0_1963-12-31
0_1965-06-14
02.05_-_Robert_Graves
02.06_-_The_Kingdoms_and_Godheads_of_the_Greater_Life
02.07_-_The_Descent_into_Night
04.01_-_The_March_of_Civilisation
04.02_-_The_Growth_of_the_Flame
10.02_-_The_Gospel_of_Death_and_Vanity_of_the_Ideal
10.03_-_The_Debate_of_Love_and_Death
1.01_-_Tara_the_Divine
1.01_-_Who_is_Tara
1.04_-_The_Aims_of_Psycho_therapy
1.04_-_THE_APPEARANCE_OF_ANOMALY_-_CHALLENGE_TO_THE_SHARED_MAP
1.04_-_The_Paths
1.05_-_Buddhism_and_Women
1.05_-_Some_Results_of_Initiation
1.05_-_The_Magical_Control_of_the_Weather
1.06_-_Being_Human_and_the_Copernican_Principle
1.06_-_On_Work
1.07_-_Incarnate_Human_Gods
1.09_-_The_Greater_Self
11.01_-_The_Eternal_Day__The_Souls_Choice_and_the_Supreme_Consummation
1.11_-_Higher_Laws
1.11_-_ON_THE_NEW_IDOL
1.12_-_The_Superconscient
1.25_-_Fascinations,_Invisibility,_Levitation,_Transmutations,_Kinks_in_Time
1.25_-_On_the_destroyer_of_the_passions,_most_sublime_humility,_which_is_rooted_in_spiritual_feeling.
1961_03_11_-_58
1970_04_15
1.ac_-_The_Ladder
1.ami_-_To_the_Saqi_(from_Baal-i-Jibreel)
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Challenge_from_Beyond
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Colour_out_of_Space
1.fs_-_Melancholy_--_To_Laura
1.fs_-_Parables_And_Riddles
1.fs_-_The_Artists
1.fs_-_The_Ideal_And_The_Actual_Life
1.fs_-_The_Veiled_Statue_At_Sais
1.fs_-_The_Walk
1.jk_-_Endymion_-_Book_I
1.jk_-_Endymion_-_Book_II
1.jk_-_Lamia._Part_I
1.jk_-_Lamia._Part_II
1.jk_-_Ode_On_Melancholy
1.kg_-_Little_Tiger
1.lb_-_His_Dream_Of_Skyland
1.lb_-_Lu_Mountain,_Kiangsi
1.pbs_-_Alastor_-_or,_the_Spirit_of_Solitude
1.pbs_-_Arethusa
1.pbs_-_A_Vision_Of_The_Sea
1.pbs_-_Charles_The_First
1.pbs_-_Epipsychidion
1.pbs_-_Epipsychidion_-_Passages_Of_The_Poem,_Or_Connected_Therewith
1.pbs_-_Hellas_-_A_Lyrical_Drama
1.pbs_-_Hymn_of_Apollo
1.pbs_-_Hymn_to_Intellectual_Beauty
1.pbs_-_Mont_Blanc_-_Lines_Written_In_The_Vale_of_Chamouni
1.pbs_-_Peter_Bell_The_Third
1.pbs_-_Prometheus_Unbound
1.pbs_-_Queen_Mab_-_Part_I.
1.pbs_-_Queen_Mab_-_Part_VII.
1.pbs_-_The_Revolt_Of_Islam_-_Canto_I-XII
1.pbs_-_The_Triumph_Of_Life
1.pbs_-_To_A_Skylark
1.pbs_-_To_The_Mind_Of_Man
1.pbs_-_When_The_Lamp_Is_Shattered
1.rb_-_Pippa_Passes_-_Part_III_-_Evening
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Fifth
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_First
1.rb_-_Sordello_-_Book_the_Second
1.rb_-_The_Boy_And_the_Angel
1.rt_-_Babys_World
1.rt_-_Brahm,_Viu,_iva
1.rt_-_Fireflies
1.rwe_-_Bacchus
1.rwe_-_Dmonic_Love
1.rwe_-_Forerunners
1.rwe_-_In_Memoriam
1.rwe_-_May-Day
1.rwe_-_Seashore
1.rwe_-_Song_of_Nature
1.rwe_-_The_Adirondacs
1.rwe_-_The_Forerunners
1.rwe_-_Threnody
1.wby_-_The_Wanderings_Of_Oisin_-_Book_I
1.ww_-_A_Poet!_He_Hath_Put_His_Heart_To_School
1.ww_-_Book_Tenth_{Residence_in_France_continued]
1.ww_-_Composed_Upon_Westminster_Bridge,_September_3,_1802
1.ww_-_Fidelity
1.ww_-_Ode_on_Intimations_of_Immortality
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_II-_Book_First-_The_Wanderer
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_V-_Book_Fouth-_Despondency_Corrected
1.yni_-_The_Celestial_Fire
20.04_-_Act_II:_The_Play_on_Earth
2.01_-_On_Books
2.01_-_The_Picture
2.02_-_The_Ishavasyopanishad_with_a_commentary_in_English
2.07_-_ON_THE_TARANTULAS
2.14_-_The_Unpacking_of_God
2.16_-_The_Magick_Fire
3.03_-_SULPHUR
3.13_-_THE_CONVALESCENT
31_Hymns_to_the_Star_Goddess
4.04_-_THE_REGENERATION_OF_THE_KING
4.14_-_THE_SONG_OF_MELANCHOLY
4.3_-_Bhakti
5.4.01_-_Notes_on_Root-Sounds
6.07_-_THE_MONOCOLUS
6.0_-_Conscious,_Unconscious,_and_Individuation
7.14_-_Modesty
7.6.12_-_The_Mother_of_God
Aeneid
A_God's_Labour
Appendix_4_-_Priest_Spells
BOOK_I._--_PART_III._SCIENCE_AND_THE_SECRET_DOCTRINE_CONTRASTED
Book_of_Genesis
Book_of_Imaginary_Beings_(text)
For_a_Breath_I_Tarry
Liber_46_-_The_Key_of_the_Mysteries
Liber_71_-_The_Voice_of_the_Silence_-_The_Two_Paths_-_The_Seven_Portals
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_1
The_Act_of_Creation_text
The_Dwellings_of_the_Philosophers
The_Revelation_of_Jesus_Christ_or_the_Apocalypse
Thus_Spoke_Zarathustra_text

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES
Rainbow

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH

Rainbow Body ::: Also "Jalü". A type of sheath attained through high levels of realization and meditative practice. The physical body is said to be consciously dissolved and replaced by a different sheath suiting the will and compassion of the one who cultivated this body.

Rainbow Operation ::: Following the killing of 13 Israeli soldiers in the Gaza Strip, on May 18, 2004 Israel launched a military operation to remove the underground tunnels the Palestinians used to smuggle weapons from Egypt

rainbow body. See 'JA' LUS.

rainbow body

rainbowed ::: a. --> Formed with or like a rainbow.

rainbow ::: n. --> A bow or arch exhibiting, in concentric bands, the several colors of the spectrum, and formed in the part of the hemisphere opposite to the sun by the refraction and reflection of the sun&

rainbow series "publication" Any of several series of technical manuals distinguished by cover colour. The original rainbow series was the NCSC security manuals (see {Orange Book}, {crayola books}); the term has also been commonly applied to the PostScript reference set (see {Red Book}, {Green Book}, {Blue Book}, {White Book}). Which books are meant by ""the" rainbow series" unqualified is thus dependent on one's local technical culture. [{Jargon File}] (1996-12-03)

rainbow series ::: (publication) Any of several series of technical manuals distinguished by cover colour. The original rainbow series was the NCSC security manuals (see Which books are meant by the rainbow series unqualified is thus dependent on one's local technical culture.[Jargon File] (1996-12-03)

RAINBOW. ::: Vide Symbol.


TERMS ANYWHERE

Aesir (Icelandic) [from ass the ridgepole supporting a roof] plural ases; feminine asynja, feminine plural asynjor. Creative gods of the Norse Eddas, inhabiting Asgard (gard, yard or estate), where they retire to feast on the “mead” of experience gained in spheres of life. The twelve deities who build their mansions on various “shelves” of our universe are: Odin Allfather, who occurs on every level of life and is inherent in every living thing; his consort, Frigga; Thor, the power of life and electromagnetism, who corresponds to the Tibetan fohat and in one aspect corresponds to Jove; Balder, the sun god; Njord, the Norse Saturn; Tyr, the Norse Mars; Frey, the deity of planet Earth; Freya, of Venus; Hermod (an aspect of Odin), of Mercury. Heimdall, “the whitest Ase,” is the watcher on the rainbow bridge who sounds the gjallarhorn (loud horn) at Ragnarok when a world ends. Brage is poetic inspiration. The most mysterious and lofty ase is Ull, a cold, wintry (unmanifest) world. Paradoxically, “blessed is he who first touches the fire” of that sphere. Forsete is the god of justice who corresponds to the lipikas, agents of karma.

arc ::: n. --> A portion of a curved line; as, the arc of a circle or of an ellipse.
A curvature in the shape of a circular arc or an arch; as, the colored arc (the rainbow); the arc of Hadley&


basic structures of consciousness ::: 1. “Empty” levels of consciousness used as a general measure of vertical development. A measure of the degree or “altitude” of awareness in any particular stream. These altitudes are often described using the colors of the natural rainbow: Infrared, Magenta, Red, Amber, Orange, Green, Teal, Turquoise, Indigo, Violet, Ultraviolet, and Clear Light. 2. Enduring structures that are actually laid down along these markers of altitude and thus are roughly synonymous with basic levels of consciousness. These are the rungs in any developmental ladder. Cognitive development, for instance, is often used since it is necessary but not sufficient for development in other lines.

Bifrost, Bilrost, Bafrast (Icelandic, Scandinavian) [from bifast to tremble] Via tremula (the trembling way), the rainbow; the rainbow bridge in Norse mythology, also called the asbru (bridge of the aesir), separating the realm of the gods (Asgard) from that of men (Midgard), while giving access to it. Guarding the bridge is Heimdal, the whitest aesir, who will blow the gjallarhorn when the world comes to an end and the gods withdraw to their sacred ground (Ragnarok). Then Bifrost falls when the sons of Muspel storm over it. It is said that each day the gods cross Bifrost to meet in council at the fount of Urd (the norn that represents the past or causation), but Thor must ford the river, as his lightnings would set the bridge on fire.

book titles "publication" There is a tradition in hackerdom of informally tagging important textbooks and standards documents with the dominant colour of their covers or with some other conspicuous feature of the cover. Many of these are described in {this dictionary} under their own entries. See {Aluminum Book}, {Blue Book}, {Cinderella Book}, {Devil Book}, {Dragon Book}, {Green Book}, {Orange Book}, {Pink-Shirt Book}, {Purple Book}, {Red Book}, {Silver Book}, {White Book}, {Wizard Book}, {Yellow Book}, {bible}, {rainbow series}. [{Jargon File}] (1996-12-03)

book titles ::: (publication) There is a tradition in hackerdom of informally tagging important textbooks and standards documents with the dominant colour of their Pink-Shirt Book, Purple Book, Red Book, Silver Book, White Book, Wizard Book, Yellow Book, bible, rainbow series.[Jargon File] (1996-12-03)

Rainbow Body ::: Also "Jalü". A type of sheath attained through high levels of realization and meditative practice. The physical body is said to be consciously dissolved and replaced by a different sheath suiting the will and compassion of the one who cultivated this body.

Rainbow Operation ::: Following the killing of 13 Israeli soldiers in the Gaza Strip, on May 18, 2004 Israel launched a military operation to remove the underground tunnels the Palestinians used to smuggle weapons from Egypt

crayola books "publication" A humorous and/or disparaging term for the {rainbow series} of National Computer Security Center (NCSC) computer security standards. See also {Orange Book}. [{Jargon File}] (1996-12-03)

crayola books ::: (publication) A humorous and/or disparaging term for the rainbow series of National Computer Security Center (NCSC) computer security standards.See also Orange Book.[Jargon File] (1996-12-03)

Digital Equipment Corporation ::: (company) (DEC) A computer manufacturer and software vendor.Before the killer micro revolution of the late 1980s, hackerdom was closely symbiotic with DEC's pioneering time-sharing machines. The first of the group of PDP-10, PDP-20, PDP-11 and VAX were all foci of large and important hackerdoms, and DEC machines long dominated the ARPANET and Internet machine population.The first PC from DEC was a CP/M computer called Rainbow, announced in 1981-82.DEC was the technological leader of the minicomputer era (roughly 1967 to 1987), but its failure to embrace microcomputers and Unix early cost it heavily in affection even among many hackers too young to have grown up on DEC machines. The contrast with IBM is instructive.Quarterly sales $3923M, profits -$1746M (Aug 1994).DEC was taken over by Compaq Computer Corporation in 1998. . (1999-06-03)

Digital Equipment Corporation "company, hardware" (DEC) A computer manufacturer and software vendor. Before the {killer micro} revolution of the late 1980s, hackerdom was closely symbiotic with DEC's pioneering {time-sharing} machines. The first of the group of hacker cultures nucleated around the {PDP-1} (see {TMRC}). Subsequently, the {PDP-6}, {PDP-10}, {PDP-20}, {PDP-11} and {VAX} were all foci of large and important hackerdoms and DEC machines long dominated the {ARPANET} and {Internet} machine population. The first PC from DEC was a {CP/M} computer called {Rainbow}, announced in 1981-82. DEC was the technological leader of the minicomputer era (roughly 1967 to 1987), but its failure to embrace {microcomputers} and {Unix} early cost it heavily in profits and prestige after {silicon} got cheap. However, the {microprocessor} design tradition owes a heavy debt to the {PDP-11} {instruction set}, and every one of the major general-purpose microcomputer {operating systems} so far (CP/M, {MS-DOS}, {Unix}, {OS/2}) were either genetically descended from a DEC OS, or incubated on DEC {hardware} or both. Accordingly, DEC is still regarded with a certain wry affection even among many hackers too young to have grown up on DEC machines. The contrast with {IBM} is instructive. Quarterly sales $3923M, profits -$1746M (Aug 1994). DEC was taken over by {Compaq Computer Corporation} in 1998. In 2002 Compaq was in turn acquired by {Hewlett-Packard} who sold off parts of Digital Equipment Corporation to {Intel} and absorbed the rest. The Digital logo is no longer used. (2012-07-29)

dongle ::: (hardware) /dong'gl/ (From dangle - because it dangles off the computer?)1. (security) A security or copy protection device for commercial microcomputer programs that must be connected to an I/O port of the computer and at programmed intervals thereafter, and terminate if it does not respond with the expected validation code.One common form consisted of a serialised EPROM and some drivers in a D-25 connector shell.Dongles attempt to combat software theft by ensuring that, while users can still make copies of the program (e.g. for backup), they must buy one dongle for each simultaneous use of the program.The idea was clever, but initially unpopular with users who disliked tying up a port this way. By 1993 almost all dongles passed data through transparently innovation was necessary to allow daisy-chained dongles for multiple pieces of software.In 1998, dongles and other copy protection systems are fairly uncommon for Microsoft Windows software but one engineer in a print and CADD bureau reports Electric Image, two for Media 100, Ultimatte, Elastic Reality and CADD. These dongles are made for the Mac's daisy-chainable ADB port.The term is used, by extension, for any physical electronic key or transferable ID required for a program to function. Common variations on this theme have used the parallel port or even the joystick port or a dongle-disk.An early 1992 advertisment from Rainbow Technologies (a manufacturer of dongles) claimed that the word derived from Don Gall, the alleged inventor of the device. The company's receptionist however said that the story was a myth invented for the ad.[Jargon File] (1998-12-13)2. A small adaptor cable that connects, e.g. a PCMCIA modem to a telephone socket or a PCMCIA network card to an RJ45 network cable.(2002-09-29)

dongle "hardware" /dong'gl/ (From "dangle" - because it dangles off the computer?) 1. "security" A security or {copy protection} device for commercial {microcomputer} programs that must be connected to an {I/O port} of the computer while the program is run. Programs that use a dongle query the port at start-up and at programmed intervals thereafter, and terminate if it does not respond with the expected validation code. One common form consisted of a serialised {EPROM} and some drivers in a {D-25} connector shell. Dongles attempt to combat {software theft} by ensuring that, while users can still make copies of the program (e.g. for {backup}), they must buy one dongle for each simultaneous use of the program. The idea was clever, but initially unpopular with users who disliked tying up a port this way. By 1993 almost all dongles passed data through transparently while monitoring for their particular {magic} codes (and combinations of status lines) with minimal if any interference with devices further down the line. This innovation was necessary to allow {daisy-chained} dongles for multiple pieces of software. In 1998, dongles and other copy protection systems are fairly uncommon for {Microsoft Windows} software but one engineer in a print and {CADD} bureau reports that their {Macintosh} computers typically run seven dongles: After Effects, Electric Image, two for Media 100, Ultimatte, Elastic Reality and CADD. These dongles are made for the Mac's daisy-chainable {ADB} port. The term is used, by extension, for any physical electronic key or transferable ID required for a program to function. Common variations on this theme have used the {parallel port} or even the {joystick} port or a {dongle-disk}. An early 1992 advertisment from Rainbow Technologies (a manufacturer of dongles) claimed that the word derived from "Don Gall", the alleged inventor of the device. The company's receptionist however said that the story was a myth invented for the ad. [{Jargon File}] (1998-12-13) 2. A small adaptor cable that connects, e.g. a {PCMCIA} {modem} to a telephone socket or a PCMCIA {network card} to an {RJ45} {network cable}. (2002-09-29)

In Havamal — a long poem of the Elder Edda — Odin relates how he “hung nine nights in the windtorn tree” (of life), seeking runes of wisdom (in the material worlds), and that he “raised them with song.” It is said that Odin first invented runes and carved them on various beneficent agencies that safeguard human life on earth. One is carved on the shield Grimnismal that “stands before the shining god; mountain and billion would burn away should he fall aside.” Another rune is inscribed on the ear of Arvakrand one on the hoof of Allsvinn (the horses that draw the solar disk across the sky); one is on the reins of Sleipnir, Odin’s steed, one on the paw of the bear, another on the tongue of Bragi (poetic inspiration), on the claws of the wolf and on the eagle’s beak, on the rainbow bridge (Bifrost); on glass, on gold, on wine, on herb; on Vili’s heart and Odin’s spear, on the nails of the Norns, etc. All were later scraped off, mixed with the holy mead of wisdom, and distributed throughout the three worlds for the benefit of gods and men.

iridal ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to the iris or rainbow; prismatic; as, the iridal colors.

iridescence ::: n. --> Exhibition of colors like those of the rainbow; the quality or state of being iridescent; a prismatic play of color; as, the iridescence of mother-of-pearl.

iridescent ::: a. --> Having colors like the rainbow; exhibiting a play of changeable colors; nacreous; prismatic; as, iridescent glass.

iridescent ::: displaying a play of lustrous colors like those of the rainbow.

iridian ::: a. --> Of or pertaining to the iris or rainbow.

iris-coloured ::: a rainbow-like or iridescent appearance; a circle or halo of prismatic colours; a combination or alternation of brilliant colours.

irised ::: a. --> Having colors like those of the rainbow; iridescent.

irised ::: having colours like those of the rainbow; iridescent.

iris ::: n. --> The goddess of the rainbow, and swift-footed messenger of the gods.
The rainbow.
An appearance resembling the rainbow; a prismatic play of colors.
The contractile membrane perforated by the pupil, and forming the colored portion of the eye. See Eye.
A genus of plants having showy flowers and bulbous or


'ja' lus. (jalu). In Tibetan, "rainbow body." In both Tibetan Buddhism and Bon, particularly in explanations of RDZOGS CHEN, the physical body dissolves into light when the adept reaches the final goal (often attained through a practice called THOD RGAL). This dissolution may be in the form of a miraculous disappearance while meditating, but is more usually associated with the time of the adept's death. The elements of the material body that remain at death depend upon the spiritual level of the deceased adept; the very highest leave no physical remnant at all, or in some explanations just hair and nails, and disappear with just a rainbow left behind. The colors in the rainbow body are sometimes associated with the transformation of the five aggregates (SKANDHA) into the colors of the five buddhas (PANCATATHĀGATA).

Mdo Mkhyen brtse Ye shes rdo rje. (Do Kyentse Yeshe Dorje) (1800-1866). A Tibetan Buddhist master from the Mgo log (Golok) region of eastern Tibet, venerated as the body incarnation of the famous eighteenth-century treasure revealer (GTER STON) 'JIGS MED GLING PA and an important lineage holder of the "heart essence" (SNYING THIG) tradition of RDZOGS CHEN. He was the disciple of the first RDO GRUB CHEN, who instructed him to live the life of a lay tantric practitioner. He was known for his magical powers (SIDDHI), such as the ability to fly and to subjugate demons. Often known by the epithet 'Ja' lus pa chen po, "Great Rainbow-Body Man," his disciples included the second Rdo grub chen and DPAL SPRUL RIN PO CHE.

MicroGnuEmacs ::: (MG) A Public Domain Emacs-style editor modified from MicroEmacs to be more compatible with GNU Emacs. MicroGnuEmacs is essentially free, it is not features that were incompatible with GNU Emacs and adds missing features that seemed essential.MG version 1a of 1986-11-16 is known to work with 4.2BSD and 4.3BSD Unix, Ultrix-32, OS9/68k, VMS, Amiga, System V, Eunice. It should also support MS-DOS, PC-DOS and the Rainbow.MicroGnuEmacs is derived from, and aims to replace, v30 of MicroEmacs, the latest version from the original MicroEmacs author Dave Conroy. The chief , Bob Larson, and Dave Brower . .(2000-04-03)

MicroGnuEmacs "text, tool" (mg) A {Public Domain} {Emacs}-style editor modified from {MicroEmacs} to be more compatible with {GNU} Emacs. mg is essentially free, it is not associated with the GNU project, and does not have the GNU copyright restrictions. It is a small, fast, portable editor for people who can't run real Emacs thing for one reason or another. It has few if any of the MicroEmacs features that were incompatible with GNU Emacs and adds missing features that seemed essential. MicroGnuEmacs is derived from, and aims to replace, v30 of MicroEmacs, the latest version from the original MicroEmacs author Dave Conroy. The chief contributors were Mike Meyer "mwm@ucbopal.berkeley.edu", Mic Kaczmarczik "mic@ngp.utexas.edu", Bob Larson, and Dave Brower "rtech!daveb@sun.com". mg version 1a of 1986-11-16 works with {4.2BSD}, {4.3BSD}, {Ultrix-32}, {OS9/68k}, {VMS}, {Amiga}, {System V}, {Eunice}. It is included in base {OpenBSD}. It should also support {MS-DOS}, {PC-DOS} and the {Rainbow}. {(http://www.isc.org/index.pl?/sources/editors)}. (2007-05-25)

On the cosmic scale Ragnarok brings to a close a universal cycle of activity. When a world dies the god Heimdal, guardian of the rainbow bridge between the realms of the gods and Midgard, domain of humanity, blows the Gjallarhorn, summoning the gods of life to the final battle against the forces of destruction. Lesser judgments take place when single world systems reach their term, as recorded in the “Lay of Odin’s Corpse” (Odins Korpgalder), which deals with a death of one planet, and relates the deities’ efforts to elicit from the planetary soul an accounting of its past cycle of activity.

Operation Rainbow ::: Following the killing of 13 Israeli soldiers in the Gaza Strip, on May 18, 2004 Israel launched a military operation to remove the underground tunnels the Palestinians used to smuggle weapons from Egypt

parhelion ::: n. --> A mock sun appearing in the form of a bright light, sometimes near the sun, and tinged with colors like the rainbow, and sometimes opposite to the sun. The latter is usually called an anthelion. Often several mock suns appear at the same time. Cf. Paraselene.


   Spectrum - Electromagnetic radiation arranged in order of wavelength. A rainbow is a natural spectrum of visible light from the Sun. Spectra are often punctuated with emission or absorption lines, which can be examined to reveal the composition and motion of the radiating source.



phantasmatography ::: n. --> A description of celestial phenomena, as rainbows, etc.

Popchusa. (法住寺). In Korean, "Monastery Where the Dharma Abides"; the fifth district monastery (PONSA) of the contemporary CHOGYE CHONG of Korean Buddhism, located at the base of Songni (Leaving Behind the Mundane) Mountain in North Ch'ungch'ong province. Popchusa was founded in 553, during the reign of the Silla King Chinhŭng (r. 540-576), by the monk Ŭisin (d.u.) who, according to legend, returned from the "western regions" (viz. Central Asia and India) with scriptures and resided at the monastery; hence the monastery's name. In 1101, during the Koryo dynasty, ŬICH'oN (1055-1101) held an assembly to recite the RENWANG JING ("Scripture for Humane Kings") here for the protection of the state (see HUGUO FOJIAO), which is said to have been attended by thirty thousand monks. On entering the monastery, to the back and left of the front gate there are two granite pillars that date from the eleventh century, which were used to support the hanging paintings (KWAEBUL) that were unfurled on such important ceremonial occasions as the Buddha's birthday. A pavilion on the right houses a huge iron pot dated to 720 CE, which was purportedly once used to prepare meals for monks and pilgrims; off to the side is a water tank made of stone that would have held about 2,200 gallons (ten cubic meters) of water. There is also a lotus-shaped basin dating from the eighth century and a lion-supported stone lantern sponsored by the Silla monarch Songdok (r. 702-737) in 720. The main shrine hall (TAEUNG CHoN) houses images of VAIROCANA, sĀKYAMUNI, and Rocana buddhas. Behind these three statues are three paintings of the same buddhas, accompanied by BODHISATTVAs, a young ĀNANDA, and the elderly MAHĀKĀsYAPA. In the paintings sākyamuni and Rocana are surrounded by rainbows and Vairocana by a white halo. Popchusa is especially renowned for its five-story high wooden pagoda, which dates from the foundation of the monastery in 553; it may have been the model for the similar pagoda at HoRYuJI in Nara, Japan. The current pagoda was reconstructed in 1624 and is the oldest extant wooden pagoda in Korea. The pagoda is painted with pictures of the eight stereotypical episodes in the life of the Buddha (see BAXIANG). Inside are four images of sākyamuni: the east-facing statue is in the gesture of fearlessness (ABHAYAMUDRĀ); the west, in the teaching pose (DHARMACAKRAMUDRĀ); the south, in the touching-the-earth gesture (BHuMISPARsAMUDRĀ); and the north, in a reclining buddha posture, a rare Korean depiction of the Buddha's PARINIRVĀnA. Around the four buddha images sit 340 smaller white buddhas, representing the myriad buddhas of other world systems. The ceiling inside is three stories high, and the beams, walls, and ceiling are painted with various images, including bodhisattvas and lotus flowers. Outside the pagoda is Popchusa's most striking image, the thirty-three-meter (108-foot), 160-ton bronze statue of the bodhisattva MAITREYA. The original image is said to have been constructed by the Silla VINAYA master CHINP'YO (fl. eighth century), but was removed by the Taewon'gun in 1872 and melted down to be used in the reconstruction of Kyongbok Palace in Seoul. A replacement image was begun in 1939 but was never completed; another temporary statue was crafted from cement and installed in 1964. The current bronze image was finally erected in 1989. Near the base is a statue of a woman with a bowl of food, representing the laywoman SUJĀTĀ, who offered GAUTAMA a meal of milk porridge before his enlightenment.

rainbow body. See 'JA' LUS.

rainbow body

rainbowed ::: a. --> Formed with or like a rainbow.

rainbow ::: n. --> A bow or arch exhibiting, in concentric bands, the several colors of the spectrum, and formed in the part of the hemisphere opposite to the sun by the refraction and reflection of the sun&

rainbow series "publication" Any of several series of technical manuals distinguished by cover colour. The original rainbow series was the NCSC security manuals (see {Orange Book}, {crayola books}); the term has also been commonly applied to the PostScript reference set (see {Red Book}, {Green Book}, {Blue Book}, {White Book}). Which books are meant by ""the" rainbow series" unqualified is thus dependent on one's local technical culture. [{Jargon File}] (1996-12-03)

rainbow series ::: (publication) Any of several series of technical manuals distinguished by cover colour. The original rainbow series was the NCSC security manuals (see Which books are meant by the rainbow series unqualified is thus dependent on one's local technical culture.[Jargon File] (1996-12-03)

RAINBOW. ::: Vide Symbol.

sea bow ::: --> See Marine rainbow, under Rainbow.

smoking clover [ITS] A {display hack} originally due to Bill Gosper. Many convergent lines are drawn on a colour monitor in {AOS} mode (so that every pixel struck has its colour incremented). The lines all have one endpoint in the middle of the screen; the other endpoints are spaced one pixel apart around the perimeter of a large square. The colour map is then repeatedly rotated. This results in a striking, rainbow-hued, shimmering four-leaf clover. Gosper joked about keeping it hidden from the FDA (the US's Food and Drug Administration) lest its hallucinogenic properties cause it to be banned.

The sagas depict Thor as blunt, hot-tempered, without fraud or guile, of few words and ready blows. His chariot, drawn by the two goats Toothcrusher and Toothgnasher, has an iron whiffletree, and sparks fly from its wheels and from the goats’ hooves. Thor’s fiery eyes color the scarlet clouds, his beard is red, on his brow he wears a crown of stars, and under his feet rests the earth whose defender he is. His chariot cannot cross the rainbow bridge, Bifrost, for its lightnings would set the bridge on fire, so the god daily fords the river beneath it when he attends the Thing (parliament) of the gods.

thod rgal. (togel). In Tibetan, "crossing the crest" or "leap over" (in the sense of skipping over one or more of the stages in a sequence); a special practice of ATIYOGA and one of the two main practices in the SNYING THIG tradition of RDZOGS CHEN, the other being "breakthrough" (KHREGS CHOD). Falling specifically within the "instruction class" (MAN NGAG SDE) of rdzogs chen, thod rgal follows khregs chod, in which the experience of innate awareness or RIG PA is cultivated. With this foundation, in thod rgal, the meditator uses specific physical postures to induce visions that reveal the luminous nature of external phenomena. Whereas thod rgal signifies a type of cultivated spontaneous imagery culminating in visions of MAndALAs of buddhas, and is paired with the spontaneous energy (lhun grub) of pure awareness (rig pa), khregs chod (literally, "breaking through the hard") is paired with the essential purity (ka dag) of awareness. It is said that thod rgal is a method of contemplating light that enables rdzogs chen practitioners to attain the 'JA' LUS (rainbow body) without leaving any bodily traces at death. The term also renders the Sanskrit vyutkrāntaka, described in the ABHIDHARMA as jumping at will from one meditative state (a DHYĀNA or SAMĀPATTI) to any other without having to go through the intermediate stages. Thod rgal ba is also used in Tibetan commentarial literature to describe a type of meditator who does not go sequentially through each of the four fruitions of the religious life, viz., the stream-enterer (SROTAĀPANNA), once-returner (SAKṚDĀGĀMIN), nonreturner (ANĀGĀMIN), and ARHAT, but rather jumps over the intermediate results to the final goal. Some sources suggest thod rgal may also be a translation of the pluta (sometimes rendered "floater"), a meditator who jumps over the intermediate heavens in the subtle-materiality and immaterial realms and proceeds directly to the AKANIstHA and BHAVĀGRA heavens.

token ::: n. --> Something intended or supposed to represent or indicate another thing or an event; a sign; a symbol; as, the rainbow is a token of God&

water gall ::: --> A cavity made in the earth by a torrent of water; a washout.
A watery appearance in the sky, accompanying the rainbow; a secondary or broken rainbow.


yellow ::: superl. --> Being of a bright saffronlike color; of the color of gold or brass; having the hue of that part of the rainbow, or of the solar spectrum, which is between the orange and the green. ::: n. --> A bright golden color, reflecting more light than any other except white; the color of that part of the spectrum which is between



QUOTES [12 / 12 - 1500 / 1609]


KEYS (10k)

   3 Ogawa
   1 Tsogdruk Rinpoche
   1 Thomas Wolfe
   1 Thomas Pynchon
   1 Maya Angelou
   1 M Alan Kazlev
   1 John Vance Cheney
   1 Dolly Parton
   1 Sri Aurobindo
   1 Kobayashi Issa

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

  288 Rainbow Rowell
   24 Rick Riordan
   18 Maya Angelou
   14 Anonymous
   13 Richelle E Goodrich
   12 Suzy Kassem
   11 Dolly Parton
   10 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   10 Leylah Attar
   9 Seanan McGuire
   9 Jodi Picoult
   8 T J Klune
   8 Mehmet Murat ildan
   8 Karen Marie Moning
   8 John Keats
   7 Terry Pratchett
   7 Sherrilyn Kenyon
   7 Neil Gaiman
   7 Henry David Thoreau
   7 Emily Dickinson

1:Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud." ~ Maya Angelou,
2:The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain." ~ Dolly Parton,
3:If they can get you asking the wrong questions, they don't have to worry about answers. ~ Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow,
4:an autumn rainbow
over the lake
fades away
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
5:after the rain
over the mountain
an autumn rainbow
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
6:irises
is where
that rainbow began
~ Kobayashi Issa, @BashoSociety
7:a rainbow over the mountain
reflected on the lake
autumn wind
~ Ogawa, @BashoSociety
8:Across a luminous dream of spirit-space
   She builds creation like a rainbow bridge
   Between the original Silence and the Void.
   A net is made of the mobile universe;
   She weaves a snare for the conscious Infinite.
   A knowledge is with her that conceals its steps
   And seems a mute omnipotent Ignorance.
   A might is with her that makes wonders true;
   The incredible is her stuff of common fact.
   Her purposes, her workings riddles prove;
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, 02.06,
9:Light came and went and came again, the great plume of the fountain pulsed and winds of April sheeted it across the Square in a rainbow gossamer of spray. The fire department horses drummed on the floors with wooden stomp, most casually, and with dry whiskings of their clean, coarse tails. The street cars ground into the Square from every portion of the compass and halted briefly like wound toys in their familiar quarter-hourly formula. A dray, hauled by a boneyard nag, rattled across the cobbles on the other side before his father's shop. The courthouse bell boomed out its solemn warning of immediate three, and everything was just the same as it had always been. ~ Thomas Wolfe, The Lost Boy,
10:
   An Informal Integral Canon: Selected books on Integral Science, Philosophy and the Integral Transformation
   Sri Aurobindo - The Life Divine
   Sri Aurobindo - The Synthesis of Yoga
   Pierre Teilhard de Chardin - The Phenomenon of Man
   Jean Gebser - The Ever-Present Origin
   Edward Haskell - Full Circle - The Moral Force of Unified Science
   Oliver L. Reiser - Cosmic Humanism and World Unity
   Christopher Hills - Nuclear Evolution: Discovery of the Rainbow Body
   The Mother - Mother's Agenda
   Erich Jantsch - The Self-Organizing Universe - Scientific and Human Implications of the Emerging Paradigm of Evolution
   T. R. Thulasiram - Arut Perum Jyothi and Deathless Body
   Kees Zoeteman - Gaiasophy
   Ken Wilber - Sex Ecology Spirituality: The Spirit of Evolution
   Don Edward Beck - Spiral Dynamics: Mastering Values, Leadership, and Change
   Kundan Singh - The Evolution of Integral Yoga: Sri Aurobindo, Sri Ramakrishna, and Swami Vivekananda
   Sean Esbjorn-Hargens - Integral Ecology: Uniting Multiple Perspectives on the Natural World
   ~ M Alan Kazlev, Kheper,
11:Recommended Reading
David Foster Wallace - Infinite Jest
DH Lawrence - The Rainbow
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Love in the Time of Cholera
Karl Ove Knausgaard - My Struggle
Virginia Woolf - To The Lighthouse
Ben Lerner - The Topeka School
Sally Rooney - Conversations With Friends
Nell Zink - The Wallcreeper
Elena Ferrante - The Days of Abandonment
Jack Kerouac - Dharma Bums
Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass
Michael Murphy - Golf in the Kingdom
Barbara Kingsolver - Prodigal Summer
Albertine Sarrazin - Astragal
Rebecca Solnit - The Faraway Nearby
Michael Paterniti - Love and Other Ways of Dying
Rainer Maria Rilke - Book of Hours
James Baldwin - Another Country
Roberto Calasso - Ka
Translation by S. Radhakrishan - Principle Upanisads
Chogyam Trungpa - Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism
Translation by Georg Feuerstein - Yoga Sutra
Richard Freeman - The Mirror of Yoga
Translation by S. Radhakrishan - The Bhagavad Gita
Shrunyu Suzuki - Zen Mind Beginner's Mind
Heinrich Zimmer - Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization
Sogyal Rinpoche - The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
Joseph Campbell - Myths of Light
Joseph Campbell - The Hero With A Thousand Faces
Sri Aurobindo - Savitri
Thomas Meyers - Anatomy Trains
Wendy Doniger - The Hindus ~ Jason Bowman, http://www.jasonbowmanyoga.com/recommended-reading,
12:A God's Labour
I have gathered my dreams in a silver air
   Between the gold and the blue
And wrapped them softly and left them there,
   My jewelled dreams of you.

I had hoped to build a rainbow bridge
   Marrying the soil to the sky
And sow in this dancing planet midge
   The moods of infinity.

But too bright were our heavens, too far away,
   Too frail their ethereal stuff;
Too splendid and sudden our light could not stay;
   The roots were not deep enough.

He who would bring the heavens here
   Must descend himself into clay
And the burden of earthly nature bear
   And tread the dolorous way.

Coercing my godhead I have come down
   Here on the sordid earth,
Ignorant, labouring, human grown
   Twixt the gates of death and birth.

I have been digging deep and long
   Mid a horror of filth and mire
A bed for the golden river's song,
   A home for the deathless fire.

I have laboured and suffered in Matter's night
   To bring the fire to man;
But the hate of hell and human spite
   Are my meed since the world began.

For man's mind is the dupe of his animal self;
   Hoping its lusts to win,
He harbours within him a grisly Elf
   Enamoured of sorrow and sin.

The grey Elf shudders from heaven's flame
   And from all things glad and pure;
Only by pleasure and passion and pain
   His drama can endure.

All around is darkness and strife;
   For the lamps that men call suns
Are but halfway gleams on this stumbling life
   Cast by the Undying Ones.

Man lights his little torches of hope
   That lead to a failing edge;
A fragment of Truth is his widest scope,
   An inn his pilgrimage.

The Truth of truths men fear and deny,
   The Light of lights they refuse;
To ignorant gods they lift their cry
   Or a demon altar choose.

All that was found must again be sought,
   Each enemy slain revives,
Each battle for ever is fought and refought
   Through vistas of fruitless lives.

My gaping wounds are a thousand and one
   And the Titan kings assail,
But I dare not rest till my task is done
   And wrought the eternal will.

How they mock and sneer, both devils and men!
   "Thy hope is Chimera's head
Painting the sky with its fiery stain;
   Thou shalt fall and thy work lie dead.

"Who art thou that babblest of heavenly ease
   And joy and golden room
To us who are waifs on inconscient seas
   And bound to life's iron doom?

"This earth is ours, a field of Night
   For our petty flickering fires.
How shall it brook the sacred Light
   Or suffer a god's desires?

"Come, let us slay him and end his course!
   Then shall our hearts have release
From the burden and call of his glory and force
   And the curb of his wide white peace."

But the god is there in my mortal breast
   Who wrestles with error and fate
And tramples a road through mire and waste
   For the nameless Immaculate.

A voice cried, "Go where none have gone!
   Dig deeper, deeper yet
Till thou reach the grim foundation stone
   And knock at the keyless gate."

I saw that a falsehood was planted deep
   At the very root of things
Where the grey Sphinx guards God's riddle sleep
   On the Dragon's outspread wings.

I left the surface gauds of mind
   And life's unsatisfied seas
And plunged through the body's alleys blind
   To the nether mysteries.

I have delved through the dumb Earth's dreadful heart
   And heard her black mass' bell.
I have seen the source whence her agonies part
   And the inner reason of hell.

Above me the dragon murmurs moan
   And the goblin voices flit;
I have pierced the Void where Thought was born,
   I have walked in the bottomless pit.

On a desperate stair my feet have trod
   Armoured with boundless peace,
Bringing the fires of the splendour of God
   Into the human abyss.

He who I am was with me still;
   All veils are breaking now.
I have heard His voice and borne His will
   On my vast untroubled brow.

The gulf twixt the depths and the heights is bridged
   And the golden waters pour
Down the sapphire mountain rainbow-ridged
   And glimmer from shore to shore.

Heaven's fire is lit in the breast of the earth
   And the undying suns here burn;
Through a wonder cleft in the bounds of birth
   The incarnate spirits yearn

Like flames to the kingdoms of Truth and Bliss:
   Down a gold-red stairway wend
The radiant children of Paradise
   Clarioning darkness' end.

A little more and the new life's doors
   Shall be carved in silver light
With its aureate roof and mosaic floors
   In a great world bare and bright.

I shall leave my dreams in their argent air,
   For in a raiment of gold and blue
There shall move on the earth embodied and fair
   The living truth of you.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems, A God's Labour, 534,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. ~ maya-angelou, @wisdomtrove
2:After fifteen minutes nobody looks at a rainbow. ~ johann-wolfgang-von-goethe, @wisdomtrove
3:When the morning gathers the rainbow, want you to know I'm a rainbow too. ~ bob-marley, @wisdomtrove
4:Military glory - that attractive rainbow that rises in showers of blood. ~ abraham-lincoln, @wisdomtrove
5:One can enjoy a rainbow without necessarily forgetting the forces that made it. ~ mark-twain, @wisdomtrove
6:We were poor. we were so poor, in my neighborhood the rainbow was in black-and-white. ~ rodney-dangerfield, @wisdomtrove
7:To reach the height of our ambition is like trying to reach the rainbow; as we advance it recedes. ~ edmund-burke, @wisdomtrove
8:And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. ~ g-k-chesterton, @wisdomtrove
9:Formal education teaches how to stand, but to see the rainbow you must come out and walk many steps on your own. ~ amit-ray, @wisdomtrove
10:To make Christianity a private affair while banishing all privacy is to relegate it to the rainbow's end or the Greek Calends. ~ c-s-lewis, @wisdomtrove
11:Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. ~ lord-byron, @wisdomtrove
12:So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove
13:Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow. ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove
14:Don't scale because you think there's a pot of gold over that rainbow. Scale because you're ready and eager to do heroic work, every day, forever. ~ seth-godin, @wisdomtrove
15:Sometimes the greatest storms bring out the greatest beauty... Life can be a storm, but your hope is a rainbow and your friends and family are the gold. ~ steve-maraboli, @wisdomtrove
16:... all my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells... ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove
17:There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings. ~ john-keats, @wisdomtrove
18:We have far too many kids. At one time in the playpen there was standing-room only. It looked like a bus stop for midgets. It used to get so damp in there, we'd have a rainbow above it. ~ phyllis-diller, @wisdomtrove
19:When it looks like the sun isn't going to shine any more, God puts a rainbow in the clouds. Each one of us has the possibility, the responsibility, the probability to be the rainbow in the clouds. ~ maya-angelou, @wisdomtrove
20:... women have their roots in the ground, and often those roots are starved and ravaged, yet there is not a human alive who cannot reach and touch, with... her fingers, the very top of God's rainbow. ~ og-mandino, @wisdomtrove
21:You are my ground and you are my rainbow. You are my butterfly and you are my ecstasy. You are the start of my journeys and always my destination. You are my home - the place to which I always return. ~ jonathan-lockwood-huie, @wisdomtrove
22:[Man's] life consists in a relation with all things: stone, earth, trees, flowers, water, insects, fishes, birds, creatures, sun,rainbow, children, women, other men. But his greatest and final relation is with the sun. ~ d-h-lawrence, @wisdomtrove
23:The novel is a perfect medium for revealing to us the changing rainbow of our living relationships. The novel can help us to live,as nothing else can: no didactic Scripture, anyhow. If the novelist keeps his thumb out of the pan. ~ d-h-lawrence, @wisdomtrove
24:Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard. ~ d-h-lawrence, @wisdomtrove
25:What brings understanding is love. When your heart is full, then you will listen to the teacher, to the beggar, to the laughter of children, to the rainbow, and to the sorrow of man. Under every stone and leaf, that which is eternal exists. ~ jiddu-krishnamurti, @wisdomtrove
26:Either there are no corporeal substances, and bodies are merely phenomena which are true or consistent with each other, such as a rainbow or a perfectly coherent dream, or there is in all corporeal substances something analogous to the soul. ~ gottfried-wilhelm-leibniz, @wisdomtrove
27:I had gradually come, by this time [1839-01], to see that the Old Testament from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow as a sign, etc., etc. and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos, or the beliefs of any barbarian. ~ charles-darwin, @wisdomtrove
28:Each band or level, being a particular manifestation of the spectrum, is what it is only by virtue of the other bands. The color blue is no less beautiful because it exists along side the other colors of a rainbow, and "blueness" itself depends upon the existence of the other colors, for if there were no color but blue, we would never be able to see it. ~ ken-wilber, @wisdomtrove
29:Each band or level, being a particular manifestation of the electromagnetic spectrum, is what it is only by virtue of the other bands. The color blue is no less beautiful because it exits along side the other colors of a rainbow, and blueness itself depends upon the existence of the other colors, for if there were no color but blue, we would never be able to see it. ~ ken-wilber, @wisdomtrove
30:I tell you, I am in every flower, every rainbow, every star in the heavens, and everything in and on every planet rotating around every star. I am the whisper of the wind, the warmth of your sun, the incredible individuality and the extraordinary perfection of every snowflake.   I am the majesty in the soaring flight of eagles, and the innocence of the doe in the field; the courage of lions, the wisdom of the ancient ones.  ~ neale-donald-walsch, @wisdomtrove
31:Three weeks ago, he'd seen hail fall from the sky, only to be followed minutes later by a spectacular rainbow that seemed to frame the azalea bushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it's important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion. ~ nicholas-sparks, @wisdomtrove
32:Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by the raindrops. Yet knowledge of its causation could not spoil the rainbow for me. I am sure that it is not given to man to be omniscient. There will always be something left to know, something to excite the imagination of the poet and those attuned to the great world in which they live. ~ robert-frost, @wisdomtrove
33:You will achieve grand dream, a day at a time, so set goals for each day - not long and difficult projects, but chores that will take you, step by step, toward your rainbow. Write them down, if you must, but limit your list so that you won't have to drag today's undone matters into tomorrow. Remember that you cannot build your pyramid in twenty-four hours. Be patient. Never allow your day to become so cluttered that you neglect your most important goal - to do the best you can, enjoy this day, and rest satisfied with what you have accomplished. ~ og-mandino, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:rainbow-billow ~ George MacDonald,
2:Unweaving the Rainbow ~ Richard Dawkins,
3:Unweaving the Rainbow, ~ Richard Dawkins,
4:Taste the undead rainbow. ~ Ilona Andrews,
5:Hope is a rainbow of thought. ~ Harley King,
6:Peace out, rainbow trout. ~ Conrad Williams,
7:I choose you over everyone. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
8:We live in a rainbow of chaos. ~ Paul Cezanne,
9:You look like a protagonist. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
10:Don't make me angry-kiss you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
11:There was just no fear in her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
12:After a hurricane, comes a rainbow. ~ Katy Perry,
13:Deya felt a rainbow bloom inside her. ~ Etaf Rum,
14:Emergency dance party--go away. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
15:Sing me a rainbow. Steal me a dream. ~ Tom Waits,
16:The Rainbow comes and goes, ~ William Wordsworth,
17:I'd rather be broken than wasted. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
18:My favorite color is rainbow. ~ Katherine Applegate,
19:You’re like part human, part rainbow. ~ Dave Eggers,
20:I felt I was beating a rainbow to death ~ Yann Martel,
21:True love will never fade like a rainbow. ~ Jon Jones,
22:You're leaving me, Rainbow Girl. ~ Karen Marie Moning,
23:At twilight time the smog makes a rainbow. ~ Tom Petty,
24:Be the rainbow in someone else's cloud. ~ Maya Angelou,
25:There are so many colors in the rainbow ~ Harry Chapin,
26:Try to be a rainbow in someone's cloud. ~ Maya Angelou,
27:Oh, I'd love to wear a rainbow everyday, ~ Johnny Cash,
28:You're his rainbow at the end of the storm. ~ Lola Stark,
29:I'm here to help you notice the rainbow. ~ Greyson Chance,
30:There is a rainbow at the end of the storm. ~ Dwane Casey,
31:Call me Sunshine, pussy spread like the rainbow. ~ Lil Kim,
32:I don’t think there’s enough of her left. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
33:She was tired of being the one who cried. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
34:The Lord survives the rainbow of His will. ~ Robert Lowell,
35:To enjoy the rainbow, first enjoy the rain. ~ Paulo Coelho,
36:I felt like I was beating a rainbow to death. ~ Yann Martel,
37:I'm going to give you the memory of a rainbow. ~ Lois Lowry,
38:I wrote all four of my books at Starbucks. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
39:There's always a rainbow at the end of every rain. ~ Prince,
40:A little manic was what their house ran on. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
41:All the shades of us, in one brilliant rainbow. ~ A G Howard,
42:You can park your snark at the gate, Omaha. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
43:I love you more than I hate everything else. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
44:Levi was smiling. He kicked her chair again. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
45:The bigger the storm the brighter the rainbow ~ Milly Johnson,
46:The me that's me right now is yours. Always. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
47:the rainbow shall be seen in the cloud; ~ John F MacArthur Jr,
48:There was room on the rainbow for everyone. ~ Kate Canterbary,
49:I object to every single thing you just said. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
50:The greater your storm, the brighter your rainbow. ~ Anonymous,
51:Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow,' he said. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
52:Are you on drugs?" "No." "Maybe you should be. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
53:Black does not appear in the rainbow of hope. ~ Norman Hartnell,
54:If you want rainbow, you have to deal with the rain. ~ Augustus,
55:It was the pot of weapon at the end of the rainbow. ~ Lia Habel,
56:No doubt, love comes in many colors of the rainbow. ~ Jon Jones,
57:There is no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow ~ Karen Black,
58:You can't have the rainbow without the storm. ~ Shannon L Alder,
59:You were the sun, and I was crashing into you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
60:The idea that you're hard to love is ludicrous. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
61:What is a rainbow, Lord?
A hoop for the lowly. ~ Jack Kerouac,
62:My friends, welcome to the other side of the rainbow. ~ Ed Murray,
63:Rain, rain, and sun! A rainbow in the sky! ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson,
64:Casey is a calm to my chaos. A rainbow after my storm. ~ K Webster,
65:Great. We were the goddamn Rainbow Connection. ~ Alexandra Bracken,
66:In and out of my heart flowed my rainbow blood. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
67:Nobody ever had a rainbow baby until they had the rain ~ Jim Croce,
68:The greater your storm, The brighter your rainbow. ~ Milly Johnson,
69:You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
70:To my Rainbow Cat, for always believing in me. ~ Carlton Mellick III,
71:You'll never find a rainbow if you're looking down ~ Charlie Chaplin,
72:Birds fly over the rainbow. Why then, oh, why can't I? ~ Judy Garland,
73:If you want the rainbow, you have to deal with the rain. ~ John Green,
74:I want someone whose heart is big enough to hold me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
75:Like a rainbow and a tornado all wrapped up into one, ~ Erin Nicholas,
76:Yo momma is so fat… she sat on a rainbow and made skittles. ~ Various,
77:For every storm, a rainbow, for every tear, a smile. ~ Janice Thompson,
78:He made her feel like more than the sum of her parts. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
79:She didn't know there were things worse than selfish. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
80:That girl had the subtlety of a Spencer’s Gifts shop. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
81:You give away nice like it doesn't cost you anything. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
82:If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. ~ Dolly Parton,
83:Life without dreams is like a rainbow without colours. ~ Greyson Chance,
84:My dream is to fly. Oh, my rainbow it is too high. ~ Ruslana Korshunova,
85:There's only of him, she thought, and he's right here. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
86:you will never find a rainbow if you are looking down ~ Charlie Chaplin,
87:We all need a place that we can go, And feel over the rainbow ~ Amos Lee,
88:I don’t just kiss people. Kisses aren’t... just with me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
89:I don’t like you, Park. Sometimes I think I live for you ~ Rainbow Rowell,
90:If you want the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain. ~ Dolly Parton,
91:If you want the rainbow, you have to put up with the rain. ~ Kathryn Shay,
92:You are not a black rainbow. I see every one of your colors. ~ J J McAvoy,
93:Eggnog reminds me of mucus." "Me, too. But in a good way. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
94:If you can't save your own life, is it even worth saving? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
95:Reegan scowled at Cath. "Are you Zack, or are you Cody?". ~ Rainbow Rowell,
96:Things get better--hurt less--over time. If you let them. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
97:You're a kaleidoscope, you change every time I look away. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
98:I didn't know love could leave the lights on all the time. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
99:If you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain. ~ Tessa Bailey,
100:In Hollywood, the rainbow hits the ground for composers. ~ Hoagy Carmichael,
101:In life, you either choose to sing a rainbow, or you don’t. ~ Kathleen Long,
102:Real life was something happening in her peripheral vision. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
103:You win when no one finds you, even if they're not looking. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
104:After every storm, if you look hard enough, a rainbow appears. ~ Mariah Carey,
105:After fifteen minutes nobody looks at a rainbow. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
106:said, ‘If you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain’, ~ Ruth Hogan,
107:If you've never seen a rainbow burn, consider yourself lucky. ~ Danielle Paige,
108:If you want to see a rainbow you have to learn to see the rain. ~ Paulo Coelho,
109:People who fall in love with books never really stop falling. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
110:Smiling is confusing, she thought. This is why I don’t do it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
111:That’s because you ooze preemptive leave-me-alone death rays. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
112:For Tim Burton's birthday I gave him a rainbow beetle. He loved it! ~ Eva Green,
113:If you want to see a rainbow you have to learn to like the rain. ~ Paulo Coelho,
114:like the rainbow after the rain joy will reveal itself after sorrow ~ Rupi Kaur,
115:They travel between the worlds using Bifrost, the rainbow bridge. ~ Neil Gaiman,
116:You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
117:Drinking tequila is more about the journey than the destination ~ Rainbow Rowell,
118:Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow. ~ Alice Sebold,
119:Somewhere Over the Rainbow, There’s Some Messed-Up Stuff Going On ~ Rick Riordan,
120:Welcome to Rainbow Falls Gardens,” said the man behind the desk. ~ Daisy Meadows,
121:Ophelia was bonkers, right? And Juliet was what, a sixth-grader? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
122:People tend to pair off that way, Cath thought, in matched sets. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
123:Rainbow drops - suck them and you can spit in six different colours. ~ Roald Dahl,
124:Because they're the wrong colors, right? Somebody else's rainbow. ~ Seanan McGuire,
125:I think I can live without you, but it won't be any kind of life. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
126:It was the rainbow gave thee birth, and left thee all her lovely hues. ~ W H Davies,
127:Trying to make sense of love is like trying to dissect a rainbow. ~ Suzanne Selfors,
128:Cath couldn't stop thinking about Levi and his ten thousand smiles. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
129:I want everyone to meet you. You're my favorite person of all time. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
130:Nothing to see here. Just four teenagers hiking up a nuclear rainbow. ~ Rick Riordan,
131:The way I see it, you've gotta put up with the rain to get a rainbow. ~ Dolly Parton,
132:But it’s up to us …’ he said softly. ‘It’s up to us not to lose this ~ Rainbow Rowell,
133:Gender is not sane. It's not sane to call a rainbow black and white. ~ Kate Bornstein,
134:Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
135:In order to get to the rainbow you must be able to deal with the rain. ~ Dolly Parton,
136:I thought you were just mean," Reagan said. "I liked that about you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
137:You have to get through the rain if you're ever going to see a rainbow. ~ Karen White,
138:Do you feel like he ignores you?" "No. I feel like he doesn't see me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
139:Prepare yourself so that you can be a rainbow in somebody else's cloud. ~ Maya Angelou,
140:Take your vitamins. Don't drink vodka. Get used to empire waistlines. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
141:When the morning gathers the rainbow, want you to know I'm a rainbow too. ~ Bob Marley,
142:Bifrost, the radioactive Rainbow Bridge that connects Asgard to Midgard, ~ Rick Riordan,
143:Cath felt like she was swimming in words. Drowning in them, sometimes. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
144:Damn amigo, someone needs to shove a rainbow up your ass." --Julian to Tommy ~ Jo Davis,
145:I just want to break that song into pieces and love them all to death. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
146:Let no one who loves be unhappy, even love unreturned has its rainbow. ~ James M Barrie,
147:Dare to love yourself
as if you were a rainbow
with gold at both ends. ~ Aberjhani,
148:Like the rainbow
after the rain
joy will reveal itself
after sorrow ~ Rupi Kaur,
149:She saw him fracture into rainbow colors through the prism of her love. ~ Salman Rushdie,
150:There's a kiss at the end of the rainbow more precious than a pot of gold. ~ Gary Gulman,
151:The way I see it, if you want a rainbow you have to put up with the rain. ~ Dolly Parton,
152:In life, you either choose to sing a rainbow, or you don't. Keep singing. ~ Kathleen Long,
153:Nothing before you counts,” he said. “And I can’t even imagine an after. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
154:There are many for whom the lure of gold outweighs the beauty of a rainbow. ~ Neil Gaiman,
155:The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain! ~ Dolly Parton,
156:The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. ~ Dolly Parton,
157:...and his eyes were so green they could turn carbon dioxide into oxygen. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
158:But there's nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
159:It’s not my job to want you or not want you. It’s not my job to earn you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
160:Someday we'll find it the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me ~ Jim Henson,
161:Do not despair whatever happens for behind the clouds is always the rainbow. ~ L Frank Baum,
162:..I love your name. I don't want to cheat myself out of a single syllable. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
163:The rainbow is elusive, and its colors but the illumination of tears. ~ Alice Dunbar Nelson,
164:We don’t need an “Over the Rainbow” god. We need the One who created rainbows! ~ Max Lucado,
165:Give freedom to colours and then you shall meet the rainbow everywhere! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
166:He's wrong he's so he's so wrong he's more wrong than an upside-down rainbow. ~ Tahereh Mafi,
167:How could he try to get Sandi to reveal her true colors when she was a rainbow? ~ Peggy Webb,
168:I am not an artist. My thread pictures look like rainbow vomit. I’m not useful. ~ K F Breene,
169:One can enjoy a rainbow without necessarily forgetting the forces that made it. ~ Mark Twain,
170:There's a rainbow always after the rain. Don't you think it's worth waiting for? ~ Anonymous,
171:Each of us has the power and responsibility to become a rainbow in the clouds. ~ Maya Angelou,
172:Happiness doesn't always come in pink. Learn to appreciate the rainbow. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
173:If you disturb the colors of the rainbow, the rainbow is no longer beautiful. ~ Denis Diderot,
174:My girlfriend is sad and quiet and keeps me up all night worrying about her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
175:Thus a day that had seen so many tears ended in the midst of a rainbow. ~ Jacqueline Winspear,
176:And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
177:Don’t lose hope, Frank. Rainbows always stand for hope. - Iris, Rainbow Goddess ~ Rick Riordan,
178:I just had this feeling about you," she said. "Is that foolish?" "I hope not. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
179:May’s style was best described as “Jem and the Holograms meets Rainbow Brite. ~ Seanan McGuire,
180:She carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
181:The Bifrost,’ Gunilla said. ‘The rainbow bridge leading from Asgard to Midgard. ~ Rick Riordan,
182:You act like getting pregnant is a disease you can catch from public toilets. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
183:You may choose your song, but know this: Tiny. Cooper. Hates. Over. The. Rainbow. ~ John Green,
184:At the end of the dream, on the other side of the rainbow, there's only light. ~ Frederick Lenz,
185:Every woman wants a man who'll fall in love with her soul as well as her body. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
186:Like a rainbow trout in a stream, the girl sometimes flashed her true self to him. ~ Eowyn Ivey,
187:Maybe he was Filipino. Was that in Asia? Probably. Asia's out-of-control huge. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
188:That's the ultimate kind of broken. The kind of damage you never recover from. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
189:Welcome to the team. Shoot, I forgot the rainbow confetti to throw all over you. ~ Molly Ringle,
190:Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens. ~ Ellen Hopkins,
191:Capture a shadow, dance with the wind, stand in a rainbow, begin at the end. ~ Mary Anne Radmacher,
192:It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing. ~ Penny Reid,
193:The people who guard the rainbow don't like those who get in the way of the sun. ~ Terry Pratchett,
194:To hatch a crow, a black rainbow
Bent in emptiness
over emptiness
But flying ~ Ted Hughes,
195:A rainbow which lasts for a quarter of an hour is looked at no longer. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
196:All a rainbow is is light that walks behind a raindrop and its colors fall out. ~ Augusten Burroughs,
197:everyone wants happiness no one wants pain but you can't have a rainbow without any rain ~ Anonymous,
198:Happiness simply forms like a rainbow in the kindest and most grateful hearts. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
199:How could I not want to fuck this chick? Of course I was hard. She looked like a rainbow. ~ L J Shen,
200:Looks like somebody's got jungle fever.' 'That's not even the right kind of racist. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
201:Your trash can is full of energy bar wrappers." "You were looking through my trash? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
202:Everytime, he breaks your heart. And everytime, he expects me to pick up the pieces. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
203:God's an astronaut
Oz is over the rainbow
and Median is where the monsters live. ~ Clive Barker,
204:It felt like they’d been plunged into a rainbow, or maybe
even seen the face of God. ~ Amy Andrews,
205:Let no one who loves be called altogether unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow. ~ J M Barrie,
206:Finding something for a zombie costume in a wardrobe befitting Rainbow Brite isn't easy. ~ Kelley York,
207:I dare you to call Ask-A-Nurse and tell them you feel a presence in your womb region. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
208:I never presumed to tell anyone who could make a rainbow what color to make children. ~ Richard Dawson,
209:It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
210:Maybe the sun had set. Maybe the rainbow had lifted—because the light was gone. ~ Benjamin Alire S enz,
211:People want black-and-white answers, but Scripture is rainbow arch across a stormy sky. ~ Sarah Bessey,
212:That was the beauty in stacking up words--they got cheaper, the more you had of them. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
213:You’re my rainbow-haloed girl, and you’re freaking magical. Don’t you ever forget that. ~ Leylah Attar,
214:You take ordinary things and turn them rainbow bright. It's what makes you so special. ~ Christi Barth,
215:Even if your heart is broken and attacking you, you're still not better off without it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
216:Fill your plate with the colours of the rainbow. What pleases the eye, pleases the body. ~ Deepak Chopra,
217:Just because you can see a rainbow doesn’t mean you know how to get to the other side. ~ Elizabeth Letts,
218:That woman is all the colors of the rainbow and I want to roll around in her closet. She ~ Anna Kendrick,
219:To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
220:A landline is an anchor - busy signals, long distance bills, missed connections and all. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
221:Sometimes when we aren't looking, the holiness comes breaking through like a rainbow. ~ Madeleine L Engle,
222:Think of a rainbow. It's one arc of light, but also seven differently colored arcs of light. ~ John Green,
223:We were the goddamn Rainbow Connection. All we needed was a Red to complete the deck. ~ Alexandra Bracken,
224:Brenda descended the great staircase step by step through alternations of dusk and rainbow. ~ Evelyn Waugh,
225:Once you’ve traveled to the dark side of the rainbow, you’ve reached the end of the line. ~ Danielle Paige,
226:There were tiny rainbows in that glass. I turned it so a rainbow danced across my hand. ~ Lucy Christopher,
227:The squirrels on campus were beyond domestic; they were practically domestically abusive. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
228:They’d all do better if they could get past the storm and wait for the rainbow to appear. ~ Cecilia London,
229:We were poor. we were so poor, in my neighborhood the rainbow was in black-and-white. ~ Rodney Dangerfield,
230:God, his chin. She wanted to make an honest woman of his chin. She wanted to lock it down. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
231:Let me, O let me bathe my soul in colours; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow. ~ Khalil Gibran,
232:The eternal gulf between being and idea can only be bridged by the rainbow of imagination. ~ Johan Huizinga,
233:album sleeve, black, with a black triangle, from which flowed a narrow rainbow of light. Zeke ~ John Sweeney,
234:If one observes a rainbow, they may see the road through time. -Excerpt, Dragon Knight's Sword ~ Mary Morgan,
235:Love. Purpose. Those are things that you can't plan for. Those are things that just happen. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
236:Your mom is a rainbow goddess?" "You got a problem with that?" "No, no. Rainbows. Very macho. ~ Rick Riordan,
237:(Because being assaulted with maxi pads is a great way to win friends and influence people.) ~ Rainbow Rowell,
238:Everyone wants happiness. No one wants pain. But you can't have a rainbow, without a little rain. ~ Anonymous,
239:If a rainbow makes a sound, or a flower as it grows, that was the sound of her laughter. ~ William Paul Young,
240:The fish was a twelve-inch rainbow trout with a huge hump on its back. A hunchback trout. ~ Richard Brautigan,
241:Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? ~ Herman Melville,
242:Don't you expect a rainbow coming out of the tub of bacon strips at the end of the buffet line? ~ Jim Gaffigan,
243:I'm sort of...coming off a bad relationship," "When did it end?" "Slightly before it started. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
244:Like, really like you. And i want that kiss to have been the start of something. Not the end. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
245:Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows, Help us to see That without the dust the rainbow Would not be. ~ Langston Hughes,
246:Climb every mountain , Ford Every stream
Follow every rainbow ,'Till you find your dream ~ Stephanie Laurens,
247:Did he really just poop a rainbow? Seriously, did that just happen? Because I saw it happen. ~ Sarah Beth Durst,
248:Every life would have some rain in it, but that's the only way you'd ever get to see the rainbow. ~ Karen White,
249:Just how I need to remember that when storms roll in, how beautiful the rainbow is going to be. ~ Adriana Locke,
250:...hot pink with a star done in rainbow rhinestones on the front. It was god-awful. I bought it. ~ Richelle Mead,
251:I must say my heart leaped up, as Jeeves tells me his does when he beholds a rainbow in the sky. ~ P G Wodehouse,
252:Underneath this veneer of slightly crazy and mildly socially retarded, I'm a complete disaster. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
253:Everyone likes happiness, no one likes pain. But you can't have a rainbow without a little rain. ~ Ingmar Bergman,
254:I don’t want to kiss a stranger,” Cath would answer. “I’m not interested in lips out of context. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
255:I'm sorry about yesterday," she said. He hung on to his straps and shrugged. "Yesterday happens. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
256:Still, when it looked like the sun wasn't going to shine anymore, God put a rainbow in the clouds. ~ Maya Angelou,
257:To reach the height of our ambition is like trying to reach the rainbow; as we advance it recedes. ~ Edmund Burke,
258:If you have ever followed a rainbow to its end, it leads you to the ground on which you are standing. ~ Alan Cohen,
259:I wonder why / no one ever told me / that the rainbow / and the treasure / were both within me. ~ Gerald Jampolsky,
260:Love is a rainbow curving down from the sky, falling crystals of color, shades of warm that never die. ~ Phil Ochs,
261:Things she knew now, that she hadn't known two hours ago: Park was covered with skin. Everywhere. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
262:Your mom is a rainbow goddess?"
"You got a problem with that?"
"No, no. Rainbows. Very macho. ~ Rick Riordan,
263:A rainbow glimmered for an instant in front of Ben’s eyes. Ben didn’t give a fuck about the rainbow. ~ Stephen King,
264:But he kept finding new pockets of shallow inside himself. He kept finding new ways to betray her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
265:...hot pink with a star done in rainbow rhinestones on the front. It was god-awful.
I bought it. ~ Richelle Mead,
266:You act like there are two kinds of girls,' she said. 'The smart ones and the ones that boys like. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
267:Everyone wants happiness,
No one wants pain.
But you can't have a rainbow,
Without a little rain. ~ Unknown,
268:I look like this because I'm alive," Reagan said. "Because I've had experiences. Do you understand? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
269:Rainbow dust?" sneered Joe, drawing out each syllable until it snapped from the weight of his contempt. ~ Jon Fasman,
270:She heard the very beginning of a smile in his voice--a fetal smile--and it very nearly killed her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
271:Shelter Network's programs and services are a rainbow in the clouds for homeless children and adults. ~ Maya Angelou,
272:When it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. ~ Rachel Abbott,
273:You shouldn't reward me for endangering your life, you know. Think of the precedent you're setting. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
274:Everyone wants happinness,
No one wants pain.
But you can't have a rainbow,
Without a little rain. ~ Unknown,
275:I saw the lovely arch Of rainbow span the sky, The gold sun burning As the rain swept by. ~ Elizabeth Jane Coatsworth,
276:Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. ~ Judy Garland,
277:White pill, blue pill, yellow pill, purple pill; its like swallowing a rainbow every bedtime. ~ Amelia Atwater Rhodes,
278:And as he spoke of understanding, I looked up and saw the rainbow leap with flames of many colors over me. ~ Black Elk,
279:But you're so helpless sometimes. It's like watching a kitten with its head trapped in a Kleenex box. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
280:I love jell-o. I love the way it comes in rainbow colours, wiggles and jiggles and looks like brains. ~ Megan McDonald,
281:You can hook a rainbow to a goofy vision -Jellybean is doing that- but you can't hook a rainbow to a lie ~ Tom Robbins,
282:Fitting together is something you work at. It’s something you make happen—because you love each other. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
283:Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows,
Help us to see
That without the dust the rainbow
Would not be. ~ Langston Hughes,
284:She didn't want to run, period. It made her breasts feel like they were going to detach from her body. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
285:You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
286:I'd rather pour myself into a world I love and understand than try to make something up out of nothing. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
287:I kind of view everybody like a rainbow. Everybody on the planet has all the colors of the rainbow inside. ~ Alexia Fast,
288:Many discouraging hours will arise before the rainbow of accomplished goals will appear on the horizon. ~ Haile Selassie,
289:You look different. You look unsettling.’ ‘You look like you,’ he said. ‘You with the volume turned up. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
290:as Thomas Pynchon wrote in Gravity’s Rainbow, “It is not often that Death is told so clearly to fuck off. ~ Steven Kotler,
291:Happy is a poor word for someone who's trying to live a rainbow-colored life in a black-and-white world. ~ Kate Bornstein,
292:It took a village to raise a child, and it took a rainbow of colors to make them feel at home and comfortable. ~ T A Webb,
293:She doesn't give directions but there is a pot of gold at the end of her rainbow...Find it. If you can. ~ Donna Lynn Hope,
294:The sky itself is the eighth color of the rainbow, spread over the whole sky for us, all the time. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
295:The sunlight had broken through the trees and landed on her like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. ~ Debbie Macomber,
296:Rainbow what? Are you searching for a pot of gold? Tiny leprechauns? Hoping to catch the elusive pegacorn? ~ Ashlan Thomas,
297:There’s no such thing as handsome princes, she told herself. There’s no such thing as happily ever after. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
298:Formal education teaches how to stand, but to see the rainbow you must come out and walk many steps on your own. ~ Amit Ray,
299:I tend to write about my anxieties - it's what I'm afraid will happen. And I write a story working it out. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
300:Let the rain falling on your face run into your eyes. Can you see the rainbow now through the stormy skies? ~ Avril Lavigne,
301:She bent her neck back and kissed him like she never had before. Like she wasn't scared of doing it wrong. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
302:CRANBERRY JELLY IN A CAN 2. EXPLODING BISCUITS 3. NIPSY DOODLES 4. RAINBOW SPRINKLES 5. TOILET PAPER 6. MONEY ~ Barbara Park,
303:He looked exactly like a rat. Like the human being version of a rat. Like the villain in a Don Bluth movie. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
304:He’s wrong he’s so wrong he’s more wrong than an upside-down rainbow.

But everything he said is right. ~ Tahereh Mafi,
305:I think white is the most wonderful color of all, because within it one can find every color of the rainbow. ~ Richard Meier,
306:Love is like a colorful street. Let it blossom into the sky like a rainbow by walking it with the ones you Love. ~ Arsi Nami,
307:Right. I'm fine, you're fine, everything's fine. Oh, look, I think a rainbow's sprouting out of your ass. ~ Rachel Van Dyken,
308:Right. I’m fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine. Oh, look, I think a rainbow’s sprouting out of your ass. ~ Rachel Van Dyken,
309:There's a rainbow around every corner is a well known saying and is supposed to make negative people positive. ~ Enid Blyton,
310:You're wearing at least four different kinds of sweater." "This is a scarf." "You look tarred and sweatered. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
311:And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than look down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. ~ G K Chesterton,
312:What does it mean?" Emily said, in a low, panicked voice: "What does it mean if a rainbow comes before rain? ~ Jaclyn Moriarty,
313:And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. ~ Gilbert K Chesterton,
314:He tried to remember how this happened – how she went from someone he’d never met to the only one who mattered. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
315:Levi's smile broke free and devoured his whole face. It started to devour her face, too. Cath had to look away. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
316:Mitya was almost ready to confess which chord it was which actually caused him to see rainbow icicles. Soon ~ William T Vollmann,
317:Your mom is a rainbow goddess?” “Got a problem with that?” Butch said. “No, no,” Leo said. “Rainbows. Very macho. ~ Rick Riordan,
318:It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
319:My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man. ~ William Wordsworth,
320:When I die I have visions of fags singing 'Over the Rainbow' and the flag at Fire Island being flown at half mast. ~ Judy Garland,
321:A happy childhood can't be cured. Mine'll hang around my neck like a rainbow, that's all, instead of a noose. ~ Hortense Calisher,
322:All things are true. God's an Astronaut. Oz is Over the Rainbow, and Midian is where the monsters live." - Peloquin ~ Clive Barker,
323:I don't want to do anything. I don't even want to start this day because then I'll just be expected to finish it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
324:For this is the vision that unites all seven paths and creates the rainbow bridge to a new earth and a new heaven. ~ Joan Borysenko,
325:It's funny when you smile," she said. "It's like a rainbow on a cloudy day."
"Don't ever say that to me again. ~ Maureen Johnson,
326:I wonder…,” she said, “if there was such a thing as time machines, would anyone ever use them to go to the future? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
327:Who wore that much makeup this early in the morning? She looked like she got smacked in the face by a drunk rainbow. ~ Beth Ehemann,
328:You’re never going to find a guy who’s exactly like you—first of all, because that guy never leaves his dorm room. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
329:Donde termina el arco iris, en tu alma o en el horizonte? Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon? ~ Pablo Neruda,
330:His response filled me with glee. It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing. ~ Penny Reid,
331:Military glory-that attractive rainbow, that rises in showers of blood-that serpent's eye, that charms to destroy. ~ Abraham Lincoln,
332:Those who think that the rewarding things in life are somewhere over the rainbow 'burn their toast a lot,' said Pooh ~ Benjamin Hoff,
333:With Attachments, my goal was to write a really good romantic comedy. I wanted the reader to be smiling throughout. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
334:You're my rainbow. The brilliant colors of you make me whole. Without your colors, I'm just a man living in the dark. ~ Nashoda Rose,
335:You’re my rainbow. The brilliant colors of you make me whole. Without your colors, I’m just a man living in the dark. ~ Nashoda Rose,
336:Hermione was back, holding out a gossamer dress of rainbow chiffon so airy I thought of fireflies on a moonlight night. ~ Ruth Reichl,
337:It's a good thing that when God created the rainbow he didn't consult a decorator or he would still be picking colors. ~ Sam Levenson,
338:Mostly we just add to the piles of rainbow glass that's been blown off the exteriors of the cany-colored buildings. ~ Suzanne Collins,
339:Watch very closely as the magical angel and I are swallowed by the rainbow twister, and left stranded on the glitter way. ~ Lady Gaga,
340:You look so blindingly cute right now, I feel like I need to make a pinhole in a piece of paper just to look at you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
341:You're never going to find a guy who's exactly like you - first of all, because that guy never leaves his dorm room. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
342:You want to get a drink later? Maybe after, if you're lucky, you can finally find out what it means to taste the rainbow. ~ T J Klune,
343:The true harvest of my life is intangible - a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
344:Can't you just like a girl who likes you back?' 'None of them likes me back. I may as well like the one I really want. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
345:Military glory--that attractive rainbow, that rises in showers of blood--that serpent's eye, that charms to destroy... ~ Abraham Lincoln,
346:The rainbow comes and goes. Enjoy it while it lasts. Don't be surprised by its departure, and rejoice when it returns. ~ Anderson Cooper,
347:The rainbow comes and goes. Enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t be surprised by its departure, and rejoice when it returns. ~ Anderson Cooper,
348:Time is short and sweet with our four-legged companions, but I believe we will meet them all again at the Rainbow Bridge. ~ Mark J Asher,
349:Autism, like a rainbow, has a bright side and a dark side and even though it can mean rough weather, it can be beautiful! ~ Stuart Duncan,
350:He wished that they could go through life like this. That he could physically put himself between Eleanor and the world. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
351:I always felt the world cannot fall apart as long as free men see the rainbow, feel the rain and hear the laugh of a child. ~ Frank Capra,
352:Birds fly Over The Rainbow. Why then, oh why can't I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can't I? ~ L Frank Baum,
353:If I traveled to the end of the rainbow as Dame Fortune did intend, Murphy would be there to tell me the pot's at the other end. ~ Ed Koch,
354:it’s like swimming upstream. Or … falling down a cliff and grabbing at branches, trying to invent the branches as I fall. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
355:It's okay if you're crazy," he said softly. "You don't even know-" "I don't have to know," he said. "I'm rooting for you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
356:My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man; ~ William Wordsworth,
357:The gaze of Daniio’s slow cousin eye seemed to be wandering off, as if distracted by pretty flowers, or perhaps a rainbow.* ~ Jay Kristoff,
358:To make Christianity a private affair while banishing all privacy is to relegate it to the rainbow's end or the Greek Calends. ~ C S Lewis,
359:Trolls can smell the rainbow, trolls can smell the stars. Trolls can smell the dreams you dreamed before you were ever born. ~ Neil Gaiman,
360:We're going to listen music in my room.' 'Fine,' his dad said from underneath the sink. 'Just don't get anybody pregnant. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
361:You're not the ugly one. Levi Grinned. You're just the Clark Kent... ... Will you warn me when you take off your glasses? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
362:If anyone tries to bully you don’t let them. Take the positive energy form a ball of rainbow power and just, like shove it. ~ Ariana Grande,
363:In new situations, all the trickiest rules are the ones nobody bothers to explain to you. (And the ones you can't Google.) ~ Rainbow Rowell,
364:Suzanne's mother says, 'Children, you don't need to be going and leaving and looking for a rainbow. The rainbow is here. ~ Jennifer Clement,
365:What you have here is a unicorn eating four-leaf clovers while shitting rainbow turds in the shape of winning lottery numbers. ~ Emma Scott,
366:Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. ~ Lord Byron,
367:Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
368:Leroy bet me I couldn’t find a pot of gold at the end, and I told him that was a stupid bet because the rainbow was enough. ~ Rita Mae Brown,
369:To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow. ~ Maya Angelou,
370:When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead - When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley,
371:As I moved to less and less diverse places in my life, I realized that white people dont talk about race amongst themselves! ~ Rainbow Rowell,
372:Christianity isn't looking for a rainbow. If it were... we'd pass out opium at services. We're trying to serve God, not be God. ~ John Updike,
373:I don't have to forgive you, Cath said. It's not like that with you. You're just in with me. Always. No matter what happens. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
374:If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
375:Leo choked. ‘Your mom is a rainbow goddess?’ ‘Got a problem with that?’ Butch said. ‘No, no,’ Leo said. ‘Rainbows. Very macho. ~ Rick Riordan,
376:Leo choked. “Your mom is a rainbow goddess?” “Got a problem with that?” Butch said. “No, no,” Leo said. “Rainbows. Very macho. ~ Rick Riordan,
377:The farther a man follows the rainbow, the harder it is for him to get back to the life which he left starving like an old dog. ~ Jane Bowles,
378:There is no rule in the pink-triangle guide to coming out that you must wear a rainbow flag cap and organise a full band parade. ~ Beth Ditto,
379:What if Park realized that all the things he thought were so mysterious and intriguing about her were actually just … bleak? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
380:How do I explain that having the chance to take a breather midlife and evaluate everything is rarer than a double rainbow? ~ Lauren Weisberger,
381:So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. ~ John Keats,
382:That girl--all of them--hated Eleanor before they'd even laid eyes on her. Like they'd been hired to kill her in a past life. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
383:Then Park reached up and wrapped one of her red curls around his honey finger. "Back to missing you," he said, letting it go. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
384:...Where shall I say you've gone?"
She threw an arm about airily. "Oh, way up high. Over the rainbow somewhere, I guess. ~ Gregory Maguire,
385:Every life holds the promise of rain. But after the rain comes the rainbow. You just have to stick around long enough to find it. ~ Karen White,
386:Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
387:I know that people change. I thought... I thought we're going to change together. I thought that's what it meant to be in love. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
388:I might not use capital letters. But I would definitely use an apostrophe…and probably a period. I’m a huge fan of punctuation. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
389:Maybe Park had paralyzed her with his ninja magic, his Vulcan handhold, and now he was going to eat her. That would be awesome. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
390:No, I wasn’t. I was just thinking how sad it is that for such a good-looking guy, you’re a few crayons short of a rainbow.” His ~ Laurann Dohner,
391:[...] the quiet break of soul that comes when you realize that what looked like a rainbow was actually only a trick of the light. ~ Jodi Picoult,
392:What’s your road, man? – holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It’s an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. ~ Jack Kerouac,
393:A happy childhood can't be cured. Mine'll hang around my neck like a rainbow, that's all, instead of a noose. ~ Hortense Calisher, Queenie, 1971.,
394:But why look back at all? Why turn your eyes to your shadow, when, by looking upward, you see your rainbow in the same direction? ~ Maria Mitchell,
395:Gratitude is the real treasure God wants us to find, because it isn't the pot of gold but the rainbow that colors our world. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
396:It is like the point where the rainbow touches the forest. We think that we can see it—but if we go to look for it, it isn’t there. ~ Carlo Rovelli,
397:When the Earth is sick, the animals will begin to disappear, when that happens, The Warriors of the Rainbow will come to save them. ~ Chief Seattle,
398:But if the day ever does come, where all colors completely disappear…let me be your rainbow, Sebastian. I can show you where to look. ~ P T Michelle,
399:He'd stopped trying to bring her back. She only came back when she felt like it anyway, in dreams and lies and broken-down deja-vu. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
400:I was in my mid 20s when email finally took off. Until then, the phone was my primary way of connecting with the people in my life. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
401:Roy G. Biv” to remember the colors and she made up a rhyme: A rainbow is named Roy G. Biv To remember the colors and the joy they give. ~ Glenn Beck,
402:So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. ~ John Keats,
403: The rainbow, the symbol of the covenant with Noah, is typical of our  Lord Jesus, who is the Lord's witness to the people. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,
404:To be a rainbow in someone’s cloud is commendable, but I prefer to be the rain because it dampens cheeks and washes away tears. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
405:Ah...' Park said, pained. 'What?' 'Those are alphabetized.' 'It's okay. I know the alphabet.' 'Right.' He looked embarrassed. 'Sorry. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
406:Every time a war ends, under a beautiful sun, on the face of a crying child; I see a rainbow of hope over the innocent teardrops. ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
407:fact it seemed we had been doing things, such as stringing necklaces of rainbow-colored candy while the radio played Belle and Sebastian ~ Donna Tartt,
408:Don't seek to be happy; let everyone else chase after that rainbow.
Seek to be kind, and you'll find the rainbow follows you. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
409:Einstein was wrong! I"M the speed of like CRACKING through shivery rainbows and GOD the sky whirls and withers like a melting RAINBOW! ~ Grant Morrison,
410:I like science fiction, I like fantasy, I like time travel, so I had this idea: What if you had a phone that could call into the past? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
411:Park was never going to love her more than he did on the day they said goodbye. And she couldn’t bear to think of him loving her less. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
412:Philosophy will clip an angel's wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine - Unweave a rainbow. ~ John Keats,
413:So why aren’t you living with your sister?” “She wanted to meet new people,” Cath said. “You make it sound like she broke up with you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
414:The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
415:Cath wished she didn't use the word "just" so much. It was her passive-aggressive tell, like someone who twitched when they were lying. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
416:Einstein was wrong! I'M the speed of light CRACKING through shivery rainbows and GOD the sky whirls and withers like a melting RAINBOW! ~ Grant Morrison,
417:Hook up with you?” He chuckled. “Rainbow? I’d spread you wide open and consume your soul. You’d have nothing left to give to another man. ~ Kenya Wright,
418:I like light green, sometimes red is fun to look at, not a fan of yellow, unless it's in a rainbow or on a coffee mug or on a happy face. ~ Chris Kattan,
419:it is the nature of genius 'to spring, like the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past, and refuse all history. ~ Anonymous,
420:love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow—beautiful while it’s there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
421:She smiled, and her eyes started to drift downward. "Cather..." Back up to his eyes. "You know that I'm falling in love with you, right? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
422:When you look at the world, the world isn't just one palette. It's a beautiful rainbow, and why not have someone to represent that rainbow? ~ Joan Smalls,
423:...when humans experience something as powerful as a forest or a rainbow, it is not crazy to assign its existence to a Greater Intelligence. ~ Anne Lamott,
424:You don’t have to be the kind of beautiful that everyone can agree on. If the right person finds you beautiful, you win. You win forever. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
425:After all, he was rigid where she was flexible. He was black and white, and she was all the rainbow in between, and they didn’t go together. ~ Jill Shalvis,
426:All of her bones seemed more purposeful than other people’s. Like they weren’t just there to hold her up, they were there to make a point. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
427:Love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow — beautiful while it’s there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
428:love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow – beautiful while it’s there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
429:Raindrops blossom brilliantly in the rainbow, and change to flowers in the sod, but snow comes in full flower direct from the dark, frozen sky. ~ John Muir,
430:She wanted to lose herself in him. To tie his arms around her like a tourniquet. If she showed him how much she needed him, he'd run away. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
431:Take off your glasses." "Why? I thought you liked my glassess." "I love your glasses. I especially love the moment when you take them off. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
432:I just can’t believe that life would give us to each other,’ he said, ‘and then take it back.’

‘I can,’ she said. ‘Life’s a bastard. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
433:I've read de Sade, and Anaïs Nun, and Gravity's Rainbow, and the Story of O. First you have to have pleasure—then pain. ~ Caitlin Moran,
434:...knowing too that [the sky] was just a kind of rainbow made it glorious. A rainbow that was blue everywhere and covered everything. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
435:She said she arrived from Ireland after sliding off the curve of a rainbow with a dancing leprechaun and flew to America on the back of an owl. ~ Cathy Lamb,
436:Six vampires came scuttling over the roof, in assorted colors of sunblock, like someone spilled a bag of Skittles. Taste the undead rainbow. ~ Ilona Andrews,
437:There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
438:What skilful limner e'er would choose To paint the rainbow's varying hues, Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? ~ Walter Scott,
439:All about us the earth steamed; mists rose up toward heaven like clouds of incense; a shattered rainbow still hovered in the air. ~ Leopold von Sacher Masoch,
440:Apparently, the folks at SPYDER really liked fro-yo sundaes: There were dozens of toppings, ranging from crumbled toffee to rainbow sprinkles. ~ Stuart Gibbs,
441:Levi's eyebrows were pornographic. If Cath were making this decision just on eyebrows, she would have been "up to his room" a long time ago. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
442:Our flag is red, white and blue, but our nation is a rainbow -- red, yellow, brown, black and white -- and we're all precious in God's sight. ~ Jesse Jackson,
443:The melody faded like a rainbow after a storm, or like winds calming down at last; and what was left was calm, and possibility, and relief. ~ Gregory Maguire,
444:What are the stars but points in the body of God where we insert the healing needles of our terror and longing?
--Gravity's Rainbow, V699 ~ Thomas Pynchon,
445:Diversity has been written into the DNA of American life; any institution that lacks a rainbow array has come to seem diminished, if not diseased. ~ Joe Klein,
446:I’d know you in the dark,” he said. “From a thousand miles away. There’s nothing you could become that I haven’t already fallen in love with. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
447:I don’t trust anybody. Not anybody. And the more that I care about someone, the more sure I am they’re going to get tired of me and take off. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
448:Reagan was sitting up at Cath's desk when Cath woke up. "Are you awake?" "Have you been watching me sleep?" "Yes, Bella. Are you awake?" "No. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
449:Don't scale because you think there's a pot of gold over that rainbow. Scale because you're ready and eager to do heroic work, every day, forever. ~ Seth Godin,
450:He always kept me just on the edge of crazy. Feeling like I wanted him too much, which just made me want him more." "That sounds excruciating. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
451:He pulled away to say he's sorry, and she shook her head no, because even though she really want him to be sorry, she wanted to kiss him more. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
452:She’d majored in English, hoping that meant she could spend the next four years reading and writing. And maybe the next four years after that. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
453:And sometimes you held somebody’s hand just to prove that you were still alive, and that another human being was there to testify to that fact. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
454:Dolphins like to wear hats,” said Coleman, a joint dangling from his lips as he drove. On his head was one of those afro wigs painted in a rainbow. ~ Tim Dorsey,
455:Formal education teaches how to stand, but to see the rainbow you must come out and walk many steps on your own. ~ Amit Ray, Nonviolence: The Transforming Power,
456:What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow. Where body how? ~ Jack Kerouac,
457:Don't bite his face, Eleanor told herself. It's disturbing and needy and never happens in situation comedies or movies that end with big kisses. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
458:Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
459:Philosophy will clip an Angel’s wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine —
Unweave a rainbow, ~ John Keats,
460:Well, I'm writing everything that isn't my final project, so that when I actually sit down to write it, that's all that will be left in my mind. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
461:In Isleta the rainbow was a crack in the universe. We saw the barest of all life that is possible. Bright horses rolled over and over the dusking sky. ~ Joy Harjo,
462:It is the essence of poetry to spring, like the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past, and refuse all history. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
463:We may run, walk, stumble, drive, or fly, but let us never lose sight of the reason for the journey or miss a chance to see a rainbow on the way. ~ Gloria Gaither,
464:Eleanor's hair caught fire at dawn. Her eyes were dark and shining, and his arms were sure of her. The first time he touched her hand, he'd known. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
465:I know what it’s like to be distracted. To seek out distractions. To exhaust yourself doing every other little thing rather than face a blank page ~ Rainbow Rowell,
466:Someday I'm finally gonna let go 'cause I know there's a better way, and I wanna know what's over that rainbow...I'm gonna get out of here someday... ~ Steve Earle,
467:The next night, Lincoln parked his Corolla right next to The Courier's front door. I'm here, he thought. Find me. Follow me. Make this inevitable. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
468:This is why I can't be with Levi. Because I'm the kind of girl who fantasizes about being trapped in a library overnight-and Levi can't even read. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
469:Was it possible? Was there really somewhere else—somewhere at the far end of the rainbow that was better than this place? She certainly hoped so. ~ Elizabeth Letts,
470:Wasn’t hitting bottom the thing you had to do to knock some sense into yourself? Wasn’t hitting bottom the thing that showed you which way was up? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
471:Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.” “Don’t make me angry-kiss you.” “Give me the laundry.” “Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
472:When you go for a walk, take seeds with you, poppies, rainbow chard, rocket. Plant them among the weeds in patches of wasteland. See what happens. ~ Tom Hodgkinson,
473:Life's a choice: you can live in black and white, or you can live in colour. I'll take every shade of the rainbow and the gazillion in between! ~ Karen Marie Moning,
474:Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song, and all about you will be beauty. There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail. ~ Robert Motherwell,
475:And I've thought of a way to help you with the concept of color.

"Close your eyes and be still, now. I'm going to give you a memory of a rainbow. ~ Lois Lowry,
476:Even in bad times, always say thank you. Whatever you are going through, God is using you to get through. God has already put a rainbow in the cloud. ~ Oprah Winfrey,
477:Months are different in college, especially freshman year. Too much happens. Every freshman month equals six regular months—they're like dog months. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
478:The rainbow mirrors human aims and action. Think, and more clearly wilt thou grasp it, seeing Life is but light in many-hued reflection. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
479:All my clear-eyed fish, Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish, Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze... My charming rod, my potent river spells. ~ John Keats,
480:In our world, I rank music somewhere between hair ribbons and rainbows in terms of usefulness. At least a rainbow gives you a tip about the weather. ~ Suzanne Collins,
481:HERE AT THE GOLDEN GATE IS THE ETERNAL RAINBOW THAT HE CONCEIVED AND SET TO FORM. A PROMISE INDEED THAT THE RACE OF MAN SHALL ENDURE INTO THE AGES. Like ~ Mark Helprin,
482:I don't want you to go," Sam said. She was upset. "I don't want this to end like this." "You don't get to choose," Lincoln said. "It's just happening. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
483:I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
484:It was undeniable, bright and massive. It was a rainbow, a unicorn, a million-dollar lottery ticket and happiness incarnate all rolled into one thing. ~ Mariana Zapata,
485:Something in Mama’s voice was vast and high, like a rainbow; yet something sad and deep, like when the organ played in church, was around Mama’s words. ~ Ralph Ellison,
486:Sometimes the greatest storms bring out the greatest beauty… Life can be a storm, but your hope is a rainbow and your friends and family are the gold. ~ Steve Maraboli,
487:Tomorrow is not promised to us. Start dancing in the rain and look for your rainbow through the storm clouds. Once you find it, don’t ever let it go. ~ Amelia Hutchins,
488:Why are you lying awake, thinking that you're a terrible person? To keep my mind occupied when I can't sleep. Some people count sheep. I self-loathe. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
489:You can’t take back texts. If you come off all moody and melancholy in a text, it just sits there in your phone, reminding you of what a drag you are. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
490:Baz. "Have you ever done this before?" Simon. "Yes. No." "Yes or no?" "Yes. Not like this." Baz. "Not with a boy?" Simon. "Not when I really wanted it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
491:He looked like someone with a steerage ticket on the titanic. Somebody who'd be standing in line at Ellis Island. Undiluted and old-blooded. Also cute. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
492:I've always taken 'The Wizard of Oz' very seriously, you know. I believe in the idea of the rainbow. And I've spent my entire life trying to get over it. ~ Judy Garland,
493:Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
494:Can you know the mighty ocean? Can you lasso a star from the sky? Can you say to a rainbow... 'Hey, stop being a rainbow for a second'? No! Such is Mango! ~ Chris Kattan,
495:He didn't take her breath away. Maybe the opposite. But that was okay-that was really good, actually, to be near someone who filled your lungs with air. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
496:I studied her face as she got closer. Who wore that much makeup this early in the morning? She looked like she got smacked in the face by a drunk rainbow. ~ Beth Ehemann,
497:One opal cloudlet in an oval form reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm which in a distant valley has been staged for we are most artistically caged. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
498:the image of those widmestern storms that rip up the world as you know it, and leave, like a sacrifice, a rainbow to make you forget what has come before. ~ Jodi Picoult,
499:To describe women, the pen should be dipped in the humid colors of the rainbow, and the paper dried with the dust gathered from the wings of a butterfly. ~ Denis Diderot,
500:All of our lives suck right now, okay? You might think yours is an extra special sparkly rainbow unicorn fart type of suck, but it’s not. Just get on with it! ~ Lia Habel,
501:By now I'm done expecting a laugh from this girl, but she suprises me, letting out a little giggle that reminds me of a rainbow escaping from a mud puddle. ~ Lauren Layne,
502:Drunk nerds. Not my thing.” “You like nerds.” “Not nerds who join fraternities,” Cath said. “That’s a whole subclass of nerds that I’m not interested in. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
503:Frankly, they’re the only interesting unicorns in the entire book. I can trust an animal that’s out to kill us. It’s the rainbow defecators I don’t hold with. ~ Anonymous,
504:Martin Freeman is a genius, he really is. He gives you every color of the rainbow in every take and it's wonderful just to play off of him and opposite him. ~ Lara Pulver,
505:Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow-beautiful while it's there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
506:I really am happy for Kiley. And for you and every other happily married lady. Except for that I'm not happy for you. I kind of want you all to drop dead. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
507:I've never been an all-black girl. I like pinks and blues and greens. If you come over to my closet, you'll be able to find a rainbow of things to wear. ~ Carly Rae Jepsen,
508:Reagan was sitting up at Cath's desk when Cath woke up.
"Are you awake?"
"Have you been watching me sleep?"
"Yes, Bella. Are you awake?"
"No. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
509:Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow- beautiful while it's there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
510:You're nobody's rainbow. You're nobody's princess. You're nobody's doorway but your own, and the only one who gets to tell you how your story ends is you. ~ Seanan McGuire,
511:You’re nobody’s rainbow. You’re nobody’s princess. You’re nobody’s doorway but your own, and the only one who gets to tell you how your story ends is you. ~ Seanan McGuire,
512:If you don't want people to look at you, Park had thought at the time, don't wear fishing lures in your hair. Her jewelry box must look like a junk drawer. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
513:It's our last chance. No. No, I can't... I, no, I need to believe that it isn't our last chance... Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
514:John 3:16 is not about forgiveness of sins, no matter the guy with rainbow hair
in the end zone who's holding up that sign. John 3:16 is about life now. ~ Dallas Willard,
515:Some people think it's comforting to imagine being flung over a rainbow when you die, grabbed by your ankles by a bluebird, and swung into the void. ~ Maria Dahvana Headley,
516:Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow – beautiful while it’s there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
517:Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: "It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds. ~ Carl Sandburg,
518:if a man believes the nonsense that there is only one god then there’s no point in arguing because it would be like discussing a rainbow with a blind man. ~ Bernard Cornwell,
519:I´m a Rubik´s Cube,“ Josy said honestly. „I´m made up of rainbow colors, but they´re all out of order, and you need to spin me around until I start making sense. ~ T J Klune,
520:Promise
There is a rainbow in the sky,
Upon the arch where tempests trod;
God wrote it ere the world was dry-It is the autograph of God.
~ Anonymous Americas,
521:Self is a plurality, but pluralities can also be integrated, right? Think of a rainbow. It’s one arc of light, but also seven differently colored arcs of light. ~ John Green,
522:Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow -- beautiful while it's there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink. ~ Jodi Picoult,
523:Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Rainbow's Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Good-Bye, Mr. Brain Cell. ~ Terry Pratchett,
524:Happily ever after, or even just together ever after, is not cheesy,” Wren said. “It’s the noblest, like, the most courageous thing two people can shoot for. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
525:I don't like hello. It makes me sound like I have dementia, like I've never heard a phone ring before and I don't know what's supposed to happen next. Hello? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
526:I miss you." "That's stupid," she said. "I saw you this morning." "It's not the time," Levi said, and she could hear that he was smiling." It's the distance. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
527:There may be a better land where bicycle saddles are made of rainbow, stuffed with cloud; in this world the simplest thing is to get used to something hard. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
528:These things end,” she said. “They always end. Nobody marries their first love. First love is just that. First. It’s implied that something else will follow. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
529:When you're a woman, you have to work harder to get a laugh... I follow so many hilarious women on Twitter. It's a daily reminder that women get to be funny. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
530:If you cannot see the rainbow because your face is down, don't argue that no rainbow is up there. Lift up your passion and take your dreams off the ground! ~ Israelmore Ayivor,
531:It had taken years to put themselves back together, and so what if some things didn’t get put back in the right place? At least they could hold themselves up. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
532:My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! …5 ~ Richard Holmes,
533:trust that you now perceive the same act may wear as many different hues of right or wrong as the rainbow, according to the atmosphere in which it is done. ~ Johnston McCulley,
534:You can take your gold, but afterwards, things are, things are flat. There is less beauty in a rainbow, less meaning in a sermon, less joy in a kiss…Less. ~ Neil Gaiman,
535:But the explanations fell apart in her hands. Everything true was too hard to write--he was too much to lose. Everything she felt for him was too hot to touch. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
536:I know nothing of the land beyond the seven kingdoms, except for tall tales the eastern people tell about rainbow-colored monsters and underground labyrinths. ~ Kristin Cashore,
537:I’m only a rainbow because you make me that way.” His eyes were still dark and haunted by what just happened, but there was a hint of the sweet I’d found in Deck ~ Nashoda Rose,
538:We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow that the savage has, because we know how it is made. We have lost as much as we gained by prying into that matter. ~ Mark Twain,
539:With Lake I was a child running out into the street after a shiny rainbow beach ball. The woman robbed me of all self-preservation by simply existing in my world. ~ Jewel E Ann,
540:I’m an angel. I’m sweetness and fucking light to everyone,” the blonde grinned as she gently led Lorelei down the hall. “Like a beautiful rainbow right up the ass. ~ Elliott Kay,
541:Know the quiet place within your heart and touch the rainbow of possibility; be alive to the gentle breeze of communication, and please stop being such a jerk. ~ Garrison Keillor,
542:Krystal snorted out a laugh. “Hit on me? Freddy, Bubba is gay. Like really gay. Gayer than a unicorn butt-fucking a rainbow. You’re the one he has a little crush on. ~ Drew Hayes,
543:There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: We know her woof, her texture; she is given In the dull catalogue of common things. Philosophy will clip an angel's wings. ~ John Keats,
544:Had I not had my grandmother, who dared to be my rainbow in the clouds, I would have been just another sexually abused barefoot black girl on the roads of Arkansas. ~ Maya Angelou,
545:There is no envy, jealousy, or hatred between the different colors of the rainbow. And no fear either. Because each one exists to make the others’ love more beautiful. ~ Aberjhani,
546:You're nobody's rainbow.
You're nobody's princess.
You're nobody's doorway but your own, and the only one who gets to tell you how your story ends is you. ~ Seanan McGuire,
547:As I discovered a few years ago, once you learn that you can measure the size of raindrops by looking at the colors in a rainbow—the more red, the bigger the drops ~ Tristan Gooley,
548:I miss you."
"That's stupid," she said. "I saw you this morning."
"It's not the time," Levi said, and she could hear that he was smiling." It's the distance. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
549:Rainbows are said to be beautiful!
Rainbows are said to be colourful!
Rainbows may possibly be magical!
But, I have never seen a rainbow appearing in the sky! ~ Srinidhi R,
550:Razzmatazz topped with hot fudge, strawberries, rainbow sprinkles, and whipped cream. It looked nasty, but you had to admire a guy secure enough to order sprinkles. ~ Colleen Coble,
551:Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves.
They flickered out saying:
"It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds. ~ Carl Sandburg,
552:Sometimes you come across a rainbow story—one that spans your heart. You might not be able to grasp it, but you can never be sorry for the color and magic it brought. ~ Leylah Attar,
553:In some cases, she was actively trying not to make friends, though she usually stopped short of being rude. (Uptight, tense, and mildly misanthropic? Yes. Rude? No.) ~ Rainbow Rowell,
554:But, I tell you this, there is no way a man as man as him swings for the rainbow.  No way.  Shame for Sway, but girlfriend, as beautiful as you are, this is good news.  ~ Harper Sloan,
555:I knew I was a little different from most demons but nothing says freak of nature like a one-eyed gypsy saying I had a rainbow glow. It just didn't sound complimentary. ~ Mary Abshire,
556:Green like his eyes, red like the fire of his passion, orange like his tan: on his silky lips, Candice was tasting the rainbow.” —Carrie Aznable, White House, Dark Needs ~ Camilla Monk,
557:No matter how different one looks or may seem, all are just shades in the colorful rainbow of life that loves everyone, no matter if they are short, purple, or green. ~ Jennifer Sodini,
558:I don't only like rap music. There's everything from R&B to crazy gangster rap, hip hop... everything! But it all blends together nicely. It's like a magical music rainbow. ~ Kreayshawn,
559:I like to look put together without trying too hard. I don't want to look as if God's made another rainbow - I prefer muted, autumnal colours, like most fading redheads. ~ Anne Robinson,
560:The Indian tricolour was raised just before sunset, and as it fluttered up the flagpole a late-monsoon rainbow emerged behind it, a glittering tribute from the heavens. ~ Shashi Tharoor,
561:So, what if, instead of thinking about solving you whole life, you just think about adding additional good things. One at a time. Just let your pile of good things grow. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
562:Then we stay.” Nodding her head at the statue, Ginger smiled. “Dolly said once that if you want the rainbow, you’ve got to put up with the rain.” “How fucking appropriate. ~ Tessa Bailey,
563:Sometimes love wasn’t about the storm. All booming thunder and flashing lightening. Sometimes it was the quiet aftermath. Sweet breezes, warm sun, and a rainbow of hope. ~ Kimberly Hunter,
564:What a privilege to be here on the planet to contribute your unique donation to humankind. Each face in the rainbow of colors that populate our world is precious and special. ~ Morris Dees,
565:Build me a cabin in Utah
Marry me a wife, catch rainbow trout
Have a bunch of kids who call me “Pa”
That must be what it’s all about
That must be what it’s all about ~ Bob Dylan,
566:There are other people on the Internet. It’s awesome. You get all the benefits of ‘other people’ without the body odor and the eye contact.” ========== Fangirl (Rowell, Rainbow) ~ Anonymous,
567:Shine your soul with the same
egoless humility as the rainbow
and no matter where you go
in this world or the next,
love will find you, attend you, and bless you. ~ Aberjhani,
568:The Earth is our mother just turning around, with her trees in the forest and roots underground. Our father above us whose sigh is the wind, paint us a rainbow without any end. ~ John Denver,
569:The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a court-room, be heany colour of the rainbow, but people have way to carrying their resentments right into a jury box. ~ Harper Lee,
570:The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. ~ Harper Lee,
571:The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a court-room, be he any colour of the rainbow, but people have way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. ~ Harper Lee,
572:The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a court-room, be he any colour of the rainbow, but people have way to carrying their resentments right into a jury box. ~ Harper Lee,
573:Those who seek happiness in pleasure, wealth, glory, power, and heroics are as naive as the child who tries to catch a rainbow and wear it as a coat. DILGO KHYENTSE RINPOCHE ~ Matthieu Ricard,
574:Hanna loved how the pencils and crayons looked, with their pointy unused tips. She liked the quarter-size circles of watercolor paint, like frozen puddles from a dripping rainbow. ~ Zoje Stage,
575:It was like their lives were overlapping lines, like they had their own gravity. Usually, that serendipity thing felt like the nicest thing the universe had ever done for her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
576:We cannot protect ourselves from trouble, but we can dance through the puddles of life with a rainbow smile, twirling the only umbrella we need -- the umbrella of God's love. ~ Barbara Johnson,
577:After every storm, there is a rainbow. If you have eyes, you will find it. If you have wisdom, you will create it. If you have love for yourself and others, you won’t need it. ~ Shannon L Alder,
578:He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them. Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm. And Eleanor disintegrated. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
579:I came from rainbow fabric; I drank textile ink as mothers’ milk. I learned to sew before I could walk. I could never become a nun, purely because of the boring fashion choices. ~ Pepper Winters,
580:I'm obsessed with lighting. I'm constantly shopping for different lightbulbs. I love rainbow lightbulbs. And also, one should not live without dimmers. Life is all about lighting. ~ Stevie Nicks,
581:Organize your life around your dreams and watch them come true because somewhere over the rainbow , skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true. ~ Purba Chakraborty,
582:The crisis is not an opportunity to change the character of Louisiana's political order. We must not use the crisis to turn Louisiana into a red state -- this is a rainbow state. ~ Jesse Jackson,
583:Altogether, there are eight types of illusions. Magic, a dream, a bubble, a rainbow, lightning, the moon reflected in water, a mirage, and a city of celestial musicians.” Vernon ~ Janet Evanovich,
584:Viewed in the right light, a little sprinkle of free market pixie dust can turn the drabbest of public sector services (sewerage, for example) into a rainbow-hued profit unicorn. ~ Charles Stross,
585:And because I’m so out of control, I can’t help myself. I’m not even mine anymore, I’m yours, and what if you decide that you don’t want me? How could you want me like I want you? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
586:And I want to rise up, throw my arms open for a vast embrace, address an ample, luminous discourse to the invisible crowds. I would start like this: "O rainbow-colored gods. . . ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
587:I believe that worrying about a bad thing prepares you for it when it comes. If you worry, the bad thing doesn't hit you as hard. You can roll with the punch if you see it coming. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
588:She whips the hose back and forth, laughing as he chases it, the fleeting, uncatchable colors, shimmering splinters of the golden light. "Catch the rainbow, Sammy! Catch the rainbow! ~ Rick Yancey,
589:For man to be redeemed from revenge, that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.
Distrust all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful! ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
590:For the first time in weeks, Park didn't have that anxious feeling in his stomach on the way home from school, like he had to soak up enough Eleanor to keep him until the next day. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
591:Rhys chuckled. “I don’t really know much about it, though a religion that has a rainbow bridge sounds like more fun than the others.” Lars grinned and winked. “There you go.”   * ~ Aleksandr Voinov,
592:Fuckin’ pussy thinks that maybe true love will conquer all, and then she’ll climb onto his bike and they’ll ride away into the sky on a rainbow while we all throw rose petals at them. ~ Joanna Wylde,
593:Let it all out. If only I could. Letting it all out would involve me exploding like a firework, a beautiful riot of rainbow sparks bouncing around the car and lighting up the entire lot. ~ Nick Burd,
594:No matter what you've done, family forgives," he says softly. "It's like the ride every morning and evening, sunrise and sunset, and a rainbow after the rain stops and the sun shines. ~ P T Michelle,
595:Sometimes you come across a rainbow story—one that spans your heart. You might not be able to grasp it or hold on to it, but you can never be sorry for the color and magic it brought. ~ Leylah Attar,
596:The world was often ugly and painful, filled with hate, sadness, and despair. But Aria? She made sense in a senseless world. She was the rainbow to my everlasting thunderstorms. ~ Brittainy C Cherry,
597:That's it, said Cavuto. You're too much of a nerd to be gay. I'm contacting the committee. They'll revoke your rainbow flag and you will not be permitted anywhere near the parade. ~ Christopher Moore,
598:Waiting for the winds of change to sweep the clouds away. Waiting for the rainbow's end to cast its gold your way ... You don't get something for nothing. You can't have freedom for free ~ Neil Peart,
599:You’re the rose in a world full of thorns, and the rainbow at the end of a storm. You’re the light people crawl through darkness for. You’re the good that balances out all the bad. ~ Jeannine Allison,
600:You saved me life, she tried to tell him. Not forever, not for good. Probably just temporarily. But you saved my life, and now I'm yours. The me that's me right now is yours. Always. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
601:I take something that happened to me in 1983, and I make it happen to somebody else in 1943. I pick my life apart that way, try to understand it better by writing straight through it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
602:The memory of past favors is like a rainbow, bright, vivid, and beautiful; but it soon fades away. The in memory of injuries is engraved on the heart, and remains forever. ~ Thomas Chandler Haliburton,
603:Even the weather page is in a state of moral decay. What?s wrong with red, white and blue, USA Today? This rainbow weather map is just another example of the homometerological agenda. ~ Stephen Colbert,
604:However some things may look queer to you, remember that the world is a beautiful rainbow with many colours! No colours, no rainbow! No rainbow, no beauty! Long live the queerness! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
605:If All Were Rain And Never Sun
If all were rain and never sun,
No bow could span the hill;
If all were sun and never rain,
There’d be no rainbow still.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
606:Cath ate the banana and held on to his gaze. “I’d give you the moon right now,” she said. Levi’s eyes flashed happily, and he hitched up an eyebrow. “Yeah, but would you slay it for me? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
607:Michael came home and asked, Would you like to write a song with me? I got this idea for a title called A Kiss at the End of a Rainbow. So we had a couple glasses of wine and wrote it. ~ Annette O Toole,
608:The human rainbow had been mutilated by machismo, racism, militarism and a lot of other isms, who have been terribly killing our greatness, our possible greatness, our possible beauty. ~ Eduardo Galeano,
609:We have far too many kids. At one time in the playpen there was standing-room only. It looked like a bus stop for midgets. It used to get so damp in there, we'd have a rainbow above it. ~ Phyllis Diller,
610:You flirt with everything." She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. "You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
611:I think I missed my window." "What window?" "My get-a-life window. I think I was supposed to figure all this stuff out somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-six, and now it's too late. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
612:What's this?" He brought the brown square to his nose.
"It smells musty."
"It's chocolate. You'll love it."
"That's what you said about Skittles. I vomited a rainbow afterward. ~ Melissa Landers,
613:He took her hand. If it were in my power, I would take you to that place from your movie, over the rainbow where dreams come true. But all I can offer is myself, and I'm not going anywhere. ~ Lisa Kessler,
614:Jesus, people are so fucking stupid. Like home is some magical place over the rainbow. A bandage that'll fix everything. What could coming home do for you? Home just makes everything worse ~ Stylo Fantome,
615:Well, I'd love to wear a rainbow everyday and tell the world that everything's okay / But I'll try to carry off a little darkness on my back / 'Til things are brighter, I'm the man in black. ~ Johnny Cash,
616:And I'll see your true colors shining through I see your true colors and that's why I love you so don't be afraid to let them show your true colors, true colors are beautiful like a RAINBOW. ~ Cyndi Lauper,
617:As I watch, the sky fills with clouds of snow feathers from every kind of bird there ever was and even some that only exist in the imagination, like the bluebirds that fly over the rainbow. ~ Kate Atkinson,
618:How do you feel when I smile at you?" he asked - and then he did smile at her, just a little. Not like myself, Cath thought. "Like an idiot," she said softly. "And I never want it to stop. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
619:Just … isn’t giving up allowed sometimes? Isn’t it okay to say, ‘This really hurts, so I’m going to stop trying’?” “It sets a dangerous precedent.” “For avoiding pain?” “For avoiding life. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
620:* The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky . Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. ~ Ruskin Bond,
621:Transaction successful. Safeword: Rainbow Your secret question: Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight? Correct Answer: Pineapples. Watch your back. Sincerely, Happy Kitty ~ Nina G Jones,
622:If we do not now dare everything, the fulfillment of that prophecy, re-created from the Bible in song by a slave, is upon us: God gave Noah the rainbow sign. No more water, fire next time. ~ James A Baldwin,
623:We are all part of the same rainbow. We are all reflections of each other. As unique and diverse as we are in character and skills, the source of all creation is as multidimensional as we are. ~ Suzy Kassem,
624:At the end of the rainbow waited the pot of gold. But rainbows were made of faint and fragile gossamer-and gold weighed a ton-and since the world began, gold was the reason to do most anything. ~ V C Andrews,
625:At the end of the rainbow waited the pot of gold. But rainbows were made of faint and fragile gossamer—and gold weighed a ton—and since the world began, gold was the reason to do most anything. ~ V C Andrews,
626:If we knew that tonight we were going to go blind, we would take a long, last real look at every blade of grass, every cloud formation, every speck of dust, every rainbow, raindrop-everything. ~ Pema Chodron,
627:Oh yeah? You already got a little devil in you?” “No. I have a wicked little rainbow unicorn that shoots glitter and sparkles from its horn and gets bored easily and makes questionable decisions. ~ T S Joyce,
628:Have you ever seen The Goodbye Girl? Don’t watch it if you still want to enjoy romantic comedies. It makes every movie ever made starring Julia Roberts or Sandra Bullock lash itself in shame. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
629:...he never forgot that sweet, violent feeling of having touched some great adventure, of having looked for a moment at some beautiful white light that was, in fact, every color of the rainbow. ~ Stephen King,
630:I always get lost in the library,' he said, 'no matter how many times I go. In fact, I think I get lost there more, the more that I go. Like it's getting to know me and revealing new passages. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
631:But the truth was far deeper. The truth was every single color in a rainbow spectrum, and Maya didn’t have the words to say what she felt. So she didn’t say anything. It was just easier that way. ~ Robin Benway,
632:Found out that the hobbies of Those Best Forgotten include long walks on the beach and sacrificing nymphs on altars. I mean, who’d want to hurt a nymph? That’s like kicking a rainbow in the nuts. ~ Kresley Cole,
633:So far I had the god of evil and the god of terror on my side. My good-guy image was taking a serious beating. Maybe I should recruit some unicorns or kittens with rainbow powers to even us out. ~ Ilona Andrews,
634:They gleam, reflecting rainbow hues—insinuating questions ... What is eternity? Why are the stars? Where do cats lay their eggs? And why don’t hospitals have flushing bedpans built into the beds? ~ Bapsi Sidhwa,
635:When it looks like the sun isn't going to shine any more, God puts a rainbow in the clouds. Each one of us has the possibility, the responsibility, the probability to be the rainbow in the clouds. ~ Maya Angelou,
636:Anyone of us can be a rainbow in somebody's clouds. I want the University of Cincinnati to be a rainbow in the clouds. The University of Cincinnati is really a possibility of hope; it is a rainbow. ~ Maya Angelou,
637:He didn’t want to scream anymore. Didn’t have the energy. The veils now covered his entire field of vision. He didn’t have a body any longer. The colors danced. He melted into the rainbow. ~ John Ajvide Lindqvist,
638:The Wizard of Oz—over the rainbow where everything is in color and you have the power to do what you’ve always wanted and that power has always been with you if only you knew how to tap into it—came ~ Vicki Myron,
639:... women have their roots in the ground, and often those roots are starved and ravaged, yet there is not a human alive who cannot reach and touch, with... her fingers, the very top of God's rainbow. ~ Og Mandino,
640:short poem by Wordsworth, entitled "My Heart leaps up": "My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky. So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, ~ James Baldwin,
641:There is always some beauty in life. Look up … and get on with it. Build you a rainbow. Do it yourself! If you can’t do that, build your mind near one. Learn how to fly. Then … soar a little. ~ J California Cooper,
642:At the end of the rainbow waited the pot of gold. But rainbows were made of faint and fragile gossamer-and gold weighed a ton-and since the world began, gold was the reason to do most anything. ~ Virginia C Andrews,
643:Dumb. He should have gotten the pen. Jewelry was so public... and personal, which was why he'd bought it. He couldn't buy Eleanor a pen. Or a bookmark. He didn't have bookmarklike feelings for her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
644:For that’s what faith is. Faith is trusting what the eye can’t see. Eyes see the prowling lion. Faith sees Daniel’s angel. Eyes see storms. Faith sees Noah’s rainbow. Eyes see giants. Faith sees Canaan. ~ Max Lucado,
645:I'm afraid," Professor Piper said, "afraid that you're never going to discover what you're truly capable of. That you won't get to see-that I won't get to see-any of the wonder that's inside of you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
646:It was the best kind of November day. Cold and crisp, but not quite freezing, not icy. Just cold enough that she could justifiably wear all her favorite clothes—cardigans and tights and leg warmers. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
647:Just... isn't giving up allowed sometimes? Isn't it okay to say, ‘This really hurts, so I’m going to stop trying’?”
“It sets a dangerous precedent.”
“For avoiding pain?”
“For avoiding life. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
648:The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
649:As for my feelings toward "Over the Rainbow", it's become part of my life. It is so symbolic of all dreams and wishes that I'm sure that's why people sometimes get tears in their eyes when they hear it. ~ Judy Garland,
650:As the rainbow is our assurance that the world shall never be destroyed by a flood, so is Jesus our assurance that the floods of human sin shall never drown the faithful kindness of the Lord. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,
651:high school guys only appear hot to high school girls. its something to do with the fluorescent lighting in the classrooms, i think. They're actually really skinny and spotty, and they have giant feet ~ Rainbow Rowell,
652:Id love a werebear. But I guess you need that seductive element of danger. And though bears can be dangerous, when you say werebear it just sounds kind of cuddly. Probably has a rainbow on his belly. ~ Kandyse McClure,
653:It's so easy for someone else to say, 'Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right.' Why not say it? It doesn't cost anything. It doesn't mean anything. No one will hold you to it if you're wrong. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
654:That moment," she told Cath, "when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently—that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
655:There are moments when you can't believe something wonderful is happening. And there are moments when your entire consciousness is filled with knowing absolutely that something wonderful is happening. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
656:Sandor Boatly had never guessed that, properly played, baseball consisted of mathematics, geometry, art, philosophy, ballet, and carnival, all intertwined like the mystical ribbons of color in a rainbow. ~ W P Kinsella,
657:The rainbow began to appear, and sometimes two rainbows, like a mother and her daughter, the one young and beautiful, and the other an old and faint shadow. The rainbow was called the python of the sky. ~ Chinua Achebe,
658:Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
659:Appearance, not reality, is what the clever dog grasps at in these clever days. We spurn the dull-brown solid earth; we build our lives and homes in the fair-seeming rainbow-land of shadow and chimera. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
660:That moment," she told Cath, "when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently - that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
661:But the bond—the bond of romantic love is something else. It has so little to do with propinquity or habit or space or time or life itself. It leaps across all of them, like a rainbow—or a glance. ~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh,
662:Eleanor had never thought about killing herself – ever – but she thought a lot about stopping. Just running until she couldn’t run anymore. Jumping from something so high that she’d never hit the bottom. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
663:May the warm winds of Heaven blow softly on your home
And the Great Spirit bless all who enter there
Make your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows
And may the rainbow always touch your shoulder. ~ P C Cast,
664:Rainbow Dan’s just kinda lame,’ Milk interjected. ‘He smells like patchouli oil.’ I rolled my eyes. He was so young, so clueless. He had no idea that if a man smelled like the Earth it meant he was manly. ~ Sophie Kipner,
665:South Africa is labouring to find its revolutionary path; the colours of the Rainbow Nation have difficulty blending together; the wealthy elites (white, black or Indian) profit from de facto segregation. ~ Tariq Ramadan,
666:What's that thing you wrote about Simon once, that his eyes followed Baz 'like he was the brightest thing in the room, like he cast everything else into shadow'? That's you. You can't look away from him. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
667:Yep. It’s the only way to deal with a man. Your head will always tell you to run. Your heart will look at him with googly eyes and rainbow glasses. But your gut? It’ll tell you the truth every damn time. ~ Lissa Matthews,
668:Listen cousin, the way things are supposed to work out, one day the struggles of all you screwed up little underdogs will forge a permanent rainbow that'll encircle this entire earth, I should live so long. ~ John Nichols,
669:Reyna's image appeared in the rainbow, like a two-way video call. She was in the baths. Scared her out of her mind. -That I would've paid to see, Frank said. I mean-her expression. Not, you know, the baths. ~ Rick Riordan,
670:She saw him after seventh hour in a place she'd never seen him before, carrying a microscope down the hall on the third floor. It was at least twice as nice as seeing him somewhere she expected him to be. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
671:What a great genius this water is! It has thousands of different beautiful faces: It is a rainbow, an ocean, a lake, an iceberg, a waterfall, a river, a drop, a fog… What a great genius this water is! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
672:Knowing they were in the same city again made the missing him flare up inside her. In her stomach. Why were people always going on and on about the heart? Almost everything Levi happened in Cath’s stomach. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
673:The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain. When I'm inspired, I get excited because I can't wait to see what I'll come up with next. Find out who you are and do it on purpose. ~ Dolly Parton,
674:I didn't know someone could love me like this," she said. "Could love me and love me and love me without...needing space." Lincoln wasn't asleep. He rolled on top of her. "There's no air in space," he said. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
675:am colored red and blue and yellow and every other hue of the rainbow. I am long and short, thick and thin, and I often rest coiled up. I can eat a hundred sheep in a row and still be hungry. What am I? ~ Christopher Paolini,
676:table. The bruise that arced across Jacob’s chest looked like the top half of a large circle … or a steering wheel. He traced the edge with his finger, a rainbow of purple-hued skin. A chill ran up his spine. “Did ~ G P Ching,
677:Why was it that her gratitude heightened only after a vexing experience? How much peace did she miss out on by appreciating a rainbow instead of valuing the rain beforehand? Should she not thank God for both? ~ Michelle Griep,
678:Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine—
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade ~ John Keats,
679:You just have to hold it in your mind, and it’s yours to take from. The sun’s treasure. It’s there in those moments when the world makes a rainbow. It’s there in the moment of eclipse and the moment of the storm. ~ Neil Gaiman,
680:I don't know if I even believe in that anymore. The right guy. The perfect guy. The one. I've lost faith in "the". How do you feel about "a" and "an"? Indifferent. So you're considering a life without articles? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
681:I haven't figured out a rainbow yet, They come so quickly and leave so soon. I never have enough time to capture them. Just a bit of blue here or purple there. And then they fade away again. Back into the air. ~ Suzanne Collins,
682:October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace! ~ Rainbow Rowell,
683:The Rainbow Fish shared his scales left end right. And the more he gave away, the more delighted he became. When the water around him filled with glimmering scales, he at last felt at home among the other fish. ~ Marcus Pfister,
684:The rainbow in place of the unicorn? Why didn't God just restore the unicorn? We animals would have been happier with that, instead of a big hint in the sky about God's magnanimity every time it stopped raining. ~ Julian Barnes,
685:Eleanor,” he said, just because he liked saying it, “why do you like me?” “I don’t like you.” He waited. And waited… Then he started to laugh. “You’re kind of mean,” he said. “Don’t laugh. It just encourages me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
686:GOd let women bear children so women would never give up hope. Even if here on earth women were denied everything else, God would always let them bear children. Children were a promise brighter than the rainbow. ~ Ginger Garrett,
687:MAMA (Quietly, woman to woman)
He finally come into his manhood today, didn’t he? Kind of like a rainbow after the rain…
RUTH (Biting her lip, lest her own pride explode in front of Mama)
Yes, Lena. ~ Lorraine Hansberry,
688:Well, at first, I was sure that he would feel the cosmic forces pulling us together. I wanted him so badly, I could feel my heart racing for him with every beat. It was destiny. "He was a magnet and I was steel. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
689:Each of us is as intimately attached to the soil of this beautiful country as are the famous jacaranda trees of Pretoria and the mimosa trees of the bushveld - a rainbow nation at peace with itself and the world. ~ Nelson Mandela,
690:Nor ever yet the melting rainbow's vernal-tinctur'd hues to me have shone so pleasing, as when first the hand of science pointed out the path in which the sun-beams gleaming from the west fall on the watery cloud. ~ Mark Akenside,
691:All I have to say is, Love one another - that is the height of all philosophy. It is beyond all religions. It is the secret of joy - the fountain of Perpetual Youth - the only rainbow on life's dark cloud. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll,
692:When sunlight falls on a crystal, lights of all colors of the rainbow appear; yet they have no substance that you can grasp. Likewise, all thoughts in their infinite variety are utterly without substance. ~ Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche,
693:I think as an author you have to allow a movie to be separate from the book. It's an entirely different animal. I almost never mind when a movie changes or cuts something - as long as it helps the film work better. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
694:We don't know much about our hero before 325 BCE-he just sort of materialized out of thin air like a face-melting UFO or a vengeful, homicidal rainbow, but apparently he had some serious beef with people in charge... ~ Ben Thompson,
695:When I was grown up I wanted to crunch flowering almond trees, and take bites out of the the rainbow nougats of the sunset. Against the night sky of New York, the neon signs appeared to me like giant sweatmeats ~ Simone de Beauvoir,
696:I have devoted a whole book (Unweaving the Rainbow) to ultimate meaning, to the poetry of science, and to rebutting, specifically and at length, the charge of nihilistic negativity, so I shall restrain myself here. ~ Richard Dawkins,
697:I mean, maybe one day we will live in a more optimum world where terrorists come in every color of the rainbow. But the truth is, now they don't. I mean, the people who are trying to get us are young Muslim men, period. ~ Bill Maher,
698:I love crystals, the beauty of their forms and formation; liquids, dormant, distilling, sloshing! The fumes, the odors good or bad, the rainbow of colors; the gleaming vessels of every size, shape and purpose. ~ Robert Burns Woodward,
699:I wanted to write a book that talked about the emotions of children, which is the rainbow. We all have moods. We talk about being blue when we're sad, and being yellow when we're cowards, and when we're mad, we're red. ~ Dolly Parton,
700:[Man's] life consists in a relation with all things: stone, earth, trees, flowers, water, insects, fishes, birds, creatures, sun,rainbow, children, women, other men. But his greatest and final relation is with the sun. ~ D H Lawrence,
701:a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow’s end, never honest, nor kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the future every real gift which is offered them in the Present. ~ C S Lewis,
702:It's more like you meet someone, and you fall in love, and you hope that that person is the one - and then at some point, you have to put down your chips. You just have to make a commitment and hope that you're right. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
703:There are as many forms of advice as there are colors of the rainbow. Remember that good advice can come from bad people and bad advice from good people. The important thing about advice is that it is simply that. Advice. ~ Al Franken,
704:Sometimes in June, when I see unearned dividends of dew hung on every lupine, I have doubts about the real poverty of the sands. On solvent farmlands lupines do not even grow, much less collect a daily rainbow of jewels. ~ Aldo Leopold,
705:Last night you said you wanted to know what to expect so you could better select your attire. I told you we were going to visit a vampire in a Goth-den tonight. Why, then, Ms. Lane, do you look like a perky rainbow? ~ Karen Marie Moning,
706:Or maybe, he thought now, he just didn't recognize all those other girls. The way a computer drive will spit out a disk if it doesn't recognize the formatting. When he touched Eleanor's hand, he recognized her. He knew. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
707:If men were to be destroyed and the books they have written were to be transmitted to a new race of creatures, in a new world, what kind of record would be found in them of so remarkable a phenomenon as the rainbow? ~ Henry David Thoreau,
708:I look like a hobo?" "Worse," he said. "Like a sad hobo clown." "And you like it?" "I love it." As soon as he said it, she broke into a smile. And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him. Something always did. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
709:I'm fine," [her dad] said gently. "Back on the horse, Cath.' 'What's the horse?' she sighed, watching him pull on a South High hoodie. 'Jogging? Working too much?' 'Living,' he said, a little too loud. 'Life's the horse. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
710:I've never loved the name "Rainbow" - it seems like a name you'd give to your stuffed unicorn - but I really like having an unusual name. It stands out. And it made me feel like it was okay to stand out. To be different. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
711:Scott might eventually come to trust her. I might eventually come to trust her. But Chang would sprout rainbow colored feathers and sing sonnets before he’d trust Rana. And Damon would turn into a unicorn and shit diamonds. ~ J C Daniels,
712:We sometimes think that being grateful is what we do after our problems are solved, but how terribly shortsighted that is. How much of life do we miss by waiting to see the rainbow before thanking God that there is rain? ~ Robert D Hales,
713:You will pass through storms and heavy rains, and at times you will suffer defeat. The essence of the creative life, however, is not to give up in the face of defeat but to follow the rainbow that exists within your heart. ~ Daisaku Ikeda,
714:I'm the Cool One," she told herself. "Somebody give me some tequila because I'll totally drink it. And there's no way you're going to find me later having a panic attack in your parents' bathroom. Who wants to French-kiss? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
715:The shows of the day, the dewy morning, the rainbow, mountains, orchards in blossom, stars, moonlight, shadows in still water, andthe like, if too eagerly hunted, become shows merely, and mock us with their unreality. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
716:Wait—do angels even get laid? And if so, are heaven orgasms a million times better than earth orgasms? I bet yes.”
“Uh-doy. Where do you think rainbows come from? Whenever you see a rainbow, that means an angel just came. ~ Elle Kennedy,
717:Wherever we go in the world we find other men speaking the same language, planning the same plans, dreaming the same dreams. And one of the big four - brownie, or brookie, cutthroat or rainbow - is the cause of it all ~ Roderick Haig Brown,
718:The older you grow the more of it you’ll see. The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. As ~ Harper Lee,
719:Through love, tribes have been intermixing colors to reveal a new rainbow world. And as more time passes, this racial and cultural blending will make it harder for humans to side with one race, nation or religion over another. ~ Suzy Kassem,
720:Unless he reached out now, in the days that mattered, he would learn that some roads could not be refound and that true love took time and effort … that a life lived in the glare of summer sunlight never produced a rainbow. ~ Kristin Hannah,
721:You know," he said, "I keep wanting to say that it's like Simon Snow threw up in here... but it's more like someone else ate Simon Snow—like somebody went to an all-you-care-to-eat Simon Snow buffet—and then threw up in here. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
722:He tried not to love that she could recite scenes from Ghostbusters, that she liked kung fu movies and could name all of the original X-Men— because those seemed like reasons a guy would fall for a girl in a Kevin Smith movie. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
723:How do you not like the Internet? That's like saying, 'I don't like things that are convenient. And easy. I don't like having access to all of mankind's recorded discoveries at my fingertips. I don't like light. And knowledge. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
724:I feel sorry for you, and I'm going to be your friend."
"I don't want to be your friend," Cath said as sternly as she could. "I like that we're not friends."
"Me, too. I'm sorry you ruined it by being so pathetic. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
725:When we persue happiness for it's own sake, it's like chasing the end of a rainbow. It will always elude us. It is when we're committed to some higher purpose that happiness somehow breaks through and comes to dwell with us. ~ Lawana Blackwell,
726:And you remember the rainbow in the Bible is the sign of peace. The rainbow is the sign of prosperity. We want peace, prosperity and justice and we can have it when all the people of God, the rainbow people of God, work together. ~ Desmond Tutu,
727:Be less about protecting any type of identity affiliated to a country or even ethnic background. Be more about the fact that we're here for a short time and Heaven is going to be a rainbow of people, multiculture, every generation. ~ Max Lucado,
728:I'm not complaining about my cell phone - all my friends are in there, and all my favorite songs and all my favorite Benedict Cumberbatch GIFs; I don't want to give it up. But cell phones are the worst for talking on the phone. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
729:Latin beauty means being proud of yourself and your culture; being sophisticated and beautiful; and embracing your complexion - whether you have light or dark skin - because it's gorgeous. We're such a beautiful rainbow of women. ~ Chrissie Fit,
730:She’d painted her nails with rainbow stripes and it occurred to him that Vicki was just as beautiful and mysterious as a rainbow.
One he’d been chasing for years without ever coming close to reaching the pot of gold at the end. ~ Bella Andre,
731:The novel is a perfect medium for revealing to us the changing rainbow of our living relationships. The novel can help us to live,as nothing else can: no didactic Scripture, anyhow. If the novelist keeps his thumb out of the pan. ~ D H Lawrence,
732:Anyone can see that he’s bad,” said Marcus, speaking calmly, “but we’ve splinted it, we’ve wrapped it, and I can drug him so hard he’ll think he’s flying home on a magical gumdrop rainbow. You could get high on his farts.” “Patterson ~ Dan Wells,
733:Flowers grow beneath her feet, but she is not dead at all. The years have not diminished the Rice Mother. I see her, fierce and magical. Stop despairing and call to her, and you will see, she will come bearing a rainbow of dreams. ~ Rani Manicka,
734:Everywhere she looked, she saw bright colors: on the drab, gray concrete apartments, on the tin-roofed, open-fronted stores, in the muddy water flowing in the gutters. It was as though a rainbow had melted into her eyes. Rasheed ~ Khaled Hosseini,
735:Got plans for the rest of the day ?"
"No plans," I whispered. Test drive your mattress? Let me pretend to be a Skittle and you can taste my rainbow? Fifty Shades me? Please ! Oh, holy horror, I'm freaking losing it. ~ Christine Zolendz,
736:Hey,' he said. It came out hard and frustrated. 'I told you to smile because you're pretty when you smile.' She walked to the bottom of the steps, then looked back at him. 'It'd be better if you thought I was pretty when I don't. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
737:Because she knows what it's like to live in a world of black, and black, and the tiny bit of white, but when she escaped it, she didn't find the rainbow of colors, the dresses, the singing, the dancing. She only found ugliness. ~ Alexandra Bracken,
738:If God put the rainbows right in the clouds themselves, each one of us in the direst and dullest and most dreaded and dreary moments can see a possibility of hope ... Each one of us has the chance to be a rainbow in somebody's cloud. ~ Maya Angelou,
739:You think I'm cute?" He said thinkly, pulling on her hand. She was glad he couldn't see her face. "I think you're..." Beautiful. Breathtaking. Like the person in a Greek myth who makes one of the gods stop caring about being a god. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
740:He already knows what I look like," Cath said. "There's no point in being tricky about it now." "How is doing your hair--and maybe putting on some lip gloss--being tricky?" "It's like I'm trying to distract him with something shiny. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
741:The strange thing about seeing someone for first time in nine years is the way they look totally different, just for a second, a split second, and then they look at you the way they always have, as if no time has passed between you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
742:Cath wanted to go back and rewrite every scene she'd ever written about Baz or Simon's chests. She'd written them flat and sharp and hard. Levi was all soft motion and breath, curves and warm hollows. Levi's chest was a living thing. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
743:Somebody once said that the Irish derived the greatest benefit from the English language. They court it like a beautiful woman. They make it bray with donkey laughter, they fling it at the sky like paint pots full of rainbow colors. ~ Malachy McCourt,
744:The dying need but little, dear, —    A glass of water's all, A flower's unobtrusive face    To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,    And certainly that one No color in the rainbow    Perceives when you are gone. ~ Emily Dickinson,
745:The last mad throb of red just as it turns green; the ultimate shriek of orange calling all the blues of heaven for relief and support... each color almost regains the fun it must have felt within itself on forming the first rainbow. ~ Charles Demuth,
746:For each thorn, there's a rosebud... For each twilight - a dawn... For each trial - the strength to carry on, For each storm cloud - a rainbow... For each shadow - the sun... For each parting - sweet memories when sorrow is done. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
747:Gods should be iridescent, like the rainbow in the storm. Man creates a God in his own image, and the gods grow old along with the men that made them... But the god-stuff roars eternally, like the sea, with too vast a sound to be heard. ~ D H Lawrence,
748:What are the chances you’d ever meet someone like that? he wondered. Someone you could love forever, someone who would forever love you back? And what did you do when that person was born half a world away? The math seemed impossible. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
749:You always ask that. Why. Like there's an answer for everything. Not everybody has your life, you know, or your family. In your life, things happen for reasons. People make sense. But that's not my life. Nobody in my life makes sense. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
750:But I plucked a new, different, worldly soul for myself -- maybe a soul I found in the spray thrown up by the surge of that distant African river as it plummets onto black rocks and sends up into the sun a permanent arc of a rainbow. ~ Alexandra Fuller,
751:from the poem Hum, Hum

The resurrection of the morning.
The mystery of the night.
The hummingbird's wings.
The excitement of thunder.
The rainbow in the waterfall.
Wild mustard, that rough blaze of the fields. ~ Mary Oliver,
752:How bad do you want cancer? Bad enough to eat a rainbow of it? Personally, I think the red cancer would be the worst, but anything you swallow with artificial hues in it is going to pop a tumor out of your body the day after you eat it. ~ Laurie Notaro,
753:One of the deep mysteries to me is our logo, the symbol of lust and knowledge, bitten into, all crossed with the colors of the rainbow in the wrong order. You couldn't dream a more appropriate logo: lust, knowledge, hope and anarchy. ~ Jean Louis Gassee,
754:She didn't have words for what Levi was. He was a cave painting. He was The Red Ballon. She lifted her heels and pulled him forward until his face was so close, she could look at only one of his eyes at a time. "You're magic," she said. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
755:When a beauty hits you, you never complain! You just start demanding for stronger hits! Find a beauty and let it hit you! Find a spectacular rainbow amongst the clouds, find a river shining glamorously under the sun! Let it hit you! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
756:It was still very wet under the trees. A careless tug at a branch might flip cold rainbow-edged drops down your back. And the sky was gray as concrete. But they enjoyed the silence, the soft sucking ground matted with last year's needles. ~ Jean Thompson,
757:Love is a fiction, a fable, an ode spun by poets and drunks, a fantastical tale told across one thousand and one nights, it is the genie in the bottle, it is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, it's the lie designed to seduce you. ~ Lauren Blakely,
758:We cannot approach beauty. Its nature is like opaline doves'-neck lustres, hovering and evanescent. Herein it resembles the most excellent things, which all have this rainbow character, defying all attempts at appropriation and use. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
759:"What about him?" she’d say, finding an attractive guy to point out while they were standing in the lunch line. "Do you want to kiss him?" "I don’t want to kiss a stranger," Cath would answer. "I’m not interested in lips out of context." ~ Rainbow Rowell,
760:I see the rainbow in the sky, the dew upon the grass; I see them, and I ask not why they glimmer or they pass. With folded arms I linger not to call them back; 'twere vain: In this, or in some other spot, I know they'll shine again. ~ Walter Savage Landor,
761:You have to beat out for yourself many mornings on the windy headlands the sense of the fact that you get the same rainbow in the cloud drift over Waban and the spray of your garden hose. And not necessarily then do you live up to it. ~ Mary Hunter Austin,
762:And in those first fifty years I believed there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and it was my goal to find that pot of gold. Now I realize that we are the rainbow, the pot of gold is love, and that is what we actually are. ~ Gerald G Jampolsky,
763:Oh, you tears,
I'm thankful that you run.
Though you trickle in the darkness,
You shall glitter in the sun.
The rainbow could not shine if the rain refused to fall;
And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all. ~ Charles Mackay,
764:Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity. ~ Herman Melville,
765:All these seven colors are part of one rainbow, yet they are all different. They have their own quality, their own identity, their own flavor to it. So it is a rainbow. The Divine loves diversity, that is why he made us all different. ~ Sri Sri Ravi Shankar,
766:I think he just gets like this sometimes. Like he needs to pull away. I think of it like winter. During winter, it isn't that the sun is gone (or cheating on you with another planet). You can still see it in the sky. It's just farther away. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
767:I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but it almost seemed like saying that to her would be diminishing it. You don't reassure a rainbow it's colourful, or a star that it shines. Sometimes, not saying something says more than anything else. ~ Nina G Jones,
768:XXXVII. The dying need but little, dear, —    A glass of water's all, A flower's unobtrusive face    To punctuate the wall, A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,    And certainly that one No color in the rainbow    Perceives when you are gone. ~ Emily Dickinson,
769:Amir took a deep breath. To his credit, he didn't collapse, curl into a ball, or cry, all of which would have been perfectly acceptable responses to finding out there were squeaky-voiced beings in the sky that would invite you up their rainbow. ~ Rick Riordan,
770:In our city spring came from the sky, not from the soil, which was ruled by stone that recognizes no seasonal change. The change of the season could be glimpsed in the thinning of clouds, the appearance of the birds and the occasional rainbow. ~ Ismail Kadare,
771:People want black-and-white answers, but Scripture is rainbow arch across a stormy sky. Our sacred book is not an indexed answer book or life manual; it is also a grand story, mystery, invitation, truth and wisdom, and a passionate love letter. ~ Sarah Bessey,
772:Writing is a luxury or, with luck, a rainbow of colors. It is my lifesaver when the water of the river or the sea tries to drag me under. When you want to die you fall in love with yourself, you look for something touching that will save you. ~ Silvina Ocampo,
773:You think that holding someone hard will bring them closer. You think that you can hold them so hard that you'll still feel them, embossed on you, when you pull away. Every time Eleanor pulled away from Park, she felt the gasping loss of him. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
774:I’ll call Rosie and see what I can do,” she muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at me. Blue with light purple hair. And that Harley Quinn courier bag.

How could you not want to fuck this chick? Of course I was hard. She looked like a rainbow. ~ L J Shen,
775:Only you and I can help the sun rise each coming morning. If we don't, it may drench itself out in sorrow. You special, miraculous, unrepeatable, fragile, fearful, tender, lost, sparkling ruby emerald jewel, rainbow splendor person. It's up to you. ~ Joan Baez,
776:Satan and his devils want a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow's end, never honest, nor kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the Future every real gift which is offered them in the Present. ~ C S Lewis,
777:The worst thing about the internet, as far as Greg's bosses were concerned, was that it was now impossible to distinguish a roomful of people working diligently from a roomful of people taking the What-Kind-of-Dog-Am-I? online personality quiz ~ Rainbow Rowell,
778:(In our city spring came from the sky, not from the soil, which was ruled by stone that recognizes no seasonal change. The change of the season could be glimpsed in the thinning of clouds, the appearance of the birds and the occasional rainbow.) ~ Ismail Kadare,
779:What brings understanding is love. When your heart is full, then you will listen to the teacher, to the beggar, to the laughter of children, to the rainbow, and to the sorrow of man. Under every stone and leaf, that which is eternal exists. ~ Jiddu Krishnamurti,
780:If there is something that appears to lie beyond the natural world as it is now imperfectly understood, we hope eventually to understand it and embrace it within the natural. As ever when we unweave a rainbow, it will not become less wonderful. ~ Richard Dawkins,
781:If there is something that appears to lie beyond the natural world as it is now imperfectly understood, we hope to eventually understand it and embrace it within the natural. As ever when we unweave a rainbow, it will not become less wonderful. ~ Richard Dawkins,
782:what brings you happiness?” “Mr. Cohen . . .” “Benny.” “Benny, I don’t really think much about it. I just go about my life day to day. Stuff happens. Some good. Some bad. I don’t know what’s at the end of the rainbow, or even if there is a rainbow. ~ Paul Levine,
783:I was blessed to have family members who encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Whether it is your parents, or your uncles or your aunts or even the neighbor down the road, it's important that kids have someone who encourages them to chase their rainbow. ~ Dolly Parton,
784:They had varied results, including one rather explosive multicolored vomit rainbow that the team oohed and aahed over, and even Sean was impressed once it stopped. He decided to keep a vial of that version in case he ever needed it for a practical joke. ~ Anonymous,
785:This is astounding, amazing, so incredibly thrilling. Only today a world travelling cabaret performing drag queen took me out for lunch and named me as his new best friend. The idea plunges my black and white world into a vibrant techni-colour rainbow. ~ L H Cosway,
786:Guten Morgan
Guten Morgan was a limited edition print folio containing the poems
'Less is not better'
'Poetry comes and goes'
'Rainbow'
'Fled'
'Shadows'
'Zoo'
Images of the prints from this folio are viewable below.
~ Edwin Morgan,
787:May God give you . . . For every storm, a rainbow, For every tear, a smile, For every care, a promise, And a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, A faithful friend to share, For every sigh, a sweet song, And an answer for each prayer. ~ Paulo Coelho,
788:For an actor who has the ability to take a chance, which may make him look like a fool, but may end in the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow so to speak. So you have to take chances to be a bit dangerous and a bit silly every now and then and playful. ~ Max Irons,
789:Only you and I can help the sun rise each coming morning. If we don't, it may drench itself out in sorrow.

You special, miraculous, unrepeatable, fragile, fearful, tender, lost, sparkling ruby emerald jewel, rainbow splendor person. It's up to you. ~ Joan Baez,
790:Reyna put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Coach, we’ll get you to your wife, but let’s do it right. Tyson, how did you and Ella get out to this ship?’
Rainbow!’
‘You … took a rainbow?’
‘He is my fish pony friend.’
‘A hippocampus,’ Nico advised. ~ Rick Riordan,
791:Until this moment, she’d kept Park in a place in her head that she thought Richie couldn't get to. Completely separate from this house and everything that happened here. (It was a pretty awesome place. Like the only part of her head fit for praying.) ~ Rainbow Rowell,
792:All the borders in the world are man-made There are no borders, we are all hooked together. Everything is connected. There is no line of demarcation. We are hooked together like the colors of a rainbow, our problem is ignorance, we don't understand that. ~ Bob Proctor,
793:I spent the morning as the ceiling in the warlocks’ tent. Found out that the hobbies of Those Best Forgotten include long walks on the beach and sacrificing nymphs on altars. I mean, who’d want to hurt a nymph? That’s like kicking a rainbow in the nuts. ~ Kresley Cole,
794:My heart felt like it was going to explode as I burst out crying. He laughed, "Hey, what's with the April showers?" I half giggled, half sniffed as he wiped my cheeks with his thumb. "These are happy tears" I whispered. He grinned, "No rain, no rainbow. ~ Karli Perrin,
795:At concerts, for me, the orchestra was like a painter. It flooded me with all the colours of the rainbow. If the violin came in by itself, I was suddenly filled with gold and fire, and with red so bright I could not remember having seen it on any object. ~ James Elkins,
796:Either there are no corporeal substances, and bodies are merely phenomena which are true or consistent with each other, such as a rainbow or a perfectly coherent dream, or there is in all corporeal substances something analogous to the soul. ~ Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz,
797:I couldn't love anyone more than I do you, it would kill me. And I couldn't love anyone less because it would always feel like less. Even if I loved some other girl, that's all I would ever think about, the difference between loving her and loving you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
798:Not for nothing, though, was Harry the youngest Seeker in a century. He had a knack for spotting things other people didn’t. After a minute’s weaving about through the whirl of rainbow feathers, he noticed a large silver key that had a bent wing, as if it ~ J K Rowling,
799:The gods never meant you to live forever, so why spoil they life they did give you? Is a rainbow any less beautiful because it's short-lived? Or because you can't grasp hold of it? Consider, man. Perhaps it is beautiful expressly because of that. ~ Geraldine McCaughrean,
800:Impossible
How eyes can control dreams,
rainbow hues quiver,
same scenes appear
different to each eye,
as innumerable oases
exist in desert
or a thought acquires
limitless shapes.
[Translated by Prakash Chander]
~ Amjad Islam Amjad,
801:Holly had taken to calling us the rainbow coalition team, since we had one white female, and males of the Black, Asian, and Other categories. All we needed was a lesbian and a guy in a wheelchair and we were ready to salve even the biggest liberal's angst. ~ Larry Correia,
802:Sitting in an armchair under yellow lamplight in front of a black window in an apartment whose only other light was the milky rainbow of the Wurlitzer, Richard was like a giant, welcoming ear. Or a reflecting device, beaming her best self back at her. ~ Garth Risk Hallberg,
803:You're growing up. And rain sort of remains on the branches of a tree that will someday rule the Earth. And it's good that there is rain. It clears the month of your sorry rainbow expressions, and it clears the streets of the silent armies... so we can dance. ~ Jim Carroll,
804:I don’t have anything bad to say about the guy they hired to replace me, Ronnie James Dio, who’d previously been with Rainbow. He’s a great singer. Then again, he ain’t me, and I ain’t him. So I just wish they’d called the band Black Sabbath II. ~ Ozzy Osbourne,
805:This conference ? of, for and about women ? is, in itself, a rainbow in the clouds. When numerous women come together and show that they care, not only for themselves but also for each other, that is the occasion when a rainbow is shining down on somebody else. ~ Maya Angelou,
806:Is there anything that doesn’t piss you off?”

“Yeah, flowers and sunshine. But there’s none of that to be found since this world fell into a hellhole, so you won’t see me cracking rainbow smiles or going easy on you anytime soon.”

- Jet and Skylla ~ Rachael Wade,
807:Mature as he was, she might yet be able to help him to the building of the rainbow bridge that should connect the prose in us with the passion. Without it we are meaningless fragments, half monks, half beasts, unconnected arches that have never joined into a man. ~ E M Forster,
808:When I set a glass prism on a windowsill and allow the sun to flood through it, a spectrum of colors dances on the floor. What we call "white" is a rainbow of colored rays packed into a small space. The prism sets them free. Love is the white light of emotion. ~ Diane Ackerman,
809:The politicians would be blind men arguing over the colors of the rainbow. If the government had subjected its policy “to a randomized controlled trial then we might, by now, have known its true worth and be some way ahead in our thinking,” Cochrane observed. ~ Philip E Tetlock,
810:God's wisdom is like the rainbow, in symmetry, beauty, and variety. He does not paint scenes merely in black and white, but uses a riot of colour from the heavenly palette in order to show the wonder of His wise dealings with His people. - Sinclair Ferguson ~ John F MacArthur Jr,
811:What did he have to mope about, really? What more did he want?...Love. Purpose. Those are the things that you can't plan for. Those are the things that just happen. And what if they don't happen? Do you spend your whole life pining for them? Waiting to be happy? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
812:I grew up looking at the Sunset Strip, literally. The things that I remember are the Rainbow Room, the Roxy, the Bizarries, Tower, I grew up my whole life going there, Filthy McNasty's and I said, I need these things and now fill it in with other iconic buildings. ~ Adam Shankman,
813:Maybe we should go on lots of double dates,” Cath said, “and then we can get married on the same day in a double ceremony, in matching dresses, and the four of us will light the unity candle all at the same time.” “Pfft,” Levi said, “I’m picking out my own dress. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
814:Not long ago I learned from a certain person in considerable detail about the worthlessness of your character. All the same, it is you who have given me strength, you who have put the rainbow of revolution in my breast. It is you who have given an object to my life. ~ Osamu Dazai,
815:Tyson- "Cash? Like...green paper?" Percy- "Yeah." Tyson- "Like the kind in duffel bags?" Percy-"Yeah, but we lost those bags days a-g-g--." "Tyson! How did you--" Tyson- "Thought it was a feed bag for Rainbow. Found it floating in sea, but only paper inside. Sorry. ~ Rick Riordan,
816:The past is perpetually in play, always malleable, ever salvageable. Did any of this story happen as I said it did? The telling of a tale puts a prism to it from which incalculable new angles rainbow forth. You made this as real as I; remember it however you'd like. ~ Daniel Kraus,
817:They sang the words in unison, yet somehow created a web of sounds with their voices. It was like hearing a piece of fabric woven with all the colors of a rainbow. I did not know that such beauty could be formed by the human mouth. I had never heard harmony before. ~ Anita Diament,
818:Anytime I see a rainbow, what comes into my mind is how skillful and talented someone was to create an ark that didn't leak through a prolong period of flood. We must work our talents out and work them out skillfully and then our rainbow of excellence will show. ~ Israelmore Ayivor,
819:It just seemed that we always ended up at the Rainbow, to the point where they finally just said, why don't you guys go up into this loft where we'll kind of protect people from coming around and, you know, sitting on the tables. And we thought that was a great idea. ~ Alice Cooper,
820:The whole point of fanfiction is that you get to play inside somebody else's universe. Rewrite the rules. Or bend them. The story doesn't have to end. You can stay in this world, this world you love, as long as you want, as long as you keep thinking of new stories. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
821:Yesterday the Supreme Court lifted the ban on same-sex marriage in Kansas. They didn't give a reason for the ruling, but then again when a state is famous for a Judy Garland musical about a rainbow and a wizard who comes out of a closet, do you really need an excuse? ~ Jimmy Fallon,
822:Crossing the uplands of time, Skirting the borders of night, Scaling the face of the peak of dreams, We enter the region of light, And hastening on with eager intent, Arrive at the rainbow's end, And here uncover the pot of gold Buried deep in the heart of a friend. ~ Grace Coolidge,
823:I like her. Not the body she comes in.
“Are you indecisive?” I wonder. “It looks like you have the rainbow in there.”
“Precisely.” She smiles, licking the chocolate off her fingers. “Unicorns love rainbows. I love unicorns. Therefore thy hair must be a rainbow. ~ Krista Ritchie,
824:May God give you . . . For every storm, a rainbow, for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise, and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share. For every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for each prayer. Irish blessing ~ Janice Thompson,
825:The seven things that make up the rainbow of India's development are India's strong and deep rooted family system, Agriculture-Animal development, India's Matru Shakti (women power), Natural Resources (Jal, Jameen, Jungle), Youth power, Vibrant Democracy and Knowledge. ~ Narendra Modi,
826:A simple way to make sure that you are getting a balanced diet is to include the six tastes (sweet, salty, sour, pungent, bitter, and astringent) in each meal. Along with the six tastes, filling your plate with the colors of the rainbow promotes a long and healthy life. ~ Deepak Chopra,
827:A beautiful rain is a treasure box. Inside this magical box there is an artistic umbrella, there is a pretty rainbow, there is a sweet bird singing and there is a lovely smell of earth! Something wonderful has a great potential to create some other wonderful things! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
828:I remember a rainbow spectrum of men’s wing tips parked in rows, triple-A narrow, the leather dyed snake green, lemon yellow, and unstable shades of vermilion and Ditto-ink blue. All of humanity dresses in uniforms of one sort or another, and these shoes were for pimps. ~ Rachel Kushner,
829:I remember opening my dad's closet and there were, like, 40 suits, every color of the rainbow, plaid and winter and summer. He had two jewelry boxes full of watches and lighters and cuff links. And just... he was that guy. He was probably unfulfilled in his life in many ways. ~ Jon Hamm,
830:Everybody drinks," she said calmly. The Only Rational One. "Your sister doesn't." When rolled her eyes. "Forgive me, but I'm not going to spend my college years sitting soberly in my dorm room, writing about gay magicians." "Objection," Cath said, reaching for a burrito. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
831:Following revelations that he fathered a love child, the good Reverend Jesse Jackson - or should we say the 'very' good Reverend - is enduring the scandal with the help of family and friends. A scandal which gives clearer meaning to the Rainbow Coalition's Operation 'Push'. ~ Jon Stewart,
832:What does it matter, she thought, if businesses are left unattended, if people are not always as we want them to be; we need the time just to be human, to enjoy something like this: a boy chasing ants, a dry land drinking at last, birds in the the sky, a rainbow. ~ Alexander McCall Smith,
833:I have learned the beauty of childhood, now. Every trivial thing holds great significance. You are sensitive and vulnerable to everything around you; you notice the changing leaves and all the colors in the rainbow. Every conversation leaves a brilliant imprint on your mind. ~ Kanza Javed,
834:It felt good to be writing in her own room, in her own bed. To get lost in the World of Mages and stay lost. To not hear any voices in her head but Simon's and Baz's. Not even her own. This was why Cath wrote fic. For these hours when their world supplanted the real world. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
835:Cold winds blow and thick ice forms, I conjure up this fairy storm. To seven corners of the human world the Rainbow Fairies will be hurled! I curse every part of Fairyland, with a frosty wave of my icy hand. For now and always, from this day, Fairyland will be cold and gray! ~ Daisy Meadows,
836:I choose to rise up out of that storm and see that in moments of desperation, fear, and helplessness, each of us can be a rainbow of hope, doing what we can to extend ourselves in kindness and grace to one another. And I know for sure that there is no them - there's only us. ~ Oprah Winfrey,
837:If you take myth and folklore, and these things that speak in symbols, they can be interpreted in so many ways that although the actual image is clear enough, the interpretation is infinitely blurred, a sort of enormous rainbow of every possible colour you could imagine. ~ Diana Wynne Jones,
838:The snow came up to the top of Georgie's calves - she had to lift her feet high to make any progress. Her ears and eyelids were freezing ... God, she'd never even been able to imagine this much cold before. How could people live someplace that so obviously didn't want them? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
839:It never occurred to me when I was young that I could be an author. That would be like saying, "I want to be a movie star" or "I want to be a wizard." I didn't have any concept of what that path would look like. Maybe that's why I didn't publish my first book until I was 38. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
840:As in the old Irish blessing, may God give you, for every storm, a rainbow; for every tear, a smile. For every care, a promise; a blessing for every trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share; for every sigh, a sweet song, and an answer for every prayer. ~ Sandra D Bricker,
841:At home in South Africa I have sometimes said in big meetings where you have black and white together: 'Raise your hands!' Then I have said: 'Move your hands,' and I've said 'Look at your hands - different colors representing different people. You are the Rainbow People of God.' ~ Desmond Tutu,
842:You just have to hold it in your mind, and it’s yours to take from. The sun’s treasure. It’s there in those moments when the world makes a rainbow. It’s there in the moment of eclipse and the moment of the storm.” And he showed Shadow how to do the thing. This time Shadow got it. ~ Neil Gaiman,
843:The world is no longer white, black, yellow and brown. Through love, tribes have been intermixing colors to reveal a new rainbow world. And as more time passes, this racial and cultural blending will make it harder for humans to side with one race, nation or religion over another. ~ Suzy Kassem,
844:Tyson- "Cash? Like...green paper?"
Percy- "Yeah."
Tyson- "Like the kind in duffel bags?"
Percy-"Yeah, but we lost those bags days a-g-g--."
"Tyson! How did you--"
Tyson- "Thought it was a feed bag for Rainbow. Found it floating in sea, but only paper inside. Sorry. ~ Rick Riordan,
845:Everton" (Francis)
Alex turned his head to view a rainbow peacock mask bobbing toward him. "Good Lord, Francis, you are replendent," he said admiringly.
The peacock stopped beside him. "Dash it, Everton, how'd you know it was me?"
You're still wearing your faux ruby ring. ~ Suzanne Enoch,
846:The Dying Need But Little, Dear,-The dying need but little, dear,-A glass of water's all,
A flower's unobtrusive face
To punctuate the wall,
A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,
And certainly that one
No color in the rainbow
Perceives when you are gone.
~ Emily Dickinson,
847:There's no way out of this, it's stark: live or die. Every given moment a bubble that bursts. Step on, from one to the next, ever onwards, a rainbow of stepping stones, each bursting softly as your foot touches and passes on. Till one step finds only empty air. Till that step, live. ~ Carol Birch,
848:He cranks up his arm, rears back, and throws, and the ball, taking an even more perfect path than it took off the bat, travels in a white arc, seeming to leave behind a line like a streak of forgotten rainbow as it drops over the fence, silent as a star falling into a distant ocean. ~ W P Kinsella,
849:The Rainbow Never Tells Me
97
The rainbow never tells me
That gust and storm are by,
Yet is she more convincing
Than Philosophy.
My flowers turn from Forums—
Yet eloquent declare
What Cato couldn't prove me
Except the birds were here!
~ Emily Dickinson,
850:Tiada was all colors of the rainbow and of fire. She swooped low, churning the clouds in her wake, making a hard rain fall out over the bay. The dragon’s light warmed Darna, and though Tiada flew back behind the cloud cover, for a moment Darna felt that all was right with the world. ~ Amelia Smith,
851:I still think marriage is a goofy institution if you set it up as this institution with a predetermined set of rules. It's unhealthy to have a predisposed expectation of what you think a marriage should be - as this thing at the end of the rainbow. False expectations take away joy. ~ Sandra Bullock,
852:Don't leave me, Rainbow Girl."
Rainbow Girl. Was that who I was?
It seemed so long ago. I smiled faintly. "Remember the skirt I wore to Mallucé's the night you told me to dress Goth?"
"It's upstairs in your closet. Never throw it away. It looked like a wet dream on you. ~ Karen Marie Moning,
853:It wasn't a pretty sunset. The colors were as expected: violet clouds, bright orange and pink underneath, against the pale blue sky. But the clouds were high cirrus, wispy, and crossed with the contrails of F-16s, a colorful glowing mess. I said, "It looks like God barfed a rainbow. ~ Jennifer Echols,
854:You aren’t making my life harder. I’m a fucking mess. I’ve always been. But this…you and me,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. He shook his head. “Honestly, you’re a fucking rainbow in my gray sky. You’re the only bit of color I have. And I don’t know what to do about that. ~ Scarlett Cole,
855:Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
856:Water flying, a mocking rainbow of God’s Promise in the spray, sparkling banner over the work of His blind hammer. No holes in this man-child that Starling could see. On the speakers “Macarena” pounding, a strobe light going off and off and off until Hare dragged the photographer away. ~ Thomas Harris,
857:between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. ~ Donna Tartt,
858:I hate false advertising, like 'Skittles: taste the rainbow.' No one's ever been like, 'Rainbow, right you guys?' Or what's Reese's? 'There's no wrong way to eat a Reese's.' Oh, really? Tell that to my uncle who used to put them in my underwear. Alright, maybe your uncles didn't love you. ~ Amy Schumer,
859:Tightly-plotted, well-researched and beautifully drawn, this book is a real delight. Garen Ewing's mix of engaging characters, exciting old-school adventure, attractive ligne claire artwork and fluid storytelling makes The Rainbow Orchid easily one of the best graphic novels of the year. ~ Bryan Talbot,
860:... we banked around until we found a rainbow in the dark. It was on this occasion that I discovered that Granuaile had never heard of Ronnie James Dio. My shock at this news was such that I almost completely missed the fact that we were traveling on Bifrost, the rainbow bridge to Asgard. ~ Kevin Hearne,
861:I even tried to usher her into this century by explaining that wearing rainbows didn’t automatically mean a person was gay. The Lucky Charms leprechaun was not necessarily a homosexual. The Care Bear with the rainbow on his tummy did not have a life partner. He didn’t even have genitals. (6) ~ Elna Baker,
862:I like Catch-22, Gravity’s Rainbow and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, for instance, because the authors of those three surrealistic novels—Joseph Heller, Thomas Pynchon and Robert Pirsig—invented their own rules, knowing that the old ones wouldn’t do the job they had in mind. ~ William Zinsser,
863:He still has rainbow-goop holding his hand to his face, and it’s started spreading. The tar on me is slowly freezing me in place the more it dries, and I can’t even lift myself off the ground. “I’m embarrassed for us right now,” Jude says very seriously in that quietly seething way of his. ~ Kristy Cunning,
864:But, in truth, it had not exactly been gold, or even the promise of gold, but more like the fantasy of gold, the fairy dream that the gold is there, at the end of the rainbow, and will continue to be there forever - provided, naturally, that you don't go and look. This is known as finance. ~ Terry Pratchett,
865:The gardens were brilliant with summer magic, with plump cushions of forget-me-nots, lemon balm, and vibrant yellow daylilies, surrounding plots of roses shot through with garnet clematis. Long rows of silvery lamb's-ear stretched between large stone urns filled with rainbow Oriental poppies. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
866:If Feynman could see beauty as the inspiration for the theory of the rainbow, and if an electron could behave like a wave, and light like a particle, then the little contradiction of Leonard flitting among different subfields of physics, or even among varied careers, would not shake the universe. ~ Anonymous,
867:Well, I, Amber Brown, am green with envy.
I am not only green….. I am feeling blue….. I am seeing red….. I am purple with anger….. I am not feeling like a rainbow. I am feeling plaid. All of these colors mix together to make a not very pretty pattern.
I, Amber Brown, do not like plaid. ~ Paula Danziger,
868:The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it’s important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion. ~ Nicholas Sparks,
869:We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth; there is a realm where the rainbow never fades, where the stars will be spread before us like islands that slumber on the ocean, and where the beings that pass before us like shadows will stay in our presence forever. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton 1st Baron Lytton,
870:Rays were blazing through the atmosphere of the earth, the horizon became bright orange, gradually passing into all the colors of the rainbow: from light blue to dark blue, to violet and then to black. What an indescribable gamut of colors! Just like the paintings of the artist Nicholas Roerich. ~ Yuri Gagarin,
871:Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. ~ Donna Tartt,
872:Sextants that divided the sky into angles not found in the usual geometries, microscopes whose hermetically sealed lenses distorted the viewed object into shimmering rainbow images, other instruments whose complexity and manifold adjustments quite overwhelmed my powers of speculation as to their use ~ K W Jeter,
873:Holding Eleanor’s hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive. As soon as he touched her, he wondered how he’d gone this long without doing it. He rubbed his thumb through her palm and up her fingers, and was aware of her every breath. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
874:The Bridge
Between now and now,
between I am and you are,
the word bridge.

Entering it
you enter yourself:
the world connects
and closes like a ring.

From one bank to another,
there is always
a body stretched:
a rainbow.

I'll sleep beneath its arches. ~ Octavio Paz,
875:You’ve read the books?” “I’ve seen the movies.” Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.” “I’m not really a book person.” “That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me ~ Rainbow Rowell,
876:And, Momma, if there is a separate heaven for gay people,” Danny continued with a smile, “well, you’ll just have to come visit.” He raised his mother’s chin gently with the side of his index finger, forcing her to look at him. “I hear it’s on a rainbow, not a cloud, so at least you’ll get some color. ~ Greg Hogben,
877:I walk with Rafe to the End of the Rainbow. With his wild ginger hair and beard flattened by the rain, he looks like a wet haystack.
He catches me grinning at him. "Well, you don't look like any GQ guy yourself," he says, and then we're laughing like maniacs while the rain pours down on us. ~ Jean Ferris,
878:The baby Francie crowed with delight as her grandmother held up the cruet and the sun shone through it and made a small fat rainbow on the opposite wall. Mary smiled with the child and made the rainbow dance.
"Schön! Schön!" she said.
"Shame! Shame!" repeated Francie and held out her two hands. ~ Betty Smith,
879:To me, the rainbow was a profoundly hopeful symbol, separating the the white light of appearances into its multiple spectrum and revealing a hidden dimension. It reminded me of my belief that it was the mission of science to pierce through the layers of everyday reality and penetrate to the truth. ~ Candace B Pert,
880:You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you’ve found life. I’m no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are ‘yours’ and which are ‘mine.’ It’s past sorting out.
Thomas Pynchon (Gravity's Rainbow pg 140) ~ Thomas Pynchon,
881:I'm in a weird position, because I like rainbows, but I'm not gay. So whenever I go out wearing a rainbow shirt, I have to put "Not gay." But I'm not against gays, so under that I'll have to put "... but supportive." It's weird how one group of people took refracted light. That's very greedy, gays. ~ Demetri Martin,
882:And far away in goddamn L.A. or Madison Avenue is the prick who decided that Skittles would sell more quickly if they promised Jalens they would taste the fucking rainbow which is like a complete fucking impossibility and even if it wasn't who said a rainbow would even taste good you know? ~ Sergio de la Pava,
883:he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made-that we are meant for work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the senses and the other second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day...
--Gravity's Rainbow ~ Thomas Pynchon,
884:I can’t see past the stoic expression on his face to determine if he finds the “beautiful body” sitting next to him to be as much of a magical unicorn as what Dr. Albright tries to lead him to believe. I rest my white hoof on his hand and wag my long tail, sending a rainbow of glitter in all directions. ~ Jewel E Ann,
885:The professor leaned forward. “But there’s nothing more profound than creating something out of nothing.” Her lovely face turned fierce. “Think about it Cath. That’s what makes a god—or a mother. There’s nothing more intoxicating than creating something from nothing. Creating something from yourself. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
886:And I asked my mother about it; I said, 'Is there something wrong?' She said, 'God... God makes people. You understand that, don't you?' And I said, 'Yeah!' She said, 'Who makes a rainbow?" I said, 'God.' She said, 'I never presumed to tell anyone who could make a rainbow what color to make children.' ~ Richard Dawson,
887:I'm never one, distinct color but a dichotomy of dark and bright. The hues follow me, reflecting my mood, displaying every tone and shade I feel. I can breathe in red and exhale blue, or swim in green and dry as a rainbow. It all depends on how I choose to react to every shadow and light beam headed my way. ~ Linda Kage,
888:So...I'm larking through the Baby Gap, looking at tiny capri pants and sweaters that cost more than ... I don't know,more than they should. And I get totally sucked in by this ridiculous, tiny fur coat. The kind of coat a baby might need to go to the ballet. In Moscow. In 1918. To match her tiny pearls. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
889:How many cats do you have?” Carly couldn’t help but ask. “Oh, only the three right now, the first three I showed you. These others, they’ve all gone over the Rainbow Bridge.” “The Rainbow Bridge?” Carly asked. “Kitty heaven,” Hazel whispered. “Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” Carly corrected herself. “Losses. ~ Mariah Stewart,
890: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,
891:If I had an author superpower, I would like to have the ability to stop time for everyone else. I feel like I have to disappear into myself to write books. I go away, into my head, for hours and weeks at a time, and I hate that I miss everything. It's pretty selfish to want to pause other people, isn't it? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
892:It was a scene from a vision of Fuseli, and over all the rest reigned that riot of luminous amorphousness, that alien and undimensioned rainbow of cryptic poison from the well—seething, feeling, lapping, reaching, scintillating, straining, and malignly bubbling in its cosmic and unrecognisable chromaticism. ~ H P Lovecraft,
893:The sooner you figure out how to play the game, the faster you will get ahead. You waving your rainbow flag and refusing to play by the rules will only see you summarily exiled while your father’s bastard son takes control of everything. I won’t have it.” Meredith chortled. “This is so Game of Thrones.” I ~ Santino Hassell,
894:When you lose something, there's a chance you might find it again. Keys, a missing homework assignment, a few extra pounds. But Pup would never find Patrick. He couldn't feel him anywhere. There was no rainbow, no familiar song, no ghostly scent floating in the air...Patrick wasn't lost he was just dead. ~ Jessie Ann Foley,
895:She threw barbs, they were well aimed and they made me laugh. If I were a different man I’d have a bruised ego. I took her jabs and molded them to me. She was something I knew existed but had never met: the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow. Terrible analogies, I know. Yara ~ Tarryn Fisher,
896:Truth and fact are old-fashioned and out-of-date, my friends, fit only for the dull and vulgar to live by. Appearance, not reality, is what the clever dog grasps at in these clever days. We spurn the dull-brown solid earth; we build our lives and homes in the fair-seeming rainbow-land of shadow and chimera. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
897:You’ve read the books?”
“I’ve seen the movies.”
Cath rolled her eyes so hard, it hurt. (Actually.) (Maybe because she was still on the edge of tears. On the edge, period.) “So you haven’t read the books.”
“I’m not really a book person.”
“That might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever said to me ~ Rainbow Rowell,
898:It was one of those special cocktails where each very sticky, very strong ingredient is poured in very slowly, so that they layer on top of one another. Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Rainbow’s Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Good-bye, Mr. Brain Cell. ~ Terry Pratchett,
899:You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them. Try to be a rainbow in someone else's cloud. Do not complain. Make every effort to change things you do not like. If you cannot make a change, change the way you have been thinking. You might find a new solution. ~ Maya Angelou,
900:Leo choked. "Your mom is a rainbow goddess?"
"Got a problem with that?" Butch said.
"No, no," Leo said. "Rainbows, very macho."
"Butch is our best equestrian," Annabeth said. "He gets along great with the pegasi."
"Rainbows, ponies," Leo muttered.
"I'm gonna toss you off this chariot," Butch warned. ~ Rick Riordan,
901:But authorship is not to be denied. Not even if you are Thomas Pynchon and stonewall all attempts to establish your actual existence. My own feeling is that Pynchon does not exist, and neither do the last five hundred pages of Gravity’s Rainbow, but there is no question whatsoever that Thomas Pynchon is an author. ~ Roy Blount Jr,
902:The thing to do, it seems to me, is to prepare yourself so you can be a rainbow in somebody else's cloud. Somebody who may not look like you. May not call God the same name you call God - if they call God at all. I may not dance your dances or speak your language. But be a blessing to somebody. That's what I think. ~ Maya Angelou,
903:As all the colours blend into one resplendent rainbow, so all the glories of heaven and earth meet in thee, and unite so wondrously, that there is none like thee in all things; nay, if all the virtues of the most excellent were bound in one bundle, they could not rival thee, thou mirror of all perfection. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon,
904:Those who have darkness in their minds turn their bodies into darkness as well! Life is colourful; be like a rainbow, use every colour! Don’t get stuck in one colour, be colourful! Black, red, yellow, green, let all the colours be your colours! Those who have colourful minds will have colourful bodies as well! ~ Mehmet Murat ildan,
905:Your ego may be just a soap bubble. Maybe for a few seconds it will remain, rising higher in the air. Perhaps for a few seconds it may have a rainbow, but it is only for a few seconds. In this infinite and eternal existence your egos go on bursting every moment. It is better not to have any attachment with soap bubbles. ~ Rajneesh,
906:I pictured a girl who made every moment, everything she touched, and everyone around her feel lighter and sweeter. “I pictured you,” he said. “I just didn’t know what you looked like. “And then, when I did know what you looked like, you looked like the girl who was all those things. You looked like the girl I loved. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
907:Yet it is beautiful to discover that there's another chapter to the story, where we discover deep unity beneath, and supporting, the diversity of appearance. All colors are one thing, seen in different states of motion. That is science's brilliantly poetic answer to Keats's complaint that science "unweaves a rainbow. ~ Frank Wilczek,
908:If you have your attention on what is see its fullness in every moment you will discover the dance of the divine in every leaf in every petal in every blade of grass in every rainbow in every rushing stream in every breath of every living being. ...beyond memory and judgement lies the ocean of universal consciousness. ~ Deepak Chopra,
909:What if I promise not to touch you?" "Cath laughed. "Now I have zero incentive to come." "What if I promise to let you touch me first?" "Are you kidding? I'm the untrustworthy person in this relationship. I'm all hands." "I've seen no evidence of that, Cath." "In my head, I'm all hands." "I want to live in your head. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
910:It took ten seconds of standing by myself for awkwardness to kick in. A minute passed before I regretted coming. Three minutes…I had played out several scenarios on how to get home and I wasn’t above imagining a Pegasus or a magical rainbow. It was possible I’d seen the twins’ My Little Pony cartoon one too many times. ~ Ashlan Thomas,
911:Truth, I have learned, differs for everybody. Just as no two people ever see a rainbow in exactly the same place - and yet both most certainly see it, while the person seemingly standing right underneath it does not see it at all - so truth is a question of where one stands, and the direction one is looking in at the time. ~ Iain Banks,
912:Victor Faust did much more than help me escape a life of abuse and servitude. He changed me.
He changed the landscape of my dreams, the dreams I had every day about living ordinarily and free
and on my own. He changed the colors on the palette from primary to rainbow—as dark as the colors
of that rainbow may be. ~ J A Redmerski,
913:It’s just … everything. There are too many people. And I don’t fit in. I don’t know how to be. Nothing that I’m good at is the sort of thing that matters there. Being smart doesn’t matter—and being good with words. And when those things do matter, it’s only because people want something from me. Not because they want me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
914:Therefore, to be possess'd with double pomp, To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smooth the ice, or add another hue Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridiculous excess. ~ William Shakespeare,
915:There was something about the music on that tape. It felt different. Like, it set her lungs and her stomach on edge. There was something exciting about it, and something nervous. It made Eleanor feel like everything, like the world, wasn't what she'd thought it was. And that was a good thing. That was the greatest thing. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
916:Truth, I have learned, differs for everybody. Just as no two people ever see a rainbow in exactly the same place - and yet both most certainly see it, while the person seemingly standing right underneath it does not see it at all - so truth is a question of where one stands, and the direction one is looking in at the time. ~ Iain M Banks,
917:am reminded of Byron’s wonderful description of the rainbow that sits “Like Hope upon a death-bed” on the verge of a wild, rushing cataract; yet, “while all around is torn / By the distracted waters,” the rainbow stays serene: Resembling, ’mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. ~ Kay Redfield Jamison,
918:What is Love? Listen! It is the rainbow that stands out, in all its glorious many-colored hues, illuminating and making glad again the dark clouds of life. It is the morning and the evening star, that in glad refulgence, there on the awed horizon, call Nature's hearts to an uplifted rejoicing in God's marvelous firmament! ~ Sinclair Lewis,
919:You could really belong to a group of people and with other people, you could really make some significant changes - through the electoral process, of course, by registering people to vote, and by supporting good people who were running for office. For me, it was like I had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. ~ Dolores Huerta,
920:Dogie’s surfboards were like works of art. Splashed across their rainbow-colored decks were air-brushed paintings of waterfalls and sea dragons and a host of other fantastic creatures. Her favorite painting was a winged horse that looked like part horse and part comet, with its long tail blazing down the length of the board. ~ Kathi Appelt,
921:Nothing before you counts," he said. "And I can't even imagine an after." She shook her head. "Don't." "What?" "Don't talk about after." "I just meant that... I want to be the last person who ever kisses you, too.... That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I'm trying to say is, you're it. This is it for me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
922:What's Facebook? It's where moms like me post about how much we love the husbands who annoy the living bejesus out of us, and share expertly edited photos of our kids and generally talk about our loves like we're living in an enchanted fairy tale blessed by rainbow angel unicorns. In short, it's for lying. But I'm addicted. ~ Bunmi Laditan,
923:roving over my upturned face. “I will remember a strange, beautiful girl who liked the feel of old books and drank her coffee sweet. She snuck onto my porch on a gray day and taught me to see in color. She was a thief, my rainbow-haloed girl. When she left, she took my heart. And if I had another, I would give her that too” It ~ Leylah Attar,
924:Stuart, who had just witnessed me go through an entire rainbow of emotions and experiences. There was parents-have-just-been-jailed me, stuck-in-a-strange-town me, insane-and-can't-shut-up me, kind-of-snarky-to-the-strange-guy-trying-to-be-helpful me, breakup me, and the extremely popular jump-on-top-of-you-unexpectedly me. ~ Maureen Johnson,
925:You don’t know that I started believing in impossible things after I met you. Maybe a person could slide down a rainbow or taste the clouds or count to infinity. Why not, if there was Liv in the world? The stars shone brighter, the colors of the world became more vivid, everything was clearer, happier, better. All because of you. ~ Nina Lane,
926:All I know is he's letting me see it, and him, and he is exactly what he preaches. Raw and honest, and intense and I believe in this moment that we are a rainbow of the same colors, none of them bright or beautiful. We are the many shades of gray and black, hoping to find a glimmer of light in each other, not more darkness. ~ Lisa Renee Jones,
927:She crossed herself and gazed at the windows, shedding rainbow colours on the chapel's stone floor. The light from these windows shone just the same as it had when Harry was alive; that had not changed. And she must go on the same too, unchanging, for even when the sun did not shine the colours in the glass still existed. ~ Elizabeth Chadwick,
928:Her ski outfit was mostly white – with rainbow-colored trim. Not exactly "effeminate", but surely not "macho". More along the lines of "metro-sexual", and she did catch people staring at her, probably trying to figure out if she was a boy or a girl. She wondered if it ever occurred to those people to ask themselves why it mattered. ~ Anonymous,
929:Bono met his wife in high school," Park says. "So did Jerry Lee Lewis," Eleanor answers. "I’m not kidding," he says. "You should be," she says, "we’re sixteen." "What about Romeo and Juliet?" "Shallow, confused," then dead. "I love you, Park says. "Wherefore art thou," Eleanor answers. "I’m not kidding," he says. "You should be. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
930:Shanna, sweet Shanna. How can I tell you what you mean to me? When I saw you at the ball it was as if my heart started beating again. You lit up the room, bright in an ocean of black and white. And I thought- my life has been nothing but a dark, endless night. Then you came out like a rainbow and filled my black soul with color. ~ Kerrelyn Sparks,
931:As a child
I was told and believed
that there was a treasure
buried beneath every rainbow.

I believed it so much that
I have been unsuccessfully
chasing rainbows
most of my life.

I wonder why
no one ever told me
that the rainbow
and the treasure
were both
within me. ~ Gerald G Jampolsky,
932:Emma hears me come up the stairs and asks me to watch a movie with her. I stick Band-Aids on my weeping cuts, put on pink pajamas so we match, and snuggle with her under her rainbow comforter. She arranges all of her stuffed animals around us in a circle, everyone facing the TV, then presses play...Ghosts dare not enter here. ~ Laurie Halse Anderson,
933:... It wasn't my finest moment, but I rolled my eyes and actually huffed. "Fine, don't answer. I don't even know why I asked."
"No, I am not having sex with anyone."
"Oh." I shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason his response filled me with glee. It was as if a unicorn had appeared beneath a double rainbow and started tap dancing. ~ Penny Reid,
934:Listen to me,” he said. “No matter what happens, you stay on the train. You get these kids to Wanza. You hear me?” “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .” “You can. You’re my rainbow-haloed girl, and you’re freaking magical. Don’t you ever forget that.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever tasted. ~ Leylah Attar,
935:She wanted to check that it was not her imagination, that she was not being unfair or undemocratic, or worse still racist (but she had read Colour Blind, a seminal leaflet from the Rainbow Coalition, she had scored well on the self-test), racist in ways that were so deeply ingrained and socially determining that they escaped her attention. ~ Zadie Smith,
936:'God put the rainbow in the clouds, not just in the sky'... It is wise to realize we already have rainbows in our clouds, or we wouldn't be here. If the rainbow is in the clouds, then in the worst of time, there is the possibility of seeing hope... We can say 'I can be a rainbow in the cloud for someone yet to be.' That may be our calling. ~ Maya Angelou,
937:Yes, I know what passion would fill me with all its power. Before, I was too young. I got in the way. Now I know that acting and loving and suffering is living, of course, but it’s only living insofar as you can be transparent and accept your fate, like the unique reflection of a rainbow of joys and passions which is the same for everyone. ~ Albert Camus,
938:No one color can describe the various and varied complexions in our group. They range from the deep black to the fairest white with all the colors of the rainbow thrown in for good measure. When twenty or thirty of us meet, it is as hard to find three or four with the same complexion as it would be catch greased lightning in a bottle. ~ Mary Church Terrell,
939:The rainbow is such a remarkable phenomenon of nature, and its cause has been so meticulously sought after by inquiring minds throughout the ages, that I could not choose a more appropriate subject for demonstrating how, with the method I am using, we can arrive at knowledge not possessed at all by those whose writings are available to us. ~ Rene Descartes,
940:This is God's universe and he is the master gardener of all. If we were to eliminate all colors in his garden,then what would be a rainbow with only one color? Or a garden with only one kind of flower? Why would the Creator create a vast assortment of plants, ethnicities, and animals, if only one beast or seed is to dominate all of existence? ~ Suzy Kassem,
941:Damn the itch. Damn everything about inconvenient bodily functions and the urges they incite. The Canyon, Sterling’s home for almost thirty years now, isn’t a place to be taken lightly. If he blows his cover now, he blows his life. Reeducation or other forms of punishment await him on the other side of a rainbow that dips into a pot o’ shit. ~ Harmon Cooper,
942:This is God's universe and he is the master gardener of all. If we were to eliminate all colors in his garden, then what would be a rainbow with only one color? Or a garden with only one kind of flower? Why would the Creator create a vast assortment of plants, ethnicities, and animals, if only one beast or seed is to dominate all of existence? ~ Suzy Kassem,
943:What never failed to boggle Daisy was how Judy Garland had only just arrived in this glorious colorful place and she immediately wanted to run back to some boring pig farm. The fact that everyone else loved the film...what did that say about people? It says that most people can tolerate being over the rainbow for only about thirty seconds. ~ Chuck Palahniuk,
944:Without an observer at a twenty three degree angle to the light being reflected off a cloud of spherical droplets, there is no rainbow. The whole universe is like that. Our spirits stand at a twenty three degree angle to the universe. There is some new thing created at the contact of photon and retina, some space created between rock and mind. ~ Kim Stanley,
945:Even feminists who never wore a skirt or make-up went crazy about Kickers, or wore beautifully hand-painted boots in rainbow colors; they adorned themselves with rings and long, bright earrings made of feathers, beads or metal—drawing attention with all these, and with their brightly flashed hair, away from the body and toward its periphery. ~ Juliet B Schor,
946:When Cath's eyes closed, her eyelids stuck. She wanted to open them. She wanted to get a better look at Levi's too-dark eyebrows, she wanted to admire his crazy, vampire hairline--she had a feeling this was never going to happen again and that it might even ruin what was left of her life, so she wanted to open her eyes and bear some witness. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
947:They had no children. They spent money on the house, and for five years it went through an elaborate series of new looks each one more ambitiously designed than the next, until to scratch the wall in the bathroom was to reveal a rainbow of pastel shades in which could be read my mother's hopeless biannual efforts to sustain her domestic dream. ~ Niall Williams,
948:When you look at the whole package of energy, the food you eat should match the story you want to live, which means: as fresh as possible, without dullness, repetition, and routine. As colorful as possible, giving delight to the eyes; food is a rainbow brought down to earth. As cheerful as possible, maximizing moments of happiness and pleasure. ~ Deepak Chopra,
949:Beauty in this Iron Age must turn, From fluid living rainbow shapes to torn, And sootened fragments, ashes in an urn, On whose gray surface runes are traced by a Norn, Who hopes to wake the Future to arise, In Phoenix-fashion, and to shine with rays, To blast the sight of modern men whose dyes, Of selfishness and lust have stained our days... ~ Philip Jose Farmer,
950:I had gradually come, by this time [1839-01], to see that the Old Testament from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow as a sign, etc., etc. and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos, or the beliefs of any barbarian. ~ Charles Darwin,
951:I’m the girl who wakes up early to watch the sunrise. I’m the girl who wants to see the good in everyone, the one who is taken away by a song, inspired by art.” Turning to me, she smiled. “I’m that girl, Rune. The one who waits out the storm simply to catch a glimpse of a rainbow. Why be miserable when you can be happy? It’s an obvious choice to me. ~ Tillie Cole,
952:That kind of friendship doesn't just materialize at the end of the rainbow one morning in a soft-focus Hollywood haze. For it to last this long, and at such close quarters, some serious work had gone into it. Ask any ice-skater or ballet dancer or show jumper, anyone who lives by beautiful moving things: nothing takes as much work as effortlessness. ~ Tana French,
953:Awww, look at him, G, he’s so precious when he’s sleeping.”

“Like an angel.”

“A really slutty angel.”

“Wait—do angels even get laid? And if so, are heaven orgasms a million times better than earth orgasms? I bet yes.”

“Uh-doy. Where do you think rainbows come from? Whenever you see a rainbow, that means an angel just came. ~ Elle Kennedy,
954:Sonnet (1979)
Caught -- the bubble
in the spirit level,
a creature divided;
and the compass needle
wobbling and wavering,
undecided.
Freed -- the broken
thermometer's mercury
running away;
and the rainbow-bird
from the narrow bevel
of the empty mirror,
flying wherever
it feels like, gay!
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
955:Each band or level, being a particular manifestation of the spectrum, is what it is only by virtue of the other bands. The color blue is no less beautiful because it exists along side the other colors of a rainbow, and "blueness" itself depends upon the existence of the other colors, for if there were no color but blue, we would never be able to see it. ~ Ken Wilber,
956:Oh, I love period dramas, especially period dramas starring Colin Firth. I'm like Bridget Jones if she were actually fat." "Oh... Colin Firth. He should only do period dramas. And period dramas should only star Colin Firth. (One-star upgrade for Colin Firth. Two stars for Colin Firth in a waistcoat.) "Keep typing his name, even his name is handsome. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
957:Without an observer at a twenty three degree angle to the light being reflected off a cloud of spherical droplets, there is no rainbow. The whole universe is like that. Our spirits stand at a twenty three degree angle to the universe. There is some new thing created at the contact of photon and retina, some space created between rock and mind. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
958:Cooking was a talent of her mother's that Amina often thought of as an evolutionary way for Kamala to survive herself with friendships intact. Like plumage that expanded to rainbow an otherwise unremarkable bird, Kamala's ability to transform raw ingredients into sumptuous meals brought her the kind of love her personality on its own might have repelled. ~ Mira Jacob,
959:I argue, based on metaphysical and physical considerations, that we should think of the fundamental parts of the world as a mix of intrinsic natures, rather like a paint-pot filled with a rainbow of colors, loosely mixed to give a richly varied, spatiotemporally inseparable, spread of qualities, and that this mixture is what gives rise to ordinary reality. ~ L A Paul,
960:Nothing before you counts," he said. "And I can't even imagine an after."

She shook her head. "Don't."

"What?"

"Don't talk about after."

"I just meant that... I want to be the last person who ever kisses you, too.... That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I'm trying to say is, you're it. This is it for me. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
961:His parents never talked about how they met, but when Park was younger, he used to try to imagine it. He loved how much they loved each other. It was the thing he thought about when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Not that they loved him--they were his parents, they had to love him. That they loved each other. They didn't have to do that. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
962:Truly we are passing through disastrous times, when we may well make our own the lamentation of the Prophet: "There is no truth, and there is no mercy, and there is no knowledge of God in the land" (Hosea 4:1). Yet in the midst of this tide of evil, the Virgin Most Merciful rises before our eyes like a rainbow, as the arbiter of peace between God and man. ~ Pope Pius X,
963:For no good reason, he thought of Xhex. Xhex was a thunderstorm made up of hues of black and iron gray, power leashed but no less lethal for its control. Cormia was a sunny day cast in rainbow of brightness. He put his hand over his heart and bowed to her, then left. As he started up for his room, he wondered whether he liked the storm or the sunshine better. ~ J R Ward,
964:I just want to know—are you rooting for me? Are you hoping I pull this off?" Cath's eyes settled on his, tentatively, like they'd fly away if he moved. She nodded her head. The right side of his mouth pulled up. "I'm rooting for you," she whispered. She wasn't even sure he could hear her from the bed. Levi's smile broke free and devoured his whole face. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
965:It’s like . . . you’re tossing a ball between you, and you’re just hoping you can keep it in the air. And it has nothing to do with whether you love each other or not. If you didn’t love each other, you wouldn’t be playing this stupid game with the ball. You love each other—and you just hope you can keep the ball in play.” ========== Landline (Rainbow Rowell) ~ Anonymous,
966:Lincoln?” she (Beth) asked. “Yes?” “Do you believe in love at first sight?” He made himself look at her face, at her wide-open eyes and earnest forehead. At her unbearably sweet mouth. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you believe in love before that?” Her breath caught in her throat like a sore hiccup. And then it was too much to keep trying not to kiss her. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
967:The song was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and she produced a sound from the horn that no human voice could ever touch. It was plaintive and sad but it came with an undeniable wave of underlying hope. It made Bosch think that there was still a chance for him, that he could still find whatever it was he was looking for, no matter how short his time was. ~ Michael Connelly,
968:You’ve located intrinsic worth in the wrong place,” she said to all of them, over the common band. “It’s like a rainbow. Without an observer at a twenty-three-degree angle to the light reflecting off a cloud of spherical droplets, there is no rainbow. The whole universe is like that. Our spirits stand at a twenty-three-degree angle to the universe. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
969:Heaven, too, was very near to them in those days. God's direct agency was to be seen in the thunder and the rainbow, the whirlwind and the lightning. To the believer, clouds of angels and confessors, and martyrs, armies of the sainted and the saved, were ever stooping over their struggling brethren upon earth, raising, encouraging, and supporting them. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
970:The bruise on the heart which at first feels incredibly tender to the slightest touch eventually turns all the shades of the rainbow and stops aching. We forget about it. We even forget we have hearts until the next time. And then we wonder how we ever could have forgotten. We think this one is better, because, in fact, we cannot fully remember the time before. ~ Erica Jong,
971:Gay is a subculture, a slur, a set of gestures, a slang, a look, a posture, a parade, a rainbow flag, a film genre, a taste in music, a hairstyle, a marketing demographic, a bumper sticker, a political agenda and philosophical viewpoint. Gay is a pre-packaged, superficial persona-a lifestyle. It's a sexual identity that has almost nothing to do with sexuality. ~ Jack Donovan,
972:Journey through the Power of the Rainbow represents a condensed compendium of literary efforts from a life dedicated to transforming the themes of injustice, grief, and despair that we all encounter during some unavoidable point of our existence into a sustainable life-affirming poetics of passionate creativity, empowered spiritual vision, and inspired commitment. ~ Aberjhani,
973:The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky Are also on the faces of people goin' by I see friends shaking hands saying, "How do you do" They're really saying "I love you." I hear babies cry, I watch then grow They'll learn much more than I'll ever know; And I think to myself, What a wonderful world; Yes, I think to myself, What a wonderful world. Oh yeah! ~ Louis Armstrong,
974:I scroll past images every bit as violent and beautiful as Jeb's paintings: luminious, rainbow-skinned creatures with bulbous eyes and sparkly, silken wings who carry knives and swords; hideous, naked hobgoblins in chains who crawl on all fours and have corkscrew tails and cloven feet like pigs; silvery pixielike beings trapped in cages and crying oily black tears. ~ A G Howard,
975:They rolled all over the pastel crayons scattered on the sheets so her back was variegated with patches and blotches all the colours of the rainbow and Lee was also marked everywhere with brilliant dusts, both here and there also darkly spotted with blood, each a canvas involuntarily patterned by those workings of random chance so much prized by the surrealists. ~ Angela Carter,
976:... I must begin at whatever pace is possible, to work on the book of my own that i vaguely keep assuming lies at the end of the rainbow. It is after all my rainbow and if I don't do it no one else will...Survival is the secret so you really can't afford to doubt yourself for long because you are all you've got. The only thing to do is to go the limit with it. Exceed. ~ Diane Arbus,
977:Two Eyes Gazed Out Of A Window
Two eyes gazed out of a window
and then
came the wind.
The willows clothed the bride,
the anklets were for the bridal dance,
the headgear looked a rainbow.
Revellery was afrenzy
where the spring happened.
The people closed their shops,
not a sound was heard.
[Translated by Arvind Gigoo]
~ Dina Nath Nadim,
978:Eleanor hadn't written him a letter. It was a postcard. GREETINGS FROM THE LAND OF 10,000 LAKES it said on the front. Park turned it over and recognized her scratchy handwriting. It filled his head with song lyrics. He sat up. He smiled. Something heavy and winged took off from his chest. Eleanor hadn't written him a letter, it was a postcard. Just three words long. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
979:Everything in this world was so new, so wonderful and strange--like things in my old world, but better []For sixteen years my soul had been drawn towards this place, this alien homeland, toward its rainbow sunrises and whispering trees"
Breena Bitter Frost (on the brink of discovery; about why she never quite felt like she belonged in the land over the Crystal River) ~ Kailin Gow,
980:We have triumphed in the effort to implant hope in the breasts of the millions of our people. We enter into a covenant that we shall build the society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will be able to walk tall, without any fear in their hearts, assured of their inalienable right to human dignity — a rainbow nation at peace with itself and the world. ~ Nelson Mandela,
981:The room into which Ivan Ivanovich stepped was quite dark, because the shutters were closed and the sunbeam that penetrated through a hole in the shutter was broken into rainbow hues and painted upon the opposite wall a multicolored landscape of thatched roofs, trees, and clothes hanging in the yard, but all upside down. This made an uncanny twilight in the whole room. ~ Nikolai Gogol,
982:But maybe they understood more about life than I did. From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing, I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
983:Love is the very essence of life. It is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yet it is more than the end of the rainbow. Love is the security for which children weep, the yearning of youth, the adhesive that binds marriage, and the lubricant that prevents devastating friction in the home; it is the peace of old age, the sunlight of hope shinning through death. ~ Gordon B Hinckley,
984:Poetry is the Path on the Rainbow by which the soul climbs; it lays hold on the Friend of the Soul of Man. Such exalted states are held to be protective and curative. Medicine men sing for their patients, and, in times of war, wives gather around the Chief's woman and sing for the success of their warriors. "Calling on Zeus by the names of Victory" as Euripides puts it. ~ Carl Sandburg,
985:There is a glorious rainbow that beckons those with the spirit of adventure. And there are rich findings at the end of that rainbow. To the young and the not too old, I say look at the horizon, find that rainbow, go ride it. Not all will be rich; quite a few will find a vein of gold; but all who pursue that rainbow will have a joyous and exhilarating ride and some profit. ~ Lee Kuan Yew,
986:And the flames are every colour of the rainbow."

"They can't be," observed Daffy.

"Well, they are," she said cheekily. "Have you been there, that you know so much about it?"

"No," said Daffy, very calm, "but I'd wager I know more than you about the chemical processes of combustion."

Mary rolled her eyes. Did he hope to dazzle her with syllables? ~ Emma Donoghue,
987:Those without color—say, dressed in all black—can go about almost unnoticed. Where the rainbow is conspicuous, their darkness acts as a kind of camouflage, masculine by contrast, and allows them to watch without being watched. It’s the choice of someone who needs not to attract. Someone self-sufficient. Someone more distant, less knowable, and ultimately, mysterious. Powerful. ~ Sam Wasson,
988:There is another important difference as well. Human eyes have three visual pigments, allowing us to see color. Octopuses have only one—which would make these masters of camouflage, commanding a glittering rainbow of colors, technically color-blind. How, then, does the octopus decide what colors to turn? New evidence suggests cephalopods might be able to see with their skin. ~ Sy Montgomery,
989:The road of life is paved with daily successes, a great number of them penny and nickle triumphs. Sadly, these little feats are often seen as worthless―even failures―because we dream of greater gain. Our greed keeps us focused on a gleaming pot of gold waiting at the end of some elusive rainbow. And, despairing a big loss, we fail to see the value in small achievements. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
990:instead i head to the computer and it's like i turn into a little girl who's just seen her first rainbow. i get all giddy and nervous and hopeful and despairing and i tell myself not to look obsessively at my buddy list, but it might as well be projected onto the insides of my eyelids. at 8:05 his name pops up, and i start to count. i only get to twelve before his IM pops up. ~ David Levithan,
991:[Francesca] 'You really are a few biscuits short of breakfast.'
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
'You're a few colors shy of a rainbow?' she offered. 'Not pulling a full wagon? Knitting with only one needle? All foam and no beer? Your cheese slid off the cracker? You couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel?'
[Nicodemus] 'All right. I get it. ~ Blake Charlton,
992:Held captive beneath the translucent skin, the seven colours of the rainbow flickered with some secret fire of their own all over the surface of each precious sphere. Chéri recognized the pearl with a dimple, the slightly egg-shaped pearl, and the biggest pearl of the string, distinguishable by its unique pink. ‘These pearls, these at least, are unchanged! They and I remain unchanged. ~ Colette,
993:I had this whole plan when I graduated high school: I was going to go to college, date a few guys, and then meet THE guy at the end of my freshman year, maybe at the beginning of my sophomore year. We'd be engaged by graduation and married the next year. And then, after some traveling, we'd start our family. Four kids, three years apart. I wanted to be done by the time I was 35. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
994:In our past lies our future. By our own hands and decisions we will be damned and we will be saved. Whatever you do, put forth your best effort even if all you're doing is chasing a never ending rainbow. You might never reach the end of it, but along the way you'll meet people who will mean the world to you and make me...mories that will keep you warm on even the coldest nights ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
995:There's never been a moment,' he barely said, 'when I didn't recognize you.' She wiped her eyes. Her mascara smeared. He nudged the merry-to-round into motion. He could kiss her now. If he wanted. 'I'd know you in the dark,' he said. 'From a thousand miles away. There's nothing you could become that I haven't already fallen in love with.' He could kiss her. 'I know you,' he said. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
996:I sometimes subscribe to the belief that all historical events occur simultaneously, like a dream in the mind of God. Perhaps it is only man who views time sequentially and tries to impose a solar calendar upon it. What if other people, both dead and unborn, are living out their lives in the same space we occupy, without our knowledge or consent?"

The Glass Rainbow, p. 138 ~ James Lee Burke,
997:This is new to us, you know? Your mother's sorry. She's sorry that she hurt your feelings, and she wants you to invite your girlfriend over for dinner." "So that she can make her feel bad and weird?" "Well she is kind of weird, isn't she?" Park didn't have the energy to be angry. He sighed and let his head fall back on the chair. His dad kept talking. "Isn't that why you like her? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
998:Mandy smiled cheerfully at an overweight kid in a gold sweater and pink skirt who was chasing her little brother around along the boardwalk. When she was that age, on sunny days she’d be out on the boardwalk with Jud and Wendy, buying rainbow sorbet from the ice cream shop and placing paper boats into the harbour. She felt like a ghost, drifting past the shell of her own childhood. ~ Rebecca McNutt,
999:But I saw this video, not even the whole thing, and I just knew that it was going to be my favorite song for...for the rest of my life. And it still is. It's still my favorite song... Lincoln, I said you were cute because I didn't know how to say--because I didn't think I was allowed to say--anything else. But every time I saw you, I felt like I did the first time I heard that song. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1000:But maybe the Charm Bracelets understood more about life than I did. From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
1001:In all our pasts lie our futures. By our own hands and decisions we will be damned and we will be saved. Whatever you do, put forth your best effort even if all you’re doing is chasing a never-ending rainbow. You might never reach the end of it, but along the way you’ll meet people who will mean the world to you and make memories that will keep you warm on even the coldest nights. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
1002:IT CAN BE EASY, when hearing about someone else’s adventures in a far-off, magical land, to say “I would never choose the mundane world over the fantastical. I would run into rivers of rainbow as fast as my legs would carry me, and I would never once look back.” It is so often easy, when one has the luxury of being sure a thing will never happen, to be equally sure of one’s answers. ~ Seanan McGuire,
1003:It really did take Billy Lucas's suicide to wake me up to, kind of, the damage of the success of the LGBT civil-rights movement - higher-profile LGBT people - has done to LGBT youth who are trapped out there in those shitholes. But I don't think we need Pride. I am still opposed, on philosophical grounds, to the flap of the rainbow windsock and the damage that does to us intellectually. ~ Dan Savage,
1004:Take risks ... be willing to put your mind and your spirit, your time and your energy, your stomach and your emotions on the line. To search for a safe place, to search for an end to a rainbow, is to search for a place that you will hate once you find it. The soul must be nourished along with the bank account and the resume. The best nourishment for any soul is to create your own risks. ~ Jim Lehrer,
1005:There is a Rainbow Bridge. It’s like dog heaven. We run and play and never get fat. The sun is always warm but not hot, the water is fresh and cold, and we get to just be dogs. We all take turns waiting. The bridge is a beautiful wooden structure that crosses over from dog land to the other side when our owners come. Time means nothing to us, which is hard for humans to understand. ~ Jennifer Probst,
1006:But maybe the Charm Bracelets understood more about life than I did. From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing, I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
1007:Passing on our right was an army of rainbow women, marching down the street carrying baskets on their heads, full of solar cells, groundnuts, bananas, mobiles, chilies, kola nuts, eggs, and other things I didn’t even have names for, their bodies and heads swathed in colors of sunrises and sunsets. Their bottoms alternated, haunch by haunch, the fabric barely containing their flesh. You ~ Monica Byrne,
1008:That's not the point," he said. "What kind of creep would I be if I let my girl carry something heavy while I walked along, swinging my arms?" Your girl? "The kind that respects my wishes," she said. "And my strength, and my... arms." Levi grinned some more. Because he wasn't taking her seriously. "I have a lot of respect for your arms. I like how they're attached to the rest of you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1009:She thought about the old woman’s words as a smile broke out on her pale white face. She played with a lock of her fiery red hair, and her slender eyes, shaped like the body of the graceful dyran, the rainbow-scaled, ribbon-tailed flying fish, stared into the distance. There was something about this young man who tried to do good without seeming to be too good. She wanted to know him better. ~ Ken Liu,
1010:That was when he’d smiled, and after all that seriousness, his smile was a revelation, like a rainbow after a storm, like spring after winter, like dawn after the darkest night. She stopped, opened her notebook, and wrote that down. His smile was a revelation, like a rainbow after a storm, like spring after winter, like dawn after the darkest night. She read it out loud as she wrote. ~ Jeanne Birdsall,
1011:The only dating advice I have to offer is: Expect the guys in your life to be kind and respectful. Don't make excuses for garbagey behavior-'Oh, that's just what guys are like.' It isn't true. Expect them to be good, treat them like they're good. And if they're garbagey, move on. Don't let your world get cluttered up with people who think they have some gender-based right to be awful. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1012:Typically, in politics, more than one horse is owned and managed by the same team in an election. There's always and extra candidate who will slightly mimic the views of their team's opposing horse, to cancel out that person by stealing their votes just so the main horse can win. Elections are puppet shows. Regardless of their rainbow coats and many smiles, the agenda is one and the same. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1013:As far as plans went, it was like facing the zombie apocalypse with a nail file and a bag of Skittles. It might work, but chances were good that I'd die a horrible, painful death.

At least the end would be filled with fruity, candy goodness. And for my dramatic death scene I could whisper, in a creepy, quivery death rattle, taste the rainbow. Boy would those zombies be confused. ~ E J Stevens,
1014:They’d saved the city with gold more easily, at that point, than any hero could have managed with steel. But, in truth, it had not exactly been gold, or even the promise of gold, but more like the fantasy of gold, the fairy dream that the gold is there, at the end of the rainbow, and will continue to be there forever—provided, naturally, that you don’t go and look. This is known as Finance. ~ Terry Pratchett,
1015:The tears stung my nose as the flames licked Mahyah’s body then I froze as my eyes caught on something, lifted to the sky and my breath stuck in my throat as I heard gasps all around, felt the astonished shuffling of bodies and Diandra’s hand came to mine and held tight. This was because, as the flames danced high, arching through the sky over the pyre, there was a brilliant, perfect rainbow. ~ Kristen Ashley,
1016:2016 – Magic dust, Rainbow, Twitch, Midsummer, The wish, The hitch-hiker, The smell of sour, Her, Trip and We are. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. ~ Vickie Johnstone,
1017:<> It's nice of you to say I'm your best friend. <> You are my best friend, dummy. <> Really? You are my best friend. But I always assumed that somebody else was your best friend, and I was totally okay with that. You don't have to say that I'm your best friend just to make me feel good. <> You're so lame. <> That's why I figured somebody else was your best friend. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1018:Thunderheads were pouring toward them through the ragged teeth of the White Mountains, and Lisey counted seven dark spots where the high slopes had been smudged away by cauls of rain. Brilliant lightnings flashed inside those stormbags and between those two of them, connecting them like some fantastic fairy bridge, was a double rainbow that arched over Mount Cranmore in a frayed loophole of blue. ~ Stephen King,
1019:Conversation should be like juggling; up go the balls and the plates, up and over, in and out, good solid objects that glitter in the footlights and fall with a bang if you miss them. But when dear Sebastian speaks it is like a little sphere of soapsud drifting off the end of an old clay pipe, anywhere, full of rainbow light for a second and then - phut! vanished, with nothing left at all, nothing. ~ Evelyn Waugh,
1020:When he got to his own house, William Wallace saw to his surprise that it had not rained at all. But there, curved over the roof, was something he had never seen before as long as he could remember, a rainbow at night. In the light of the moon, which had risen again, it looked small and of gauzy material, like a lady’s summer dress, a faint veil through which the stars showed.

("A Wide Net") ~ Eudora Welty,
1021:A small child has no ambitions, he has no desires. He is so absorbed in the moment - a bird on the wing catches his eye so totally; just a butterfly, its beautiful colors, and he is enchanted; the rainbow in the sky... and he cannot conceive that there can be anything more significant, richer than this rainbow. And the night full of stars, stars beyond stars... Innocence is rich, it is full, it is pure. ~ Rajneesh,
1022:She helps Holly and me to decorate the sky-blue bedroom with sparkly stars and a crescent moon painted in silver acrylic paint. We paint a wide, arching rainbow that stretches from one corner of the room to another. When my new baby sister looks up from her cot, she’ll see stars to wish on, a moon to soothe her to sleep, a slice of rainbow to remind her that magic is always just round the corner. I ~ Cathy Cassidy,
1023:Why are they doing that?” his mother said, frowning at her grandsons. The boys were sorting the casserole into piles on their plates. “Doing what?” Eve asked. “Why aren’t they eating their food?” “They don’t like it when things touch,” Eve said. “What things?” his mother asked. “Their food. They don’t like it when different foods touch or mix together.” “How do you serve dinner, in ice cube trays? ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1024:And in the whiteness, of the whiteness, flowering in the tattered water, their bodies arching with the streaked marble hollows of the waves, their manes and tails and the fragile beards of the males burning in the sunlight, their eyes as dark and jeweled as the deep sea--and the shining of the horns, the seashell shining of the horns! The horns came riding in like the rainbow masts of silver ships. ~ Peter S Beagle,
1025:Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights.

But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora.

To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain.

What's your excuse? ~ Vera Nazarian,
1026:And now I know that you're the one
I've waited my whole life for
You're budding leaves turning green in spring
You're the fresh breath of air that summer brings
You're the autumn sky painted in rainbow hues
You're the wintry ocean dancing in shimmering blues
You're the air I breahte
You're the water I drink
You're the fire inside me
The earth under my feet
You're the one ~ Kendall Grey,
1027:Life is just a series of peaks and troughs. And you don't know whether you're in a trough until you're climbing out, or on a peak until you're coming down. And that's it you know, you never know what's round the corner. But it's all good. "If you want the rainbow, you've gotta put up with the rain." Do you know which "philosopher" said that? Dolly Parton. And people say she's just a big pair of tits. ~ Ricky Gervais,
1028:The storm had passed and the whole fen lay bathed in spent sunlight. Every stream and stretch of water among the rushes, which had been whipped and tormented by the storm, lay quiet now, reflecting the piled masses of white and silver clouds that floated like swans on the far deep pools of the sky. Every twig was strung with sparkling crystal drops, and every drop had a rainbow caught in its heart. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,
1029:Visit Cape Town and history is never far from your grasp. It lingers in the air, a scent on the breezy, an explanation of circumstance that shaped the Rainbow People. Stroll around the old downtown and it's impossible not to be affected by the trials and tribulations of the struggle. But, in many ways, it is the sense of triumph in the face of such adversity that makes the experience all the more poignant. ~ Tahir Shah,
1030:Why are tall guys always attracted to short women? Not just moderately short women, either... Tiny women. Polly Pockets. The tallest guys always-always-always go for the shortest girls. Always. It's like they're so infatuated with their own height that they want to be with someone who makes them feel even taller. Someone they can tower over. A little doll that will make them feel even bigger and stronger. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1031:He touches my face.
There is something different in his touch. It feels like he’s saying good-bye, and I know a moment of panic.
But my dream sky darkens and sleep’s moon fills the horizon.
“Don’t leave me.” I thrash in the sheets.
“I’m not, Mac.”
I know I am dreaming then, because dreams are home to the absurd and what he says next is beyond absurd.
“You’re leaving me, Rainbow Girl. ~ Karen Marie Moning,
1032:Acknowledge that some moments are just plain awful―desperate and gloomy and painful and miserable and nothing at all but anguish. No truthful, cheerful thought in the world will fix it. So let me cry awhile. Don't try to find a sunbeam where a shroud of darkness encloses me. Let me mourn. Then, after the storm, when the tears have run dry and my eyes choose to open, I will look for your rainbow of hope. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
1033:But they were beautiful. When they died, rippling in rainbow colors, their many-hued messages unseen, unheard by their fleeing herdmates, the beauty of their death agony was beyond words. We sold their photoreceptive skins to Web corporations, their flesh to worlds like Heaven’s Gate, and ground their bones to powder to sell as aphrodisiacs to the impotent and superstitious on a score of other colony worlds. On ~ Dan Simmons,
1034:There are many days when all the awful things that happen make you sick at heart, when the path before you is so steep you can’t bear to look. Not even love can rescue a person from that. Still, enveloped in the twilight coming from the west, there she was, watering the plants with her slender, graceful hands, in the midst of a light so sweet it seemed to form a rainbow in the transparent water she poured. ~ Banana Yoshimoto,
1035:And as I fall to fuddled sleep I hear youth crying, as Harry Kemp heard it: "I heard Youth calling in the night: 'Gone is my former world-delight; For there is naught my feet may stay; The morn suffuses into day, It dare not stand a moment still But must the world with light fulfil. More evanescent than the rose My sudden rainbow comes and goes, Plunging bright ends across the sky— Yea, I am Youth because I die! ~ Jack London,
1036:It was no amalgam of colors comparable to anything in mortal existence. It was as if all natural colors had been mutated into a painfully lush iridescence by some prism fantastically corrupted in its form; it was a rainbow staining the sky after a poison deluge; it was an aurora painting the darkness with a blaze of insanity, a blaze that did not burn vigorously but shimmered with an insect-jeweled frailness. ~ Thomas Ligotti,
1037:My dreams are going through their death flurries. I thought they were all safely buried, but sometimes they stir in their grave, making my heartstrings twinge. I mean no particular dream, you understand, but the whole radiant flock of them together—with their rainbow wings, iridescent, bright, soaring, glorious, sublime. They are dying before the steel javelins and arrows of a world of Time and Money. ~ Barbara Newhall Follett,
1038:What about James?”
“James? James, the guy I work with? James who takes ice cream scooping more seriously than anyone should? James who almost had a nervous breakdown when the chocolate and rainbow sprinkles accidentally got mixed together? That James?”
“He has a good work ethic. And he’s cute.”
“Hello, I’m not thirty. I don’t want a good work ethic yet. I just want someone who can form complete sentences. ~ Robin Benway,
1039:Asuna imagined the light that made up their souls trading infinite information. She knew for certain that no matter what world, no matter how long they traveled, their hearts would never be apart. In fact, their hearts had been connected long ago. Since the moment they disappeared in a rainbow aurora above the collapse of Aincrad, or perhaps even before that - as lonely solo players who met deep in a dark labyrinth. ~ Reki Kawahara,
1040:All through first and second and third hour, Eleanor rubbed her palm. Nothing happened. How could it be possible that there were that many never ending all in one place? And were they always there, or did they just flip on wherever they felt like it? Because, if they were always there, how did she manage to turn doorknobs without fainting? Maybe this was why so many people said it felt better to drive a stick shift. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1041:Colored lights shone right across the northern sky, leaping and flaring, spreading in rainbow hues from horizon to zenith: blood red to rose pink, saffron yellow to delicate primrose, pale green, aquamarine to darkest indigo. Great veils of color swathed the heavens, rising and falling as light seen through cascading curtains of water. Streamers shot out in great shifting beams as if God had put his thumb across the sun. ~ Celia Rees,
1042:Honey, I've watched a lot of 90210. The parents weren't even on the show once Brandon and Brenda went to college. This is your time - you're supposed to going to frat parties and getting back together with Dylan." "Why does everybody want me to go to frat parties?" "Who wants you to go to frat parties? I was just kidding. Don't hang out with frat guys, Cath, they're terrible. All they do is get drunk and watch 90210. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1043:And as much as I'd like to believe there's a truth beyond illusion, Ive come to believe that there's no truth beyond illusion. Because, between 'reality' on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there's a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. ~ Donna Tartt,
1044:about Minnesota he tells me all about it—how it became a state just over seventy years ago and is now the twelfth largest in the United States. How its name comes from a Dakota Indian word for “cloudy water.” How it contains thousands of lakes, filled with fish of all kinds—walleye, for one thing, catfish, largemouth bass, rainbow trout, perch, and pike. The Mississippi River starts in Minnesota, did I know that? ~ Christina Baker Kline,
1045:And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. ~ Donna Tartt,
1046:I miss you, Eleanor. I want to be with you all the time. You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and the funniest, and everything you do surprises me. And I wish I could say that those are the reasons I like you, because that would make me sound like a really evolved human being …‘But I think it’s got as much to do with your hair being red and your hands being soft … and the fact that you smell like homemade birthday cake ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1047:Mondays were the best. Today, when she got on the bus, Park actually smiled at her. Like, smiled at her the whole time she was walking down the aisle. Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to smile directly back at him, not in front of everybody. But she couldn’t help but smile, so she smiled at the floor and looked up every few seconds to see whether he was still looking at her. He was. ========== Eleanor & Park (Rainbow Rowell) ~ Anonymous,
1048:Sooner or later
someone
you could not have
ever dreamed of
appears like a rainbow
bridging clouds, and
steals
your breath away.
Someone beautiful,
inside and out,
grabs hold of
your
hand, guides you
along a rarely traveled
road, to a place
where your broken
heart
can be mended, piece
by beating piece.
The cost, gratefully
afforded, is only
your love. ~ Ellen Hopkins,
1049:Maybe you just have those impromptu conversations, or where all of the sudden you're standing on the corner waiting to cross the street and you notice three people looking up and you look up with them. And you all smile at each other because you're seeing a little piece of a rainbow between two buildings, and that little rainbow and you all just shared a New York moment, and that's awesome, and then you keep on in your way. ~ Rosario Dawson,
1050:From an early age they knew what little value the world placed in books, and so didn't waste their time with them. Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. The only trust fund I have is this story, and unlike a prudent Wasp, I'm dipping into principal, spending it all. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
1051:You are not just white, but a rainbow of colors. You are not just black, but golden. You are not just a nationality, but a citizen of the world. You are not just for the right or left, but for what is right over the wrong. You are not just rich or poor, but always wealthy in the mind and heart. You are not perfect, but flawed. You are flawed, but you are just. You may just be human, but you are also a magnificent reflection of God. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1052:Embroidery is an improbable hobby for someone as disordered as me, but it's the very precision of it that attracts me, the illusion of control it offers. When engaged in stitching a new pattern, I can't think about anything else. Guilt, misery, longing all flee away, leaving just the beautiful little microcosm of the world in my hands, the flash of the needle, the rainbow colors of the thread, the calming exactitude of the discipline. ~ Jane Johnson,
1053:You are not just white, but a rainbow of colors. You are not just black, but golden. You are not just a nationality,
but a citizen of the world. You are not just for the right or left, but for what is right over the wrong. You are not just rich or poor, but always wealthy in the mind and heart. You are not perfect, but flawed. You are flawed, but you are just. You may just be human, but you are also a magnificent reflection of God. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1054:It is a curve each of them feels, unmistakably. It is the parabola. They must have guessed, once or twice - guessed and refused to believe - that everything, always, collectively, had been moving toward that purified shape latent in the sky, that shape of no surprise, no second chance, no return. Yet they do move forever under it, reserved for its own black-and-white bad news certainly as if it were the rainbow, and they its children... ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1055:No other reason to come back to this wonderful place,” she sighed, tracing her finger along her window. “You did something bad. Not enough to get kicked out of school, but enough to worry people. Enough to make them think going home would do you good. Jesus, people are so fucking stupid. Like home is some magical place over the rainbow. A bandage that'll fix everything. What could coming home do for you? Home just makes everything worse. ~ Stylo Fantome,
1056:The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1057:Ah." He set down his backpack and pulled out their notebook. "You're working on your final project?" "Indirectly," Cath said. "What does that mean?" "Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don't actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn't the object?" "No." He sat down. "Well, I'm writing everything that isn't my final project, so that when I actually sit down to write it, that's all that will be left in my mind. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1058:Three weeks ago, he’d seen hail fall from the sky, only to be followed minutes later by a spectacular rainbow that seemed to frame the azalea bushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it’s important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion. ~ Nicholas Sparks,
1059:But it is a curve each of them feels, unmistakably. It is the parabola. They must have guessed, once or twice—guessed and refused to believe—that everything, always, collectively, had been moving toward that purified shape latent in the sky, that shape of no surprise, no second chance, no return. Yet they do move forever under it, reserved for its own black-and-white bad news certainly as if it were the rainbow, and they its children. . . . ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1060:But it is a curve each of them feels, unmistakably. It is the parabola. They must have guessed, once or twice—guessed and refused to believe—that everything, always, collectively, had been moving toward that purified shape latent in the sky, that shape of no surprise, no second chances, no return. Yet they do move forever under it, reserved for its own black-and-white bad news certainly as if it were the Rainbow, and they its children. . .  ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1061:But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. ~ John Keats,
1062:I went about the job in a direct way. I took the hatchet in both my hands and vigorously beat the fish on the head with the hammerhead (I still didn’t have the stomach to use the sharp edge). The dorado did the most extraordinary thing as it died: it began to flash all kinds of colours in rapid succession. Blue, green, red, gold, and violet flickered and shimmered neon-like on its surface as it struggled. I felt I was beating a rainbow to death. ~ Yann Martel,
1063:Say thank you! I want to hear you say it now. Out loud. 'Thank you.' You're saying thank you because your faith is so strong that you don't doubt that whatever the problem, you'll get through it. You're saying thank you because you know that even in the eye of the storm, God has put a rainbow in the clouds. You're saying thank you because you know there's no problem created that can compare to the Creator of all things. Say thank you! ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
1064:Three weeks ago, he’d seen hail fall from the sky, only
to be followed minutes later by a spectacular rainbow that seemed to frame the azalea bushes. The colors, so vivid they seemed almost alive, made him think that nature sometimes sends us signs, that it’s important to remember that joy can always follow despair. But a moment later, the rainbow had vanished and the hail returned, and he realized that joy was sometimes only an illusion. ~ Nicholas Sparks,
1065:what rainbow silks and satins! what pinking of thin stockings, and pinching of thin shoes, and fluttering of ribbons and silk tassels, and display of rich cloaks with gaudy hoods and linings! The young gentlemen are fond, you see, of turning down their shirt-collars and cultivating their whiskers, especially under the chin; but they cannot approach the ladies in their dress or bearing, being, to say the truth, humanity of quite another sort. ~ Charles Dickens,
1066:No, I know,” Levi said. “But it’s not you. You don’t push through every moment. You pay attention. You take everything in. I like that about you—I like that better.” Cath closed her eyes and felt tears catch on her cheeks. “I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.” He kissed her mouth. “Look at me.” She did. “I choose you over everyone. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1067:You know?" he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. "You're not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know." "I'm totally the Han Solo," she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh. "Well, I'm not the Princess Leia," he said. "Don't get so hung up on gender roles," Eleanor said.” ... “You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1068:Epitaph For A Darling Lady
All her hours were yellow sands,
Blown in foolish whorls and tassels;
Slipping warmly through her hands;
Patted into little castles.
Shiny day on shiny day
Tumble in a rainbow clutter,
As she flipped them all away,
Sent them spinning down the gutter.
Leave for her a red young rose,
Go your way, and save your pity;
She is happy, for she knows
That her dust is very pretty.
~ Dorothy Parker,
1069:In every artist’s life, there comes a person who lifts the
curtain on creativity. It is the closest you come to seeing
me again.
The first time, when you emerge from the womb, I am a
brilliant color in the rainbow of human talents from which
you choose. Later, when a special someone lifts the curtain,
you feel that chosen talent stirring inside you, a bursting
passion to sing, paint, dance, bang on drums. And you are never the same. ~ Mitch Albom,
1070:Right. Whatever pops into my head. “Really? Thanks! I mean, I wasn’t really sure . . . The pink and all. It kinda looks like candy. Oh, have you ever thought about what’s in a Skittle? Think about it! Tasting the rainbow could mean a whole lot of different . . . Oh. My. GOD!” I turned to the window, pointing outside. “Check out those clouds! Doesn’t it look like a princess riding a pony jumping over the TARDIS?” I dropped the act. “What do you think? ~ Gretchen McNeil,
1071:The one place where a man ought to get a square deal is in a courtroom, be he any color of the rainbow, but people have a way of carrying their resentments right into a jury box. As you grow older, you'll see white men cheat black men every day of your life, but let me tell you something and don't you forget it - whenever a white man does that to a black man, no matter who he is, how rich he is, or how fine a family he comes from, that white man is trash. ~ Harper Lee,
1072:It is the essence of poetry to spring, like the rainbow daughter of Wonder, from the invisible, to abolish the past, and refuse all history. Malone, Warburton, Dyce, and Collier, have wasted their oil. The famed theatres, Covent Garden, Drury Lane, the Park, and Tremont, have vainly assisted. Betterton, Garrick, Kemble, Kean, and Macready, dedicate their lives to this genius; him they crown, elucidate, obey, and express. The genius knows them not. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
1073:Raccoon
Coon, why did you come to this dance
with a mask on? Why not the tin man
and his rainbow girl? Why not Racine,
his hair marcelled down to his chest?
Why not come as a stomach digesting
its worms? Why you little fellow
with your ears at attention and your
nose poking up like a microphone?
You whig emblem, you woman chaser,
who do you dance over the wide lawn tonight
clanging the garbage pail like great silver bells? ~ Anne Sexton,
1074:And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.”
― Donna Tartt, The Goldfinch ~ Donna Tartt,
1075:He knew why he wanted to kiss her. Because she was beautiful. And before that, because she was kind. And before that, because she was smart and funny. Because she was exactly the right kind of smart and funny. Because he could imagine taking a long trip with her without ever getting bored. Because whenever he saw something new and interesting, or new and ridiculous, he always wondered what she'd have to say about it--how many stars she'd give it and why. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1076:the glaring sunlight. I panicked because Gran didn’t know that I was in love with a vampire—nobody knew that—so how was I supposed to explain the fact that the brilliant sunbeams were shattering off his skin into a thousand rainbow shards like he was made of crystal or diamond? Well, Gran, you might have noticed that my boyfriend glitters. It’s just something he does in the sun. Don’t worry about it.… What was he doing? The whole reason he lived in Forks, ~ Stephenie Meyer,
1077:They wish to build a new and better world, and I would be glad if they could succeed, and if I saw any hope of success I would join them. I ask for their plans, and they offer me vague dreams, in which as a man of affairs, I see no practicality. Is is like the the end of Das Rheingold: there is Valhalla, very beautiful, but only a rainbow bridge on which to get to it, and while the gods ma be able to walk on a rainbow, my investors and working people cannot. ~ Upton Sinclair,
1078:Whilst the Earth Mother finds immense comfort, safety and satisfaction in marriage, domesticity, growing food and children, and enjoys order around her, the Creative Rainbow Mother regularly feels the need to fly free. And if she can’t . . . well, the flip side of her is the Crazy Woman: depressed, unable to touch her power, tied, numb, self-medicating, addicted. Crazy Woman breaks out if we try to spend all our time out in the world, or serving others.’ The ~ Sharon Blackie,
1079:Somewhere in the distance he could hear a wireless playing Judy Garland's 'Over the Rainbow.' Wolf had seen the film but, had he been the one swept up to the magical land of Oz, he would have raised an army of flying monkeys, stuck the witches in a concentration camp, razed the Emerald City to the ground and executed the wizard for communist sympathies, being a Jew, a homosexual, intellectually retarded, or all of the above.

He did like the tune, though. ~ Lavie Tidhar,
1080:The missing girl—there had been unceasing news reports, always flashing to that achingly ordinary school portrait of the vanished teen, you know the one, with the rainbow-swirl background, the girl's hair too straight, her smile too self-conscious, then a quick cut to the worried parents on the front lawn, microphones surrounding them, Mom silently tearful, Dad reading a statement with quivering lip—that girl, that missing girl had just walked past Edna Skylar. ~ Harlan Coben,
1081:1 Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral May you have no frost on your spuds, No worms on your cabbage. May your goat give plenty of milk. If you inherit a donkey, may she be in foal. Irish saying There’s no denying the fact that my grandpa Aengus shaped the way I look at life. The man had a saying for everything. If I fell and scraped my knee, he mended it with an Irish proverb: “For every storm, a rainbow, for every tear, a smile.” If I woke up with a head cold, he had an Irish ~ Janice Thompson,
1082:Inside, the box was divided into tiered chambers, each with a lacquered lid, and these held a selection of ground and whole spices: sage, turmeric, cumin, ginger, mustard, cinnamon, asafetida, mace, cayenne, and cloves. I felt like an emperor receiving the treasures of a new country. The odor rising from the box was like a clambering vine wrapping itself thickly around my head, musky with the deep minerals of the earth and dusting my shoulders with a rainbow of pollen. ~ Eli Brown,
1083:The door closed behind them. They climbed out of the earth; and, still climbing, rose above it. They were in the rainbow. Far abroad, over ocean and land, they could see through its transparent walls the earth beneath their feet. Stairs beside stairs wound up together, and beautiful beings of all ages climbed along with them.

They knew that they were going up to the country whence the shadows fall.

And by this time I think they must have got there. ~ George MacDonald,
1084:The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow – Hope shining upon the tears of grief. ~ Robert G Ingersoll,
1085:A daughter is a rainbow - a curve of light through scattered mist that lifts the spirit with her prismatic presence. Is a shadow - a reminder of something brilliant ducking out of sight, too easily drawn away. She is an aria, swelling within the concern chamber, an echo reverberating across a miniature sea. She is a secret, whispered, a hint of what we cannot know until it finds us. She is a sliver of her father, a shard of her mother. A daughter is a promise, kept. ~ Ellen Hopkins,
1086:Jennifer to Beth: Ech. I don't like Tom Cruise. Beth to Jennifer: Me neither. But I usually like Tom Cruise movies. Jennifer to Beth: Me too... Huh, maybe I do like Tom Cruise. But I hate feeling pressured to find him attractive. I don't. Beth to Jennifer: Nobody does. It's a lie perpetuated by the American media. Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts. Jennifer to Beth: Men don't like Julia Roberts? Beth to Jennifer: Nope. Her teeth scare them. Jennifer to Beth: Good to know. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1087:Raccoon
Coon, why did you come to this dance
with a mask on? Why not the tin man
and his rainbow girl? Why not Racine,
his hair marcelled down to his chest?
Why not come as a stomach digesting
its worms? Why you little fellow
with your ears at attention and your
nose poking up like a microphone?
You whig emblem, you woman chaser,
who do you dance over the wide lawn tonight
clanging the garbage pail like great silver bells?
~ Anne Sexton,
1088:The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the rainbow -- Hope shining upon the tears of grief. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll,
1089:The people who visit the [Lincoln] memorial always look like an advertisement for democracy, so bizarrely, suspiciously diverse that one time I actually saw a man in a cowboy hat standing there reading the Gettysburg Address next to a Hasidic Jew. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had linked arms with a woman in a burka and a Masai warrior, to belt out ‘It’s a Small World After All,’ flanked by a chorus line of nuns and field-tripping, rainbow-skinned schoolchildren ~ Sarah Vowell,
1090:Once you have the View, although the delusory perceptions of samsara may arise in your mind, you will be like the sky; when a rainbow appears in front of it, it’s not particularly flattered, and when the clouds appear, it’s not particularly disappointed either. There is a deep sense of contentment. You chuckle from inside as you see the facade of samsara and nirvana; the View will keep you constantly amused, with a little inner smile bubbling away all the time. ~ Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche,
1091:You are not white,
but a rainbow of colors.
You are not black,
but golden.
You are not just a nationality,
but a citizen of the world.
You are not just for the right or left,
but for what is right over the wrong.
You are not just rich or poor,
but always wealthy in the mind and heart.
You are not perfect, but flawed.
You are flawed, but you are just.
You may just be conscious human,
but you are also a magnificent
reflection of God. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1092:Since the fanciful vision of the future that had flitted through her imagination at their first meeting she had hardly ever thought of his marrying her. She had not had to put the thought from her mind; it had not been there. If ever she looked ahead she felt instinctively that the gulf between them was too deep, and that the bridge their passion had flung across it was as insubstantial as a rainbow. But she seldom looked ahead; each day was so rich that it absorbed her.... ~ Edith Wharton,
1093:Let's take back the rainbow for God. Let the homosexual community find a different religious symbol to commandeer... What I want is for the Christian community to wake up, wipe the sleep from their eyes, and realize that they are in a spiritual battle that isn't going away and has no demilitarized zones. The rainbow is a symbol, but it's meaning points to the very character of God. So Christians, use this God-given symbol for His glory. Using it won't make you a homosexual. ~ Ken Hutcherson,
1094:It sounds to me like you're being cruel to yourself."
After a moment, I said, "How can you be anything to your self? I mean, if you can be something to your self, then your self isn't, like, singular."
"You're deflecting." I just stared at her. "You're right that self isn't simple, Aza. Maybe it's not even singular. Self is a plurality, but pluralities can also be integrated, right? Think of a rainbow. It's one arc of light, but also seven differently colored arcs of light. ~ John Green,
1095:Keats mourned that the rainbow, which as a boy had been for him a magic thing, had lost its glory because the physicists had found it resulted merely from the refraction of the sunlight by the raindrops. Yet knowledge of its causation could not spoil the rainbow for me. I am sure that it is not given to man to be omniscient. There will always be something left to know, something to excite the imagination of the poet and those attuned to the great world in which they live (p. 64) ~ Robert Frost,
1096:Also known as May Eve, May Day, and Walpurgis Night, happens at the beginning of May. It celebrates the height of Spring and the flowering of life. The Goddess manifests as the May Queen and Flora. The God emerges as the May King and Jack in the Green. The danced Maypole represents Their unity, with the pole itself being the God and the ribbons that encompass it, the Goddess. Colors are the Rainbow spectrum. Beltane is a festival of flowers, fertility, sensuality, and delight. ~ Selena Fox,
1097:I pick up the list of Benji's five favorite books because we've got work to do:

"Gravity's Rainbow" by Thomas Pynchon. He's a pretentious fuck and a liar.

"Underworld" by Don DeLillo. He's a snob.

"On the Road" by Jack Kerouac. He's a spoiled passport-carrying fuck stunted in eighth grade.

"Brief Interviews with Hideous Men" by David Foster Wallace. Enough already.

"The Red Badge of Courage" by Stephen Crane. He's got Mayflowers in his blood. ~ Caroline Kepnes,
1098:I will remember the perfect oval of your face, the warmth of your throat, the way you hold a pen when you write. Most of all . . .” He cupped my chin, his eyes roving over my upturned face. “I will remember a strange, beautiful girl who liked the feel of old books and drank her coffee sweet. She snuck onto my porch on a gray day and taught me to see in color. She was a thief, my rainbow-haloed girl. When she left, she took my heart. And if I had another, I would give her that too ~ Leylah Attar,
1099:And that is why, after four days of bleeding, stumbling, and starving, after four days of Immiker reminding him repeatedly that he was well enough to keep walking, Larch and Immiker stepped out of the tunnel not into the light of the Monsean foothills, but into that of a strange land on the other side of the Monsean peaks. An eastern land neither of them had heard of except for foolish tales told over Monsean dinners—tales of rainbow-colored monsters and underground labyrinths. ~ Kristin Cashore,
1100:[...] a morass of despair violence death with a thin layer of glass spread upon the surface where Love, a tiny crab with pincers and rainbow shell, walked delicately ever sideways but getting nowhere, while the sun [...] rose higher in the sky its tassels dropping with flame threatening every moment to melt the precarious highway of glass. And the people: giant pathworks of colour with limbs missing and parts of their mind snipped off to fit them into the outline of the free pattern. ~ Janet Frame,
1101:In shape they were like horrible toads, and moved in a succession of springs, but in size they were of an incredible bulk, larger than the largest elephant. We had never before seen them save at night, and indeed they are nocturnal animals save when disturbed in their lairs, as these had been. We now stood amazed at the sight, for their blotched and warty skins were of a curious fish-like iridescence, and the sunlight struck them with an ever-varying rainbow bloom as they moved. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
1102:Colonel Matterson reading from wrinkled scripture of that long yellow hand:

The flag is America. America is the plum. The peach. The watermelon. America is the gumdrop. The pumpkin seed. America is television.

Now, the cross is Mexico. Mexico is the walnut. The hazelnut. The acorn. Mexico is the rainbow. The rainbow is wooden. Mexico is wooden.

Now, the green sheep is Canada Canada is the fir tree. The wheat field. The calendar.

The night is the Pacific Ocean. ~ Ken Kesey,
1103:For all that the child observed, and felt, and thought, that night—the present and the absent; what was then and what had been—were blended like the colours in the rainbow, or in the plumage of rich birds when the sun is shining on them, or in the softening sky when the same sun is setting. The many things he had had to think of lately, passed before him in the music; not as claiming his attention over again, or as likely ever more to occupy it, but as peacefully disposed of and gone. A ~ Charles Dickens,
1104:Our bread need not ever be sour or hard to digest. What Nature is to the mind she is also to the body. As she feeds my imagination, she will feed my body; for what she says she means, and is ready to do. She is not simply beautiful to the poet's eye. Not only the rainbow and sunset are beautiful, but to be fed and clothed, sheltered and warmed aright, are equally beautiful and inspiring. There is not necessarily any gross and ugly fact which may not be eradicated from the life of man. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1105:The popular media vilified ‘psychos,’ made them out to be ogres, but Jake knew they possessed the exact qualities celebrated by the modern world: charm, ruthlessness, and a win-at-all-costs mentality. Psychopathy wasn’t black or white, but more a multi-colored rainbow from Ted Bundy to the Dalai Lama, with everyone fitting somewhere in between. Jake often wondered why psychos seemed to surround him. Did he search them out? Or did he just notice them more than most? It was hard to tell. Jake ~ Matthew Mather,
1106:We come from seed,” he told his son, smiling. “We grow up, blossom, and produce fruit. Then the fruit dries and goes into the ground to make the next crop. The old plant doesn’t die so much as it gives itself to the soil to nurture the new plant. Since energy is neither created nor destroyed, only altered, dying is the other face on the coin of life. Nothing to be afraid of, really. After all, my boy, we all pass from this plane into another. It’s inevitable, like the rainbow after the storm. ~ Diana Palmer,
1107:The flower display continued through the town. Window boxes adorned the shop fronts, hanging baskets hung from patent black lampposts, trees grew tall in the main street. Each building was painted a different refreshing color and the main street, the only street, was a rainbow of mint greens, salmon pinks, lilacs, lemons, and blues. The pavements were litter free and gleaming as soon as you averted your gaze above the gray slate roofs you found yourself surrounded by majestic green mountains. ~ Cecelia Ahern,
1108:The multicolored leaves were softly glowing against the black sky, creating an untimely nocturnal rainbow which scattered its spectral tints everywhere and dyed the night with a harvest of hues: peach gold and pumpkin orange, honey yellow and winy amber, apple red and plum violet. Luminous within their leafy shapes, the colors cast themselves across the darkness and were splattered upon our streets and our fields and our faces. Everything was resplendent with the pyrotechnics of a new autumn. ~ Thomas Ligotti,
1109:You don't know when you're twenty-three. You don't know what it really means to crawl into someone else's life and stay there. You can't see all the ways you're going to get tangled, how you're going to bond skin to skin. How the idea of separating will feel in five years, in ten - in fifteen. When Georgie thought about divorce now, she imagined lying side by side with Neal on two operating tables while a team of doctors tried to unthread their vascular systems. She didn't know at twenty-three. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1110:Your rainbow panorama enters into a dialogue with the existing architecture and reinforces what is assured beforehand, that is to say the view of the city. I have created a space which virtually erases the boundaries between inside and outside – where people become a little uncertain as to whether they have stepped into a work or into a part of the museum. This uncertainty is important to me, as it encourages people to think and sense beyond the limits within which they are accustomed to moving. ~ Olafur Eliasson,
1111:As a songwriter, you're allowed to write anything, and as a person, I am all colors in the rainbow. I've been through everything, you know, so I can write a positive song like 'Better Get to Livin'' because that's my attitude. But that doesn't mean I'm happy all the time. You can't be a deep and serious songwriter without feelings. You kinda have to live with your feelings out on your sleeve and get hurt more than most people. The fear I might get hurt means I might not be able to write another song. ~ Dolly Parton,
1112:Still too early to tell. Most of the media outlets are hopping on the rainbow train—” I clench my jaw. “—waving their gay pride flags and commending you for your bravery in coming out.” “I didn’t come out,” I mutter. “Someone else did it for me.” “Well, you’re out now,” he says dismissively. “And now we need to make sure we spin it the right way. The franchise is going to release the statement I prepared after we drafted you. I wanted to give you the head’s up about that—it’ll go out within the hour. ~ Sarina Bowen,
1113:Across a luminous dream of spirit-space
   She builds creation like a rainbow bridge
   Between the original Silence and the Void.
   A net is made of the mobile universe;
   She weaves a snare for the conscious Infinite.
   A knowledge is with her that conceals its steps
   And seems a mute omnipotent Ignorance.
   A might is with her that makes wonders true;
   The incredible is her stuff of common fact.
   Her purposes, her workings riddles prove;
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Savitri, The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Greater Life,
1114:When a rainbow appears vividly in the sky, you can see its beautiful colors, yet you could not wear as clothing or put it on as an ornament. It arises through the conjunction of various factors, but there is nothing about it that can be grasped. Likewise, thoughts that arise in the mind have no tangible existence or intrinsic solidity. There is no logical reason why thoughts, which have no substance, should have so much power over you, nor is there any reason why you should become their slave. ~ Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche,
1115:She was the brown-eyed girl. I didn’t really know what had happened between them, but I idolized them both, and I liked to think that they had once been happy “standing in the sunlight laughing / hiding behind a rainbow’s wall.” But it was typical of me, somehow, to put all this into other people, to romanticize their affairs. And it was typical, too, of the perversity of pop culture to start recycling “Brown-Eyed Girl” decades later as elevator music, supermarket music, until I couldn’t stand to hear ~ William Finnegan,
1116:The parent is protector and trainer, but never the ultimate teacher. Every parent is responsible for teaching their kid basic moral conduct, manners, the difference between love and hate, and right from wrong. However, after maturity, the child must set off to seek knowledge on their own. Religion is never to be forced. And you cannot threaten your child with hell and tell them your religion is the only right way. There is no one right way. The many ways to the Creator are as varied as the colors of a rainbow. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1117:If we—and now I mean the relatively conscious whites and the relatively conscious blacks, who must, like lovers, insist on, or create, the consciousness of the others—do not falter in our duty now, we may be able, handful that we are, to end the racial nightmare, and achieve our country, and change the history of the world. If we do not dare everything, the fulfillment of that prophecy, re-created from the Bible in song by a slave, is upon us: God gave Noah the rainbow sign, No more water, the fire next time! ~ James Baldwin,
1118:Tabby, I think Wren’s ass is possessed.”
“Why’s that, sugar?” Tabby sounded calm, but Chloe could hear rustling, like Tabby was playing with her sheets…or changing a newborn’s diaper.
“Should it look like something from The Exorcist is living in there?”
“Alex, we were told about this.” Tabby’s tone was patient. “The black stuff, the…what did she call it? The poo cork? Is out now, and we’re going to see the poop rainbow for a while.”
“I’ll never look at Skittles the same way again,” Alex groaned. ~ Dana Marie Bell,
1119:The question of what a dog is thinking is actually an old metaphysical debate, which has its origins in Descartes’s famous saying cogito ergo sum—“I think, therefore I am.” Our entire human experience exists solely inside our heads. Photons may strike our retinas, but it is only through the activity of our brains that we have the subjective experience of seeing a rainbow or the sublime beauty of a sunset over the ocean. Does a dog see those things? Of course. Do they experience them the same way? Absolutely not. ~ Gregory Berns,
1120:If we—and now I mean the relatively conscious whites and the relatively conscious blacks, who must, like lovers, insist on, or create, the consciousness of the others—do not falter in our duty now, we may be able, handful that we are, to end the racial nightmare, and achieve our country, and change the history of the world. If we do not now dare everything, the fulfillment of that prophecy, re-created from the Bible in song by a slave, is upon us: God gave Noah the rainbow sign, No more water, the fire next time! ~ James Baldwin,
1121:I believe I have already suggested that colour is the most obvious bridge between emotion and perception, that is, between subjective experience of the psyche and quality objective in nature. Both light up only between the extremes of light and darkness, and in their reciprocal interplay. Thus, outward the rainbow--or, if you prefer it, the spectrum--is the bridge between dark and light, but inwardly the rainbow is, what the soul itself is, the bridge between body and spirit, between earth and heaven. ~ Owen Barfield,
1122:EATING THE RAINBOW When you start eating differently, your microbiome will start changing within two to three days. Getting five different vegetables into your diet every single day will accelerate the process of optimizing your microbiome. To enhance the benefits even further, try to make these vegetables as many different colors as you can. This means it’s much more likely that you will encourage the growth of more beneficial bacteria as well as getting maximum gut-bug diversity. But that’s not the only benefit. ~ Rangan Chatterjee,
1123:Each party has a platform--a pre-fixed menu of beliefs making up its worldview. The candidate can choose one of the two platforms, but remember: no substitutions.

For example, do you support healthcare? Then you must also want a ban on assault weapons. Pro limited government? Congratulations, you are also anti-abortion.

Luckily, all human opinion falls neatly into one of the two clearly defined camps. Thus, the two-party system elegantly represents the bi-chromatic rainbow that is American political thought. ~ Jon Stewart,
1124:They're sitting on the floor in A Stitch in Time, surrounded on all sides by dresses of every imaginable color. Cora realizes as she glances around, her gaze flitting quickly from one wall to the next, that Etta has arranged them like the seasons: sparkling whites, grays, blacks for winter; shimmering greens and blues for spring; pinks and purples for summer; reds, oranges and yellows for autumn. Together they are breathtaking, almost too bright if stared at for too long, like falling through a rainbow lit by the sun. ~ Menna van Praag,
1125:The secret to happiness is elusive because it is a paradoxical truth. To gain happiness, you must first cease pursuing it. Things perceived to provide happiness are like shiny, pretty bubbles that lure us this way and that way, chasing after their glossy buoyancy. But once they are handled, they “pop”—empty—vanishing along with the hope that happiness could ever be captured. Happiness cannot be caught or won or purchased or even handled. Happiness simply forms like a rainbow in the kindest and most grateful hearts. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
1126:Geisler and Van Gordon have done both Christians and non-Christians a great service by writing Somewhere under the Rainbow: A Christian Look at Same-sex “Marriage.” They furnish concise yet comprehensive answers to the objections and alternate “interpretations” of God’s Word employed by same-sex apologists to justify their lifestyle. Importantly, they also compose a compelling narrative of how Jesus is the answer to same-sex attraction and how the Church can witness and minister to those mired in such a life style. Van ~ Norman L Geisler,
1127:Soon some of the plants were as big as fruit trees. There were fans of long emerald-green leaves, flowers resembling peacock tails with rainbow-colored eyes, pagodas consisting of sumperimposed unbrellas of violet silk. Thick stems were interwoven like braids. Since they were transparent, they looked like pink glass lit up from within. Some of the blooms looked like clusters of blue and yellow Japanese lanterns. And little by little, as the luminous night growths grew denser, they intertwined to form a tissue of soft light. ~ Michael Ende,
1128:I think we create our world through stories. We use storytelling to escape or protect ourselves from the unimaginable and the horrible - from the real, in a way. It's like white light - if you put everyday reality through a prism you get this rainbow of colors that you couldn't see before. I'm interested in exploring the world to show the things that are invisible. And not just undocumented aspects of reality, but to actually make manifest things that have been hitherto invisible through the intervention of filmmaking. ~ Joshua Oppenheimer,
1129:Her life was a slow realization that the world was not for her and that for whatever reason she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release. table ivory elephant charm rainbow onion hairdo violence melodrama honey...None of it moved her. She addressed the world honestly searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her but to each she would have to say I don't love you. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
1130:I SHALL WIN!" She exclaimed. "You'll see! When the smoke of battle clears away I shall be a rainbow again--and, undying name--an altar of fire that you have tried to dash to hell. I shall weave a rose wreath and hang it round your neck. You will call it a yoke of bondage and curse it--no matter. You are afraid of the light I give you. You crouch in the darkness. Come, take my hand, I will lead you." And her valediction, intimating in its restraint whole words of love and grief and passionate regret, was, simply, Miriam. ~ T Coraghessan Boyle,
1131:A small brazier glowed near the monk's left hand. On a lecturn before him lay pots of paints, brushes, a quill, a pen, a knife, a sizeable handbell, the tooth of some animal--and a piece of parchment.
It was the parchment that commanded the room. Until he saw it Len didn't realize how starved he had been of colour. Villagers dressed in various shades of brown and beige, like their furniture and fields and now, here, was an irruption of the rainbow, as if a charm of goldfinches had landed on the manuscript and been transfixed. ~ Diana Norman,
1132:No theory changes what it is a theory about. Nothing is changed because we look at it, talk about it, or analyze it in a new way. Keats drank confusion to Newton for analyzing the rainbow, but the rainbow remained as beautiful as ever and became for many even more beautiful. Man has not changed because we look at him, talk about him, and analyze him scientifically. ... What does change is our chance of doing something about the subject of a theory. Newton's analysis of the light in a rainbow was a step in the direction of the laser. ~ B F Skinner,
1133:He never hurries. He never shows his cards. He always hangs up first....Like when we first started talking on the phone, he would always be the one who got off first. When we kissed, he always pulled away first. He always kept me just on the edge of crazy. Feeling like I wanted him too much, which just made me want him more....[It was] excruciating and wonderful. It feels good to want something that bad. I thought about him the way you think about dinner when you haven't eaten for a day and a half. Like you'd sell your soul for it. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1134:As Far From Pity, As Complaint
496
As
As
As
As
far from pity, as complaint—
cool to speech—as stone—
numb to Revelation
if my Trade were Bone—
As
As
As
Or
far from time—as History—
near yourself—Today—
Children, to the Rainbow's scarf—
Sunset's Yellow play
To eyelids in the Sepulchre—
How dumb the Dancer lies—
While Color's Revelations break—
And blaze—the Butterflies!
~ Emily Dickinson,
1135:And talking about dark! You think dark is just one color, but it ain't. There're five or six kinds of black. Some silky, some woolly. Some just empty. Some like fingers. And it don't stay still, it moves and changes from one kind of black to another. Saying something is pitch black is like saying something is green. What kind of green? Green like my bottles? Green like a grasshopper? Green like a cucumber, lettuce, or green like the sky is just before it breaks loose to storm? Well, night black is the same way. May as well be a rainbow. ~ Toni Morrison,
1136:When you bypass the sign post which tells you to reduce your speed and drive with care because you are approaching a town, you know you are almost near a town; the more you approach the town, all the more the sign post gets out of sight; in the same way, when the rainbow which is a sign of God’s promise to mankind to never destroy the earth with water again begins to be out of sight, remember, mankind is almost at the end of ages for the judgment of fire; a day of eternal redemption or eternal condemnation! A day of no excuses! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah,
1137:After a sleepless night the body gets weaker, It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's. Just like a seraph you smile to people And arrows moan in the slow arteries. After a sleepless night the arms get weaker And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe. Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each Sudden sound is the whole rainbow. Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark. ~ Marina Tsvetaeva,
1138:There is a kind of ocean wave
Whose origin remains obscure.
Such waves are solitary, and appear
Just off the cliff-line of Antarctica
Lifting the ocean's face into the wind,
Moistening the wind that pulls, and pulls them on,
Until their height (as trees), their width
(As continents), pace that wind north for 7,000 miles.

And now we see one! - like a stranger coast
Faring towards our own, and taste its breath,
And watch it whale, then whiten, then decay:
Whose rainbow thunder makes our spirits leap. ~ Christopher Logue,
1139:He gave us taste buds, then filled the world with incredible flavors like chocolate and cinnamon and all the other spices. He gave us eyes to perceive color and then filled the world with a rainbow of shades. He gave us sensitive ears and then filled the world with rhythms and music. Your capacity for enjoyment is evidence of God's love for you. He could have made the world tasteless, colorless, and silent. The Bible says that God "richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment." He didn't have to do it, but he did, because He loves us. ~ Rick Warren,
1140:Cath ran her fingers along the cover, over the raised gold type. Then someone else ran right into her, pushing the book into Cath's chest. Pushing two books into her chest. Cath looked up just as Wren threw an arm around her. "They're both crying," Cath heard Reagan say. "I can't even watch." Cath freed an arm to wrap around her sister. "I can't believe it's really over," she whispered. Wren held her tight and shook her head. She really was crying, too. "Don't be so melodramatic, Cath," Wren laughed hoarsely. "It's never over... It's Simon. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1141:You will achieve grand dream, a day at a time, so set goals for each day - not long and difficult projects, but chores that will take you, step by step, toward your rainbow. Write them down, if you must, but limit your list so that you won't have to drag today's undone matters into tomorrow. Remember that you cannot build your pyramid in twenty-four hours. Be patient. Never allow your day to become so cluttered that you neglect your most important goal - to do the best you can, enjoy this day, and rest satisfied with what you have accomplished. ~ Og Mandino,
1142:Ready?” he asked. He motioned for her to look to the sky.
She’d been on enough long walks with her father to know it was time to open her mind. Their times in nature usually held a secret surprise. It could be anything, really—a rainbow touching the snow or heart-shaped shade cast by a pair of trees. Anything. Today, the gift was being outside the second it started to snow.
“Ooh, Daddy! Look, it’s like a salt shaker!” She stuck her tongue out for the newborn snowflakes.
Blake followed her lead. Snow tasted sweeter with Emme around. ~ Debra Anastasia,
1143:A silky rustling sound came from behind him.
He turned, and saw Helen standing there in a white dress made of thin, glimmering layers of silk trimmed with lace. The dress clung to her slender form, the skirts pulled back to outline her hips and cascading gently behind her. She pulled back a filmy white veil sewn with lace and seed pearls, and smiled at him. She was unearthly in her beauty, as light and delicate as a wash of rainbow through morning mist. He held a hand over his hammering heart, as if to keep it from leaping out of his chest. ~ Lisa Kleypas,
1144:We've forgotten much. How to struggle, how to rise to dizzy heights and sink to unparalleled depths. We no longer aspire to anything. Even the finer shades of despair are lost to us. We've ceased to be runners. We plod from structure to conveyance to employment and back again. We live within the boundaries that science has determined for us. The measuring stick is short and sweet. The full gamut of life is a brief, shadowy continuum that runs from gray to more gray. The rainbow is bleached. We hardly know how to doubt anymore. (“The Thing”) ~ Richard Matheson,
1145:My heart is like a singing bird Whose nest is in a water'd shoot; My heart is like an apple-tree Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon sea; My heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me. Raise me a daïs of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; Carve it in doves and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes, In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys; Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me. ~ Christina Rossetti,
1146:On This Long Storm The Rainbow Rose
194
On this long storm the Rainbow rose—
On this late Morn—the Sun—
The clouds—like listless Elephants—
Horizons—straggled down—
The Birds rose smiling, in their nests—
The gales—indeed—were done—
Alas, how heedless were the eyes—
On whom the summer shone!
The quiet nonchalance of death—
No Daybreak—can bestir—
The slow—Archangel's syllables
Must awaken her!
~ Emily Dickinson,
1147:But we want a man hag-ridden by the Future—haunted by visions of an imminent heaven or hell upon earth—ready to break the Enemy’s commands in the present if by so doing we make him think he can attain the one or avert the other—dependent for his faith on the success or failure of schemes whose end he will not live to see. We want a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow’s end, never honest, nor kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the future every real gift which is offered them in the Present. It ~ C S Lewis,
1148:And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. ~ Donna Tartt,
1149:It’s… You’ve been all over the world. Been in perilous places, taken risks that stop my breath. In comparison to all that, will what we might have…will I be enough?”

“Sweetheart…”

“You said my world, this world, is colorless, remember?” It almost made him laugh. “Honey-pie, when I’m with you, I think of a thousand colors. Your beautiful silvery eyes, your lemon-yellow swimsuit, your pink sunburn, your pumpkin shoes. You’re…you’re my rainbow.” His darling, serious, wonderful, brave, spirited, beautiful, talented Jane. So, so lovable ~ Christie Ridgway,
1150:You look ridiculous,” Wren said. “What?” “That shirt.” It was a Hello Kitty shirt from eighth or ninth grade. Hello Kitty dressed as a superhero. It said SUPER CAT on the back, and Wren had added an H with fabric paint. The shirt was cropped too short to begin with, and it didn’t really fit anymore. Cath pulled it down self-consciously. “Cath!” her dad shouted from downstairs. “Phone.” Cath picked up her cell phone and looked at it “He must mean the house phone,” Wren said. “Who calls the house phone?” “Probably 2005. I think it wants its shirt back. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1151:Number 99 was an eviscerated ceramics plant. During the war a succession of blazing explosions had burst among the stock of thousands of chemical glazes, fused them, and splashed them into a wild rainbow reproduction of a lunar crater. Great splotches of magenta, violet, bice green, burnt umber, and chrome yellow were burned into the stone walls. Long streams of orange, crimson, and imperial purple had erupted through windows and doors to streak the streets and surrounding ruins with slashing brush strokes. This became the Rainbow House of Chooka Frood. ~ Alfred Bester,
1152:That's when she noticed that Serena, Jimena, and Vanessa each wore matching silver charms.
Corrine caught what she was staring at.
"They never take them off," she whispered. "Not in P.E., not for dances. Never. They had another friend, Catty, who wore the same amulet, but she's gone now. Someday when we're alone, I'll tell you what happened to her."
Tianna looked at the face of the moon etched in the metal on the charms. Sparkling in the morning light, the charms didn't seem silver but more like a strange stone that reflected a rainbow of colors. ~ Lynne Ewing,
1153:Pollution were the rainbow-coloured oil slicks that spread upon the ocean's salty surface, the curling tendrils of smoke spiralling upwards into gray skies, the funeral pyres of rainforests, the sting of acid in the spring rain. Nonetheless, there was something about them that seemed so innocent and kind and friendly, despite the sites they guarded. Mandy often wondered why that was. Pollution looked like living weapons, with their sharp fingernails, powerful abilities and canine-like teeth, yet they had the most beautiful eyes and polite personalities. ~ Rebecca McNutt,
1154:A hundred years ago, Auguste Compte, ... a great philosopher, said that humans will never be able to visit the stars, that we will never know what stars are made out of, that that's the one thing that science will never ever understand, because they're so far away. And then, just a few years later, scientists took starlight, ran it through a prism, looked at the rainbow coming from the starlight, and said: "Hydrogen!" Just a few years after this very rational, very reasonable, very scientific prediction was made, that we'll never know what stars are made of. ~ Michio Kaku,
1155:It’s… You’ve been all over the world. Been in perilous places, taken risks that stop my breath. In comparison to all that, will what we might have…will I be enough?”

“Sweetheart…”

“You said my world, this world, is colorless, remember?” It almost made him laugh. “Honey-pie, when I’m with you, I think of a thousand colors. Your beautiful silvery eyes, your lemon-yellow swimsuit, your pink sunburn, your pumpkin shoes. You’re…you’re my rainbow.” His darling, serious, wonderful, brave, spirited, beautiful, talented Jane. So, so lovable ~ Christie Ridgway,
1156:My eyelids drooped, but I didn’t want to miss any of it—the way his fingertips were tracing the outline of my lips, the way his beautifully proportioned body felt against mine, the flecks of harvest gold in his sky-blue eyes. “Remember this.” He brushed the hair off my neck and breathed a kiss there. “When you’re curled up with your books on a rainy afternoon in England, remember how you painted my world with your colors. Remember your rainbow halo.” “I will.” A hot ache grew in my throat. He was already saying goodbye. “I’ll remember. For the rest of my life. ~ Leylah Attar,
1157:The whole world may say there is light and there is rainbow in the sky and the sun is rising,
but if my eyes are closed what does it mean to me?
The rainbows, the colors, the sunrise,
the whole thing is non-existential to me.
My eyes are closed, I am blind.
And if I listen to them too much,
and if I start believing in them too much,
and if I borrow their words and I also start talking about the rainbow that I have not seen,
about colors which I cannot see,
about the sunrise which is not my experience,
I may be lost in the forest of words. ~ Osho,
1158:You are not white,
but a rainbow of colors.
You are not black,
but golden.
You are not just a nationality,
but a citizen of the world.
You are not just for the right or left,
but for what is right over the wrong.
You are not just rich or poor,
but always wealthy in the mind and heart.
You are not perfect, but flawed.
You are flawed, but you are just.
You may just be a conscious human,
but you are also a magnificent
reflection of God.


THE CONSCIOUS HUMAN by Suzy Kassem
Copyright 1993-1994 - A SPRING FOR WISDOM ~ Suzy Kassem,
1159:And this is how I come face to face with my selfishness, because I don't know if I can enjoy this goldfish without knowing that he loves me, or if not loves me, then at least depends on me, i.e., swims up to my fingers greedily when I fill them with salty-smelling rainbow-colored flakes, and wiggle them over his head.

And this is disturbing to realize, that I have such difficulty enjoying anything that doesn't know I exist. Especially when I stop and think how big the world is, the world that is not even Japan or India, the world that is the room next door. ~ Amy Fusselman,
1160:My phone buzzes, and I shut off YouTube so I can access my messages.

Logan: Just found the perfect xmas present for you in Boston.

A photo promptly appears, summoning a loud groan from my throat. The asshole sent me a pic of a novelty My Little Pony dildo. Damn thing is bright pink, with rainbow sparkles on the handle.

Logan: And it’s rechargeable! U don’t have to buy batteries. THAT’S handy!

Me: Hardy-har-har. You = comedian.

Then I message Grace: Tell your BF to stop being mean to me.

She texts back a smiley face. Traitor. ~ Elle Kennedy,
1161:My chest tightens: seeing him so upset breaks my own heart. 'Don't you ever wish you could make that bit go away?" I say, feeling angry at the past. 'That you could erase those painful memories, forget they every happened, just remember the happy times you had together?'

'You must never say that,' he reprimands sternly.
'But why not?' I look at him in surprise.
'Because it's the bad memories that makes you appreciate the good ones. Don't ever wish them away. it's like your nan always used to say, "You need both the sun and the rain to make a rainbow". ~ Alexandra Potter,
1162:Remind me of the place. The wind breathing through the trees and the sound of coconuts dropping on the mud. Ta-dup ta dup. The hairy mangrove crabs and the turtles. The evening sky looking like a big mash up rainbow with all these colors leaking down on the sea. The fresh smell of fish and sand in the mornings. Cascadura jumping up from the ponds like living clumps of mud. Dew skating down from the big dasheen leaves as if they playing with the sunlight. A horsewhip snake slipping down a guava branch as smooth as flowing water. Cassava pone and seamoss drinks. ~ Rabindranath Maharaj,
1163:The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom of the profound gulf; but still I could make out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in which everything there was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which Musselmen say is the only pathway between Time and Eternity. This mist, or spray, was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the great walls of the funnel, as they all met together at the bottom-but the yell that went up to the Heavens from out of that mist, I dare not attempt to describe. ~ Edgar Allan Poe,
1164:In the seventeenth century there occurred the spiritual possession by divers demons of the nuns belonging to the Ursuline convent at Aix-en-Provence. Excommunication was soon in coming for the blighted sisters, who had been seduced into assorted blasphemies by the likes of Grésil, Sonnillon, and Vérin. De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal respectively characterizes these demons, in the words of an unknown translator, as “the one who glistens horribly like a rainbow of insects; the one who quivers in a horrible manner; and the one who moves with a particular creeping motion. ~ Thomas Ligotti,
1165:What was he to do this evening to pass the time? He might as well go to the Rainbow, and hear the talk about the cock-fighting: everybody was there, and what else was there to be done? Though, for his own part, he did not care a button for cock-fighting. Snuff, the brown spaniel, who had placed herself in front of him, and had been watching him for some time, now jumped up in impatience for the expected caress. But Godfrey thrust her away without looking at her, and left the room, followed humbly by the unresenting Snuff—perhaps because she saw no other career open to her. ~ George Eliot,
1166:In Hollywood, the real stars are all in animation. Alvin and the Chipmunks don't throw star fits, don't demand custom-designed Winnebagos, and are a breeze at costume fittings. Cruella DeVille, Gorgo, Rainbow Brite, Gus-Gus, Uncle Scrooge, and the Care Bears are all superstars and they don't have drug problems, marital difficulties, or paternity suits to blacken their images. They don't age, balk at promoting, or sass highly paid directors. Plus, you can market them to death and they never feel exploited. I'd like to do a big-budget snuff film starring every last one of them. ~ John Waters,
1167:THE CONSCIOUS HUMAN

You are not just white,
but a rainbow of colors.
You are not just black,
but golden.
You are not just a nationality,
but a citizen of the world.
You are not just for the right or left,
but for what is right over the wrong.
You are not just rich or poor,
but always wealthy in the mind and heart.
You are not perfect, but flawed.
You are flawed, but you are just.
You may just be conscious human,
but you are also a magnificent
reflection of God.

Suzy Kassem

“The Conscious Human” Poetry by Suzy Kassem ~ Suzy Kassem,
1168:On a morning like this the whole world seemed spun out of a rainbow. The clouds were mere breaths of rosy smoke away in the immensity of light where a single invisible lark was singing. The trees, the flowers and the very earth were so etherealized by the quality of light that they looked as though they might at any moment vanish, like mist drawn up by the sun, and John, soaked in the same light, lost all sense of heaviness in body, mind or soul. While they lasted such moments could make the whole drab stretch of painful years seem well worth while, leading to such freedom. ~ Elizabeth Goudge,
1169:It's not till sex has died out between a man and a woman that they can really love. And now I mean affection. Now I mean to be fond of (as one is fond of oneself) -to hope, to be disappointed, to live inside the other heart. When I look back on the pain of sex, the love like a wild fox so ready to bite, the antagonism that sits like a twin beside love, and contrast it with affection, so deeply unrepeatable, of two people who have lived a life together (and of whom one must die) it's the affection I find richer. It's that I would have again. Not all those doubtful rainbow colors. ~ Enid Bagnold,
1170:After a sleepless night the body gets weaker,
It becomes dear and not yours - and nobody's.
Just like a seraph you smile to people
And arrows moan in the slow arteries.

After a sleepless night the arms get weaker
And deeply equal to you are the friend and foe.
Smells like Florence in the frost, and in each
Sudden sound is the whole rainbow.

Tenderly light the lips, and the shadow's golden
Near the sunken eyes. Here the night has sparked
This brilliant likeness - and from the dark night
Only just one thing - the eyes - are growing dark. ~ Marina Tsvetaeva,
1171:... I was reminded of a remark of Willa Cather's, that you can't paint sunlight, you can only paint what it does with shadows on a wall. If you examine a life, as Socrates has been so tediously advising us to do for so many centuries, do you really examine a life, or do you examine the shadows it casts on other lives? Entity or relationships? Objective reality or the vanishing point of a multiple perspective exercise? Prism or the rainbows it refracts? And what if you're the wall? What if you never cast a shadow or rainbow of your own, but have only caught those cast by others? ~ Wallace Stegner,
1172:Each Life Converges To Some Centre
Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal,
Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity
To dare.
Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
To touch,
Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;
How high
Unto the saints' slow diligence
The sky!
Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,
But then,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.
~ Emily Dickinson,
1173:Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that arch, --as distinct too, yet as intimately blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? --from the covenant of peace a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might have been. ~ Edgar Allan Poe,
1174:Pynchon has been a favorite writer and a major influence all along. In many ways I see him as almost the start of a certain mutant pop culture imagery with esoteric historical and scientific information. Pynchon is a kind of mythic hero of mine, and I suspect that if you talk with a lot of recent SF writers you'll find they've all read Gravity's Rainbow (1973) several times and have been very much influenced by it. I was into Pynchon early on- I remember seeing a New York Times review of V. when it first came out- I was just a kid- and thinking, Boy, that sounds like some really weird shit! ~ William Gibson,
1175:Color is not a trivial subject but one that has compelled, for hundreds of years, a passionate curiosity in the greatest artists, philosophers, and natural scientists. The young Spinoza wrote his first treatise on the rainbow; the young Newton’s most joyous discovery was the composition of white light; Goethe’s great color work, like Newton’s, started with a prism; Schopenhauer, Young, Helmholtz, and Maxwell, in the last century, were all tantalized by the problem of color; and Wittgenstein’s last work was his Remarks on Colour. And yet most of us, most of the time, overlook its great mystery. ~ Oliver Sacks,
1176:My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me. ~ Christina Rossetti,
1177:I definitely feel like it took me a while to learn the baseline things you have to do if you want people to hear you. That's why I've had the same haircut for the entire time that I've been on television and that's why I wear literally the same jacket every day. I keep all the clothes I wear on TV in my office on a little hanging rack. My girlfriend calls it all the colors of the German rainbow. Grays, blacks, a slightly greenish gray for the days that I'm feeling particularly festive. I'm not trying to accomplish anything in the way I look other than to be boring enough for people to hear me. ~ Rachel Maddow,
1178:For nine miles along a submerged ridge, the corals rise in lumpy hillocks that spread out 100 yards or more, resembling heaped scoops of rainbow sherbet and Neapolitan ice cream. The mounds, some 100 feet tall, sprout delicate treelike gorgonians that sift currents for a plankton meal. Fish, worms and other creatures dart or crawl in every crevice. This description could apply to thousands of coral reefs in shallow, sun-streaked tropical waters from Australia to the Bahamas. But this is the Sula Ridge, 1,000 feet down in frigid darkness on the continental shelf 100 miles off Norway's coast. ~ James Dwight Dana,
1179:The surface of my “slow art” is prismatic, so at first glance the malachite surface looks green. But if the eye is allowed to linger on the surface—it usually takes ten minutes for the eye to adjust—the observer can begin to see the rainbow created by layer upon layer of broken shards of minerals. Such a contemplative experience can be a deep sensory journey toward wisdom. Willingness to spend time truly seeing can change how we view the world, moving us away from our fast-food culture of superficially scanning what we see and becoming surfeited with images that do not delve below the surface. ~ Makoto Fujimura,
1180:On Broadway
About me young careless feet
Linger along the garish street;
Above, a hundred shouting signs
Shed down their bright fantastic glow
Upon the merry crowd and lines
Of moving carriages below.
Oh wonderful is Broadway -- only
My heart, my heart is lonely.
Desire naked, linked with Passion,
Goes trutting by in brazen fashion;
From playhouse, cabaret and inn
The rainbow lights of Broadway blaze
All gay without, all glad within;
As in a dream I stand and gaze
At Broadway, shining Broadway -- only
My heart, my heart is lonely.
~ Claude McKay,
1181:Yo momma is so fat… she sat on a rainbow and made skittles.   Yo momma is so fat… she had to be baptized at sea world.   Yo momma is so fat… it took me a bus and two trains just to get on her good side.   Yo momma is so fat… she uses an air balloon for a parachute.   Yo momma is so fat… she was going to Wal-Mart, tripped over Kmart, and landed right on Target!!!   Yo momma is so fat… her measurements are 26-34-28, and her other arm is just as big!   Yo momma is so fat… she broke a branch in her family tree!   Yo momma is so fat… when she wore a blue and green sweater, everyone thought she was Planet Earth. ~ Various,
1182:Neatness In Apparel
In your garb and outward clothing
A reservëd plainness use;
By their neatness more distinguished
Than the brightness of their hues.
All the colours in the rainbow
Serve to spread the peacock's train;
Half the lustre of his feathers
Would turn twenty coxcombs vain.
Yet the swan that swims in rivers,
Pleases the judicious sight;
Who, of brighter colours heedless,
Trusts alone to simple white.
Yet all other hues, comparëd
With his whiteness, show amiss;
And the peacock's coat of colours
Like a fool's coat looks by his.
~ Charles Lamb,
1183:No free man needs a God; but was I free?
How fully I felt nature glued to me
And how my childish palate loved the taste
Half-fish, half-honey, of that golden paste!

My picture book was at an early age
The painted parchment papering our cage:
Mauve rings around the moon; blood-orange sun;
Twinned Iris; and that rare phenomenon
The iridule - when, beautiful and strange,
In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in an oval form
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm
Which in a distant valley has been staged -
For we are most artistically caged. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
1184:The Princess Saralinda was tall, with freesias in her dark hair, and she wore serenity brightly like the rainbow. It was not easy to tell her mouth from the rose, or her brow from the white lilac. Her voice was faraway music, and her eyes were candles burning on a tranquil night. She moved across the room like wind in violets, and her laughter sparkled on the air, which, from her presence, gained a faint and undreamed fragrance. The Prince was frozen by her beauty, but not cold, and the Duke, who was cold but not frozen, held up the palms of his gloves, as if she were a fire at which to warm his hands. ~ James Thurber,
1185:The giant brandished his fist to knock her flat. And glass exploded against his face. Thomas whipped his head round to see Blunderbuss, rainbow mud staining her rainbow yarn, in the traditional Wom fighting stance: her bone armoured rump in the air, front legs splayed out before her, mouth gaping open, in a tremendous snarl, spitting whiskey bottles, passion fruits, and horseshoes into the baseball's flabby cheeks.

"I'm not afraid of you!" the wombat yelled. "I saw you get stuck in the washing machine once. Round and round you went. Who's afraid of something that can't defeat a rinse cycle? ~ Catherynne M Valente,
1186:The Tortoise In Eternity
Within my house of patterned horn
I sleep in such a bed
As men may keep before they're born
And after when they're dead.
Sticks and stones may break their bones,
And words may make them bleed;
There is not one of them who owns
An armour to his need.
Tougher than hide or lozenged bark,
Snow-storm and thunder proof,
And quick with sun, and thick with dark,
Is this my darling roof.
Men's troubled dreams of death and birth
Puls mother-o'-pearl to black;
I bear the rainbow bubble Earth
Square on my scornful back.
~ Elinor Morton Wylie,
1187:We healed each other,” Lexi said, without removing her attention from her husband. “We were both lost and knocked down, but we held on tight, and raised each other from the ashes. He brought me my rainbow, Elsie,” she huffed a loving laugh and said, “he brought me the stars.”

I didn’t know what that reference meant, but I could feel the magnitude of what he meant to her. Lexi slipped out of the car and I did too. I walked to the back gate, staying out of sight. I glanced back, seeing Austin, with his gang tattoos and intimidating stature, taking Lexi in his arms and pressing a soft kiss on her mouth. ~ Tillie Cole,
1188:Would you scale the highest heaven, Would you pierce the lowest hell, Live in dreams of constant beauty, Or in basest thinkings dwell. For your thoughts are heaven above you, And your thoughts are hell below, Bliss is not, except in thinking, Torment nought but thought can know. Worlds would vanish but for thinking; Glory is not but in dreams; And the Drama of the ages From the Thought Eternal streams. Dignity and shame and sorrow, Pain and anguish, love and hate Are but maskings of the mighty Pulsing Thought that governs Fate. As the colors of the rainbow Makes the one uncolored beam, So the universal changes ~ James Allen,
1189:I wish I had better news for everyone and you can all read my report on our findings in my upcoming paper, as well as on my Web site once I get it finished. In the end, though, my quest for Atlantis did teach me something. In all our pasts lie our futures. By our own hands and decisions we will be damned and we will be saved. Whatever you do, put forth your best effort even if all you’re doing is chasing a never-ending rainbow. You might never reach the end of it, but along the way you’ll meet people who will mean the world to you and make memories that will keep you warm on even the coldest nights. (Tory) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
1190:Ordinary Miracles
Spring, rainbows,
ordinary miracles
about which
nothing new can be said.
The stars on a clear night
of a New England winter;
the soft air of the islands
along the old
Spanish Main;
pirate gold shining
in the palm;
the odor of roses
to the lover's nose. . .
There is no more poetry
to be written
of these things.
The rainbow's sudden revelation-behold!
The cliché is true!
What can one say
but that?
So too
with you, little heart,
little miracle,
but you are
no less miracle
for being ordinary.
~ Erica Jong,
1191:Offering For Picasso
This poem
is for Picasso
who didn't have hair and looked like cheese.
He divided up
the bodies of people
and a new form of art was born in the world.
A circle of yellow
became the sun
a rainbow sprouted in an intestine exposed,
a lost bicycle
when pounded and earrings thrown
let grow in the world to a thousand green beans:
Now that he's gone
Picasso, what machine
would keep order in our dreams? What charm
would vaccinate
against the blood of war and abandonment
so that the tattered world would again be beautiful?
~ Cirilo Bautista,
1192:Laughing, he’d kissed his son’s cheek and pulled the drawing back until it came into focus. It was the two of them standing in the hospital with a rainbow over their heads. And in the rainbow, Paden had scrawled the words: I lov you, Dedy. Nothing had ever meant more to him than those precious words that had been written from his son’s heart. That one moment of pure joy, knowing that after all he’d been through, he had one person alive who really loved him. One person who saw him as he wanted to be. He could still feel those tiny arms around his neck as Paden kissed his cheek and laid his head on his shoulder. A ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
1193:To be or not to be! Hamlet!! I beg to differ! How much more limiting could that question be? How much more restraining could it ever get? Do we only have two possible answers to a question? Do we only have two things to choose from? Are our options so restricted? Are we so grounded? Have we gone color blind? When did our retinas stop seeing the colors of a rainbow? Why do we print our experiences in duotone? In a game of multiple choice questions, how many answers could be correct? What number of choices do we have? Who gives us the options? When do we have to submit our selections? Who decides if we passed or failed? ~ Marwa Rakha,
1194:to die a thousand painful deaths.” Kat nodded, saying, “And that’s not even the worst part. He put her on the back of his unicorn and rode off into the rainbow. He’s never taken me to a rainbow.” Wait. “What are you talking about?” “My dream last night,” she said easily, then sipped her hot chocolate. “Your dream.” Reeve shook her head. “You’re more mad at him than ever because of a dream?” “Hey! I always behave myself in dreams,” she said. “He should, too. And if he can’t, he needs to apologize with more than my favorite flowers.” “He actually brought you flowers?” Stunned, I blinked at her. “For what he did in a dream? ~ Gena Showalter,
1195:We were all born to be peaceful citizens of the world. Take care of your global garden and do not allow evil gardeners to try and convince you which flowers are ugly and which should be destroyed. This is God's universe and he is the master gardener of all. If you see ugliness in his creations, then you see ugliness in our Creator. Wake up. If we eliminate all colors in his garden, then what would be a rainbow with only one color? And what would be a garden with only one kind of flower? Why would the Creator create a vast assortment of plants, ethnicities, and animals, if only one beast or seed is to dominate all of existence? ~ Suzy Kassem,
1196:I see a bird carrying me and carrying you, with us as its wings, beyond the dream, to a journey that has no end and no beginning, no purpose and no goal. I do not speak to you, and you do not speak to me; we listen only to the music of silence. Silence is the friend's trust of friend, imagination's self-confidence between rain and rainbow.
A rainbow is inspiration provoking the poet, uninvited, the infatuation of the poet with the prose of the Quran.
Which of your Lord's blessings do you disown?
We are absent, you and I; we are present, you and I.
And absent.
Which of your Lord's blessings do you disown? ~ Mahmoud Darwish,
1197:A Birthday
My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1198:The beautiful is hidden from the eyes of those who are not searching for the truth, for whom it is contra-indicated. But the profound lack of spirituality of those people who see art and condemn it, the fact that they are neither willing nor ready to consider the meaning and aim of their existence in any higher sense, is often masked by the vulgarly simplistic cry, 'I don't like it!', 'It's boring!' It is not a point that one can argue; but it like the utterance of a man born blind who is being told about a rainbow. He simply remains deaf to the pain undergone by the artist in order to share with others the truth he has reached. ~ Andrei Tarkovsky,
1199:Why shouldn’t I? I demand silently. Why shouldn’t I become a famous writer? Like Norman Mailer. Or Philip Roth. And F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway and all those other men. Why can’t I be like them? I mean, what is the point of becoming a writer if no one reads what you’ve written?
Damn Viktor Greene and The New School. Why do I have to keep proving myself all of the time? Why can’t I be like L’il, with everyone praising and encouraging me? Or Rainbow, with her sense of entitlement. I bet Viktor Greene never asked Rainbow why she wanted to be a writer.
Or what if-I wince-Viktor Greene is right? I’m not a writer after all. ~ Candace Bushnell,
1200:I Loved...
I loved illustrious cities and the crowds
That eddy through their incandescent nights.
I loved remote horizons with far clouds
Girdled, and fringed about with snowy heights.
I loved fair women, their sweet, conscious ways
Of wearing among hands that covet and plead
The rose ablossom at the rainbow's base
That bounds the world's desire and all its need.
Nature I worshipped, whose fecundity
Embraces every vision the most fair,
Of perfect benediction. From a boy
I gloated on existence. Earth to me
Seemed all-sufficient and my sojourn there
One trembling opportunity for joy.
~ Alan Seeger,
1201:To become a true global citizen, one must abandon all notions of 'otherness' and instead embrace 'togetherness'. The world is no longer white, black, yellow and brown. Through love, tribes have been intermixing colors to reveal a new rainbow world. And as more time passes, this racial and cultural blending will make it harder for humans to side with one race, nation or religion over another. Therefore, practical wisdom should be used to abandon any cultural, social, religious, tribal, and national beliefs of alterity altogether. This is the only way mankind will truly evolve. Segregation is a word of the past. Unity is the key to a peaceful future. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1202:Shall I tell you all about her, cat? She is very beautiful – your mistress,’ he murmured drowsily, ‘and her hair is heavy as burnished gold. I could paint her – not on canvas – for I should need shades and tones and hues and dyes more splendid than the iris of a splendid rainbow. I could only paint her with closed eyes, for in dreams alone can such colours as I need be found. For her eyes, I must have azure from skies untroubled by a cloud – the skies of dreamland. For her lips, roses from the palaces of slumberland, and for her brow, snow-drifts from mountains which tower in fantastic pinnacles to the moons – oh, much higher than our moon here ~ Robert W Chambers,
1203:Sonnet 10
I have sought Happiness, but it has been
A lovely rainbow, baffling all pursuit,
And tasted Pleasure, but it was a fruit
More fair of outward hue than sweet within.
Renouncing both, a flake in the ferment
Of battling hosts that conquer or recoil,
There only, chastened by fatigue and toil,
I knew what came the nearest to content.
For there at least my troubled flesh was free
From the gadfly Desire that plagued it so;
Discord and Strife were what I used to know,
Heartaches, deception, murderous jealousy;
By War transported far from all of these,
Amid the clash of arms I was at peace.
~ Alan Seeger,
1204:People want black-and-white answers, but Scripture is rainbow arch across a stormy sky. Our sacred book is not an indexed answer book or life manual; it is also a grand story, mystery, invitation, truth and wisdom, and a passionate love letter. I’ve abandoned the idea that my job is to get the absolute, 100 percent right answers on everything. And my task here, in this book, isn’t to silence all discussion or find the magic key that unlocks a “This is the answer! Case closed! Court dismissed!” answer for you. I want you to wrestle with the Bible. Do it. Wrestle until, Jacob-like, you walk with a limp ever after, and you receive the blessing of the Lord. ~ Sarah Bessey,
1205:And so on this rainbow day, with storms all around them, and blue sky above, they rode only as far as the valley. But from there, before they turned to go back, the monuments appeared close, and they loomed grandly with the background of purple bank and creamy cloud and shafts of golden lightning. They seemed like sentinels — guardians of a great and beautiful love born under their lofty heights, in the lonely silence of day, in the star-thrown shadow of night. They were like that love. And they held Lucy and Slone, calling every day, giving a nameless and tranquil content, binding them true to love, true to the sage and the open, true to that wild upland home. ~ Zane Grey,
1206:Don’t forget to be specific…Details. Put in all the details. The boys appreciate all that detailed daily life sh*t they don’t get anymore. If you’ve got a teacher you’re hot for, tell ‘em what her hair looks like, what her legs look like, what she eats for lunch. If she’s teaching you geometry, tell ‘em how she draws a bloody triangle on the blackboard. If you went down the shop for a bag of sweets yesterday, did you ride your pushee? Did you go by foot? Did you see a rainbow along the way? Did you buy gobstoppers or clinkers or caramels? If you had a good meat pie last week was it steak and peas or curry or mushroom and beef? You catchin’ my drift? Details. ~ Trent Dalton,
1207:What was this universe? What was this grand, eternal pageant to which he had yearned from his childhood up, and in which he could never take part? Every morning the same magnificent sun; every morning the same rainbow in the waterfall; every evening the same glow on the snow-mountains. Every little fly that buzzed in the sun's rays was a singer in the universal chorus, "knew its place, and was happy in it." Every blade of grass grew and was happy. Everything knew its path and loved it, went forth with a song and returned with a song; only he knew nothing, understood nothing, neither men nor words, nor any of nature's voices; he was a stranger and an outcast. ~ Joseph Conrad,
1208:Being a woman is just be a leaf in the wind is perpetual search and verse is a fallen flower petal on the table one evening rain and restless hands of a drop of water that filters the perfume of a rock that emerges from a balcony with geraniums and roses is looking to be root moisture to keep the cup simply being woman is being land and seed is being tree branch and be eternally girl in the depths of the soul is the daughter and mother friend, sister, girlfriend, wife joy and tear being woman is simply being star rainbow and hot breakfast in the mornings and evenings is expected to be entangled balm and comfort to the bone meat scented with musk and eternal love. ~ Anonymous,
1209:Love is the very essence of life. It is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yet it is not found only at the end of the rainbow. Love is at the beginning also, and from it springs the beauty that arched across the sky on a stormy day. Love is the security for which children weep, the yearning of youth, the adhesive that binds marriage, and the lubricant that prevents devastating friction in the home; it is the peace of old age, the sunlight of hope shining through death. How rich are those who enjoy it in their associations with family, friends, and neighbors! Love, like faith, is a gift of God. It is also the most enduring and most powerful virtue. ~ Gordon B Hinckley,
1210:Falling in love is not a rational process. It can’t be planned or avoided. It happens—for good or bad it simply happens. I knew he’d eventually leave. I knew we couldn’t be together, but I fell anyway. It wasn’t just the magic or the good looks—though I’m not going to lie and say that those things didn’t matter. They definitely bumped him way ahead of most other Nordby guys. But what also bumped him ahead was that he was kind and attentive. He was honest about his failures and worries. He seemed vulnerable and powerful at the same time. In the end, I would never be able to figure it out.

Trying to make sense of love is like trying to dissect a rainbow. ~ Suzanne Selfors,
1211:A hundred years ago, Auguste Comte, … a great philosopher, said that humans will never be able to visit the stars, that we will never know what stars are made out of, that that's the one thing that science will never ever understand, because they're so far away. And then, just a few years later, scientists took starlight, ran it through a prism, looked at the rainbow coming from the starlight, and said: "Hydrogen!" Just a few years after this very rational, very reasonable, very scientific prediction was made, that we'll never know what stars are made of. ~ Michio Kaku,
1212:I suspect that it refers to that friend of our childhood, the prince of the old folk tale; the young man who travels for seven miles and comes to seven gates guarded by seven dragons, and passes through all sorts of perils, which are marked at once by moral heroism and mathematical symmetry. It is he who is to be exhibited in as a despot and oppressor; as a despot of elfland and an oppressor of seven-headed dragons. As he is rather a remote as well as a romantic figure, it may be a little difficult for historians to discover what were his true colours. His true colours, so far as I am concerned, are silver and gold and crimson, and all the colours of the rainbow. ~ G K Chesterton,
1213:Her hair rustled, brushing her shoulders. There are many days when all the awful things that happen make you sick at heart, when the path before you is so steep you can't bear to look. Not even love can rescue a person from that. Still, enveloped in the twilight coming from the west, there she was, watering the plants with her slender, graceful hands, in the midst of a light so sweet it seemed to form a rainbow in the transparent water she poured.
"I think I understand."
"I love your honest heart, Mikage. The grandmother who raised you must have been a wonderful person."
I smiled. "She was."
"You've been lucky," said Eriko. She laughed, her back to me. ~ Banana Yoshimoto,
1214:The hedge allowed us a glimpse, inside the park, of an alley bordered with jasmine, pansies, and verbenas, among which the stocks held open their fresh plump purses, of a pink as fragrant and as faded as old Spanish leather, while on the gravel-path a long watering-pipe, painted green, coiling across the ground, poured, where its holes were, over the flowers whose perfume those holes inhaled, a vertical and prismatic fan of infinitesimal, rainbow-coloured drops. Suddenly I stood still, unable to move, as happens when something appears that requires not only our eyes to take it in, but involves a deeper kind of perception and takes possession of the whole of our being. ~ Marcel Proust,
1215:I’d felt this before, when my granddad was in the hospital before he died. We all camped out in the waiting room, eating our meals together, most of us sleeping in the chairs every night. Family from far-flung places would arrive at odd hours and we’d all stand and stretch, hug, get reacquainted, and pass the babies around.
A faint, pale stream of beauty and joy flowed through the heavy sludge of fear and grief. It was kind of like those puddles of oil you see in parking lots that look ugly until the sun hits them and you see rainbows pulling together in the middle of the mess.
And wasn’t that just how life usually felt—a confusing swirl of ugly and rainbow? ~ Laura Anderson Kurk,
1216:Niagara
Thou art a giant altar, where the Earth
Must needs send up her thanks to Him above
Who did create her. Nature cometh here
To lay its offerings upon thy shrine.
The morning and the evening shower down
Bright jewels, -- changeful opals, em'ralds fair.
The burning noon sends floods of molten gold,
The calm night crowns thee with its host of stars,
The moon enfolds thee with her silver veil,
And o'er thee e'er is arched the rainbow's span, -The gorgeous marriage-ring of Earth and Heaven.
While ever from the holy altar grand
Ascends the incense of the mist and spray,
That mounts to God with thy wild roar of praise
~ Emma Lazarus,
1217:Aloof
THE irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:-Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof, bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? What hand thy hand?
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seem'd not so far to seek,
And all the world and I seem'd much less cold,
And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong, and life itself not weak.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1218:Light came and went and came again, the great plume of the fountain pulsed and winds of April sheeted it across the Square in a rainbow gossamer of spray. The fire department horses drummed on the floors with wooden stomp, most casually, and with dry whiskings of their clean, coarse tails. The street cars ground into the Square from every portion of the compass and halted briefly like wound toys in their familiar quarter-hourly formula. A dray, hauled by a boneyard nag, rattled across the cobbles on the other side before his father's shop. The courthouse bell boomed out its solemn warning of immediate three, and everything was just the same as it had always been. ~ Thomas Wolfe, The Lost Boy,
1219:There are moments in life when you blunder in front of a window, or a glass. And you stop to see the most risible creature peering back at you, in some hideous weskit that he has mistaken for the very pineapple of fashion, a kingsman slung round his neck like the banner of his pretentions, with an expression of adolescent constipation that is clearly intended as Deep Sagacity. You blink - you may even for an instant begin to laugh - until the realization dawns: this is a reflection, and it is mine. You've draped yourself in Rainbow togs and swaddled yourself in fervent convictions, but in that reflection there you stand: exposed in the knobbly white nakedness of your own absurdity. ~ Ian Weir,
1220:Pigments such as haemoglobin are coloured because they absorb light of particular colours (bands of light, as in a rainbow) and reflect back light of other colours. The pattern of light absorbed by a compound is known as its absorption spectrum. When binding oxygen, haemoglobin absorbs light in the blue-green and yellow parts of the spectrum, but reflects back red light, and this is the reason why we perceive arterial blood as a vivid red colour. The absorption spectrum changes when oxygen dissociates from haemoglobin in venous blood. Deoxyhaemoglobin absorbs light across the green part of the spectrum, and reflects back red and blue light. This gives venous blood its purple colour. ~ Nick Lane,
1221:My father would prefer I go to Ranhatta, but I want to see what tropical waters are like. I hear there are reefs you can just walk out to, as colorful as a rainbow."
"You'll have to tell me all about it," Ariel said with a touch of jealousy.
"I thought you would come along and lead our ship into safe harbors," he said, tweaking her nose.
"Maybe. Mer move slower than human ships, and mer kings slowest of all."
"So is there a chance? That we could ever be together? Forever?" Eric asked, trying not to sound childish. Trying not to sound desperate.
It was adorable.
"There is always a chance," Ariel said, kissing him on the cheek. "And each day, it looks better and better. ~ Liz Braswell,
1222:I sometimes feel like my head is a computer with too many windows open. Too much clutter on the desktop. There is a metaphorical spinning rainbow wheel inside me. Disabling me. And if only I could find a way to switch off some of the frames, if only I could drag some of the clutter into the trash, then I would be fine. But which frame would I choose, when they all seem so essential? How can I stop my mind being overloaded when the world is overloaded? We can think about anything. And so it makes sense that we end up thinking about everything. We might have to, sometimes, be brave enough to switch the screens off in order to switch ourselves back on. To disconnect in order to reconnect. ~ Matt Haig,
1223:In every big-budget science fiction movie there's the moment when a spaceship as large as New York suddenly goes to light speed. A twanging noise like a wooden ruler being plucked over the edge of a desk, a dazzling refraction of light, and suddenly the stars have all been stretched out thin and it's gone. This was exactly like that, except that instead of a gleaming twelve-mile-long spaceship, it was an off-white twenty-year-old motor scooter. And you didn't have the special rainbow effects. And it probably wasn't going at more than two hundred miles an hour. And instead of a pulsing whine sliding up the octaves, it just went putputputputput ...
VROOOOSH.
But it was exactly like that anyway. ~ Neil Gaiman,
1224:Mount Kikineis
Look, the abyss, the downward sky, the sea!
Bird-mountain, shot with thunder, furls below
feathers and wings, in curve beyond rainbow,
snow-sails and mast, immobile, vast, free;
and cloudlike over spacious limbo, covers
wide azure - oh, island-hemisphere in flight,
darkens a half-world with its own sad night.
Look, on its forehead ribbon flames and hovers!
Lightning! But stop here. At our feet, abysses,
ravines, thresholds we must at gallop span.
I leap; stand ready with whip and spur; stare
past rock escarpment where I vanish. This is
your sign: If white panache gleams, I am there;
if not, there is no path beyond for man.
~ Adam Mickiewicz,
1225:My eyelids are heavy as stone. But when I sleep, I'll have that dream again. I haven't wanted to tell you about it, until now.
I'll be in the Separates, and I'll be digging with my bare hands. When I've made a hole deep enough to plant a tree, I'll place my fingers inside. I'll slip off the ring you gave me. It will catch the light and glint a rainbow of colors over my skin, but I will take my hands away, leaving it there. I'll sprinkle the earth back over it, and I will bury it. Back where it belongs.
I'll rest against a tree's rough trunk. The sun will be setting, it's dazzling color threading through the sky, making my cheeks warm.
Then I will wake up.

Good-bye, Ty,
Gemma ~ Lucy Christopher,
1226:We live in a world that operates according to a few general laws of nature. Everything you do from the moment you get up to the moment you go to bed happens because of the working of one of these laws. This exceedingly beautiful and elegant view of the world is the crowning achievement of centuries of work by scientists. There is intellectual and aesthetic satisfaction to be gained from seeing the unity between a pot of water on a stove and the slow march of the continents, between the colors of the rainbow and the behavior of the fundamental constituents of matter. The scientifically illiterate person has been cut off from an enriching part of life, just as surely as a person who cannot read. Finally, ~ Robert M Hazen,
1227:New York! I say New York, let black blood flow into your blood.
Let it wash the rust from your steel joints, like an oil of life
Let it give your bridges the curve of hips and supple vines.
Now the ancient age returns, unity is restored,
The recociliation of the Lion and Bull and Tree
Idea links to action, the ear to the heart, sign to meaning.
See your rivers stirring with musk alligators
And sea cows with mirage eyes. No need to invent the Sirens.
Just open your eyes to the April rainbow
And your eyes, especially your ears, to God
Who in one burst of saxophone laughter
Created heaven and earth in six days,
And on the seventh slept a deep Negro sleep. ~ L opold S dar Senghor,
1228:Sonnet Lxxvii. To The Insect Of The Gossamer
SMALL, viewless aeronaut, that by the line
Of Gossamer suspended, in mid air
Float'st on a sun beam--Living atom, where
Ends thy breeze-guided voyage;--with what design,
In ether dost thou launch thy form minute,
Mocking the eye?--Alas! before the veil
Of denser clouds shall hide thee, the pursuit
Of the keen Swift may end thy fairy sail!-Thus on the golden thread that Fancy weaves
Buoyant, as Hope's illusive flattery breathes,
The young and visionary poet leaves
Life's dull realities, while sevenfold wreaths
Of rainbow-light around his head revolve.
Ah! soon at Sorrow's touch the radiant dreams dissolve!
~ Charlotte Smith,
1229:We all know that rainbows are temporary optical illusions based on the factors of sunlight, moisture, and heat. The environment creates each rainbow like the mind creates a self. Both creations are relatively real, in that we can genuinely experience them temporarily; but just as the factors that created the illusion (whether rainbow or self) arose, so will they also pass. There is no permanent self; there is no permanent rainbow. It is not true to say that there is no self at all or that everything is empty or illusory, but it is true that everything is constantly changing and that there is no solid, permanent, unchanging self within the process that is life. Everything and everyone is an unfolding process. ~ Noah Levine,
1230:I sometimes feel like my head is a computer with too many windows open. Too much clutter on the desktop. There is a metaphorical spinning rainbow wheel inside me. Disabling me. And if only I could find a way to switch off some of the frames, if only I could drag some of the clutter into the trash, then I would be fine. But which frame would I choose, when they all seem so essential? How can I stop my mind being overloaded when the world is overloaded? We can think about >anything<./>. And so it makes sense that we end up thinking about >everything<./>. We might have to, sometimes, be brave enough to switch the screens off in order to switch ourselves back on. To disconnect in order to reconnect. ~ Matt Haig,
1231:Moon River

Moon river, wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style some day
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're goin', i'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me

(moon river, wider than a mile)
(i'm crossin' you in style some day)
Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker
Wherever you're goin', i'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after that same rainbow's end, waitin' 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river, and me ~ Audrey Hepburn,
1232:And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. Viewed close: a freckled hand against a black coat, an origami frog tipped over on its side. Step away, and the illusion snaps in again: life-more-than-life, never-dying ~ Donna Tartt,
1233:If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal- that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1234:I opened my eyes today to a world that felt alien. For though things resembled the familiar, nothing was the same. Walls I once considered confining, crumbled at the slightest shove. Mountains that for ages had barred my view now faded, transparent. Meandering roads stretched out as straight as an arrow, void of stop signs. Obstacles no longer stood stationary. Pinnacles loomed within reach. Beasts were tame, bullies timid, wagging tongues all tied into knots, and in the palm of my hand glistened the end of a glorious rainbow. It took but a moment to realize that in my newfound sight, everything I’d ever longed for was accessible. Incredibly, the only thing that had really changed was the way I saw the world. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
1235:I sometimes feel like my head is a computer with too many windows open. Too much clutter on the desktop. There is a metaphorical spinning rainbow wheel inside me. Disabling me. And if only I could find a way to switch off some of the frames, if only I could drag some of the clutter into the trash, then I would be fine. But which frame would I choose, when they all seem so essential? How can I stop my mind being overloaded when the world is overloaded? We can think about anything<.i>. And so it makes sense that we end up thinking about everything<.i>. We might have to, sometimes, be brave enough to switch the screens off in order to switch ourselves back on. To disconnect in order to reconnect. ~ Matt Haig,
1236:Fiammetta
BEHOLD Fiammetta, shown in Vision here.
Gloom-girt 'mid Spring-flushed apple-growth she stands;
And as she sways the branches with her hands,
Along her arm the sundered bloom falls sheer,
In separate petals shed, each like a tear;
While from the quivering bough the bird expands
His wings. And lo! thy spirit understands
Life shaken and shower'd and flown, and Death drawn near.
All stirs with change. Her garments beat the air:
The angel circling round her aureole
Shimmers in flight against the tree's grey bole:
While she, with reassuring eyes most fair,
A presage and a promise stands; as 'twere
On Death's dark storm the rainbow of the Soul.
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
1237:Sonnet Xxviii. To Friendship
THOU! whose name too often is profaned;
Whose charms celestial, few have hearts to feel;
Unknown to Folly--and by Pride disdain'd!
--To thy soft solace may my sorrows steal!
Like the fair moon, thy mild and genuine ray
Through life's long evening shall unclouded last;
While pleasure's frail attachments fleet away,
As fades the rainbow from the northern blast!
'Tis thine, O Nymph! with 'balmy hands to bind'
The wounds inflicted in misfortune's storm,
And blunt severe affliction's sharpest dart!
--'Tis thy pure spirit warms my Anna's mind,
Beams through the pensive softness of her form,
And holds its altar--on her spotless heart!
~ Charlotte Smith,
1238:And there they were, the Foreign Returnees, in wash'n'wear suits and rainbow sunglasses. With an end to grinding poverty in their Aristocrat suitcases. With cement roofs for their thatched houses, and geysers for their parents' bathrooms. With sewage systems and septic tanks. Maxis and high heels. Puff sleeves and lipstick. Mixy-grinders and automatic flashes for their cameras. With keys to count, and cupboards to lock. With a hunger for kappa and meen vevichathu that they hadn’t eaten for so long. With love and a lick of shame that their families who had come to meet them were so... so... gawkish. Look at the way they dressed! Surely they had more suitable airport wear! Why did Malayalees have such awful teeth? (134) ~ Arundhati Roy,
1239:You can only enter the Otherworld by invitation, self-worth or sacrifice. Or by standing beneath a double-rainbow with a belly full of cold, cold sapphires. And I have not seen a double-rainbow in five hundred years. And I know you have no invitation, for your name is on no list. The way you seek before me now is the way of self-worth, and that you have not earned.”
“There are demons inside the Otherworld. Flesh-eating bhuts and wraiths the size of whole countries and you’re telling me that I have to prove myself to join them?”
“I never said it had to be good self-worth. You could slay a million children. Maybe then you could come. But in your current state, your soul cannot handle the Otherworld. ~ Roshani Chokshi,
1240:The moors were far more complex than they had seemed to her on that first night, when she had been young and innocent and unaware of her own future. They were brown, yes, riddled with dead and dying vegetation. Every shade of brown that there was could be found on the Moors. They were also bright with growing green and mellow gold, and with the rainbow pops of flowers - yellow marigold and blue heather and purple wolf’s bane. Hemlock bloomed white as clouds. Foxglove spanned the spectrum of sunset. The Moors were beautiful in their own way, and if their beauty was the quiet sort that required time and introspection to be seen, well, there was nothing wrong with that. The best beauty was the sort that took some seeking. ~ Seanan McGuire,
1241:O'Shaughnessy is hitting Denholt on the side of his head with his free arm, great, walloping, pile-driver blows. The two of them stagger together, like partners in a crazy dance. Glass is breaking all around them. Gray smoke from the six shots, pink-and-white dust from the chipped brick-and-plaster walls, swirl around them in a rainbow haze. Something vividly green flares up from one of the overturned retorts, goes right out again. O'Shaughnessy tears the emptied gun away, flings it off somewhere. More breaking glass, and this time a tart pungent smell that makes the nostrils sting. The crunch of pulverized tube glass underfoot makes it sound as if they were scuffling in sand or hard-packed snow. ("Jane Brown's Body") ~ Cornell Woolrich,
1242:My parents never sugarcoated what they took to be the harder truths about life. Craig, for example, got a new bike one summer and rode it East to lake Michigan, to the paved pathway along Rainbow Beach, where you could feel the breeze off the water. He’d been promptly picked up by a police officer who accused him of stealing it, unwilling to accept that a young black boy would have come across a new bike in an honest way. (The officer, an African American man himself, ultimately got a brutal tongue-lashing from my mother, who made him apologize to Craig.) What had happened, my parents told us, was unjust, but also unfortunately common. The color of our skin made us vulnerable. Is was a thing we’d always have to navigate. ~ Michelle Obama,
1243:Mo Shang Sang
Driving a rainbow,
Riding crimson clouds,
I ascend the Nine Peaks to the Gates of Jade.
Crossing Heaven's River ,
Reaching Mount Kunlun ,
I meet the Western Goddess, pay my respects to the Sun.
Chisong's my companion,
With Xianmen I am friends
I learn to nurture my spirit with the Tao that transcends.
My food's the immortal's lingzhi ,
My drink's from fragrant springs,
My staff is made of laurel, and on my head an orchid ring.
No mortal affairs or troubles,
No limits to where I go,
As swift as the wind blows in the universe I travel.
Though the shadow has moved not,
A thousand miles I've passed
Ageless as the mountains but forgetting not the past.
~ Cao Cao,
1244:This Stone

He went looking for a road
that doesn't lead to death.
He went looking for that road
and found it.
It was a stone road.
He walked that road
that doesn't lead to death.
He walked on it awhile
before he stopped,
having turned to stone.
Now he stands there on that road
that doesn't lead to death
not going anywhere.
He can't dance.
from his eyes stones fall.
The rainbow people pass him
crossing that road, long-legged, light-stepping,
going from the Four Houses
to the dancing in the Five Houses.
They pick up his tears.
This stone is a tear
from his eye, this stone
given me on the mountain
by one who died before my birth,
this stone, this stone. ~ Ursula K Le Guin,
1245:Now an angel of the Lord appeared to Moses in a blazing fire -- a fire that devours fire; a fire that burns in things dry and moist; a fire that glows amid snow and ice; a fire that is like a crouching lion; a fire that reveals itself in many forms; a fire that is, and never expires; a fire that shines and roars; a fire that blazes and sparkles; a fire that flies in a storm wind; a fire that burns without wood; a fire that renews itself every day; a fire that is not fanned by fire; a fire that billows like palm branches; a fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning; a fire black as a raven; a fire, curled, like the colours of the rainbow! [1835.jpg] -- from The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, Edited by T. Carmi

~ Yannai, The Celestial Fire
,
1246:he found a palpitating snake,
Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.  She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d; 50
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries —
So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries,
She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self.
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar:
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete: 60 ~ John Keats,
1247:PERCY ALREADY FELT LIKE THE lamest demigod in the history of lame. The purse was the final insult. They’d left R.O.F.L. in a hurry, so maybe Iris hadn’t meant the bag as a criticism. She’d quickly stuffed it with vitamin-enriched pastries, dried fruit leather, macrobiotic beef jerky, and a few crystals for good luck. Then she’d shoved it at Percy: Here, you’ll need this. Oh, that looks good. The purse—sorry, masculine accessory bag—was rainbow tie-dyed with a peace symbol stitched in wooden beads and the slogan Hug the Whole World. Percy wished it said Hug the Commode. He felt like the bag was a comment on his massive, incredible uselessness. As they sailed north, he put the man satchel as far away from him as he could, but the boat was small. ~ Rick Riordan,
1248:We liked our grandparents. We liked our uncle and our aunt. They had known our dad and our brother Ben. They had some of the same memories we did. Sometimes they even brought things up, like, “Remember when your dad went out in the kayak at Aspen Lake and he flipped over and we had to save him in our paddleboat?” and we would all start laughing because we had the same picture in our minds, my dad with his sunglasses dangling from one ear and his hair all wet. And they knew that Ben’s favorite kind of ice cream wasn’t ice cream at all, it was rainbow sherbet, and he always ate green first, and so when I saw it in my grandma’s freezer once and I started crying they didn’t even ask why and I think I saw my uncle Nick, my mom’s brother, crying too. ~ Ally Condie,
1249:Jesus. Was it possible to rape somebody’s hand? Eleanor wouldn’t look at Park during English and history. He went to her locker after school, but she wasn’t there. When he got on the bus, she was already sitting in their seat – but sitting in his spot, against the wall. He was too embarrassed to say anything. He sat down next to her and let his hands hang between his knees … Which meant she really had to reach for his wrist, to pull his hand into hers. She wrapped her fingers around his and touched his palm with her thumb. Her fingers were trembling. Park shifted in his seat and turned his back to the aisle. ‘Okay?’ she whispered. He nodded, taking a deep breath. They both stared down at their hands. Jesus. ========== Eleanor & Park (Rainbow Rowell) ~ Anonymous,
1250:I believe that man must learn to live without those consolations called religious, which is own intelligence must by now have told him belong to the childhood of the race. Philosophy can really give us nothing permanent to believe either; it is too rich in answers, each canceling out the rest. The quest for Meaning is foredoomed. Human life 'means' nothing. But this is not to say that it is not worth living. What does a Debussy Arabesque 'mean,' or a rainbow or a rose? A man delights in all of these, knowing himself to be no more--a wisp of music and a haze of dreams dissolving against the sun. Man has only his own two feet to stand on, his own human trinity to see him through: Reason, Courage, and Grace. And the first plus the second equals the third. ~ Peter De Vries,
1251:Thou living light that in thy rainbow hues
Clothest this naked world; and over Sea
And Earth and air, and all the shapes that be
In peopled darkness of this wondrous world
The Spirit of thy glory dost diffuse
... truth ... thou Vital Flame
Mysterious thought that in this mortal frame
Of things, with unextinguished lustre burnest
Now pale and faint now high to Heaven upcurled
That eer as thou dost languish still returnest
And ever
Before the ... before the Pyramids

So soon as from the Earth formless and rude
One living step had chased drear Solitude
Thou wert, Thought; thy brightness charmed the lids
Of the vast snake Eternity, who kept
The tree of good and evil.--

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, To The Mind Of Man
,
1252:Like 90 percent of the television they watch, it comes from the south and is shown dubbed into Yiddish. It concerns the adventures of a pair of children with Jewish names who look like they might be part Indian and have no visible parents. They do have a crystalline magical dragon scale that they wish on in order to travel to a land of pastel dragons, each distinguished by its color and its particular brand of imbecility. Little by little, the children spend more and more time with their magical dragon scale until one day they travel off to the land of rainbow idiocy and never return; their bodies are found by the night manager of their cheap flop, each with a bullet in the back of the head. Maybe, Landsman thinks, something gets lost in the translation. ~ Michael Chabon,
1253:I am falling, tumbling through the air, but this time the darkness is alive around me, full of beating things, and I realize that I'm not surrounded by dark but have only had my eyes closed all this time. I open them, feeling silly, and at the same time a hundred thousand butterlies take off around me, so many of them in so many brilliant colors they are like a solid rainbow, temporarily obscuring the sun. But as they wing higher and higher they reveal a landscape below us, all green and gold and sun-drenched fields and pink-tinged clouds drifting underneath me, and the air around me is clear and blue and sweet smelling, and I'm laughing, laughing, laughing as I spin through the air because, of course, I haven't been falling all the time.
I've been flying. ~ Lauren Oliver,
1254:In Africa, Asia, Amerindia, Oceania, Europe came and established its order of Analysis and Death. What it could not use, it killed or altered. In time the death-colonies grew strong enough to break away. But the impulse to empire, the mission to propagate death, the structure of it, kept on. Now we are in the last phase. American Death has come to occupy Europe. It has learned empire from its old metropolis. But now we have only the structure left us, none of the great rainbow plumes, no fittings of gold, no epic marches over alkali seas. The savages of other continents, corrupted but still resisting in the name of life, have gone on despite everything... while Death and Europe are separate as ever, their love still unconsummated. Death only rules here. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1255:The Rainbow Of Promise
In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled,
And the storm-clouds have shut out its light;
But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,
And the universe thrills at the sight.
Tis the flag of our Union, the red, white, and blue,
Our Star-spangled Banner-our pride;
Fair symbol of all that is noble and true,
Flung out over continents wide.
Flung out in its glory o'er land and o'er sea,
With a message from God in each star;
And a glorious promise of peace yet to be
In the fluttering folds of each bar.
A Rainbow of Promise, bright emblem of hope,
Fair flag of each cause that is just;
No longer in doubt or in darkness we gropeIn the Star-spangled Banner we trust.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1256:Delight Is As The Flight
257
Delight is as the flight—
Or in the Ratio of it,
As the Schools would say—
The Rainbow's way—
A Skein
Flung colored, after Rain,
Would suit as bright,
Except that flight
Were Aliment—
"If it would last"
I asked the East,
When that Bent Stripe
Struck up my childish
Firmament—
And I, for glee,
Took Rainbows, as the common way,
And empty Skies
The Eccentricity—
And so with Lives—
And so with Butterflies—
Seen magic—through the fright
That they will cheat the sight—
And Dower latitudes far on—
Some sudden morn—
Our portion—in the fashion—
Done—
~ Emily Dickinson,
1257:..but if it does occur, then anyone can comprehend that above us and below us, outside of ourselves and deep within ourselves, there is a universe, the one and only, which is not identical with the sky looming above us overhead, because that universe is not made of stars and planets and suns and galaxies, because that universe is not a picture, it cannot be seen, it doesn't even have a name, for it is so much more precious than anything that could have a name, and that is why it is such a joy to me that I can practice Seiobo; Seiobo is the emissary who arrives and says I am not the desire for peace, I am peace itself; Seiobo arrives and says do not be afraid, for the universe of peace is not the rainbow of yearning; the universe, the real universe— already exists. ~ L szl Krasznahorkai,
1258:Up on the bridge of the Anubis, the storm paws loudly on the glass, great wet flippers falling at random in out of the night whap! the living shape visible just for the rainbow edge of the sound—it takes a certain kind of maniac, at least a Polish cavalry officer, to stand in this pose behind such brittle thin separation, and stare each blow full in its muscularity. Behind Procalowski the clinometer bob goes to and fro with his ship’s rolling: a pendulum in a dream. Stormlight has turned the lines of his face black, black as his eyes, black as the watchcap cocked so tough and salty aslant the furrows of his forehead. Light clusters, clear, deep, on the face of the radio gear . . . fans up softly off the dial of the pelorus . . . spills out portholes onto the white river. ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1259:What you went through is horrible. I'm not disputing it.'

'Okay. So?'

'Just that this man whom you depicted—it was like he was a monster. The sum total of all the evil things in the world.'

'No, I never said that.'

'But that's how it came across.'

'That's not what I intended. It was his violence. That's all.'

Here's a friend asking me if there was nothing redeemable about my ex-husband. I do not know how to justify myself. What do I tell people like him, who want a balanced picture, who want to know that this was a real person with a rainbow side, just so that they are reminded of their own humanity?

I realize that this is the curse of victimhood, to feel compelled to lend an appropriate colour of goodness to their abuser. ~ Meena Kandasamy,
1260:We'd never seen anything as green as these rice paddies. It was not just the paddies themselves: the surrounding vegetation - foliage so dense the trees lost track of whose leaves were whose - was a rainbow coalition of one colour: green. There was an infinity of greens, rendered all the greener by splashes of red hibiscus and the herons floating past, so white and big it seemed as if sheets hung out to dry had suddenly taken wing. All other colours - even purple and black - were shades of green. Light and shade were degrees of green. Greenness, here, was less a colour than a colonising impulse. Everything was either already green - like a snake, bright as a blade of grass, sidling across the footpath - or in the process of becoming so. Statues of the Buddha were mossy, furred with green. ~ Geoff Dyer,
1261:Used to be when a bird flew into a window, Milly and Twiss got a visit. Milly would put a kettle on and set out whatever culinary adventure she'd gone on that day. For morning arrivals, she offered her famous vanilla drop biscuits and raspberry jam. Twiss would get the medicine bag from the hall closet and sterilize the tools she needed, depending on the seriousness of the injury. A wounded limb was one thing. A wounded crop was another.
People used to come from as far away as Reedsburg and Wilton. Milly would sit with them while Twiss patched up the 'poor old robin' or the 'sweet little meadowlark.' Over the years, the number of visitors had dwindled. Now that the grocery store sold ready-bake biscuits and jelly in all the colors of the rainbow, people didn't bother as much about birds. ~ Rebecca Rasmussen,
1262:I nudged her shoulder with mine, gently. “Let’s not think of the hurts right now.” I patted Rainbow in front of me. “It’s only about Rainbow and Pink Streak tonight. Mano a mano.”
“Our bowling balls are male?”
“Chica a chica.”
Avery laughed.
Marcus called, “Is the girl talk portion of this evening done with? Avery, we got a game to win.”
“My rainbow ball laughs in the face of your arrogance,” I told him.
“There’s nothing wrong with feeling sure of yourself,” Marcus countered.
“Said the lone camper when he didn’t realize a hungry lion was behind him.”
“What?”
I placed my ball with theirs. Avery did the same, snickering under her breath.
Marcus looked at his brother. ‘What the hell?”
Caden shrugged, sitting down behind the score sheet. “Just nod and smile. That’s what I do ~ Tijan,
1263:Physics says: go to sleep. Of course
you’re tired. Every atom in you
has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes
nonstop from mitosis to now.
Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance
inside themselves without you. Go to sleep.

Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch
by inch America is giving itself
to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness
lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch.
You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be
one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.

Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow,
Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle,
Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so
Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town
and
History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down. ~ Albert Goldbarth,
1264:to stand for “periphery.” It is hard to ignore the ubiquity of pi in nature. Pi is obvious in the disks of the moon and the sun. The double helix of DNA revolves around pi. Pi hides in the rainbow and sits in the pupil of the eye, and when a raindrop falls into water, pi emerges in the spreading rings. Pi can be found in waves and spectra of all kinds, and therefore pi occurs in colors and music, in earthquakes, in surf. Pi is everywhere in superstrings, the hypothetical loops of energy that may vibrate in many dimensions, forming the essence of matter. Pi occurs naturally in tables of death, in what is known as a Gaussian distribution of deaths in a population. That is, when a person dies, the event “feels” the Ludolphian number. It is one of the great mysteries why nature seems to know mathematics. ~ Richard Preston,
1265:His ideal is a man who, having worked all day for the good of posterity (if that is his vocation), washes his mind of the whole subject, commits the issue to Heaven, and returns at once to the patience or gratitude demanded by the moment that is passing over him. But we want a man hag-ridden by the Future—haunted by visions of an imminent heaven or hell upon earth—ready to break the Enemy’s commands in the present if by so doing we make him think he can attain the one or avert the other—dependent for his faith on the success or failure of schemes whose end he will not live to see. We want a whole race perpetually in pursuit of the rainbow’s end, never honest, nor kind, nor happy now, but always using as mere fuel wherewith to heap the altar of the future every real gift which is offered them in the Present. ~ C S Lewis,
1266:You can dance.
You can make me laugh.
You've got x-ray eyes.

You know how to sing.
You're a diplomat.
You've got it all.
Everybody loves you.

You can charm the birds out of the sky, But I, I've got
one thing.

You always know just what to say
And when to go,
But I've got one thing.

You can see in the dark,
But I've got one thing:
I loved you better.

Last night I woke up,
Saw this angel.
He flew in my window.
And he said,
Girl, pretty proud of yourself, huh?" And I looked around and said,
Who me?"
And he said, "The higher you fly, the faster you fall."

He said, "Send it up.
Watch it rise.
See it fall,
Gravity's rainbow.
Send it up.
Watch it rise.
See it fall,
Gravity's Angel. ~ Laurie Anderson,
1267:Youth
Mood of youth,
Mood of youth,
Eagle-like must seek the blue,
Dauntlessly its course pursue,
All the mountain-heights must view.
Blood of youth,
Blood of youth,
Steam-like puts full-speed to sea,
E'en though storm and ice there be,
Makes its way and romps in glee.
Dream of youth,
Dream of youth,
Rogue-like stealing sets its snare
In the maiden's morning-prayer;
All the springtime, fragrant, glowing,
In its airy waves is flowing.
Joy of youth,
Joy of youth,
Waterfall-like foams in truth,
Laughing, rainbow-gifts forth flashing,
Even while to death 't is dashing.
Joy of youth,
Dream of youth,
Blood of youth,
Mood of youth,
Clothe the world with colors golden,
Singing songs that never olden.
~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,
1268:Aloha is being a part of all                               And all being a part of me                               When there is pain, it is my pain                               When there is joy, it is mine also                               I respect all that is                               As part of the Creator and part of me                               I will not wilfully harm anyone or anything                               When food is needed I will take only my need                               And explain why it is being taken                               The earth, the sky, the sea are mine                               To care for, to cherish, and to protect                               This is Hawaiian, this is Aloha!   (Excerpt from “Tales From The Night Rainbow” by Koko Willis and Pali Jae Lee) ~ Brien Foerster,
1269:All That's Not Love . . .
All that's not love is the dearth of my days,
The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit,
The temple in times without prayer, without praise,
The altar unset and the candle unlit.
Let me survive not the lovable sway
Of early desire, nor see when it goes
The courts of Life's abbey in ivied decay,
Whence sometime sweet anthems and incense arose.
The delicate hues of its sevenfold rings
The rainbow outlives not; their yellow and blue
The butterfly sees not dissolve from his wings,
But even with their beauty life fades from them too.
No more would I linger past Love's ardent bounds
Nor live for aught else but the joy that it craves,
That, burden and essence of all that surrounds,
Is the song in the wind and the smile on the waves.
~ Alan Seeger,
1270:Poetry ~ Henry David Thoreau~ Henry David Thoreau No definition of poetry is adequate unless it be poetry itself. The most accurate analysis by the rarest wisdom is yet insufficient, and the poet will instantly prove it false by setting aside its requistions. It is indeed all that we do not know. The poet does not need to see how meadows are something else than earth, grass, and water, but how they are thus much. He does not need discover that potato blows are as beautiful as violets, as the farmer thinks, but only how good potato blows are. The poem is drawn out from under the feet of the poet, his whole weight has rested on this ground. It has a logic more severe than the logician's. You might as well think to go in pursuit of the rainbow, and embrace it on the next hill, as to embrace the whole of poetry even in thought. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1271:The Child Of Promise
She died — as die the roses
On the ruddy clouds of dawn,
When tlie envious sun discloses
His flame and morning's gone. ,
She died—like waves of sun -glow
By fleeting shadows chased;
She died— like heaven's rainbow
By gushing showers effaced.
She died—like snow glad-gracing
Some sea-marge fair, when lo !
Rude waves each other chasing,
Quick hide it 'neath their flow.
She died— as dies the glory
Of music's sweetest swell
She died—as dies the story
When the best is still to tell
She died— as dies moon-beaming.
When scowls the rayless main :
She died— like sweetest dreaming
Quick changed to waking pain.
She died— and died she early ;
Heaven wearied for its own.
As the dipping snn, my Mary,
Thy morning ray went down !
~ Evan MacColl,
1272:Brod’s life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside her. But there was no release. Table, ivory elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, Shabbos, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily… None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don’t love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don’t love you. Poem too long: I don’t love you. Physics, the idea of you, the laws of you: I don’t love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
1273:Even if you believe the Genesis record of creation you’ll see that God did not create a black and white world of male and female. Creation is not black and white, it is amazingly diverse, like a rainbow, including sexualities and a variety of non-heterosexual expressions of behaviour, affection and partnering occurring in most species, including humans. The ability to reproduce is only a small part of the creation. Before God created male and female he made an even more important statement; ‘it is not good for mankind to be alone’. This is fundamental to all heterosexual and same-sex relationships. Lasting relationships are based on love, trust and commitment, not sex or reproduction. So stop with the ‘God created Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve’ quote already. It’s boring and an insult to the creator of this incredible universe. ~ Anthony Venn Brown,
1274:Not without deep pain do we admit to ourselves that the artists of all ages have in their highest flights carried to heavenly transfiguration precisely those conceptions that we now recognize as false: they are the glorifiers of the religious and philosophical errors of humanity, and they could not have done this without their belief in the absolute truth of these errors. Now if the belief in such truth generally diminishes, if the rainbow colors at the outermost ends of human knowing and imagining fade: then the species of art that, like the Divina commedia, Raphael's pictures, Michelangelo's frescoes, the Gothic cathedrals, presupposes not only a cosmic, but also a metaphysical significance for art objects can never blossom again. A touching tale will come of this, that there was once such an art, such belief by artists. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
1275:Kammy could see the palace built into the cliff face. It was a majestic construction. Its white walls stretched up into a cluster of turrets and towers. Its façade was broken by gigantic windows that reflected a rainbow of colours. The palace was flanked by two waterfalls that filled the chasm running far below them; a chasm that was bridged by a staircase of monstrous size. But Kammy hardly noticed how far she would fall should her grip fail. The giant structure that speared out of the palace and up into the sky commanded all of her attention. It burned her eyes so she could hardly look at it, but at the same time she could not look away. It looked like a white diamond. Each of its countless edges sent off shards of brilliant light. It dwarfed anything that Kammy had ever known and she had never felt as alive as she did in that moment. ~ Natalie Crown,
1276:I know this is one of the unthinkable taboos of our society, but I had discovered in myself a talent for a wonderful, unrepentant laziness, the kind most people never know after childhood. I had a prism from an old chandelier hanging in my window, and I could spend entire afternoons lying on my bed and watching it flick tiny chips of rainbow around the room. I read a lot. I always have, but in those two years I gorged myself on books with a voluptuous, almost erotic gluttony. I would go to the local library and take out as many as I could, and then lock myself in the bedsit and read solidly for a week. I went for old books, the older the better-- Tolstoy, Poe, Jacobean tragedies, a dusty translation of Laclos--so that when I finally resurfaced, blinking and dazzled, it took me days to stop thinking in their cool, polished, crystalline rhythms. ~ Tana French,
1277:No man ever followed his genius till it misled him. Though the result were bodily weakness, yet perhaps no one can say that the consequences were to be regretted, for these were a life in conformity to higher principles. If the day and the night are such that you greet them with joy, and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet-scented herbs, is more elastic, more starry, more immortal,—that is your success. All nature is your congratulation, and you have cause momentarily to bless yourself. The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. We easily come to doubt if they exist. We soon forget them. They are the highest reality... The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
1278:Asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and rosy pink which ran from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible changes to their white feet, still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed: a rainbow-loveliness that was not of this world. I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form, who, through the disguise which covered their firm and edible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting as the fairies in Shakespeare’s Dream) at transforming my humble chamberpot into a bower of aromatic perfume. ~ Marcel Proust,
1279:The rainbow comes and goes. Enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t be surprised by its departure, and rejoice when it returns. There is so much to be joyful about, so many different kinds of rainbows in one’s life: making love is an incredible rainbow, as is falling in love; knowing friendship; being able to really talk with someone who has a problem and say something that will help; waking up in the morning, looking out, and seeing a tree that has suddenly blossomed, like the one I have outside my window—what joy that brings. It may seem a small thing, but rainbows come in all sizes. I think about Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz singing, about where “bluebirds fly,” and Jan Peerce singing about “a bluebird of happiness.” Well, they may never find it, they may never reach it, and that’s okay. The searching, that’s what I think life is really all about. Don’t you? I ~ Anderson Cooper,
1280:On the plane leaving Tokyo I’m sitting alone in back twisting the knobs on Etch-A-Sketch and Roger is next to me singing “Over the Rainbow” straight into my ear, things changing, falling apart, fading, another year, a few more moves, a hard person who doesn’t give a fuck, a boredom so monumental it humbles, arrangements so fleeting made by people you don’t even know that it requires you to lose any sense of reality you might have once acquired, expectations so unreasonable you become superstitious about ever matching them. Roger offers me a joint and I take a drag and stare out the window and I relax for a moment when the lights of Tokyo, which I never realized is an island, vanish from view but this feeling only lasts a moment because Roger is telling me that other lights in other cities, in other countries, on other planets, are coming into view soon. ~ Bret Easton Ellis,
1281:And how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor- as you will sometimes see it- glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye. ~ Herman Melville,
1282:As he lights up, the sun is setting, turning the sky as many pastels as you see on the side of a rainbow trout. The reddest clouds are the fish cut open. Aspen trees are peaking with yellow. A wind comes up the draw, announced in advance by clapping aspen leaves, and then he can hear it take the pines around the house and he feels it on his cheek and it makes the end of his cigarette glow brighter. He takes a deep drag and looks down past the springhouse nested in orange willow branches. Up over the opposing hill he sees the snow on mountains west of Laramie. Another breath of wind comes up and starts the aspens chattering like nervous girls, and they catch the last low-angling rays of sun and flare. The dark tops of evergreens are red, almost bloody, and for a good thirty seconds he knows that the world is something altogether other than what it appears to be. ~ James Galvin,
1283:Butterfly
Butterfly, the wind blows sea-ward,
strong beyond the garden-wall!
Butterfly, why do you settle on my
shoe, and sip the dirt on my shoe,
Lifting your veined wings, lifting them?
big white butterfly!
Already it is October, and the wind
blows strong to the sea
from the hills where snow must have
fallen, the wind is polished with
snow.
Here in the garden, with red
geraniums, it is warm, it is warm
but the wind blows strong to sea-ward,
white butterfly, content on my shoe!
Will you go, will you go from my warm
house?
Will you climb on your big soft wings,
black-dotted,
as up an invisible rainbow, an arch
till the wind slides you sheer from the
arch-crest
and in a strange level fluttering you go
out to sea-ward, white speck!
Anonymous submission.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
1284:Some Rainbow—coming From The Fair!
64
Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere—
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock's purple Train
Feather by feather—on the plain
Fritters itself away!
The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year's sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees—march—one by one—
In murmuring platoon!
The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover - Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!
Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?
~ Emily Dickinson,
1285:Xv: 'Tis Five Years Since, An End Said I
'Tis five years since, `An end,' said I;
`I'll march no further, time to die.
All's lost; no worse has heaven to give.'
Worse has it given, and yet I live.
I shall not die to-day, no fear:
I shall live yet for many a year,
And see worse ills and worse again,
And die of age and not of pain.
When God would rear from earth aloof
The blue height of the hollow roof,
He sought him pillars sure and strong,
And ere he found them sought them long.
The stark steel splintered from the thrust,
The basalt mountain sprang to dust,
The blazing pier of diamond flawed
In shards of rainbow all abroad.
What found he, that the heavens stand fast?
What pillar proven firm at last
Bears up so light that world-seen span?
The heart of man, the heart of man.
~ Alfred Edward Housman,
1286:It is never lost on me that the women in the waiting room have had to walk past these protesters, too. Even if they were escorted to the door by a cheerful young pro-choice activist with bright pink hair who carries a protective rainbow umbrella, they’ve heard the vitriol—different from the insults hurled at me, but no less offensive. “Think twice!” “Don’t murder your baby!” The antis shout these things, as if these women had not minds of their own. As if their decision fails to merit respect. As if they were not, as most of them are, adults exercising a legal right to make a private health-care decision for themselves. (Imagine, if you will, these verbal assaults being hurled at any other person for having made any other consequential health-care choice: the decision to pursue a potentially fatal course of chemotherapy, for example. “Don’t risk your life! Suicide!”) ~ Willie Parker,
1287:CHILDHOOD I That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents or court, nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables; his domain, insolent azure and verdure, runs over beaches called by the shipless waves, names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt. At the border of the forest—dream flowers tinkle, flash, and flare,—the girl with orange lips, knees crossed in the clear flood that gushes from the fields, nakedness shaded, traversed, dressed by rainbow, flora, sea. Ladies who stroll on terraces adjacent to the sea; baby girls and giantesses, superb blacks in the verdigris moss, jewels upright on the rich ground of groves and little thawed gardens,—young mothers and big sisters with eyes full of pilgrimages, sultanas, princesses tyrannical of costume and carriage, little foreign misses and young ladies gently unhappy. What boredom, the hour of the “dear body” and “dear heart.” II ~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1288:Bring Me The Sunset In A Cup
128
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning's flagons up
And say how many Dew,
Tell me how far the morning leaps—
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
Who spun the breadth of blue!
Write me how many notes there be
In the new Robin's ecstasy
Among astonished boughs—
How many trips the Tortoise makes—
How many cups the Bee partakes,
The Debauchee of Dews!
Also, who laid the Rainbow's piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite—
Who counts the wampum of the night
To see that none is due?
Who built this little Alban House
And shut the windows down so close
My spirit cannot see?
Who'll let me out some gala day
With implements to fly away,
Passing Pomposity?
~ Emily Dickinson,
1289:Apology
Be not angry with me that I bear
Your colours everywhere,
All through each crowded street,
And meet
The wonder-light in every eye,
As I go by.
Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze,
Blinded by rainbow haze,
The stuff of happiness,
No less,
Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds
Of peacock golds.
Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way
Flushes beneath its gray.
My steps fall ringed with light,
So bright,
It seems a myriad suns are strown
About the town.
Around me is the sound of steepled bells,
And rich perfumed smells
Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud,
And shroud
Me from close contact with the world.
I dwell impearled.
You blazon me with jewelled insignia.
A flaming nebula
Rims in my life. And yet
You set
The word upon me, unconfessed
To go unguessed.
~ Amy Lowell,
1290:what fascinated me would be the asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and rosy pink which ran from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible changes to their white feet, still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed: a rainbow-loveliness that was not of this world. I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form, who, through the disguise which covered their firm and edible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting as the fairies in Shakespeare’s Dream) at transforming my humble chamber into a bower of aromatic perfume. ~ Marcel Proust,
1291:She saw beauty in ordinary little things and took pleasure in it (and this was just as well because she had had very little pleasure in her life). She took pleasure in a well-made cake, a smoothly ironed napkin, a pretty blouse, laundered and pressed; she liked to see the garden well dug, the rich soil brown and gravid; she loved her flowers. When you are young you are too busy with yourself... you haven't time for ordinary little things but, when you leave youth behind, your eyes open and you see magic and mystery all around you: magic in the flight of a bird, the shape of a leaf, the bold arch of a bridge against the sky, footsteps at night and a voice calling in the darkness, the moment in a theatre before the curtain rises, the wind in the trees, or (in winter) an apple-branch clothed with pure white snow and icicles hanging from from a stone and sparkling with rainbow colours. ~ D E Stevenson,
1292:The Sciences Sing a Lullabye"

Physics says: go to sleep. Of course
you’re tired. Every atom in you
has been dancing the shimmy in silver shoes
nonstop from mitosis to now.
Quit tapping your feet. They’ll dance
inside themselves without you. Go to sleep.

Geology says: it will be all right. Slow inch
by inch America is giving itself
to the ocean. Go to sleep. Let darkness
lap at your sides. Give darkness an inch.
You aren’t alone. All of the continents used to be
one body. You aren’t alone. Go to sleep.

Astronomy says: the sun will rise tomorrow,
Zoology says: on rainbow-fish and lithe gazelle,
Psychology says: but first it has to be night, so
Biology says: the body-clocks are stopped all over town
and
History says: here are the blankets, layer on layer, down and down. ~ Albert Goldbarth,
1293:but what fascinated me would be the asparagus, tinged with ultramarine and rosy pink which ran from their heads, finely stippled in mauve and azure, through a series of imperceptible changes to their white feet, still stained a little by the soil of their garden-bed: a rainbow-loveliness that was not of this world. I felt that these celestial hues indicated the presence of exquisite creatures who had been pleased to assume vegetable form, who, through the disguise which covered their firm and edible flesh, allowed me to discern in this radiance of earliest dawn, these hinted rainbows, these blue evening shades, that precious quality which I should recognise again when, all night long after a dinner at which I had partaken of them, they played (lyrical and coarse in their jesting as the fairies in Shakespeare’s Dream) at transforming my humble chamber into a bower of aromatic perfume. ~ Marcel Proust,
1294:I don't like you, Park," she said, sounding for a second like she actually meant it. "I..." - her voice nearly disappeared - "think I live for you."
He closed his eyes and pressed his head back into his pillow.
"I don't think I even breathe when we're not together," she whispered. "Which means, when I see you on Monday morning, it's been like sixty hours since I've taken a breath. That's probably why I'm so crabby, and why I snap at you. All I do when we're apart is think about you, and all I do when we're together is panic. Because every second feels so important. And because I'm so out of control, I can't help myself. I'm not even mine anymore, I'm yours, and what if you decide that you don't want me? How could you want me like I want you?"
He was quiet. He wanted everything she'd just said to be the last thing he heard. He wanted to fall asleep with 'I want you' in his ears. ~ Rainbow Rowell,
1295:The Mystic Blue
Out of the darkness, fretted sometimes in its sleeping,
Jets of sparks in fountains of blue come leaping
To sight, revealing a secret, numberless secrets keeping.
Sometimes the darkness trapped within a wheel
Runs into speed like a dream, the blue of the steel
Showing the rocking darkness now a-reel.
And out of the invisible, streams of bright blue drops
Rain from the showery heavens, and bright blue crops
Surge from the under-dark to their ladder-tops.
And all the manifold blue and joyous eyes,
The rainbow arching over in the skies,
New sparks of wonder opening in surprise.
All these pure things come foam and spray of the sea
Of Darkness abundant, which shaken mysteriously,
Breaks into dazzle of living, as dolphins that leap from the sea
Of midnight shake it to fire, so the secret of death we see.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
1296:stompers! The next morning, Judy was already hard at work on the case by the time Stink woke up. She sprawled on the floor with a rainbow of markers all around her. “What’re you doing to Officer Kopp’s flyers?” Stink asked. “Fixing them,” said Judy, coloring in blue eyes on the picture of Mr. Chips. Stink tilted his head, reading upside down. He was trying to figure out the words Judy had just added. “‘Have you seen this goo?’” “‘Have you seen this dog.’” “Oh. Your D looks like an O.” “Stink, a good detective can read backward and upside down.” Judy colored in a black letter R. “‘Drawer’?” Stink asked, squinching up his face. “‘Reward’!” said Judy. “We have to offer big bucks so that anyone who has seen Mr. Chips or has any information on his whereabouts will call the police. Rule Number One of being a good detective is don’t be afraid to ask for help.” “You mean Rule Number One Gazillion! ~ Megan McDonald,
1297:Where are the stars on this dark, dark, night?
Where is there tiny twinkling light?
Where is the music?
Where is the song?
Where are the colors?
Something is wrong.

Sometimes stars hide in the clouds,
and their light seems far away.
Sometimes voices are hushed and still,
and the rainbow fades to gray.

Sometimes the world is topsy-turvy,
and nobody really knows why;
Sometimes sad things happen,
and even grown-ups cry.

But always, my child, always,
you are safe here in my arms.
The world may be topsy-turvy,
but I will shelter you from harm.

Always the stars are twinkling,
even when clouds hide their light.
I promise you voices will sing again,
and colors will again shine bright.

I promise there is always tomorrow
for starlight and rainbows and song;
My love will always surround you
unchanged, unbroken, and strong. ~ Ann E Burg,
1298:Most nonfiction writers have a definitiveness complex. They feel that they are under some obligation—to the subject, to their honor, to the gods of writing—to make their article the last word. It’s a commendable impulse, but there is no last word. What you think is definitive today will turn undefinitive by tonight, and writers who doggedly pursue every last fact will find themselves pursuing the rainbow and never settling down to write. Nobody can write a book or an article “about” something. Tolstoy couldn’t write a book about war and peace, or Melville a book about whaling. They made certain reductive decisions about time and place and about individual characters in that time and place—one man pursuing one whale. Every writing project must be reduced before you start to write. Therefore think small. Decide what corner of your subject you’re going to bite off, and be content to cover it well and stop. ~ William Zinsser,
1299:In August 1917, white, Black, and Muskogee tenant farmers and sharecroppers in several eastern and southern Oklahoma counties took up arms to stop conscription, with a larger stated goal of overthrowing the US government to establish a socialist commonwealth. These more radically minded grassroots socialists had organized their own Working Class Union (WCU), with Anglo-American, African American, and Indigenous Muskogee farmers forming a kind of rainbow alliance. Their plan was to march to Washington, DC, motivating millions of working people to arm themselves and to join them along the way. After a day of dynamiting oil pipelines and bridges in southeastern Oklahoma, the men and their families created a liberated zone where they ate, sang hymns, and rested. By the following day, heavily armed posses supported by police and militias stopped the revolt, which became known as the Green Corn Rebellion. ~ Roxanne Dunbar Ortiz,
1300:This is her lesson, my love, that we are neither Burning Woman, nor Ashen Woman, we are never just one thing or another, but a rainbow of woven threads, a kaleidoscope of archetypes. When we first see an archetype or know ourselves in a label, it is like finding a magic mirror: we see ourselves for what feels like fully for the first time. But it is just a mirror. The archetypes can hold a mirror, nothing more. They cannot define us in our totality. We are multi-dimensional beings. When you lose her, it is just her reflection in yourself you have lost. She goes so that you do not forget yourself in your identification with her. She longs for you to be yourself, in your unique fullness of being. She loves to play with you, to come through you. But there are many other parts of yourself you need to share too. It is time for you to return to the darkness, to find the other facets of yourself that the world longs for. ~ Lucy H Pearce,
1301:And there was the moon. A warm and visible greeting, a beacon of relief. Full, unshrouded, its edges crisp. It looked like an airy wafer- what were those crackers that came in the big green tin? She stared at the moon and thought about the fact that she was breathing. Fact of breathing, fact of life. This she could control: slow down and speed up her breathing, despite the pain in her throat. She'd never really looked at the moon, never really seen how intricate the etchings on its yellowy silver surface. Bowl of a spoon in candlelight. When she'd looked a long time- I see the moon, and the moon sees me- a glimmering ring like a rainbow materialized at the rim. In the memory she still retained, as clear as a framed snapshot, a portrait worn in a locket, Saga stared at the moon that way for hours, and it kept her company, it kept her sane, it kept her in one piece, it kept her alive. It was proof, fact, patience, faith. ~ Julia Glass,
1302:Suddenly I was struck by the heavy fragrance of flowers. On the other side there was a garden about the size of a small room, a plot of ground raised by fill to the height of our belts. And full of flowers. A special, luxuriant flora. Long stemmed, with horn-shaped flowers whose petals were like black velvet. In one corner, a bush like a lily, arrayed with giant white blossoms like goblets. And scattered through that garden, thin-stemmed plants with white flowers marked by a single pink petal. It seemed that these gave off an exotic sweetness that cloyed and choked. In the midst of it all a bunch of fat crimson flowers lay tumbled, their silky, fleshy blossoms dipping down among the long stems of furious green grasses. This small, magical plot seemed a kaleidoscope. Just in front of my eyes purple irises bloomed up. A myriad fragrances mingled in its dazzling scent, and every hue of the rainbow glowed from those flowers. ~ G za Cs th,
1303:These are not fables. You will touch with your hands, you will see with your own eyes, the Azoth, the Mercury of Philosophers, which alone will suffice to obtain for you our Stone. … Darkness will appear on the face of the Abyss; Night, Saturn and the Antimony of the Sages will appear; blackness, and the raven's head of the alchemists, and all the colors of the world, will appear at the hour of conjunction; the rainbow also, and the peacock's tail. Finally, after the matter has passed from ashen-colored to white and yellow, you will see the Philosopher's Stone, our King and Dominator Supreme, issue forth from his glassy sepulcher to mount his bed or his throne in his glorified body... diaphanous as crystal; compact and most weighty, as easily fusible by fire as resin, as flowing as wax and more so than quicksilver … the color of saffron when powdered, but red as rubies when in an integral mass... ~ Heinrich Khunrath, in Amphitheatrum,
1304:Uh-oh," Will muttered. "This is going to be ... interesting."
It turned out the creative genius behind the movie was Will's dad - the god Apollo, which meant this was not going to be a typical orientation flick. No, as we soon found out, Apollo had written, directed, produced, hosted and starred in ... a variety show.
For those of you who don't know what a variety show is, imagine a talent show on steroids, complete with canned laughter, pre-recorded applause, and an extra-large helping of hokeyness. For the next hour, we cringe-watched as Apollo and our demigod predecessors performed in song-and-dance numbers, recited poetry, acted in comedy sketches and harmonized in a musical group called the Lyre Choir. Naturally, Apollo featured prominently in most of the acts. The one of him hula-hooping shirtless while satyrs capered around with long rainbow ribbons on sticks ... you can't unsee that kind of thing. ~ Rick Riordan,
1305:Outside, not only over our pit but above all far away from it, there was life. You could not think too much about it, but I liked to imagine it so as not to die of forgetfulness. Imagine, and not remember. Life, the real one, not that dirty rag blowing across the ground, no, life in its exquisite beauty. I mean in its simplicity, its marvelous banality: a child smiling after tears; eyes blinking in too bright light; a woman trying on a dress; a man asleep on the grass. A horse galloping across a plain. A man wearing many-colored wings attempting to fly. A tree bending to shade a woman sitting on a stone. The sun drifts off, and you even see a rainbow. Life: it's being able to raise your arm, rub the back of your neck, stretch for the pure pleasure of it, get up and stroll aimlessly, watch people go by, stop, read a newspaper - or simply stay sitting at your window because you have nothing to do and it's nice to do nothing. ~ Tahar Ben Jelloun,
1306:I Am The Only Being Whose Doom
I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born
In secret pleasure - secret tears
This changeful life has slipped away
As friendless after eighteen years
As lone as on my natal day
There have been times I cannot hide
There have been times when this was drear
When my sad soul forgot its pride
And longed for one to love me here
But those were in the early glow
Of feelings since subdued by care
And they have died so long ago
I hardly now believe they were
First melted off the hope of youth
Then Fancy's rainbow fast withdrew
And then experience told me truth
In mortal bosoms never grew
'Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow servile insincere But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there
~ Emily Jane Brontë,
1307:As I worked I continued to be a bit terrified in the back of my mind that it would be awful in the end, a big mishmash of nothing in particular, and there I would be, having wasted a whole week of my life destroying things I wanted to keep.

But I should have trusted the long history of women who've come before me making rag rugs from everything that wasn't nailed down because it wasn't like that at all. Instead it was like a big, incredible tapestry that just happened to--if you could decipher it--tell a million little stories from my life. I could look at it and see my old lace slip and the girls' party dresses and my high school rainbow tie-dyes, the Irish kilt and the Halloween clown pants and so many, many other things. It was all in there somewhere.

I felt like the miller's daughter in the fairy tale, the one who stays up all night spinning straw into gold. But who needs yellow metal, anyway? The was way better. ~ Eve O Schaub,
1308:At one point, Joylene (a large woman from HR with four framed photos of her cats and one of her deceased father holding a trout on her desk) actually stated, “Ooo, I love Excel.”    Who says, “Ooo, I love Excel.”? How is it even a sentence? Each time Joylene had a question, she waved her pen, with a huge rainbow colored feather taped to the end, above her head while making excited “uh, uh, um, uh” noises.   “Yes, Joylene?” “If I want my columns color coded, am I able to mix my own preferred range of blues from a palette or do I have to select from the four-thousand shades of blue it already has?” “And that, your Honor, is when the defendant leapt across the desk. I enter into evidence the rainbow feather pen.”   If there ever comes a time where I’m typing numbers into boxes and decide I’d really like those boxes with numbers to be a specific shade of blue, it will be time to turn off the computer, pack my things, and start a fire. ~ David Thorne,
1309:Man is still what he was. Invincibly bestial, envious, malicious, greedy. Man, sir, unmasked and disillusioned is the same fearing, snarling, fighting beast he was a hundred thousand years ago. These are no metaphors, sir. What I tell you is the monstrous reality. The brute has been marking time and dreaming of a progress it has failed to make. Any archaeologist will tell you as much; modern man has no better skull, no better brain. Just a cave-man, more or less trained. There has been no real change, no real escape. Civilization, progress, all THAT, we are discovering, was a delusion. Nothing was secured. Nothing. For a time man built himself in, into his neat little PRESENT world of Gods and Providences, rainbow promises and so forth. It was artificial, it was artistic, fictitious. We are only beginning to realize HOW artificial. Now it is breaking down, Mr Frobisher. It is breaking down all about us and we seem unable to prevent it. ~ H G Wells,
1310:Awww, look at him, G, he’s so precious when he’s sleeping.”

“Like an angel.”

“A really slutty angel.”

“Wait—do angels even get laid? And if so, are heaven orgasms a million times better than earth orgasms? I bet yes.”

“Uh-doy. Where do you think rainbows come from? Whenever you see a rainbow, that means an angel just came.”

“Ah. Makes sense. Sort of like how whenever a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

“Exactly like that.”

I crank one eye open and direct it toward the doorway. “I can hear you, you know.”

My annoyed voice puts an end to the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever heard. “Oh good, you’re up,” Logan says.

“Of course I’m up,” I grumble, rubbing my eyes. “How am I supposed to sleep when you two fucktards are standing at the foot of my bed talking about angels blowing their loads?”

Garrett snickers. “Like I’m the first one to ever wonder about that.”

“Trust me, you are. ~ Elle Kennedy,
1311:A brief thunderstorm that swept over them one afternoon put on the best show of all when it left a rainbow in its wake. The colors started as a mere hint in the sky then strengthened until they shimmered, strong and true.

"Does it make you think of pots of gold?" Sarah asked.

"No, it makes me think of magic," Matt said. "I wish there was some way to grab hold and pull it out of the sky. If I could wrap you up in that rainbow, you'd be safe no matter what because it would be magic."

"We'd have to cut it in two. I don't want magic unless you have it too."

"I'd look pretty foolish wrapped in a rainbow."

"Maybe we could make you an under vest out of it and nobody would know but me."

"You can sew rainbows?"

Sarah laughed. "All the sewing I can do is absolutely useless, like embroidering pillowcases, but I'll learn." She kissed his shoulder and leaned against him. "I'll learn, and we'll both wear rainbows and be safe. ~ Ellen O Connell,
1312:She would've sworn the cat- or kitten, for it sounded quite small- was right in front of her, but there was nothing there.
She straightened and glanced at Val.
His azure eyes were alight with amusement. "Phantom cats and ghostly kittens."
She frowned at him. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"Boring." He kissed her on the nose and, while she was still blinking in surprise, leaned down and did something to the back of the cupboard.
Suddenly one of the boards came away in his hands.
She leaned down again to look.
Staring back at them was a ginger cat, her green eyes wide, and at her teats were a row of wriggling kittens in a rainbow of colors. She was curled in the small space of what was evidently a false back to the cupboard.
"But how did she get in?" Bridget breathed, enchanted. The kittens were at that wee fluffy stage and absolutely adorable.
"Magic," Val said promptly, and then, more prosaically, "or the back of the cupboard's rotted away. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt,
1313:Permanence
Set within a desert lone,
Circled by an arid sea,
Stands a figure carved in stone,
Where a fountain used to be.
Two abraded, pleading hands
Held below a shapeless mouth,
Human-like the fragment stands,
Tortured by perpetual drouth.
Once the form was drenched with spray,
Deluged with the rainbow flushes;
Surplus water dashed away
To the lotus and the rushes.
Time was clothed in rippling fashion,.
Opulence of light and air,
Beauty changing into passion
Every hour and everywhere.
And the yearning of that race
Was for something deep and tender,
Life replete with power, with grace,
Touched with vision and with splendour.
Now no rain dissolves and cools,
Dew is even as a dream,
The enticing far-off pools
In a mirage only seem.
All the traces that remain,
Of the longings of that land,
Are two hands that plead in vain
Filled with burning sand.
~ Duncan Campbell Scott,
1314:Am I an asshole?

In the past, I would have said "no" with some degree of confidence. But as I drop my bag of groceries into my bike pack under the store's front awning, I have to consider that the answer might have changed during the past few months.

They say misery loves company. I think I get it now. That back there with Marley--taunting her, I admit--that shit was the best part of my day. My week. My month. That shit was the rainbow in a fucking black and white film.

The outrage on her face... Goddamn. I fucking loved her angry, bright red face. When I turned to walk away, she looked mad enough to spit bullets. All over a fucking pack of pork chops. As I zip my bag, I press my lips together--to suppress a wicked chuckle.

Asshole.

I'm not sure I even mind it. Why not be an asshole? Nice guys come in last--another adage I'm starting to believe. I've played it nice my whole damn life, or fucking tried. Why not seek out entertainment now? ~ Ella James,
1315:Let me tell you what I think about your fucking rules," he said, his voice dripping with venom as he pushed past Liam. "You sit up in your room and you pretend like you want what's best for everyone, but you don't do any of the work yourself. I can't tell if you're just a spoiled little shit, or if you're too worried about getting your pretty princess hands dirty, but it sucks. You are fucking awful, and you sure as hell don't have me fooled... You talk about us all being equals, like we're one big rainbow of peace and all that bullshit, but you never once believed that yourself, did you? You won't let anyone contact their parents, and you don't care about the kids that are still trapped in camps your father set up. You wouldn't even listen when the Watch kids brought it up. So what I want to know is, why can't we leave?... What's the point of this place, other than for you to get off on how great you are and toy with people and their feelings? ~ Alexandra Bracken,
1316:The machinery of compulsory equalization works against the finest trait of the human species, the fact that we recognize ourselves in our differences and build links based on them. The best of the world lies in the many worlds the world contains, the different melodies of life, their pains and strains: the thousand and one ways of living and speaking, thinking and creating, eating, working, dancing, playing, loving, suffering, and celebrating that we have discovered over so many thousands of years. Equalization, which makes us all goofy and all the same, can’t be measured. No computer could count the crimes that the pop culture business commits each day against the human rainbow and the human right to identity. But its devastating progress is mind-boggling. Time is emptied of history, and space no longer acknowledges the astonishing diversity of its parts. Through the mass media the owners of the world inform us all of our obligation to look at ourselves in a single mirror. ~ Eduardo Galeano,
1317:1067
Under The Roof Where The Laughter Rings
Under the roof where the laughter rings,
That's where I long to be;
There are all of the glorious things,
Meaning so much to me.
There is where striving and toiling ends;
There is where always the rainbow bends.
Under the roof where the children shout,
There is the perfect rest;
There is the clamor of greed shut out,
Ended the ceaseless quest.
Battles I fight through the heat of to-day
Are only to add to their hours of play.
Under the roof where the eyes are bright,
There I would build my fame;
There my record of life I'd write;
There I would sign my name.
There in laughter and true content
Let me fashion my monument.
Under the roof where the hearts are true,
There is my earthly goal;
There I am pledged till my work is through,
Body and heart and soul.
Think you that God will my choice condemn
If I have never played false to them?
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1318:As he approached the swire at the head of the dell – that little delightful verge from which in one moment the eastern limits and shores of the Lothian arise on the view, - as he approached it, I say, and a little space from the height, he beheld, to his astonishment, a bright halo in the cloud of haze, that rose in a semi-circle over his head like a pale rainbow. He was struck motionless at the view of the lovely vision; for it so chanced that he had never seen the same appearance before, though common at early morn. But he soon perceived the cause of the phenomenon, and that it proceeded from the rays of the sun from a pure unclouded morning sky striking upon this dense vapour which refracted them. But the better all the works of nature are understood, the more they will be ever admired. That was a scene that would have entranced the man of science with delight, but which the uninitiated and sordid man would have regarded less than the mole rearing up his hill in silence and in darkness. ~ James Hogg,
1319:On another night, in a different dream I was asking a question. “How is it that you say all are equal, yet the obvious contradictions smack us in the face: inequalities in virtues, temperances, finances, rights, abilities and talents, intelligence, mathematical aptitude, ad infinitum?” The answer was a metaphor. “It is as if a large diamond were to be found inside each person. Picture a diamond a foot long. The diamond has a thousand facets, but the facets are covered with dirt and tar. It is the job of the soul to clean each facet until the surface is brilliant and can reflect a rainbow of colors. “Now, some have cleaned many facets and gleam brightly. Others have only managed to clean a few; they do not sparkle so. Yet, underneath the dirt, each person possesses within his or her breast a brilliant diamond with a thousand gleaming facets. The diamond is perfect, not one flaw. The only differences among people are the number of facets cleaned. But each diamond is the same, and each is perfect. ~ Brian L Weiss,
1320:For The Wounded
A still procession goes
Amid the battle's booming,
Its arm the red cross shows;
It prays in many forms of speech,
And, bending o'er the fallen,
Brings peace and home to each.
Not only is it found
Where bleed the wounds of battle,
But all the world around.
It is the love the whole world feels
In noble hearts and tender,
While gentle pity kneels;It is all labor's dread
Of war's mad waste and murder,
Praying that peace may spread;
It is all sufferers who heed
The sighing of a brother,
And know his sorrow's need;It is each groan of pain
Heard from the sick and wounded,
'T is Christian prayer humane;
It is their cry who lonely grope,
'T is the oppressed man's moaning,
The dying breath of hope;This rainbow-bridge of prayers
Up through the world's wild tempest
In light of Christ's faith bears:
That love and loving deeds
May conquer strife and passion;
For thus His promise reads.
~ Bjornstjerne Bjornson,
1321:Song
Oh! To be a flower
Nodding in the sun,
Bending, then upspringing
As the breezes run;
Holding up
A scent-brimmed cup,
Full of summer's fragrance to the summer sun.
Oh! To be a butterfly
Still, upon a flower,
Winking with its painted wings,
Happy in the hour.
Blossoms hold
Mines of gold
Deep within the farthest heart of each chaliced flower.
Oh! To be a cloud
Blowing through the blue,
Shadowing the mountains,
Rushing loudly through
Valleys deep
Where torrents keep
Always their plunging thunder and their misty arch of blue.
Oh! To be a wave
Splintering on the sand,
Drawing back, but leaving
Lingeringly the land.
Rainbow light
Flashes bright
Telling tales of coral caves half hid in yellow sand.
Soon they die, the flowers;
Insects live a day;
Clouds dissolve in showers;
Only waves at play
Last forever.
Shall endeavor
Make a sea of purpose mightier than we dream to-day?
210
~ Amy Lowell,
1322:The duke he quit tending door and went around the back way and come on to the stage and stood up before the curtain and made a little speech, and praised up this tragedy, and said it was the most thrillingest one that ever was; and so he went on a-bragging about the tragedy, and about Edmund Kean the Elder, which was to play the main principal part in it; and at last when he’d got everybody’s expectations up high enough, he rolled up the curtain, and the next minute the king come a-prancing out on all fours, naked; and he was painted all over, ring-streaked-and-striped, all sorts of colors, as splendid as a rainbow. And – but never mind the rest of his outfit; it was just wild, but it was awful funny. The people most killed themselves laughing; and when the king got done capering and capered off behind the scenes, they roared and clapped and stormed and haw-hawed till he come back and done it over again, and after that they made him do it another time. Well, it would make a cow laugh to see the shines that old idiot cut. ~ Mark Twain,
1323:what I want to show in my books and in my life is that you don't have to be like the miserable, angry people who hurt you. You can survive and, most of all, you can thrive. Yes, those demons will always be there, and you will hear and, worst of all, feel their cruelty long after they're gone, but you don't have to let them own your future the way they held your past. You don't have to become like them. You can pull it together, hold your head high, and be the person you want to be in spite of their vicious cruelty.

They say that there's a reason to everything. I'm not sure I believe that. It's human nature to try and make order out of chaos. The "sometimes things have to go wrong in order to go right" is my own search for understanding why cruelty takes place. I don't understand how anyone can intentionally hurt another person, never mind a child. But I want to help others find the rainbow through the storms. To know that tomorrow is another day and that sooner or later, life will get better. And so will we. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
1324:He pulled his mother to the next boulder and kept hold of her hand as they hurried on. Podo helped Oskar, while Tink kept close to Leeli and Nugget. Janner was glad to see that Tink turned around every few steps to be sure his bow wasn’t needed. Finally, they rounded the bend in the river and beheld, far below, a plume of rainbow-lit mist, the hissing cloud that churned up from Fingap Falls. The river was split by jagged, towering crags into hundreds of roaring courses that tumbled downward in white madness. Far beyond and below the mist lay the wide, silent gray of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Such a view demanded that the company stop in its tracks. They huddled together, sopping wet and weary. If Janner had been able to read minds, he would’ve learned that each of them had the same thought: with the Fangs behind and the falls ahead, it seemed certain the river would kill them. It would suck them in and hurl them into the cold black Deep. Tink stood in front of his grandfather, trying to be heard above the roar of the falls. ~ Andrew Peterson,
1325:If, then, to meanest mariners, and renegades and castaways, I shall hereafter ascribe high qualities, though dark; weave round them tragic graces; if even the most mournful, perchance the most abased, among them all, shall at times lift himself to the exalted mounts; if I shall touch that workman's arm with some ethereal light; if I shall spread a rainbow over his disastrous set of sun; then against all mortal critics bear me out in it, thou just Spirit of Equality, which hast spread one royal mantle of humanity over all my kind! Bear me out in it, thou great Democratic God! who didst not refuse to the swart convict Bunyan, the pale poetic pearl; Thou who didst clothe with doubly hammered leaves of finest gold, the stumped and paupered arm of old Cervantes; Thou who didst pick up Andrew Jackson from the pebbles; who didst hurl him upon a war horse; who didst thunder him higher than a throne! Thou who, in all thy mighty, earthly marchings, ever cullest Thy selectest champions from the kingly commons; bear me out in it, O God! ~ Herman Melville,
1326:Adèle heard him, and asked if she was to go to school “sans mademoiselle?” “Yes,” he replied, “absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me there, and only me.” “She will have nothing to eat: you will starve her,” observed Adèle. “I shall gather manna for her morning and night: the plains and hillsides in the moon are bleached with manna, Adèle.” “She will want to warm herself: what will she do for a fire?” “Fire rises out of the lunar mountains: when she is cold, I’ll carry her up to a peak, and lay her down on the edge of a crater.” “Oh, qu’ elle y sera mal—peu comfortable!  And her clothes, they will wear out: how can she get new ones?” Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled.  “Hem!” said he.  “What would you do, Adèle?  Cudgel your brains for an expedient.  How would a white or a pink cloud answer for a gown, do you think?  And one could cut a pretty enough scarf out of a rainbow. ~ Charlotte Bront,
1327:As we drew nearer we could see that the three men fishing seemed old and solemn-looking men. They sat on three chairs in the punt and watched intently their lines. And the red sunset threw a mystic light upon the waters and tinged with fire the towering woods and made a golden glory of the piled-up clouds. It was an hour of deep enchantment of ecstatic hope and longing. The little sail stood out against the purple sky the gloaming lay around us wrapping the world in rainbow shadows and behind us crept the night.

We seemed like knights of some old legend sailing across some mystic lake into the unknown realm of twilight unto the great land of the sunset.

We did not go into the realm of twilight we went slap into that punt where those three old men were fishing. We did not know what had happened at first because the sail shut out the view but from the nature of the language that rose up upon the evening air we gathered that we had come into the neighbourhood of human beings and that they were vexed and discontented. ~ Jerome K Jerome,
1328:What science offers for explaining the feelings we experience when believing in God or falling in love is complementary, not conflicting; additive, not detractive. I find it deeply interesting to know that when I fall in love with someone my initial lustful feelings are enhanced by dopamine, a neurohormone produced by the hypothalamus that triggers the release of testosterone, the hormone that drives sexual desire, and that my deeper feelings of attachment are reinforced by oxytocin, a hormone synthesized in the hypothalamus and secreted into the blood by the pituitary. Further, it is instructive to know that such hormone-induced neural pathways are exclusive to monogamous pair-bonded species as an evolutionary adaptation for the long-term care of helpless infants. We fall in love because our children need us! Does this in any way lessen the qualitative experience of falling in love and doting on one’s children? Of course not, any more than unweaving a rainbow into its constituent parts reduces the aesthetic appreciation of the rainbow. ~ Michael Shermer,
1329:Rainbow Bridge Poem

"There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge, there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass.

When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. There, the old and frail animals are young again. Those who are maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other.

There is only one thing missing. They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So, each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up! The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are starving! And this one suddenly runs from the group!

You have seen, and when you an your special friend meet, you take him in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed again and again and again, and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet.

Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge, never again to be separated. ~ Unknown,
1330:There were times when I was blown away by the virgin beauty of the land. Kind of like that guy who lost his shit on the internet at the full double rainbow across the sky. Remember that guy? He kept asking what it meant, and it is not so difficult a question to answer. It means that we are loved, like all living things that Gaia sustains. There is a poetry in the canapes of forests and in the gentle roll of hills. A song in the wind and a benediction in the kiss of the sun. There are stories in the chuckle of waters in creeks and epics told in the tides of oceans. There are trees, Granuaile, that seem sometimes like they have grown all their lives just to feel the touch of my hand upon their trunks. They are so welcoming to me. You will feel that welcome in your hands some day. You'll feel it in your toes as you walk upon the earth. I cannot wait to see that love bloom in your eyes....' Tears glistened at the edges of her eyes... She knew precisely what I meant. She understood. And she became almost unbearably beautiful to me in that moment. ~ Kevin Hearne,
1331: The Mother of God
A conscious and eternal Power is here
Behind unhappiness and mortal birth
And the error of Thought and blundering trudge of Time.

The mother of God, his sister and his spouse,
Daughter of his wisdom, of his strength the mate,
She has leapt from the Transcendent's secret breast
To build her rainbow worlds of mind and life.

Between the superconscient absolute Light
And the Inconscient's vast unthinking toil,
In the rolling and routine of Matter's sleep
And the somnambulist motion of the stars
She forces on the cold unwilling Void
Her adventure of life, the passionate dreams of her heart.

Amid the work of darker Powers she is here
To heal the evils and mistakes of Space
And change the tragedy of the ignorant world
Into a Divine Comedy of joy

Lyrical Poems

643

And the laughter and the rapture of God's bliss.

The Mother of God is mother of our souls;
We are the partners of his birth in Time,
Inheritors we share his eternity.
~ Sri Aurobindo, - The Mother of God
,
1332:Poem [song birds take a bath in our elephant pool]
song birds take a bath in our elephant pool
turtles don't come to our turtle yet
sunflower cytology apprehend the weeds in our garden
cytologies you mean & well there's poison ivy
as in drew barrymore or
dream creatures knocking at the window
threatening to kill you on a snowy road
and now the luna moth creeps along as creeks bring
blue herons flying into flower
watches like herons nesting oh! what mayhem
we behold, so many Gnostic beings landing at our
doorstep ready to start something or else
there'll be a rainbow or parhelion or fire or
with the party to put an end to hunger as they say
in the old days and should we have a rent strike
à la hoag's corners? what wilt thou?
frogs and bugs and little dead farm animals in the
hay, oh hell i've lived in new york city
i know about dead beings like all get out
of the sidewalks and burning buildings along with
the living tho the living usually stay unless they're
the living dead
~ Bernadette Mayer,
1333:Every morning a great wall of fog descends upon the city of San Francisco. It begins far out at sea. It forms over the Farallons, covering the sea lions on their rocks, and then it sweeps onto Ocean Beach, filling the long green bowl of Golden Gate Park. The fog obscures the early morning joggers and the lone practitioners of tai chi. It mists up the windows of the Glass Pavilion. It creeps over the entire city, over the monuments and movie theaters, over the Panhandle dope dens and the flophouses in the Tenderloin. The fog covers the pastel Victorian mansions in Pacific Heights and shrouds the rainbow-colored houses in the Haight. It walks up and down the twisting streets of Chinatown; it boards the cable cars, making their clanging bells sound like buoys; it climbs to the top of Coit Tower until you can’t see it anymore; it moves in on the Mission, where the mariachi players are still asleep; and it bothers the tourists. The fog of San Francisco, that cold, identity-cleansing mist that rolls over the city every day, explains better than anything else why that city is what it is. ~ Jeffrey Eugenides,
1334:Dear Motherland Of France
DEDICATED TO THE MEN AND WOMEN OF FRANCE
Our Motherland, dear Motherland,
The source of beauty and of Art,
Who but thy children understand
The love which permeates each heart!
We see, through rainbow-tints of tears,
Thy glory of a thousand years.
O country of the Great and Free,
We live for thee, we live for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
O Motherland, both blithe and brave,
What magic lies in thy name-France!
Yet can thy radiant mien be grave,
And stern thy ever-smiling glance.
And when thy sons and daughters know
That enemies would lay thee low
And dim thy fame on land and sea,
We fight for thee, we fight for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
Dear Motherland of joy and mirth,
Dear Motherland of faith divine,
A thousand years the wondering earth
Has seen thy star in splendour shine.
Still shall it see that star of France
Its splendour and its light enhance.
Dear Motherland, when it need be
We die for thee, we die for thee,
Dear Motherland of France.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1335:Still Life
COOL your heels on the rail of an observation car.
Let the engineer open her up for ninety miles an hour.
Take in the prairie right and left, rolling land and new hay crops, swaths of new
hay laid in the sun.
A gray village flecks by and the horses hitched in front of the post-office never
blink an eye.
A barnyard and fifteen Holstein cows, dabs of white on a black wall map, never
blink an eye.
A signalman in a tower, the outpost of Kansas City, keeps his place at a window
with the serenity of a bronze statue on a dark night when lovers pass whispering.
Sumach And Birds
IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple
Shining in the six o'clock September dusk:
If the red sumach on the autumn roads
Never danced on the flame of your eyelashes:
If the red-haws never burst in a million
Crimson fingertwists of your heartcrying:
If all this beauty of yours never crushed me
Then there are many flying acres of birds for me,
Many drumming gray wings going home I shall see,
Many crying voices riding the north wind.
~ Carl Sandburg,
1336:Bloom of adulthood. Try a whiff of that. On your back in the dark you remember. Ah you remember. Cloudless May day. She joins you in the little summerhouse. Entirely of logs. Both larch and fir. Six feet across. Eight from floor to vertex. Area twenty-four square feet to the furthest decimal. Two small multicoloured lights vis-a-vis. Small stained diamond panes. Under each a ledge. There on summer Sundays after his midday meal your father loved to retreat with Punch and a cushion. The waist of his trousers unbuttoned he sat on the one ledge and turned the pages. You on the other your feet dangling. When he chuckled you tried to chuckle too. When his chuckle died yours too. That you should try to imitate his chuckle pleased and amused him greatly and sometimes he would chuckle for no other reason than to hear you try to chuckle too. Sometimes you turn your head and look out through a rose-red pane. You press your little nose against the pane and all without is rosy. The years have flown and there at the same place as then you sit in the bloom of adulthood bathed in rainbow light gazing before you. She is late. ~ Samuel Beckett,
1337:The real game, as I soon discover, is donburi. Donburi, often shortened to don, means "bowl," and the name encapsulates a vast array of rice bowls topped with delicious stuff: oyakodon (chicken and egg), unadon (grilled eel), tendon (tempura). As nice as meat and tempura and eel can be, the donburi of yours and mine and every sensible person's dreams is topped with a rainbow bounty of raw fish. Warm rice, cool fish, a dab of wasabi, a splash of soy- sushi, without the pageantry and without the price tag.
At Kikuyo Shokudo Honten you will find more than three dozen varieties of seafood dons, including a kaleidoscopic combination of uni, salmon, ikura (salmon roe), quail eggs, and avocado. I opt for what I've come to call the Hokkaido Superhero's Special: scallops, salmon roe, hairy crab, and uni. It's ridiculous hyperbole to call a simple plate of food life changing, but as the tiny briny eggs pop and the sweet scallops dissolve and the uni melts like ocean Velveeta, I feel some tectonic shift taking place just below my surface. ~ Matt Goulding,
1338:We made it, baby.
We’re riding in the back of the black
limousine. They have lined
the road to shout our names.
They have faith in your golden hair
& pressed grey suit.
They have a good citizen
in me. I love my country.
I pretend nothing is wrong.
I pretend not to see the man
& his blond daughter diving
for cover, that you’re not saying
my name & it’s not coming out
like a slaughterhouse.
I’m not Jackie O yet
& there isn’t a hole in your head, a brief
rainbow through a mist
of rust. I love my country
but who am I kidding? I’m holding
your still-hot thoughts in,
darling, my sweet, sweet
Jack. I’m reaching across the trunk
for a shard of your memory,
the one where we kiss & the nation
glitters. Your slumped back.
Your hand letting go. You’re all over
the seat now, deepening
my fuchsia dress. But I’m a good
citizen, surrounded by Jesus
& ambulances. I love
this country. The twisted faces.
My country. The blue sky. Black
limousine. My one white glove
glistening pink—with all
our American dreams. ~ Ocean Vuong,
1339:The Little Lady Of The Bullock Cart
Now is the time when India is gay
With wedding parties; and the radiant throngs
Seem like a scattered rainbow taking part
In human pleasures. Dressed in bright array,
They fling upon the bride their wreaths of songsThe Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Here is the temple ready for the rite:
The large-eyed bullocks halt; and waiting arms
Lift down the bride. All India's curious art
Speaks in the gems with which she is bedight,
And in the robes which hide her sweet alarmsThe Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
This is her day of days: her splendid hour
When joy is hers, though love is all unknown.
It has not dawned upon her childish heart.
But human triumph, in a temporal power,
Has crowned her queen upon a one-day throneThe Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
Ah, Little Lady! What will be your fate?
So long, so long, the outward-reaching years:
So brief the joy of this elusive part;
So frail the shoulders for the loads that wait:
So bitter salt the virgin widow's tearsO Little Lady of the Bullock Cart.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1340:I don't really believe that people can predict the future,' he admitted.

'People predict the future every day, Stenwold Maker,' she replied, studying the rainbow carefully as the glass panels shifted slightly on the creaking wooded framework. 'If you drop a stone, you may predict that it shall fall. If you know a man to be dishonest, you may predict that he will cheat you. If you know one army is better trained and led, you may predict that it will win the battle.'

He could not help smiling at that. 'But that is different. That is using knowledge already gained about the world to guess at the most likely outcome.'

'And that is also predicting the future, Stenwold Maker,' she said. 'The only difference is your source of knowledge. Everything that happens has a cause, which same cause has itself a cause. It is a chain stretching into the most distant past, and forged by necessity, inclination, bitter memories, the urge of duty. Nothing happens without a reason. Predicting the future does not require predestination, Stenwold Maker. It only requires a world where one thing will most likely lead to another. ~ Adrian Tchaikovsky,
1341:I.
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead--
When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

II.
As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The hearts echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute:--
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seamans knell.

III.
When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

IV.
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.

~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, When The Lamp Is Shattered
,
1342:Why here? Why should the rainbow edges of what is almost on him be rippling most intense here in this amply coded room? say why should walking in here be almost the same as entering the Forbidden itself—here are the same long rooms, rooms of old paralysis and evil distillery, of condensations and residues you are afraid to smell from forgotten corruptions, rooms full of upright gray-feathered statues with wings spread, indistinct faces in dust—rooms full of dust that will cloud the shapes of inhabitants around the corners or deeper inside, that will settle on their black formal lapels, that will soften to sugar the white faces, white shirt fronts, gems and gowns, white hands that move too quickly to be seen…what game do They deal? What passes are these, so blurred, so old and perfect?
“Fuck you,” whispers Slothrop. It’s the only spell he knows, and a pretty good all-purpose one at that. His whisper is baffled by the thousands of tiny rococo surfaces. Maybe he’ll sneak in tonight—no not at night—but sometime, with a bucket and brush, paint FUCK YOU in a balloon coming out of the mouth of one of those little pink shepherdresses there… ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1343:
   An Informal Integral Canon: Selected books on Integral Science, Philosophy and the Integral Transformation
   Sri Aurobindo - The Life Divine
   Sri Aurobindo - The Synthesis of Yoga
   Pierre Teilhard de Chardin - The Phenomenon of Man
   Jean Gebser - The Ever-Present Origin
   Edward Haskell - Full Circle - The Moral Force of Unified Science
   Oliver L. Reiser - Cosmic Humanism and World Unity
   Christopher Hills - Nuclear Evolution: Discovery of the Rainbow Body
   The Mother - Mother's Agenda
   Erich Jantsch - The Self-Organizing Universe - Scientific and Human Implications of the Emerging Paradigm of Evolution
   T. R. Thulasiram - Arut Perum Jyothi and Deathless Body
   Kees Zoeteman - Gaiasophy
   Ken Wilber - Sex Ecology Spirituality: The Spirit of Evolution
   Don Edward Beck - Spiral Dynamics: Mastering Values, Leadership, and Change
   Kundan Singh - The Evolution of Integral Yoga: Sri Aurobindo, Sri Ramakrishna, and Swami Vivekananda
   Sean Esbjorn-Hargens - Integral Ecology: Uniting Multiple Perspectives on the Natural World
   ~ M Alan Kazlev, Kheper, #reading list,
1344:When The Lamp Is Shattered

When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed;
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.


As music and splendor
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute:--
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come. ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley,
1345:Yes," he replied, "absolutely sans mademoiselle; for I am to take mademoiselle to the moon, and there I shall seek a cave in one of the white valleys among the volcano-tops, and mademoiselle shall live with me there, and only me." "She will have nothing to eat--you will starve her," observed Adèle. "I shall gather manna for her morning and night; the plains and hell-sides in the moon are bleached with manna, Adèle." "She will want to warm herself; what will she do for a fire?" "Fire rises out of the lunar mountains; when she is cold, I'll carry her up to a peak and lay her down on the edge of a crater." "Oh, she'll be uncomfortable there! And her clothes, they will wear out; how can she get new ones?" Mr. Rochester professed to be puzzled. "Hem!" said he. "What would you do, Adèle? Cudgel your brains for an expedient. How would a white or a pink cloud answer for a gown, do you think? And one could cut a pretty enough scarf out of a rainbow." "She is far better as she is," concluded Adèle, after musing some time; "besides, she would get tired of living with only you in the moon. If I were mademoiselle, I would never consent to go with you. ~ Charlotte Bront,
1346:Kim Il-sung understood the power of religion. His maternal uncle was a Protestant minister back in the pre-Communist days when Pyongyang had such a vibrant Christian community that it was called the “Jerusalem of the East.” Once in power, Kim Il-sung closed the churches, banned the Bible, deported believers to the hinterlands, and appropriated Christian imagery and dogma for the purpose of self-promotion.

Broadcasters would speak of Kim Il-sung or Kim Jong-il breathlessly, in the manner of Pentecostal preachers. North Korean newspapers carried tales of supernatural phenomena. Stormy seas were said to be calmed when sailors clinging to a sinking ship sang songs in praise of Kim Il-sung. When Kim Jong-il went to the DMZ, a mysterious fog descended to protect him from lurking South Korean snipers. He caused trees to bloom and snow to melt. If Kim Il-sung was God, then Kim Jong-il was the son of God. Like Jesus Christ, Kim Jong-il’s birth was said to have been heralded by a radiant star in the sky and the appearance of a beautiful double rainbow. A swallow descended from heaven to sing of the birth of a “general who will rule the world. ~ Barbara Demick,
1347:Hope Is A Tattered Flag
Hope is a tattered flag and a dream of time.
Hope is a heartspun word, the rainbow, the shadblow in white
The evening star inviolable over the coal mines,
The shimmer of northern lights across a bitter winter night,
The blue hills beyond the smoke of the steel works,
The birds who go on singing to their mates in peace, war, peace,
The ten-cent crocus bulb blooming in a used-car salesroom,
The horseshoe over the door, the luckpiece in the pocket,
The kiss and the comforting laugh and resolve—
Hope is an echo, hope ties itself yonder, yonder.
The spring grass showing itself where least expected,
The rolling fluff of white clouds on a changeable sky,
The broadcast of strings from Japan, bells from Moscow,
Of the voice of the prime minister of Sweden carried
Across the sea in behalf of a world family of nations
And children singing chorals of the Christ child
And Bach being broadcast from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
And tall skyscrapers practically empty of tenants
And the hands of strong men groping for handholds
And the Salvation Army singing God loves us….
~ Carl Sandburg,
1348:Grief Thief Of Time
Grief thief of time crawls off,
The moon-drawn grave, with the seafaring years,
The knave of pain steals off
The sea-halved faith that blew time to his knees,
The old forget the cries,
Lean time on tide and times the wind stood rough,
Call back the castaways
Riding the sea light on a sunken path,
The old forget the grief,
Hack of the cough, the hanging albatross,
Cast back the bone of youth
And salt-eyed stumble bedward where she lies
Who tossed the high tide in a time of stories
And timelessly lies loving with the thief.
Now Jack my fathers let the time-faced crook,
Death flashing from his sleeve,
With swag of bubbles in a seedy sack
Sneak down the stallion grave,
Bull's-eye the outlaw through a eunuch crack
And free the twin-boxed grief,
No silver whistles chase him down the weeks'
Dayed peaks to day to death,
These stolen bubbles have the bites of snakes
And the undead eye-teeth,
No third eye probe into a rainbow's sex
That bridged the human halves,
All shall remain and on the graveward gulf
Shape with my fathers' thieves.
~ Dylan Thomas,
1349:The Kite
Upon the liquid tide of air
It swayed beside a dappled cloud:
It seemed athwart the sun to fare
Full of strong flight, as though endowed
With vibrant life. Buoyed in the sky
It swam, and hardly might the eye
Traverse the fields of ambient light
To scan its heaven aspiring height.
And, like a spider's web, there slipped
A pulsing earthward thread, that dipped
In tenuous line, that throbbed and spoke,
Down through the sunlight and the smoke,
Down to a small and blackened brood
Of puny city waifs that stood,
And–lost to hunger, want or time–
Stared, rigid, through the city's grime
At the far envoy they had given
As hostage to the winds of heaven.
Thus may the Soul to heights elysian
Send argosies of dream and vision:
Send far flung messengers that rise
Strong pinioned, cleaving to the skies,
To float amid the poisèd spheres,
Beyond the tumult of the years,
Till,–down the rare and rainbow line
That earthward trails from fields divine–
Shall pulse the throb of mystic wings,
And faint, sweet, rapturous whisperings
Of incommunicable things.
~ Alan Sullivan,
1350:When The Lamp Is Shattered

When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed;
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.


As music and splendor
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute:--
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.
When The Lamp Is Shattered ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley,
1351:Later, long after my grandfather was dead, I would regret that I could never be the kind of man that he was. Though I adored him as a child and found myself attracted to the safe protectorate of his soft, uncritical maleness, I never wholly appreciated him. I did not know how to cherish sanctity, and I had no way of honoring, of giving small voice to the praise of such natural innocence, such a generous simplicity. Now I know that a part of me would like to have traveled the world as he traveled it, a jester of burning faith, a fool and a forest prince brimming with the love of God. I would like to walk his southern world, thanking God for oysters and porpoises, praising God for birdsongs and sheet lightning, and seeing God reflected in pools of creekwater and the eyes of stray cats. I would like to have talked to yard dogs and tanagers as if they were my friends and fellow travelers along the sun-tortured highways, intoxicated with a love of God, swollen with charity like a rainbow, in the thoughtless mingling of its hues, connecting two distant fields in its glorious arc. I would like to have seen the world with eyes incapable of anything but wonder, and a tongue fluent only in praise. ~ Pat Conroy,
1352:The belief in magic trickery for conceiving sons is also illustrated by the legend of the rainbow in Afghanistan. The rainbow, a favorite element in every mythology from the Norse to the Navajo people, often symbolizes wish fulfillment. In Afghanistan, finding a rainbow promises a very special reward: It holds magical powers to turn an unborn child into a boy when a pregnant woman walks under it. Afghan girls are also told that they can become boys by walking under a rainbow, and many little girls have tried. As a child, Setareh did it too, she confesses when I probe her on it. All her girlfriends tried to find the rainbow so they could become boys.
The name for the rainbow, Kaman-e-Rostam, is a reference to the mythical hero Rostam from the Persian epic Shahnameh, which tells the history of greater Persia from that time when Zoroastrianism was the dominant religion and Afghanistan was part of the empire. The Persian epic even has its own bacha posh: the warrior woman Gordafarid, an Amazon who disguises herself as a man to intervene in battle and defend her land. Interestingly, the same rainbow myth of gender-changing is told in parts of Eastern Europe, including Albania and Montenegro. ~ Jenny Nordberg,
1353:The rest of us, not chosen for enlightenment, left on the outside of Earth, at the mercy of a Gravity we have only begun to learn how to detect and measure, must go on blundering inside our front-brain faith in Kute Korrespondences, hoping that for each psi-synthetic taken from Earth's soul there is a molecule, secular, more or less ordinary and named, over here - kicking endlessly among the plastic trivia, finding in each Deeper Significance and trying to string them all together like terms of a power series hoping to zero in on the tremendous and secret Function whose name, like the permuted names of God, cannot be spoken... plastic saxophone reed sounds of unnatural timbre, shampoo bottle ego-image, Cracker Jack prize one-shot amusement, home appliance casing fairing for winds of cognition, baby bottles tranquilization, meat packages disguise of slaughter, dry-cleaning bags infant strangulation, garden hoses feeding endlessly the desert... but to bring them together, in their slick persistence and our preterition... to make sense out of, to find the meanest sharp sliver of truth in so much replication, so much waste... [Gravity's Rainbow, p. 590] ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1354:TWENTY SMALL GRAVES

There was a woman who bore a child almost every year, but the children never lived longer

than six months. Usually after three or four months they would die. She grieved long and

publicly. "I take on the work of pregnancy for nine months, but the joy vanishes quicker

than a rainbow." Twenty children went like that, in fevers to their small graves. One night

she had a revelation. She saw the place of unconditional love, call it the garden or source

of gardens. The physical eye cannot see its unseeable light. Lamp, green flower, these

are just comparisons, so that some of the love-bewildered may catch a fragrance. The woman

saw pure grace and, drunk with the seeing, fell to the ground. Those who have the vision said

then, "This morning meal is for those who rise with sincere devotion. The tragedies you've

had came from other times when you did not take refuge." "Lord, give me more grief.

Tear me to pieces, if it leads here." She said this and walked into the presence

she had seen. Her children were all there, "Lost to me," she cried, "but not to you."

Without this great grieving no one can enter the spirit. ~ Rumi,
1355:Once he went into the mountains on a clear, sunny day, and wandered about for a long time with a tormenting thought that refused to take shape. Before him was the shining sky, below him the lake, around him the horizon, bright and infinite, as if it went on forever. For a long time he looked and suffered. He remembered now how he had stretched out his arms to that bright, infinite blue and wept. What had tormented him was that he was a total stranger to it all. What was this banquet, what was this great everlasting feast, to which he had long been drawn, always, ever since childhood, and which he could never join? Every morning the same bright sun rises; every morning there is a rainbow over the waterfall; every evening the highest snowcapped mountain, there, far away, at the edge of the sky, burns with a crimson flame; every little fly that buzzes near him in a hot ray of sunlight participates in this whole chorus: knows its place, loves it, and is happy; every little blade of grass grows and is happy! And everything has its path, and everything knows its path, goes with a song and comes back with a song; only he knows nothing, understands nothing, neither people nor sounds, a stranger to everything and a castaway. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
1356:I suppose a part of me wished when I put my key in the door, it would magically open into a different apartment, a different life, a place so bright with joy and excitement that I'd be temporarily blinded when I first saw it. I pictured what a documentary film crew would capture in my face as I glimpsed this whole new world before me, like in those home improvement shows Reva liked to watch when she came over. First, I'd cringe with surprise. But then, once my eyes adjusted to the light, they'd grow wide and glisten with awe. I'd drop the keys and the coffee and wander in, spinning around with my jaw hanging open, shocked at the transformation of my dim, gray apartment into a paradise of realized dreams. But what would it look like exactly? I had no idea. When I tried to imagine this new place, all I could come up with was a cheesy mural of a rainbow, a man in a white bunny costume, a set of dentures in a glass, a huge slice of watermelon on a yellow plate—an odd prediction, maybe, of when I'm ninety-five and losing my mind in an assisted-living facility where they treat the elderly residents like retarded children. I should be so lucky, I thought. I opened the door to my apartment, and, of course, nothing had changed, ~ Ottessa Moshfegh,
1357:The Shakers had indeed left the land that would become Shaker Heights long before, and by the summer of 1997 there were exactly twelve left in the world. But Shaker Heights had been founded, if not on Shaker principles, with the same idea of creating a utopia. Order—and regulation, the father of order—had been the Shakers’ key to harmony. They had regulated everything: the proper time for rising in the morning, the proper color of window curtains, the proper length of a man’s hair, the proper way to fold one’s hands in prayer (right thumb over left). If they planned every detail, the Shakers had believed, they could create a patch of heaven on earth, a little refuge from the world, and the founders of Shaker Heights had thought the same. In advertisements they depicted Shaker Heights in the clouds, looking down upon the grimy city of Cleveland from a mountaintop at the end of a rainbow’s arch. Perfection: that was the goal, and perhaps the Shakers had lived it so strongly it had seeped into the soil itself, feeding those who grew up there with a propensity to overachieve and a deep intolerance for flaws. Even the teens of Shaker Heights—whose main exposure to Shakers was singing “Simple Gifts” in music class—could feel that drive for perfection still in the air. ~ Celeste Ng,
1358:Brod's life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside of her. But there was no release. Table, ivory, elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, Shabbos, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily...None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don't love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don't love you. Poem too long: I don't love you. Lunch in a bowl: I don't love you. Physics, the idea of you, the laws of you: I don't love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness.
If we were to open a random page in her journal- which she must have kept and kept with her at all times, not fearing that it would be lost, or discovered and read, but that she would one day stumble upon that thing which was finally worth writing about and remembering, only to find that she had no place to write it- we would find some rendering of the following sentiment: I am not in love. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
1359:You're a Dark One," said Anton. "All you see in everything is evil, treachery, trickery."

"All I do is not close my eyes to them," Edgar retorted. "And that's why I don't trust Zabulon. I distrust him almost as much as I do Gesar. I can even trust you more—you're just another unfortunate chess piece who happens by chance to be painted a different color from me. Does a white pawn hate a black one? No. Especially if the two pawns have their heads down together over a quiet beer or two."

"You know," Anton said in a slightly surprised voice, "I just don't understand how you can carry on living if you see the world like that. I'd just go and hang myself."

"So you don't have any counterarguments to offer?"

Anton took a gulp of beer too. The wonderful thing about this natural Czech beer was that even if you drank lots of it, it still didn't make your head or your body feel heavy... Or was that an illusion?

"Not a single one," Anton admitted. "Right now, this very moment, not a single one. But I'm sure you're wrong. It's just difficult to argue about the colors of the rainbow with a blind man. There's something missing in you... I don't know what exactly. But it's something very important, and without it you're more helpless than a blind man. ~ Sergei Lukyanenko,
1360:Suicide Of A Moderate Dictator
This is a day when truths will out, perhaps;
leak from the dangling telephone earphones
sapping the festooned switchboards' strength;
fall from the windows, blow from off the sills,
—the vague, slight unremarkable contents
of emptying ash-trays; rub off on our fingers
like ink from the un-proof-read newspapers,
crocking the way the unfocused photographs
of crooked faces do that soil our coats,
our tropical-weight coats, like slapped-at moths.
Today's a day when those who work
are idling. Those who played must work
and hurry, too, to get it done,
with little dignity or none.
The newspapers are sold; the kiosk shutters
crash down. But anyway, in the night
the headlines wrote themselves, see, on the streets
and sidewalks everywhere; a sediment's splashed
even to the first floors of apartment houses.
This is a day that's beautiful as well,
and warm and clear. At seven o'clock I saw
the dogs being walked along the famous beach
as usual, in a shiny gray-green dawn,
leaving their paw prints draining in the wet.
The line of breakers was steady and the pinkish,
segmented rainbow steadily hung above it.
At eight two little boys were flying kites.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
1361:From around the corner's edge a grotesque light was trickling out, the first intimations of an ominous sunrise over a dark horizon. I dimly recognized this colored light, though not from my waking memory. It grew more intense, now pouring out in weird streams from beyond the solid margin of the building. And the more intense it grew, the more clearly I could hear the screaming voice that had called out to me in a dream. I shouted his name, but the swelling colored brightness was a field of fear which kept me from making any move toward it. It was no amalgam of colors comparable to anything in mortal experience. It was as if all natural colors had been mutated into a painfully lush iridescence by some prism fantastically corrupted in its form; it was a rainbow staining the sky after a poison deluge; it was an aurora painting the darkness with a blaze of insanity, a blaze that did not burn vigorously but shimmered with an insect-jeweled frailness. And, in actuality, it was nothing like these color-filled effusions, which are merely a feeble means of partially fixing a reality uncommunicable to those not initiated to it, a necessary resorting to the makeshift gibberish of the mystic isolated by his experience and left without a language to describe it.

("The Dreaming In Nortown") ~ Thomas Ligotti,
1362:TO VICTOR HUGO OF MY CROW PLUTO
“Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings.”—VICTOR HUGO
Of:
my crow
Pluto,
the true
Plato,
azzurronegro
green-blue rainbow
— Victor Hugo, it is true
we know that the crow
“has wings,” however pigeon-toe-
inturned on grass.
We do. (adagio)
Vivorosso
“corvo,”
although
con dizionario
io parlo
Italiano—
this pseudo
Esperanto
which, savio
ucello
you speak too
— my vow and motto
(botto e totto)
io giuro
è questo
credo:
lucro
è peso morto.
And so
dear crow—
gioièllo
mio— I have to
let you go;
a bel bosco
generoso,
tuttuto vagabondo, s
erafino uvaceo
Sunto,
oltremarino
verecondo
Plato, addio.

(((((Impromptu equivalents for esperanto madinusa (made in U.S.A.) for those who might not resent them. azzurro-negro: blue-black vivorosso: lively con dizionario: with dictionary savio ucello: knowing bird botto e totto: vow and motto io giuro: I swear è questo credo: is this credo lucro è peso morto: profit is a dead weight gioièllo mio: my jewel a bel bosco: to lovely woods tuttuto vagabondo: complete gypsy serafino uvaceo: grape-black seraph sunto: in short verecondo: modest)))) ~ Marianne Moore,
1363:I saw the sky descending, black and white,
Not blue, on Boston where the winters wore
The skulls to jack-o’-lanterns on the slates,
And Hunger’s skin-and-bone retrievers tore
The chickadee and shrike. The thorn tree waits
Its victim and tonight
The worms will eat the deadwood to the foot
Of Ararat: the scythers, Time and Death,
Helmed locusts, move upon the tree of breath;
The wild ingrafted olive and the root

Are withered, and a winter drifts to where
The Pepperpot, ironic rainbow, spans
Charles River and its scales of scorched-earth miles.
I saw my city in the Scales, the pans
Of judgement rising and descending. Piles
Of dead leaves char the air—
And I am a red arrow on this graph
Of Revelations. Every dove is sold.
The Chapel’s sharp-shinned eagle shifts its hold
On serpent-Time, the rainbow’s epitaph.

In Boston serpents whistle at the cold.
The victim climbs the altar steps and sings:
“Hosannah to the lion, lamb, and beast
Who fans the furnace-face of IS with wings:
I breathe the ether of my marriage feast.”
At the high altar, gold
And a fair cloth. I kneel and the wings beat
My cheek. What can the dove of Jesus give
You now but wisdom, exile? Stand and live,
The dove has brought an olive branch to eat. ~ Robert Lowell,
1364:I am the interpretation of the prophet
I am the artist in the coffin
I am the brave flag stained with blood
I am the wounds overcome
I am the dream refusing to sleep
I am the bare-breasted voice of liberty
I am the comic the insult and the laugh
I am the right the middle and the left
I am the poached eggs in the sky
I am the Parisian streets at night
I am the dance that swings till dawn
I am the grass on the greener lawn
I am the respectful neighbour and the graceful man
I am the encouraging smile and the helping hand
I am the straight back and the lifted chin
I am the tender heart and the will to win
I am the rainbow in rain
I am the human who won’t die in vain
I am Athena of Greek mythology
I am the religion that praises equality
I am the woman of stealth and affection
I am the man of value and compassion
I am the wild horse ploughing through
I am the shoulder to lean onto
I am the Muslim the Jew and the Christian
I am the Dane the French and the Palestinian
I am the straight the square and the round
I am the white the black and the brown
I am the free speech and the free press
I am the freedom to express
I will die for my right to be all the above here mentioned
And should threat encounter I’ll pull my pencil ~ Mie Hansson,
1365:Dear Pinterest, When we first started dating, you lured me in with Skittles-flavored vodka and Oreo-filled chocolate chip cookies. You wooed me with cheesy casseroles adjacent to motivational fitness sayings. I loved your inventiveness: Who knew cookies needed a sugary butter dip? You did. You knew, Pinterest. You inspired me, not to make stuff, but to think about one day possibly making stuff if I have time. You took the cake batter, rainbow and bacon trends to levels nobody thought were possible. You made me hungry. The nights I spent pinning and eating nachos were some of the best nights of my life. Pinterest, we can’t see each other anymore. You see, it’s recently come to my attention that some people aren’t just pinning, they are making. This makes me want to make, too. Unfortunately, I’m not good at making, and deep down I like buying way more. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m starting to feel bad, Pinterest. I don’t enjoy you the way I once did. We need to take a break. I’m going to miss your crazy ideas (rolls made with 7Up? Shut your mouth). This isn’t going to be easy. You’ve been responsible for nearly every 2 a.m. grilled cheese binge I’ve had for the past couple of years, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful. Stay cool, Pinterest. PS. You hurt me. PPS. I’m also poor now. Xo Me 10 ~ Bunmi Laditan,
1366:WhatsApp forwards about love and kindness. I wonder if on a Sunday morning all these enthusiastic do-gooders could send out truly helpful things like ‘11 cures for a hangover’ or ‘How to clean puke stains from your dress’. I have no such luck; all I get are strange messages like ‘Little memories can last for years’. Very useful when you are trying hard to forget all the embarrassing things you did the night before. Do I really need messages saying, ‘A little hug can wipe out a big tear’ or ‘Friendship is a rainbow’? There is also a message saying, ‘God blues you’, which I am trying to guess could mean that either God wants to bless me, rule me or make a blue movie with me. Has it ever happened that a murderer just before committing his crime gets a message stating, ‘Life is about loving’, and stops in his tracks, or a banker reads ‘No greater sin than cheating’, and quits his job? So, what do these messages really do? I think they allow lazy people to think that they are doing a good deed in the easiest possible manner by sending these daft bits of information out into the universe. Go out there! Sweep a pavement, plant a tree, feed a stray dog. Do something, anything; rather than just using your fingers to tap three keys and destroy 600 people’s brain cells in one shot. 11 a.m.: This is turning out to be a hectic day. The ~ Twinkle Khanna,
1367:The honky-tonk bartender, who doubled as bouncer, waiter, and cashier, was in no mood to compromise. Mercy was not in him. He came out around the open end of the long counter, waddled threatening across the floor in a sullen, red-faced fury and began to shake the inanimate figure lying across the table with its head bedded on its arms. "Hey, you! Do your sleeping in the gutter!"

If you gave these bums an inch; they took a yard. And this one was a particularly glaring example of the genus bar-fly. He was in here all the time like this, inhaling smoke and then doing a sunset across the table. He'd been in here since four this afternoon. The boss and he, who were partners in the joint - the bartender called it jernt - would have been the last ones to claim they were running a Rainbow Room, but at least they were trying to give the place a little class, keep it above the level of a Bowery smoke-house; they even paid a guy to pound the piano and a canary to warble three times a week. And then bums like this had to show up and give the place a bad look!

He shook the recumbent figure again, more roughly than the first time. Shook him so violently that the whole reedy table under him rattled and threatened to collapse. "Come on, clear out, I said! Pay me for what you had and get outa here!" ("I'm Dangerous Tonight") ~ Cornell Woolrich,
1368:Hey Alecto, film this!” she called out. With the slide being as tall as a two-storey house, it felt slightly risky being up there. “On second thought, why don’t you come up here? It’s a blast being up here.”
“I don’t really like to be in high places,” said Alecto as he filmed her, the camera lens reflecting the entire playground, which was partially secluded by tall trees that cast otherworldly shadows dancing across the ground.

“If you don’t like being in high places, then why’d you take so many drugs in the seventies?” Mandy questioned jokingly.

“Do you want me to go up there and push you off the top of that slide?” Alecto threatened coldly.

“You’d never do that, we’re best friends!” Mandy pointed out. She reached over and picked a bright red maple flower from one of the long branches of the trees, tossing it down to him. “Even in this failing 21st century, where people are cell phone addicts and crude humor and violence is the norm, even when society falls apart and drowns in its own mistakes, we’ll still be best friends!” She looked incredibly eccentric, never mind the fact that she was an adult woman wearing a trippy rainbow Pucci dress from the 1970’s, standing on top of a slide at a children’s playground. Alecto didn’t seem to mind, he just continued to film her with his camera like she’d asked him to. ~ Rebecca McNutt,
1369:What's that sound?" Fran said.
Then something as big as a vulture flapped heavily down from one of the trees and landed just in front of the car.It shook itself.It turned its long neck toward the car, raised its head, and regarded us.

"Goddamn it," I said.I sat there with my hands on the wheel and stared at the thing.
"Can you believe it?" Fran said."I never saw a real one before."

We both knew it was a peacock, sure,but we didn't say the word out loud.We just watched it.The bird turned its head up in the air and made this harsh cry again.It had fluffed itself out and looked about twice the size it'd been when it landed.

"Goddamn," I said again. We stayed where we were in the front seat.
The bird moved forward a little.Then it turned its head to the side and braced itself.It kept its bright, wild eye right on us.Its tail was raised, and it was like a big fan folding in and out.
There was every color in the rainbow shining from that tail.

"My God," Fran said quietly.She moved her hand over to my knee.
"Goddamn," I said. There was nothing else to say.

The bird made this strange wailing sound once more. "May- awe, may-awe!" it went.If it'd been something I was hearing late at night and for the first time, I'd have thought it was somebody dying, or else something wild and dangerous. ~ Raymond Carver,
1370:Although there was no doubt that Kim Jong-il was the head of state, his deferral of the presidential title to his father demonstrated his filial loyalty while allowing him to wield power in the name of a father who was genuinely revered and far more popular than himself. Prior to 1996 he banned statues of himself, discouraged portraits, and avoided public appearances, but after his father’s death he began to assume a higher profile. That year, the Ministry of Education issued orders for schools around the country to set up Kim Jong-il Research Institutes. They would be just like the special rooms for his father, except in place of the humble village of Mangyongdae, the room would have a model of Mount Paektu, the volcanic mountain straddling the Chinese–North Korean border where the younger Kim’s birth was claimed to have been heralded by a double rainbow. Mount Paektu was a good choice: Koreans have long revered it as the birthplace of the mythological figure Tangun, the son of a god and a she-bear who was said to have established the first Korean kingdom in 2333 B.C. No matter that Soviet records showed Kim Jong-il was actually born near Khabarovsk, in the Russian Far East, while his father was fighting with the Red Army. Reinventing history and erecting myths was easy enough in North Korea; much more difficult in 1996 was actually putting up a building. The ~ Barbara Demick,
1371:In California During The Gulf War
Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among
trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,
the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,
certain airy white blossoms punctually
reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink-a delicate abundance. They seemed
like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed
festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving
the sackcloth others were wearing.
To some of us, the dejected landscape consorted well
with our shame and bitterness. Skies ever-blue,
daily sunshine, disgusted us like smile-buttons.
Yet the blossoms, clinging to thin branches
more lightly than birds alert for flight,
lifted the sunken heart
even against its will.
But not
as symbols of hope: they were flimsy
as our resistance to the crimes committed
--again, again--in our name; and yes, they return,
year after year, and yes, they briefly shone with serene joy
over against the dark glare
of evil days. They are, and their presence
is quietness ineffable--and the bombings are, were,
no doubt will be; that quiet, that huge cacophany
simultaneous. No promise was being accorded, the blossoms
were not doves, there was no rainbow. And when it was claimed
the war had ended, it had not ended.
~ Denise Levertov,
1372:Wednesday evening arrived, eight o'clock came, and eight members of the committee were punctual in their attendance. Mr Loggins, the solicitor, of Boswell-court, sent an excuse, and Mr Samuel Briggs, the ditto of Furnival's Inn, sent his brother, much to his (the brother's) satisfaction, and greatly to the discomfiture of Mr Percy Noakes. Between the Briggses and the Tauntons there existed a degree of implacable hatred, quite unprecedented. The animosity between the Montagues and Capulets was nothing to that which prevailed between these two illustrious houses. Mrs Briggs was a widow, with three daughters and two sons; Mr Samuel, the eldest, was an attorney, and Mr Alexander, the youngest, was under articles to his brother. They resided in Portland-street, Oxford-street, and moved in the same orbit as the Tauntons - hence their mutual dislike. If the Miss Briggs appeared in smart bonnets, the Miss Tauntons eclipsed them with smarter. If Mrs Taunton appeared in a cap of all the hues of the rainbow, Mrs Briggs forthwith mounted a toque, with all the patterns of a kaleidoscope. If Miss Sophia Taunton learnt a new song, two of the Miss Briggses came out with a new duet. The Tauntons had once gained a temporary triumph with the assistance of a harp, but the Briggses brought three guitars into the field, and effectually routed the enemy. There was no end to the rivalry between them. ~ Charles Dickens,
1373:Recommended Reading
David Foster Wallace - Infinite Jest
DH Lawrence - The Rainbow
Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Love in the Time of Cholera
Karl Ove Knausgaard - My Struggle
Virginia Woolf - To The Lighthouse
Ben Lerner - The Topeka School
Sally Rooney - Conversations With Friends
Nell Zink - The Wallcreeper
Elena Ferrante - The Days of Abandonment
Jack Kerouac - Dharma Bums
Walt Whitman - Leaves of Grass
Michael Murphy - Golf in the Kingdom
Barbara Kingsolver - Prodigal Summer
Albertine Sarrazin - Astragal
Rebecca Solnit - The Faraway Nearby
Michael Paterniti - Love and Other Ways of Dying
Rainer Maria Rilke - Book of Hours
James Baldwin - Another Country
Roberto Calasso - Ka
Translation by S. Radhakrishan - Principle Upanisads
Chogyam Trungpa - Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism
Translation by Georg Feuerstein - Yoga Sutra
Richard Freeman - The Mirror of Yoga
Translation by S. Radhakrishan - The Bhagavad Gita
Shrunyu Suzuki - Zen Mind Beginner's Mind
Heinrich Zimmer - Myths and Symbols in Indian Art and Civilization
Sogyal Rinpoche - The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying
Joseph Campbell - Myths of Light
Joseph Campbell - The Hero With A Thousand Faces
Sri Aurobindo - Savitri
Thomas Meyers - Anatomy Trains
Wendy Doniger - The Hindus ~ Jason Bowman, http://www.jasonbowmanyoga.com/recommended-reading,
1374:America WAS the edge of the World. A message for Europe, continent-sized, inescapable. Europe had found the site for its Kingdom of Death, that special Death the West had invented. Savages had their waste regions, Kalaharis, lakes so misty they could not see the other side. But Europe had gone deeper--into obsession, addiction, away from all the savage innocences. America was a gift from the invisible powers, a way of returning. But Europe refused it. It wasn't Europe's Original Sin--the latest name for that is Modern Analysis--but it happens that Subsequent Sin is harder to account for.
In Africa, Asia, Amerindia, Oceania, Europe came and established its order of Analysis and Death. What it could not use, it killed or altered. In time the death-colonies grew strong enough to break away. But the impulse to empire, the mission to propagate death, the structure of it, kept on. Now we are in the last phase. American Death has come to occupy Europe. It has learned empire from its old metropolis. But now we have ONLY the structure left us, none of the great rainbow plumes, no fittings of gold, no epic marches over alkali seas. The savages of other continents, corrupted but still resisting in the name of life, have gone on despite everything...while Death and Europe are separate as ever, their love still unconsummated. Death only rules here. It has never, in love, become ONE WITH... ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1375:Everything surrounding the ship is gray or dark blue and nothing is particularly hip, and once or maybe twice a day this thin strip of white appears at the horizon line but its so far in the distance you cant be sure whether its land or more sky. Its impossible to believe that any kind of life sustains itself beneath this flat, slate-gray sky or in an ocean so calm and vast, that anything breathing could exist in such limbo, and any movement that occurs below the surface is so faint its like some kind of small accident, a tiny indifferent moment, a minor incident that shouldnt have happened, and in the sky there's never any trace of sun - the air seems vaguely transparent and disposable, with the texture of Kleenex - yet its always bright in a dull way, the wind usually constant as we drift through it, weightless, and below us the trail the ship leaves behind is a Jacuzzi blue that fades within minutes into the same boring gray sheet that blankets everything else surrounding the ship. One day a normal looking rainbow appears and you vaguely notice it, thinking about the enormous sums of money the Kiss reunion tour made over the summer, or maybe a whale swims along the starboard side, waving its fin, showing off. It's easy to feel safe, for people to look at you and think someone's going somewhere. Surrounded by so much boring space, five days is a long time to stay unimpressed. ~ Bret Easton Ellis,
1376:The Voice Of Whiteness
It's the voice of whiteness -- a blue-throated restless silence :
That's upon the peaks of life, and of death too;
Found through meaninglessness at intervals -- in lanes and bylanes, over hills
and mountains.
It comes with the sun and the rains; the human colour added -Through the hours, through the seasons -- to the endless, senseless motions of
nature;
A rainbow drawn upon the forehead by the sun -- and the rains.
Perhaps, it is what love is or the greenery of conjugality :
Touches, warmth, the murmur of memories, the pressure of enamoured fingers;
Perhaps, it is the friendship full of waiting, the blue flute of life.
Perhaps, it's the victorious flashes of the apples crushed upon the teeth of Time;
The glitter of emptiness filled with broken glasses; the ever-awake wind
Moving -- through darkness -- over deaths and snows.
Over the grasses and the scorched fields, over the flowers and pyres -Full of a duality -- it's the form of meaning of desire and emtyness.
Lonely, crowdful, marked with sweat and blood -- wavy, greyish.
It's a secret voice coming through the ages, through light and darkness.
In the villages, in the cities -- amidst the foul vapours, greediness,
The wildness of the uncivilised -- pained and iron-like it's the voice of
whiteness...
[Translated by Emdad Ullah ]
~ Bhaben Barua,
1377:From 'Love And The Universe'
THE voiceless symphony of moor and highland,
The rainbow on the mist,
The white moon-shield above the slumber-island,
The mirror-lake, star-kist,
The life of budding leaf and spray and branches,
The dew upon the sod,
The roar of downward-rushing avalanches
Are eloquent of God.
My eye sweeps far-extended plains of vision
And golden seas of light;
Upon my ear fall cadences elysian,
Like music in the night;
But all the glories to my sense appealing
Can no such raptures win
As come with majesty and joy of healing
From love and light within.
How shall the Universe its own creation,
Life of its life, destroy?
How bring to nothingness of desolation
The soul of its own joy?
The echo of itself, not merely fashioned
Of clay, God's outer part,
But fibre of His being, love-impassioned,
The glory of His heart!
Drive on, then, Winds of God, drive on forever
Across the shoreless sea;
The soul's a boundless deep, exhausted never
By full discovery.
The atmosphere and storms, the roll of ocean,
The paths by planets trod,
Are time-expressions of a Soul's emotion,
Are will and thought of God.
In storm or calm, that soundless ocean sweeping
Is still the sailor's goal;
The destiny of every man is leaping
To birth in his own soul.
~ Albert Durrant Watson,
1378:Close your eyes, Sophia. Look at the table in your mind. What does it look like? What's on the menu? Taste it. Tell me."
She closed her eyes. Enveloped by all that was Elliott. She tried to concentrate and ignore those rough fingers on her cheek.
"Shrimp wrapped in Thai basil and prosciutto, crisped on the grill, drizzled with olive oil and fresh lime juice. It's Emilia's favorite."
"Mmm. Keep going. Don't stop."
His lips were almost touching her forehead. His breath on her skin.
"Grilled filet mignon with my peppercorn sauce. White, red, pink peppercorns. The girls get them for me when they travel. That's our special dinner. Our decadent meal."
"More." His lips grazed her ear.
Sophia's eyes were tightly shut, but she had to suppress a shudder.
"Vegetable salad on baby greens from my garden. Yellow peppers, green zucchini, purple eggplant, lightly grilled. With a sherry vinaigrette and fresh herbs. All the colors of the rainbow."
"Lovely. Keep going."
She could no longer hear the buzz of crickets or throaty calls of the frogs. Just Elliott's breathing. Steady. Intense.
"Wine, lots of wine," she said huskily.
She felt his chuckle against her cheek.
"Well, this is my fantasy, right? It must have wine."
"Of course it does. Keep going."
"Home-made gelato. Lemon. With lemon zest and lemon basil and lemon verbena. And crunchy toasted macadamia nuts on top. ~ Penny Watson,
1379:On another night, in a different dream I was asking a question. “How is it that you say all are equal, yet the obvious contradictions smack us in the face: inequalities in virtues, temperances, finances, rights, abilities and talents, intelligence, mathematical aptitude, ad infinitum?” The answer was a metaphor. “It is as if a large diamond were to be found inside each person. Picture a diamond a foot long. The diamond has a thousand facets, but the facets are covered with dirt and tar. It is the job of the soul to clean each facet until the surface is brilliant and can reflect a rainbow of colors. “Now, some have cleaned many facets and gleam brightly. Others have only managed to clean a few; they do not sparkle so. Yet, underneath the dirt, each person possesses within his or her breast a brilliant diamond with a thousand gleaming facets. The diamond is perfect, not one flaw. The only differences among people are the number of facets cleaned. But each diamond is the same, and each is perfect. “When all the facets are cleaned and shining forth in a spectrum of lights, the diamond returns to the pure energy that it was originally. The lights remain. It is as if the process that goes into making the diamond is reversed, all that pressure released. The pure energy exists in the rainbow of lights, and the lights possess consciousness and knowledge. “And all of the diamonds are perfect.” Sometimes ~ Brian L Weiss,
1380:She slides between these walls one foot, two feet, a hand and two this is the space in which she lives breathes, empties all that she is   she knows, where the eye seeks to spy through circles drilled into the walls the hidden, they watch, scratching idly starving for love, the thing she lost   the ones she forgot were left behind they hide now like ghosts in the leaves rustling they leap upon the breeze echoes of the past haunting mirrors   the scribe knows, he laughs sometimes knowing all the things he does it only makes him fail, too self-absorbed to comprehend what she really is   the ghosts they circle inside these walls pushing their fingers through the paper seeking to caress the curls of her hair twisting, she knows they linger   inside, watching where the beetle runs trailing all his miniscule unlived lives between the pages of a book unseen she lived it, breathed it, all that ripples   thus she dances here alone, casting rainbow dust upon the bleakest grey the steel that rusts in crusts of red rosebud offerings to the elements   laughter so raw covers an ache so deep like a monster it yearns to spring inside, where the waiting ends inside, where the spiral grows   there’s a twist in the passage that eels a malevolent darkness screams opening the chasm that yawns awake stealing tomorrow for its own sake   it twists, but nothing can touch her, lost as she is in the echoes of her past ~ Vickie Johnstone,
1381:By The Lake
The old fellow from Shao-ling weeps with stifled sobs as he walks furtively by the
bends of the Sepentine on a day in spring.
In the waterside palaces the thousands of doors are locked. For whom have the
willows and rushed put on their fresh greenery?
I remember how formerly, when the Emperor's rainbow banner made its way into
the South Park, everything in the park seemed to bloom with a brighter color.
The First Lady of the Chao-yang Palace rode in the same carriage as her lord in
attendance at his side, while before the carriage rode maids of honour equipped
with bows and arrows, their white horses champing at golden bits.
Leaning back, face skywards, they shot into the clouds; and the Lady laughed
gaily when a bird fell to the ground transfixed by a well-aimed arrow.
Where are the bright eyes and the flashing smile now?
Tainted with blood-pollution, her wandering soul cannot make its way back.
The clear waters of the Wei flow eastwards, and Chien-ko is far away: between
the one who has gone and the one who remains no communication is possible.
It is human to have feelings and shed tears for such things; but the grasses and
flowers of the lakeside go on for ever, unmoved.
As evening falls, the city is full of the dust of foreign horseman. My way is
towards the South City, but my gaze turns northward. (tr. Hawkes)
~ Du Fu,
1382:Love's Palace
IF the woodland and the heath,
And the hedgerows thick with may,
And the weed-flowers underneath,
And the clambering honey-sheath,
And the mosses green and grey,
And the flecks of sun and shade
Lying light upon the grass,
And the ripple in the glade,
And the songs that float and fade,
And the joys that come and pass,
If the dog-rose choir of bees
Whirling golden in the sun,
And the sweetness of the breeze,
And the joists of mighty trees,
And the hoods of purple nun,
If this fabric of delight
Spread around to make the spring
Could but read my wish aright,
Could but aid me as it might,
Could obey me while I sing,
I should build thee such a bower
As the fairies built of old,
Walled with every fragrant flower,
And with many a mighty tower
Domed with purest morning gold.
And thy breath should draw the rose,
And thine ears be filled with sweet
Such as never poet knows,
Such as tricks him while it flows,
And eludes his bar and beat.
And thy couch should be more soft
Than the silk of Eastern days,
Than the rainbow’s flush aloft,
Than the dawning clouds that oft
Melt before us as we gaze.
There my dearest love should rest
Like a bird upon the bough,
Like a fledgeling in its nest,
Like her head upon my breast,
Like my kiss upon her brow.
~ Arthur Maquarie,
1383:Winter: My Secret
I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.
Or, after all, perhaps there's none:
Suppose there is no secret after all,
But only just my fun.
Today's a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl,
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to every one who taps,
And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me,
Come buffeting, astounding me,
Nipping and clipping thro' my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
His nose to Russian snows
To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
You would not peck? I thank you for good will,
Believe, but leave that truth untested still.
Spring's and expansive time: yet I don't trust
March with its peck of dust,
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
Nor even May, whose flowers
One frost may wither thro' the sunless hours.
Perhaps some languid summer day,
When drowsy birds sing less and less,
And golden fruit is ripening to excess,
If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
Perhaps my secret I may say,
Or you may guess.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1384:The Doper's Dream

Last night I dreamed I was plugged right in
To a bubblin' hookah so high,
When all of a sudden some Arab jinni
Jump up just a-winkin' his eye.
'I'm here to obey all your wishes,' he told me.
As for words I was trying to grope.
'Good buddy,' I cried, 'you could surely oblige me
By turning me on to some dope!'
With a bigfat smile he took ahold of my hand,
And we flew down the sky in a flash,
And the first thing I saw in the land where he took me
Was a whole solid mountain of hash!
All the trees was a-bloomin' with pink 'n' purple pills,
Whur the Romilar River flowed by,
To the magic mushrooms as wild as a rainbow,
So pretty that I wanted to cry.
All the girls come to greet us, so sweet in slow motion,
Mourning glories woven into their hair,
Bringin' great big handfuls of snowy cocaine,
All their dope they were eager to share.
We we dallied for days, just a-ballin' and smokin',
In the flowering Panama Red,
Just piggin' on peyote and nutmeg tea,
And those brownies so kind to your head.
Now I could've passed that good time forever,
And I really was fixing to stay,
But you know that jinni turned out, t'be a narco man,
And he busted me right whur I lay.
And he took me back to a cold, cold world
'N' now m'prison's whurever I be...
And I dream of the days back in Doperland
And I wonder, will I ever go free? ~ Thomas Pynchon,
1385:I ask people of the world and children of light to start reflecting the stories of their souls to vibrate wisdom around the earth. Pick up a paintbrush or microphone. Press the inks of your pens to paper or tap words onto your screens, and start sharing what you know and have learned with the masses. Turn your personal painting into a piece of the earth's puzzle so that our unified assemblage of thoughts, experiences and lessons reveal common truths that cannot be denied. Imagine the changes that could happen if everyone suddenly stopped acting like someone else, became true to themselves, and celebrated the beauty of their uniqueness? Only after people have willingly removed their masks and costumes, and have begun pouring light from their hearts to reveal their vulnerability, dreams and pains, will we be able to see that beneath the surface we are all the same. After all, how can the world collectively fight for Truth, if soldiers in its army are void of truth? We must first all be true by putting truth in our words and actions. And to do so, everyone must learn to think and react with their conscience. Imagine what Truth could do to neutralize the clutches of evil once this black and white world suddenly became embraced by a strong rainbow of loud powerful voices. We could put color back into every home, every school, every industry, every nation, and every garden on earth where flowers have been crushed by corruption. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1386:I didn’t go to the moon, I went much further — for time is the longest distance between two places. Not long after that I was fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoe-box. I left Saint Louis. I descended the steps of this fire escape for a last time and followed, from then on, in my father’s footsteps, attempting to find in motion what was lost in space. I traveled around a great deal. The cities swept about me like dead leaves, leaves that were brightly colored but torn away from the branches. I would have stopped, but I was pursued by something. It always came upon me unawares, taking me altogether by surprise. Perhaps it was a familiar bit of music. Perhaps it was only a piece of transparent glass. Perhaps I am walking along a street at night, in some strange city, before I have found companions. I pass the lighted window of a shop where perfume is sold. The window is filled with pieces of colored glass, tiny transparent bottles in delicate colors, like bits of a shattered rainbow. Then all at once my sister touches my shoulder. I turn around and look into her eyes. Oh, Laura, Laura, I tried to leave you behind me, but I am more faithful than I intended to be! I reach for a cigarette, I cross the street, I run into the movies or a bar, I buy a drink, I speak to the nearest stranger — anything that can blow your candles out! For nowadays the world is lit by lightning! Blow out your candles, Laura — and so goodbye. . . ~ Tennessee Williams,
1387:Centaurs!” Annabeth yelled. The Party Pony army exploded into our midst in a riot of colors: tie-dyed shirts, rainbow Afro wigs, oversize sunglasses, and war-painted faces. Some had slogans scrawled across their flanks like HORSEZ PWN or KRONOS SUX. Hundreds of them filled the entire block. My brain couldn’t process everything I saw, but I knew if I were the enemy, I’d be running. “Percy!” Chiron shouted across the sea of wild centaurs. He was dressed in armor from the waist up, his bow in his hand, and he was grinning in satisfaction. “Sorry we’re late!” “DUDE!” Another centaur yelled. “Talk later. WASTE MONSTERS NOW!” He locked and loaded a double-barrel paint gun and blasted an enemy hellhound bright pink. The paint must’ve been mixed with Celestial bronze dust or something, because as soon as it splattered the hellhound, the monster yelped and dissolved into a pink-and-black puddle. “PARTY PONIES!” a centaur yelled. “SOUTH FLORIDA CHAPTER!” Somewhere across the battlefield, a twangy voice yelled back, “HEART OF TEXAS CHAPTER!” “HAWAII OWNS YOUR FACES!” a third one shouted. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The entire Titan army turned and fled, pushed back by a flood of paintballs, arrows, swords, and NERF baseball bats. The centaurs trampled everything in their path. “Stop running, you fools!” Kronos yelled. “Stand and ACKK!” That last part was because a panicked Hyperborean giant stumbled backward and sat on top of him. ~ Rick Riordan,
1388:RAINBOW VOICES

I ask people of the world and children of light to start reflecting the stories of their souls to vibrate wisdom around the earth. Pick up a paintbrush or microphone. Press the inks of your pens to paper or tap words onto your screens, and start sharing what you know and have learned with the masses. Turn your personal painting into a piece of the earth's puzzle so that our unified assemblage of thoughts, experiences and lessons reveal common truths that cannot be denied. Imagine the changes that could happen if everyone suddenly stopped acting like someone else, became true to themselves, and celebrated the beauty of their uniqueness. Only after people have willingly removed their masks and costumes, and have begun pouring light from their hearts to reveal their vulnerability, dreams and pains, will we be able to see that beneath the surface we are all the same. After all, how can the world collectively fight for truth, if soldiers in its army are void of truth? We must first all be true by putting truth in our words and actions. And to do so, everyone must learn to think and react with their conscience. Imagine what Truth could do to neutralize the clutches of evil once this black and white world suddenly became embraced by a strong rainbow of loud powerful voices. We could put color back into every home, every school, every industry, every nation, and every garden on earth where flowers have been crushed by corruption. ~ Suzy Kassem,
1389:I love the stillness of the wood;
I love the music of the rill:
I love the couch in pensive mod
Upon some silent hill.

Scarce heard, beneath yon arching trees,
The silver-crested ripples pass;
and, like a mimic brook, the breeze
Whispers among the grass.

Here from the world I win release,
Nor scorn of men, nor footstep rude,
Break into mar the holy peace
Of this great solitude.

Here may the silent tears I weep
Lull the vested spirit into rest,
As infants sob themselves to sleep
Upon a mothers breast.

But when the bitter hour is gone,
And the keen throbbing pangs are still,
Oh, sweetest then to couch alone
Upon some silent hill!

To live in joys that once have been,
To put the cold world out of sight,
And deck life's drear and barren scene
With hues of rainbow-light.

For what to man the gift of breath,
If sorrow be his lot below;
If all the day that ends in death
Be dark with clouds of woe?

Shall the poor transport of an hour
Repay long years of sore distress-
The fragrance of a lonely flower
Make glad the wilderness?

Ye golden house of life's young spring,
Of innocence, of love and truth!
Bright, beyond all imagining,
Thou fairy-dream of youth!

I'd give all wealth that years have piled,
The slow result of Life's decay,
To be once more a little child
For on bright summers day. ~ Lewis Carroll,
1390:The Captured Goddess
Over the housetops,
Above the rotating chimney-pots,
I have seen a shiver of amethyst,
And blue and cinnamon have flickered
A moment,
At the far end of a dusty street.
Through sheeted rain
Has come a lustre of crimson,
And I have watched moonbeams
Hushed by a film of palest green.
It was her wings,
Goddess!
Who stepped over the clouds,
And laid her rainbow feathers
Aslant on the currents of the air.
I followed her for long,
With gazing eyes and stumbling feet.
I cared not where she led me,
My eyes were full of colours:
Saffrons, rubies, the yellows of beryls,
And the indigo-blue of quartz;
Flights of rose, layers of chrysoprase,
Points of orange, spirals of vermilion,
The spotted gold of tiger-lily petals,
The loud pink of bursting hydrangeas.
I followed,
And watched for the flashing of her wings.
In the city I found her,
The narrow-streeted city.
In the market-place I came upon her,
Bound and trembling.
Her fluted wings were fastened to her sides with cords,
She was naked and cold,
For that day the wind blew
Without sunshine.
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Men chaffered for her,
They bargained in silver and gold,
In copper, in wheat,
And called their bids across the market-place.
The Goddess wept.
Hiding my face I fled,
And the grey wind hissed behind me,
Along the narrow streets.
~ Amy Lowell,
1391:Song For The Rainy Season
Hidden, oh hidden
in the high fog
the house we live in,
beneath the magnetic rock,
rain-, rainbow-ridden,
where blood-black
bromelias, lichens,
owls, and the lint
of the waterfalls cling,
familiar, unbidden.
In a dim age
of water
the brook sings loud
from a rib cage
of giant fern; vapor
climbs up the thick growth
effortlessly, turns back,
holding them both,
house and rock,
in a private cloud.
At night, on the roof,
blind drops crawl
and the ordinary brown
owl gives us proof
he can count:
five times--always five-he stamps and takes off
after the fat frogs that,
shrilling for love,
clamber and mount.
House, open house
to the white dew
and the milk-white sunrise
kind to the eyes,
to membership
of silver fish, mouse,
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bookworms,
big moths; with a wall
for the mildew's
ignorant map;
darkened and tarnished
by the warm touch
of the warm breath,
maculate, cherished;
rejoice! For a later
era will differ.
(O difference that kills
or intimidates, much
of all our small shadowy
life!) Without water
the great rock will stare
unmagnetized, bare,
no longer wearing
rainbows or rain,
the forgiving air
and the high fog gone;
the owls will move on
and the several
waterfalls shrivel
in the steady sun.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
1392:The Rainbow
After the tempest in the sky
How sweet yon rainbow to the eye!
Come, my Matilda, now while some
Few drops of rain are yet to come,
In this honeysuckle bower
Safely sheltered from the shower,
We may count the colours o'er.Seven there are, there are no more;
Each in each so finely blended,
Where they begin, or where are ended,
The finest eye can scarcely see.
A fixed thing it seems to be;
But, while we speak, see how it glides
Away, and now observe it hides
Half of its perfect arch-now we
Scarce any part of it can see.
What is colour? If I were
A natural philosopher,
I would tell you what does make
This meteor every colour take:
But an unlearned eye may view
Nature's rare sights, and love them too.
Whenever I a rainbow see,
Each precious tint is dear to me;
For every colour find I there,
Which flowers, which fields, which ladies wear:
My favourite green, the grass's hue,
And the fine deep violet-blue,
And the pretty pale blue-bell,
And the rose I love so well,
All the wondrous variations
Of the tulips, pinks, carnations,
This woodbine here both flower and leaf.
'Tis a truth that's past belief,
That every flower and every tree,
And every living thing we see,
Every face which we espy,
Every cheek and every eye,
In all their tints, in every shade,
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Are from the rainbow's colours made.
~ Charles Lamb,
1393:When I was 15, I sat in despair one day in a creaky old bus that was winding its way through central Mexico (that’s another story), trying to decide if I truly believed in God. Not necessarily God with a big white beard looking down from a Biblical heaven, but some kind of sacred spirit above, beneath, and within all things. I’d always had a deep, instinctive faith (even as a small child) in a sacred dimension to life, a Mystery I didn’t need to fully define in order to know it, feel it, experience it. But recent grueling events had shaken my faith and closed that connection.

Now, I realize that sitting and railing at God is practically a cliche of teenage angst; that doesn’t make the experience any less urgent at age 15, and I was in a dark place. “Okay,” I said, throwing the gauntlet down to whatever out there might be listening, “if there is something more than this, then prove it. Just prove it. Or I quit.” The bus turned a corner on the narrow, dusty road, and a gasp went up from the people around me. Above us, a rainbow arched through a bright blue, cloudless, rainless desert sky.

Rainbows have been special to me ever since. I know the scientific explanation, of course, water and air and angles of sunlight and all that. But to me, they are always a message. They say: “The universe is a Mystery and you’re part of it.” And sometimes that’s all I need to hear; that’s all the answer I need, no matter what the prayer. ~ Terri Windling,
1394:Happiness found me alone one day and took me by the hand.
He showed me how the sun gave out its warmth across the land.
Sadness found me content and smiling upward at the sun.
He talked of droughts and blindness and what burning rays had done.

Happiness found me alone again and pointed to the sky.
He showed me how the storms created rainbows way up high.
Sadness found me intrigued and took me to the rainbow’s end.
He showed me how it disappeared to ne’er return again.

Happiness found me alone and taught me how to sing a song.
He sang a dozen melodies as I chirped right along.
Sadness found me singing out and covered up his ears.
He said the noise was deafening, and wished he couldn’t hear.

Happiness found me alone and gave me seven coins of gold.
He showed me many fancy things that merchants often sold.
Sadness found me admiring the pretty things I’d bought.
He pointed out my empty purse and money I had not.

Happiness found me alone and helped me talk to someone new.
He called the boy my friend and said that I was his friend too.
Sadness found me together with my kind, attentive friend.
He whispered of betrayal and how broken hearts don’t mend.

Happiness found me alone and held me tight in his embrace.
He whispered kindness in my ear and kissed me on the face.
Sadness found me with Happiness but before he spoke at all,
I told him he’d have better luck at talking to the wall. ~ Richelle E Goodrich,
1395:Love And Truth
Young Love sat in a rosy bower,
Towards the close of a summer day;
At the evening's dusky hour,
Truth bent her blessed steps that way;
Over her face
Beaming a grace
Never bestowed on child of clay.
Truth looked on with an ardent joy,
Wondering Love could grow so tired;
Hovering o'er him she kissed the boy,
When, with a sudden impulse fired,
Exquisite pains
Burning his veins,
Wildly he woke, as one inspired.
Eagerly Truth embraced the god,
Filling his soul with a sense divine;
Rightly he knew the paths she trod,
Springing from heaven's royal line;
Far had he strayed
From his guardian maid,
Perilling all for his rash design.
Still as they went, the tricksy youth
Wandered afar from the maiden fair;
Many a plot he laid, in sooth,
Wherein the maid could have no share
Sowing his seeds,
Bringing forth weeds,
Seldom a rose, and many a tare.
Save when the maiden was by his side,
Love was erratic, and rarely true;
When she smiled on the graceful bride,
Over the old world rose the new,
Into life's skies
Blending her dyes,
Fairer than those of the rainbow's hue.
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Sunny-eyed maidens, whom Love decoys,
Mark well the arts of the wayward youth!
Sorrows he bringeth, disguised as joys,
Rose-hued delights with cores of ruth;
Learn to believe
Love will deceive,
Save when he comes with his guardian, Truth.
~ Charles Sangster,
1396:My Country
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror The wide brown land for me!
A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
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Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
~ Dorothea Mackellar,
1397:We are all, of course, wayfaring strangers on this earth. But coming out of the rainbow tunnel, the liminal portal between Marin and San Francisco, myth and reality, I catch sight of a beautiful, sparkling city that might as well be on the moon. I can name the sights, the streets, the eateries, but in my heart it feels as unfamiliar as Cape Town or Cuzco. I've lived here for fourteen years. This is the arena of my adult life, with its large defeats and small victories. Maybe, like all transplants (converts?), I've asked too much of the city. I would never have moved to Pittsburh or Houston or L.A. expecting it to save my soul. Only here in the great temple by the bay. It's a mistake we've been making for decades, and probably a necessary one. The city's flaws, of course, are numerous. Our politics can suffer from humourless stridency, and life here is menacingly expensive. But if you're insulated from these concerns, sufficiently employed and housed, if you are -in other words- like most people, you are in view of the unbridgeable ideal. Here, with our plentiful harvest, our natural beauty, our bars, our bookstores, our cliffs and ocean, out free to be you and me; here, where pure mountain water flows right out of the tap. It's here that the real questions become inescapable. In fact the proximity of the ideal makes us more acutely aware of the real questions. Not the run-of-the-mill insolubles-Why am I here? Who am I?- but the pressing questions of adult life: Really? and Are you sure? And Now what? ~ Scott Hutchins,
1398:The Burden of Age
There is a dancing in the morning beams,
There is a rainbow sown amid the dew,
There is a glint of gold shot through the sands,
A molten sapphire in the mountains' hue,
And Hope down comes with all her singing bands.
Nay, nay, it is not so; 'twas long ago!
There was a dancing in the morning beams:
Ah, how the years exile us into dreams!
There is a glamour in the moon's white gleams,
There is the touch that charmed Endymion's eyes,
A spirit mounting from the clod and stone,
A spirit bending from the bending skiesAnd Love in midst of all sets up his throne!
Nay, nay, it is not so; 'twas long ago!
There was a glamour in the moon's white gleams:
Ah, how the years exile us into dreams!
There is a wonder-light on woodland streams,
A murmur in the green o'erhanging boughs,
A rustle in the fronded ranks of fernAnd, lo! the Muse with rapt enwreathèd brows,
And eyes that seen and unseen things discern!
Nay, nay, it is not so; 'twas long ago!
There was a wonder-light on woodland streams:
Ah, how the years exile us into dreams!
Some other world, perchance, our loss redeemsLight to dead eyes and speech to lips all dumb
Brings back- brings us and ours from banishment!
So may our dreams a living joy become;
But here all things that are, without doubt are blent,
Within the mists that blow from long ago!
Some other world, not this, our loss redeems:
Ah, how the years exile us into dreams!
~ Edith Matilda Thomas,
1399:And what could be more unlike that Lantern Yard world than the world in Raveloe?—orchards looking lazy with neglected plenty; the large church in the wide churchyard, which men gazed at lounging at their own doors in service-time; the purple-faced farmers jogging along the lanes or turning in at the Rainbow; homesteads, where men supped heavily and slept in the light of the evening hearth, and where women seemed to be laying up a stock of linen for the life to come. There were no lips in Raveloe from which a word could fall that would stir Silas Marner’s benumbed faith to a sense of pain. In the early ages of the world, we know, it was believed that each territory was inhabited and ruled by its own divinities, so that a man could cross the bordering heights and be out of the reach of his native gods, whose presence was confined to the streams and the groves and the hills among which he had lived from his birth. And poor Silas was vaguely conscious of something not unlike the feeling of primitive men, when they fled thus, in fear or in sullenness, from the face of an unpropitious deity. It seemed to him that the Power he had vainly trusted in among the streets and at the prayer-meetings, was very far away from this land in which he had taken refuge, where men lived in careless abundance, knowing and needing nothing of that trust, which, for him, had been turned to bitterness. The little light he possessed spread its beams so narrowly, that frustrated belief was a curtain broad enough to create for him the blackness of night. ~ George Eliot,
1400:Love is . . . Being happy for the other person when they are happy, Being sad for the person when they are sad, Being together in good times, And being together in bad times.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF STRENGTH.

Love is . . . Being honest with yourself at all times, Being honest with the other person at all times, Telling, listening, respecting the truth, And never pretending.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF REALITY.

Love is . . . An understanding so complete that you feel as if you are a part of the other person, Accepting the other person just the way they are, And not trying to change them to be something else.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF UNITY.

Love is . . . The freedom to pursue your own desires while sharing your experiences with the other person, The growth of one individual alongside of and together with the growth of another individual.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SUCCESS.

Love is . . . The excitement of planning things together, The excitement of doing things together.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF THE FUTURE.
Love is . . . The fury of the storm, The calm in the rainbow.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF PASSION.

Love is . . . Giving and taking in a daily situation, Being patient with each other's needs and desires.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SHARING.

Love is . . . Knowing that the other person will always be with you regardless of what happens, Missing the other person when they are away but remaining near in heart at all times.
LOVE IS THE SOURCE OF SECURITY.
LOVE IS . . . THE SOURCE OF LIFE! ~ Susan Polis Schutz,
1401:Wings
DAWN opes her pensive eyes,
In the yet starry skies,
A roseate blush upon her cheek and brows.
Her purple mantle still
Lies on the sky-kissed hill,
And a blue, solemn shade thereon it throws.
The earth lies hushed and calm.
No chant of praise, no psalm
Riseth to greet the rose-crowned queen of day.
Each blade of grass, each leaf,
Stands out in sharp relief,
Against the rayless blue and silver gray.
All nature seems to wait
For some new deed of Fate;
The silence is a sacred, reverent prayer,—
When hark! from some sweet throat
One thrilling, quivering note
Fills with its tremulous music all the air.
Then from the dewy grass
A tiny form doth pass,
A little soul all music and all wings.
All nature's voice is heard,
Embodied in this bird,
That darteth up and, rising, ever sings.
It mounteth still and sings:
What soul yearns not for wings,
To follow after, burst its prison bars,
And learn the secret there,
In those clear realms of air,
The secret of the rainbow and the stars;
To rush as swift as light,
Within those regions bright
Of throbbing, scintillant, intensest blue;
The air all breathless cleave,
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And far below to leave
Regrets and tears, the raindrop and the dew.
Ah! caged 'mongst meaner things,
The soul can use no wings,
And beats against the bars it cannot pass;
But it might humbly turn,
Essaying first to learn
The secret of the flowers and the grass.
~ Emma Lazarus,
1402:That the spectrum is linear couldn’t be further from the truth. To get a more accurate perspective, I met Dr. Judith Gould at the Lorna Wing Centre for Autism. Judith is a chartered consultant clinical psychologist with more than forty years’ experience. She specializes in autism-spectrum disorders and learning disabilities. In the 1970s, with the late Dr. Lorna Wing, Judith came up with the term autism spectrum. Judith believes the key point to understand is that autism is a spectrum not because it is linear but because any factor can be present at any point. She said, “[In our study] we saw the classic autistic aloof person with repetitive rituals and elaborate routines. But we also saw children with aspects of social difficulties, communication difficulties, and imagination difficulties who didn’t fit in with [earlier] precise criteria. “These traits tended to be seen together, but you could have anything on the dimension: anything on the communication dimension, anything on the imagination dimension, and so on. At first we called it the autism continuum. Continuum implied severity from high to low, but that’s not what we meant. The spectrum would look like a rainbow because anything can happen at any point. The colors merge. “In terms of communication, people can come anywhere on the spectrum. There are those who only communicate their needs, and there are those who don’t realize the person they are with may be getting bored when they talk about special interests. Then you’ve got those with a highly intellectual, formal, little-professor communication style. ~ Laura James,
1403:The novel’s not dead, it’s not even seriously injured, but I do think we’re working in the margins, working in the shadows of the novel’s greatness and influence. There’s plenty of impressive talent around, and there’s strong evidence that younger writers are moving into history, finding broader themes. But when we talk about the novel we have to consider the culture in which it operates. Everything in the culture argues against the novel, particularly the novel that tries to be equal to the complexities and excesses of the culture. This is why books such as JR and Harlot’s Ghost and Gravity’s Rainbow and The Public Burning are important—to name just four. They offer many pleasures without making concessions to the middle-range reader, and they absorb and incorporate the culture instead of catering to it. And there’s the work of Robert Stone and Joan Didion, who are both writers of conscience and painstaking workers of the sentence and paragraph. I don’t want to list names because lists are a form of cultural hysteria, but I have to mention Blood Meridian for its beauty and its honor. These books and writers show us that the novel is still spacious enough and brave enough to encompass enormous areas of experience. We have a rich literature. But sometimes it’s a literature too ready to be neutralized, to be incorporated into the ambient noise. This is why we need the writer in opposition, the novelist who writes against power, who writes against the corporation or the state or the whole apparatus of assimilation. We’re all one beat away from becoming elevator music. ~ Don DeLillo,
1404:I must confess that in all the times I read Madame Bovary, I never noticed the heroine's rainbow eyes. Should I have? Would you? Was I perhaps too busy noticing things that Dr Starkie was missing (though what they might have been I can't for the moment think)? Put it another way: is there a perfect reader somewhere, a total reader? Does Dr Starkie's reading of Madame Bovary contain all the responses which I have when I read the book, and then add a whole lot more, so that my reading is in a way pointless? Well, I hope not. My reading might be pointless in terms of the history of literary criticism; but it's not pointless in terms of pleasure. I can't prove that lay readers enjoy books more than professional critics; but I can tell you one advantage we have over them. We can forget. Dr Starkie and her kind are cursed with memory: the books they teach and write about can never fade from their brains. They become family. Perhaps this is why some critics develop a faintly patronising tone towards their subjects. They act as if Flaubert, or Milton, or Wordsworth were some tedious old aunt in a rocking chair, who smelt of stale powder, was only interested in the past, and hadn't said anything new for years. Of course, it's her house, and everybody's living in it rent free; but even so, surely it is, well, you know…time?
Whereas the common but passionate reader is allowed to forget; he can go away, be unfaithful with other writers, come back and be entranced again. Domesticity need never intrude on the relationship; it may be sporadic, but when there it is always intense. ~ Julian Barnes,
1405:For Each Of You
Be who you are and will be
learn to cherish
that boisterous Black Angel that drives you
up one day and down another
protecting the ploace where your power rises
running like hot blood
from the same sourse
as you pain.
When you are hungry
learn to eat
whatever sustains you
until morning
but do not misled by details
simply because you live them.
Do not let you head deny
your hands
any memory of what passes through them
not your eyes
nor your heart
everything can be used
except what is wasteful
(you will need
to remember this when you are accused of destruction.)
Even when they are dangerous examine the heart of those machines you hate
before you discard them
and never mourn the lack of their power
lest you be condemened
to relieve them.
If you do not learn to hate
you will never be lonely
enough
to love easily
nor will you always be brave
although it does not grow any easier
Do not pretend to convenient beliefs
even when they are righteous
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you will never be able to defend your city
while shouting.
Remember whatever pain you bring back
from your dreaming
but do not look for new gods
in the sea
nor in any part of a rainbow
Each time you love
love as deeply as if were
forever
only nothing is
eternal.
Speak proudly to your children
where ever you may find them
tell them
you are offspring of slaves
and your mother was
a princess
in darkness.
~ Audre Lorde,
1406:1025
Think Happy Thoughts
Think happy thoughts!
Think sunshine all the day;
Refuse to let the trifling worries stay,
Crowd them with thoughts of laughter from your mind.
Think of the good, forget the bad you find,
Think of the sun behind the clouds; the blue
And not the gray skies that you view.
Think of the kindness not the meanness shown,
The true friends not the false ones you have known;
The joy and not the hatred of the strife,
The sweetness not the bitterness of life.
Think happy thoughts!
Think happy thoughts!
Think always of the best,
Think of the ones you love, not those that you detest;
Think of your victories and not your failures here,
The smile that pleased and not the hurtful sneer,
The kindly word and not the harsh word spoken,
The promise kept and not the promise broken;
The good that you have known and not the bad,
The happy days that were and not the sad;
Think of the rose and not the withered flower,
The beauty of the rainbow, not the shower.
Think happy thoughts!
Think happy thoughts!
This is true happiness!
That life is sad that feeds on its distress;
That mind is gloomy that subsists on gloom,
And is as dismal as a curtained room,
Where daily comes the sunshine, but to find
It cannot enter through the close-drawn blind.
Fling up the curtains of your mind today
And let the morning sunshine in to play;
Dwell on the joys and not the sorrows here,
Master your thoughts and you have mastered fear.
Think happy thoughts.
1026
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1407:Um… Eve…can I ask…?”
“About what?” Eve was still frowning at the pasta like she suspected it to do something clever, like try to escape the pot.
“You and Michael.”
“Oh.” A surge of pink to Eve’s cheeks. Between that and the fact that she was wearing colors outside of the Goth red and black rainbow, she looked young and very cute. “Well. I don’t know if it’s – God, he’s just so–”
“Hot?” Claire asked.
“Hot,” Eve admitted. “Nuclear hot. Surface of the sun hot. And–”
She stopped, the flush in her cheeks getting darker.
Claire picked up a wooden spoon and poked the pasta, which was beginning to loosen up. “And?”
“And I was planning on putting the moves on him before all this happened. That’s why I had on the garters and stuff. Planning ahead.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah, embarrassing. Did he peek?”
“When you were changing?” Claire asked. “I don’t think so. But I think he wanted to.”
“That’s okay then.” Eve blinked down at the pasta, which had formed a thick white foam on top. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”
Claire hadn’t ever seen it happen at her parents’ house. But then again, they hadn’t made spaghetti much. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, crap!” The white foam kept growing, like in one of those cheesy science fiction movies. The foam that ate the Glass House…it mushroomed up over the top of the pot and down over the sides, and both girls yelped as it hit the burners and began to sizzle and pop. Claire grabbed the pot and moved it. Eve turned down the burner. “Right, pasta makes foam, good to know. Too hot. Way too hot.”
“Who? Michael?” Claire asked, and they dissolved in giggles. ~ Rachel Caine,
1408:unlike, say, the sun, or the rainbow, or earthquakes, the fascinating world of the very small never came to the notice of primitive peoples. if you think about this for a minute, it's not really surprising.. they had no way of even knowing it was there, and so of course they didn't invent any myths to explain it. it wasn't until the microscope was invented in the sixteenth century that people discovered that ponds and lakes, soil and dust, even our body, teem with tiny living creatures, too small to see, yet too complicated and, in their own way, beautiful, or perhaps frightening, depending on how you think about them.

the whole world is made of incredibly tiny things, much too small to be visible to the naked eye - and yet none of the myths or so-called holy books that some people, even now, think were given to us by an all knowing god, mentions them at all. in fact, when you look at those myths and stories, you can see that they don't contain any of the knowledge that science has patiently worked out. they don't tell us how big or how old the universe is; they don't tell us how to treat cancer; they don't explain gravity or the internal combustion engine; they don't tell us about germs, or nuclear fusion, or electricity, or anaesthetics. in fact, unsurprisingly, the stories in holy books don't contain any more information about the world than was known to the primitive people who first started telling them. if these 'holly books' really were written, or dictated, or inspired, by all knowing gods, don't you think it's odd that those gods said nothing about any of these important and useful things? ~ Richard Dawkins,
1409:The Elfin Artist
In a glade of an elfin forest
When Sussex was Eden-new,
I came on an elvish painter
And watched as his picture grew,
A harebell nodded beside him.
He dipt his brush in the dew.
And it might be the wild thyme round him
That shone in the dark strange ring;
But his brushes were bees' antennae,
His knife was a wasp's blue sting;
And his gorgeous exquisite palette
Was a butterfly's fan-shaped wing.
And he mingled its powdery colours,
And painted the lights that pass,
On a delicate cobweb canvas
That gleamed like a magic glass,
And bloomed like a banner of elf-land,
Between two stalks of grass;
Till it shone like an angel's feather
With sky-born opal and rose,
And gold from the foot of the rainbow,
And colours that no man knows;
And I laughed in the sweet May weather,
Because of the themes he chose.
For he painted the things that matter,
The tints that we all pass by,
Like the little blue wreaths of incense
That the wild thyme breathes to the sky;
Or the first white bud of the hawthorn,
And the light in a blackbird's eye;
And the shadows on soft white cloud-peaks
That carolling skylarks throw,-Dark dots on the slumbering splendours
That under the wild wings flow,
110
Wee shadows like violets trembling
On the unseen breasts of snow;
With petals too lovely for colour
That shake to the rapturous wings,
And grow as the bird draws near them,
And die as he mounts and sings,-Ah, only those exquisite brushes
Could paint these marvellous things.
~ Alfred Noyes,
1410:The Home Builders
The world is filled with bustle and with selfishness and greed,
It is filled with restless people that are dreaming of a deed.
You can read it in their faces; they are dreaming of the day
When they'll come to fame and fortune and put all their cares away.
And I think as I behold them, though it's far indeed they roam,
They will never find contentment save they seek for it at home.
I watch them as they hurry through the surging lines of men,
Spurred to speed by grim ambition, and I know they're dreaming then.
They are weary, sick and footsore, but their goal seems far away,
And it's little they've accomplished at the ending of the day.
It is rest they're vainly seeking, love and laughter in the gloam,
But they'll never come to claim it, save they claim it here at home.
For the peace that is the sweetest isn't born of minted gold,
And the joy that lasts the longest and still lingers when we're old
Is no dim and distant pleasure—it is not to-morrow's prize,
It is not the end of toiling, or the rainbow of our sighs.
It' is every day within us—all the rest is hippodrome—
And the soul that is the gladdest is the soul that builds a home.
They are fools who build for glory! They are fools who pin their hopes
On the come and go of battles or some vessel's slender ropes.
They shall sicken and shall wither and shall never peace attain
Who believe that real contentment only men victorious gain.
For the only happy toilers under earth's majestic dome
Are the ones who find their glories in the little spot called home.
~ Edgar Albert Guest,
1411:AFTER THE DELUGE AS SOON as the idea of the Deluge had subsided, A hare stopped in the clover and swaying flower-bells, and said a prayer to the rainbow, through the spider’s web. Oh! the precious stones that began to hide,—and the flowers that already looked around. In the dirty main street, stalls were set up and boats were hauled toward the sea, high tiered as in old prints. Blood flowed at Blue Beard’s,—through slaughterhouses, in circuses, where the windows were blanched by God’s seal. Blood and milk flowed. Beavers built. “Mazagrans” smoked in the little bars. In the big glass house, still dripping, children in mourning looked at the marvelous pictures. A door banged; and in the village square the little boy waved his arms, understood by weather vanes and cocks on steeples everywhere, in the bursting shower. Madame *** installed a piano in the Alps. Mass and first communions were celebrated at the hundred thousand altars of the cathedral. Caravans set out. And Hotel Splendid was built in the chaos of ice and of the polar night. Ever after the moon heard jackals howling across the deserts of thyme, and eclogues in wooden shoes growling in the orchard. Then in the violet and budding forest, Eucharis told me it was spring. Gush, pond,—Foam, roll on the bridge and over the woods;—black palls and organs, lightning and thunder, rise and roll;—waters and sorrows rise and launch the Floods again. For since they have been dissipated—oh! the precious stones being buried and the opened flowers!—it’s unbearable! and the Queen, the Witch who lights her fire in the earthen pot will never tell us what she knows, and what we do not know. ~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1412:Just as the individual is not alone in the group, nor any one society alone among the others, so man is not alone in the universe. When the spectrum or rainbow of human cultures has finally sunk into the void created by our frenzy; as long as we continue to exist and there is a world, that tenuous arch linking us to the inaccessible will still remain, to show us the opposite course to that leading to enslavement; many may be unable to follow it, but its contemplation affords him the only privilege of which he can make himself worthy; that of arresting the process, of controlling the impulse which forces him to block up the cracks in the wall of necessity one by one and to complete his work at the same time as he shuts himself up within his prison; this is a privilege coveted by every society, whatever its beliefs, its political system or its level of civilization; a privilege to which it attaches its leisure, its pleasure, its peace of mind and its freedom; the possibility, vital for life, of unhitching, which consists - Oh! fond farewell to savages and explorations! - in grasping, during the brief intervals in which our species can bring itself to interrupt its hive-like activity, the essence of what it was and continues to be, below the threshold of thought and over and above society: in the contemplation of a mineral more beautiful than all our creations; in the scent that can be smelt at the heart of a lily and is more imbued with learning than all our books; or in the brief glance, heavy with patience, serenity and mutual forgiveness, that, through some involuntary understanding, one can sometimes exchange with a cat. ~ Claude L vi Strauss,
1413:The truest love that ever heart
Felt at its kindled core,
Did through each vein, in quickened start,
The tide of being pour.

Her coming was my hope each day,
Her parting was my pain;
The chance that did her steps delay
Was ice in every vein.

I dreamed it would be nameless bliss,
As I loved, loved to be;
And to this object did I press
As blind as eagerly.

But wide as pathless was the space
That lay our lives between,
And dangerous as the foamy race
Of ocean-surges green.

And haunted as a robber-path
Through wilderness or wood;
For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath,
Between our spirits stood.

I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned;
I omens did defy:
Whatever menaced, harassed, warned,
I passed impetuous by.

On sped my rainbow, fast as light;
I flew as in a dream;
For glorious rose upon my sight
That child of Shower and Gleam.

Still bright on clouds of suffering dim
Shines that soft, solemn joy;
Nor care I now, how dense and grim
Disasters gather nigh.

I care not in this moment sweet,
Though all I have rushed o'er
Should come on pinion, strong and fleet,
Proclaiming vengeance sore:

Though haughty Hate should strike me down,
Right, bar approach to me,
And grinding Might, with furious frown,
Swear endless enmity.

My love has placed her little hand
With noble faith in mine,
And vowed that wedlock's sacred band
Our nature shall entwine.

My love has sworn, with sealing kiss,
With me to live--to die;
I have at last my nameless bliss.
As I love--loved am I! ~ Charlotte Bront,
1414:The Ladder
[Dedicated to ]
"I will arise and go unto my father"
MALKUTH
Dark, dark all dark! I cower, I cringe.
Only ablove me is a citron tinge
As if some echo of red, gold and lue
Chimed on the night and let its shadow through.
Yet I who am thus prisoned and exiled
Am the right heir of glory, the crowned child.
I match my might against my Fate's
I gird myself to reach the ultimate shores,
I arm myself the war to win:Lift up your heads, O mighty gates!
Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors!
The King of Glory shall come in.
TAU
I pass from the citrine:deep indigo
Is this tall column. Snakes and vultures bend
Their hooted hate on him that would ascend.
O may the Four avail me ! Ageless woe,
Fear, torture, throng the treshold. LO1 The end
Of Matter ! The immensity of things
Let loose -new laws, new beings, new conditions;Dire chaos; see ! these new-fledged wings
Fail in its vagueness and initiations.
Only my circle saves me from the hate
Of all these monsters dead yet animate.
I match, &c.
YESOD
80
Hail, thou full moon, O flame of Amethyst !
Stupendous mountain on whose shoulders rest
The Eight Above. More stable is my crest
Than thine -and now I pierce thee, veil of mist!
Even as an arrow from the war-bow springs
I leap -my life is set with loftier things.
I match, & c.
SAMECH ( and the crossing of the Path of Pe)
Now swift, thou azure shaft of fading fire,
Pierce through the rainbow! Swift, O swift! how streams
The world by! Let Sandalphon and his quire
Of Angels ward me!
Ho! what
~ Aleister Crowley,
1415:Armenian Folk-Song--The Partridge
As beats the sun from mountain crest,
With 'pretty, pretty',
Cometh the partridge from her nest;
The flowers threw kisses sweet to her
(For all the flowers that bloomed knew her);
Yet hasteneth she to mine and me-Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side-I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
'O pretty, pretty-O dear little partridge!'
Thy feathers they are soft and sleek-So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love-My pretty, pretty-My dear little partridge!
When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
54
Why, all the world is cheered thereby-The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our 'Pretty, pretty,'
Our 'Dear little partridge!'
Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say-They say and sing, each feathered thing;
'Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!'
~ Eugene Field,
1416:Last Night
Where were you last night? I watched at the gate;
I went down early, I stayed down late.
Were you snug at home, I should like to know,
Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate?
She's a fine girl, with a fine clear skin;
Easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win.
Speak up like a man and tell me the truth:
I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin.
If you love her best speak up like a man;
It's not I will stand in the light of your plan:
Some girls might cry and scold you a bit,
And say they couldn't bear it; but I can.
Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast;
Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last;
Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane,
Now dropped away into the past.
Was it pleasant to you? To me it was;
Now clean gone as an image from glass,
As a goodly rainbow that fades away,
As dew that steams upward from the grass,
As the first spring day, or the last summer day,
As the sunset flush that leaves heaven grey,
As a flame burnt out for lack of oil,
Which no pains relight or ever may.
Good luck to Kate and good luck to you:
I guess she'll be kind when you come to woo.
I wish her a pretty face that will last,
I wish her a husband steady and true.
Hate you? not I, my very good friend;
All things begin and all have an end.
But let broken be broken; I put no faith
In quacks who set up to patch and mend.
239
Just my love and one word to Kate:
Not to let time slip if she means to mate;—
For even such a thing has been known
As to miss the chance while we weigh and wait.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1417:At some point, to counter the list of the dead, I had begun keeping my own list of the living. It was something I noticed Len Fenerman did too. When he was off duty he would note the young girls and elderly women and every other female in the rainbow in between and count them among the things that sustained him. The young girl in the mall whose pale legs had grown too long for her now too-young dress and who had an aching vulnerability that went straight to both Len's and my own heart. Elderly women, wobbling with walkers, who insisted on dyeing their hair unnatural versions of the colors they had in youth. Middle-aged single mothers racing around in grocery stores while their children pulled bags of candy off the shelves. When I saw them, I took count. Living, breathing women. Sometimes I saw the wounded- those who had been beaten by husbands or raped by strangers, children raped by their fathers- and I would wish to intervene somehow.
Len saw these wounded women all the time. They were regulars at the station, but even when he went somewhere outside his jurisdiction he could sense them when they came near. The wife in that bait-'n'-tackle shop had no bruises on her face but cowered like a dog and spoke in apologetic whispers. The girl he saw walk the road each time he went upstate to visit his sisters. As the years passed she'd grown leaner, the fat from her cheeks had drained, and sorrow had loaded her eyes in a way that made them hang heavy and hopeless inside her mallowed skin. When she was not there it worried him. When she was there it both depressed and revived him. ~ Alice SeboldLen Fenerman on stepping back/letting go/giving up
pgs 271-272 ~ Alice Sebold,
1418:[Dedicated to K.M.Ward]
"I will arise and go unto my father"

MALKUTH

Dark, dark all dark! I cower, I cringe.
Only above me is a citron tinge
As if some echo of red, gold and lue
Chimed on the night and let its shadow through.
Yet I who am thus prisoned and exiled
Am the right heir of glory, the crowned child.

I match my might against my Fate's
I gird myself to reach the ultimate shores,
I arm myself the war to win:-
Lift up your heads, O mighty gates!
Be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors!
The King of Glory shall come in.

TAU

I pass from the citrine eep indigo
Is this tall column. Snakes and vultures bend
Their hooted hate on him that would ascend.
O may the Four avail me ! Ageless woe,
Fear, torture, throng the threshold. LO1 The end
Of Matter ! The immensity of things

Let loose -new laws, new beings, new conditions;-
Dire chaos; see ! these new-fledged wings
Fail in its vagueness and initiations.
Only my circle saves me from the hate
Of all these monsters dead yet animate.

I match, &c.

YESOD

Hail, thou full moon, O flame of Amethyst !
Stupendous mountain on whose shoulders rest
The Eight Above. More stable is my crest
Than thine -and now I pierce thee, veil of mist!
Even as an arrow from the war-bow springs
I leap -my life is set with loftier things.

I match, & c.

SAMECH ( and the crossing of the Path of Pe)

Now swift, thou azure shaft of fading fire,
Pierce through the rainbow! Swift, O swift! how streams
The world by! Let Sandalphon and his quire
Of Angels ward me!
Ho! what

~ Aleister Crowley, The Ladder
,
1419:take tuna. Among the other 145 species regularly killed — gratuitously — while killing tuna are: manta ray, devil ray, spotted skate, bignose shark, copper shark, Galapagos shark, sandbar shark, night shark, sand tiger shark, (great) white shark, hammerhead shark, spurdog fish, Cuban dogfish, bigeye thresher, mako, blue shark, wahoo, sailfish, bonito, king mackerel, Spanish mackerel, longbill spearfish, white marlin, swordfish, lancet fish, grey triggerfish, needlefish, pomfret, blue runner, black ruff, dolphin fish, bigeye cigarfish, porcupine fish, rainbow runner, anchovy, grouper, flying fish, cod, common sea horse, Bermuda chub, opah, escolar, leerfish, tripletail, goosefish, monkfish, sunfish, Murray eel, pilotfish, black gemfish, stone bass, bluefish, cassava fish, red drum, greater amberjack, yellowtail, common sea bream, barracuda, puffer fish, loggerhead turtle, green turtle, leatherback turtle, hawksbill turtle, Kemp’s ridley turtle, Atlantic yellow-nosed albatross, Audouin’s gull, balearic shearwater, black-browed albatross, great black-backed gull, great shearwater, great-winged petrel, grey petrel, herring gull, laughing gull, northern royal albatross, shy albatross, sooty shearwater, southern fulmar, Yelkouan shearwater, yellow-legged gull, minke whale, sei whale, fin whale, common dolphin, northern right whale, pilot whale, humpback whale, beaked whale, killer whale, harbor porpoise, sperm whale, striped dolphin, Atlantic spotted dolphin, spinner dolphin, bottlenose dolphin, and goose-beaked whale. Imagine being served a plate of sushi. But this plate also holds all of the animals that were killed for your serving of sushi. The plate might have to be five feet across. ~ Jonathan Safran Foer,
1420:it was not yet true what Dorothy Boyd, the secretary played by Renée Zellweger in the movie Jerry Maguire, tells her son about flying first-class: “It used to be a better meal, now it’s a better life.” I grew up in a time and place where the word “public” had deep resonance and engendered the highest respect as a source of innovation—as in public schools, public parks, public deliberations, and public-private partnerships. I grew up at a time and place when I was anchored in concentric communities and where the American Dream—“my parents did better than their parents and I will do better than mine”—seemed to be as certain as spring following winter, and summer following spring. And I grew up in a time and place where Jews were the biggest “minority” but gradually integrated themselves and were integrated by the dominant white, non-Jewish society and culture, and while it wasn’t always easy or pretty, somehow it happened. So where was this place over the rainbow and when was this time? The Land of Oz that I speak of was the state of Minnesota, and, for me, its Emerald City, where I grew up, was, as I said, a small suburb/town just outside of Minneapolis called St. Louis Park. The time (I was born July 20, 1953) was the 1950s, 1960s, and early 1970s. Growing up in that community at that time was a gift—a gift of enduring values and optimism—that has kept on giving my whole life. Three decades of reporting from the Middle East tried to leach that out of me. So, today, mine is not a naïve optimism that everything will turn out well; I’ve learned better. But it is an enduring confidence that things can turn out well, if people are ready to practice a politics of compromise and pursue an ethic of pluralism. ~ Thomas L Friedman,
1421:The Legend of Rainbow Bridge by William N. Britton
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge
When a pet dies who has been especially close to a person here on earth, that pet goes to a Rainbow Bridge.
There are beautiful meadows and grassy hills there for all our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is always plenty of their favorite food to eat, plenty of fresh spring water for them to drink, and every day is filled with sunshine so our little friends are warm and comfortable.
All the pets that had been ill or old are now restored to health and youth.
Those that had been hurt or maimed are now whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days gone by.
The pets we loved are happy and content except for one small thing.
Each one misses someone very special who was left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one of them suddenly stops and looks off into the distant hills.
It is as if they heard a whistle or were given a signal of some kind.
Their eyes are bright and intent.
Their body beings to quiver.
All at once they break away from the group, flying like a deer over the grass, their little legs carrying them faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you hug and cling to them in joyous reunion, never to be parted again.
Happy kisses rain upon your face.
Your hands once again caress the beloved head.
You look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet so long gone from your life, but never gone from your heart.
Then with your beloved pet by your side, you will cross the Rainbow Bridge together.
Your Sacred Circle is now complete again. ~ Sylvia Browne,
1422:It may not have been very big, she said, but everyone will notice that it’s missing. How could they not? One might as well overlook a bare patch of earth on the crest of a snow-covered mountain. And her eyes rolled forward as she tried to peer down her long snout at the small, dark hole above her nostril.
Eragon laughed and splashed a handful of water at her. Then, to soothe her injured pride, he said, “No one will notice, Saphira. Trust me. Besides, even if they do, they’ll take it for a battle wound and consider you all the more fearsome because of it.”
You think so? She returned to examining herself in the lake. The water and her scales reflected off each other in a dazzling array of rainbow-hued flecks. What if a soldier stabs me there? The blade would go right through me. Perhaps I should ask the dwarves to make a metal plate to cover the area until the scale regrows.
“That would look exceedingly ridiculous.”
It would?
“Mm-hmm.” He nodded, on the verge of laughing again.
She sniffed. There’s no need to make fun of me. How would you like it if the fur on your head started falling out, or you lost one of those silly little nubs you call teeth? I would end up having to comfort you, no doubt.
“No doubt,” he agreed easily. “But then, teeth don’t grow back.” He pushed himself off the rock and made his way up the shore to where he had left his boots, stepping carefully to avoid hurting his feet on the stones and branches that littered the water’s edge. Saphira followed him, the soft earth squishing between her talons.
You could cast a spell to protect just that spot, she said as he pulled on his boots.
“I could. Do you want me to?”
I do. ~ Christopher Paolini,
1423:You look a little lost, my dear,' a nun says behind me, and I jump. 'Were you interested in seeing the Bevington Triptych?'
'Oh,' I say. 'Erm... yes. Absolutely.'
'Up there,' she points, and I walk tentatively towards the front of the chapel, hoping it will become obvious what the Bevington Triptych is. A statue, maybe? Or a.. a piece of tapestry?
But as I reach the elderly lady, I see that she's staring up at a whole wall of stained glass windows. I have to admit, they're pretty amazing. I mean look at that huge blue one in the middle. It's fantastic!
'The Bevington Triptych,' says the elderly woman. 'It simply has no parallel, does it?'
'Wow,' I breathe reverentially, staring up with her. 'It's beautiful.'
It really is stunning. God, it just shows, there's no mistaking a real work of art, is there? When you come across real genius, it just leaps out at you. And I'm not even an expert.
'Wonderful colours,' I murmur.
'The detail,' says the woman, clasping her hands, 'is absolutely incomparable.'
'Incomparable,' I echo.
I'm just about to point out the rainbow, which I think is a really nice touch - when I suddenly notice that the elderly woman and I aren't looking at the same thing.
She's looking at some painted wooden thing which I hadn't even noticed.
As inconspicuously as possible, I shift my gaze - and feel a pang of disappointment. Is this the Bevington triptych? But it isn't even pretty!
'Whereas this Victorian rubbish,' the woman suddenly adds savagely, 'is absolutely criminal! That rainbow! Doesn't it make you feel sick?' She gestures to my big blue window, and I gulp.
'I know,' I say. 'It's shocking, isn't it? Absolutely...
You know - I think I'll just go for a little wander... ~ Sophie Kinsella,
1424:The Hills Of Youth
Once, on the far blue hills,
Alone with the pine and the cloud, in those high still places;
Alone with a whisper of ferns and a chuckle of rills,
And the peat-brown pools that mirrored the angels’ faces,
Pools that mirrored the wood-pigeon’s grey-blue feather,
And all my thistledown dreams as they drifted along;
Once, oh, once, on the hills, thro’ the red-bloomed heather
I followed an elfin song.
Once, by the wellsprings of joy,
In the glens of the hart’s-tongue fern, where the brooks came leaping
Over the rocks, like a scrambling bare-foot boy
That never had heard of a world grown old with weeping;
Once, thro’ the golden gorse (do the echoes linger
In Paradise woods, where the foam of the may runs wild?)
I followed the flute of a light-foot elfin singer,
A god with the eyes of a child.
Once, he sang to me there,
From a crag on a thyme-clad height where the dew still glistened;
He sang like the spirit of Spring in that dawn-flushed air,
While the angels opened their doors and the whole sky listened:
He sang like the soul of a rainbow, if heaven could hear it,
Beating to heaven, on wings that were April’s own;
A song too happy and brave for the heart to bear it,
Had the heart of the hearer known.
Once, ah, once, no more,
The hush and the rapture of youth in those holy places,
The stainless height, the hearts that sing and adore
Till the sky breaks out into flower with the angels’ faces!
Once, in the dawn, they were mine; but the noon bereft me.
At midnight now, in an ebb of the loud world’s roar,
I catch but a broken stave of the songs that left me
On hills that are mine no more.
122
~ Alfred Noyes,
1425:You look a little lost, my dear,' a nun says behind me, and I jump. 'Were you interested in seeing the Bevington Triptych?'
'Oh,' I say. 'Erm... yes. Absolutely.'
'Up there,' she points, and I walk tentatively towards the front of the chapel, hoping it will become obvious what the Bevington Triptych is. A statue, maybe? Or a.. a piece of tapestry?
But as I reach the elderly lady, I see that she's staring up at a whole wall of stained glass windows. I have to admit, they're pretty amazing. I mean look at that huge blue one in the middle. It's fantastic!
'The Bevington Triptych,' says the elderly woman. 'It simply has no parallel, does it?'
'Wow,' I breathe reverentially, staring up with her. 'It's beautiful.'
It really is stunning. God, it just shows, there's no mistaking a real work of art, is there? When you come across real genius, it just leaps out at you. And I'm not even an expert.
'Wonderful colours,' I murmur.
'The detail,' says the woman, clasping her hands, 'is absolutely incomparable.'
'Incomparable,' I echo.
I'm just about to point out the rainbow, which I think is a really nice touch - when I suddenly notice that the elderly woman and I aren't looking at the same thing.
She's looking at some painted wooden thing which I hadn't even noticed.
As inconspicuously as possible, I shift my gaze - and feel a pang of disappointment. Is this the Bevington triptych? But it isn't even pretty!
'Whereas this Victorian rubbish,' the woman
suddenly adds savagely, 'is absolutely criminal! That rainbow! Doesn't it make you feel sick?' She gestures to my big blue window, and I gulp.
'I know,' I say. 'It's shocking, isn't it? Absolutely...
You know - I think I'll just go for a little wander... ~ Sophie Kinsella,
1426:And everywhere, just as there were animals on land, were the animals of the sea.
The tiniest fish made the largest schools- herring, anchovies, and baby mackerel sparkling and cavorting in the light like a million diamonds. They twirled into whirlpools and flowed over the sandy floor like one large, unlikely animal.
Slightly larger fish came in a rainbow, red and yellow and blue and orange and purple and green and particolored like clowns: dragonets and blennies and gobies and combers.
Hake, shad, char, whiting, cod, flounder, and mullet made the solid middle class.
The biggest loners, groupers and oarfish and dogfish and the major sharks and tuna that all grew to a large, ripe old age did so because they had figured out how to avoid human boats, nets, lines, and bait. The black-eyed predators were well aware they were top of the food chain only down deep, and somewhere beyond the surface there were things even more hungry and frightening than they.
Rounding out the population were the famous un-fish of the ocean: the octopus, flexing and swirling the ends of her tentacles; delicate jellyfish like fairies; lobsters and sea stars; urchins and nudibranchs... the funny, caterpillar-like creatures that flowed over the ocean floor wearing all kinds of colors and appendages.
All of these creatures woke, slept, played, swam about, and lived their whole lives under the sea, unconcerned with what went on above them.
But there were other animals in this land, strange ones, who spoke both sky and sea. Seals and dolphins and turtles and the rare fin whale would come down to hunt or talk for a bit and then vanish to that strange membrane that separated the ocean from everything else. Of course they were loved- but perhaps not quite entirely trusted. ~ Liz Braswell,
1427:Say more about the Crips and the Bloods,” Richard said, stalling for time while he tried to get his mental house in order. “To us they look the same. Urban black kids with similar demographics and tastes. Seems like they all ought to pull together. But that’s not where they’re at. They are shooting each other to death because they see the Other as less than human. And I’m saying it has been the case for a long time in T’Rain that those people we have lately started calling the Earthtone Coalition have always looked at the ones we now call the Forces of Brightness and seen them as tacky, uncultured, not really playing the game in character. And what happened in the last few months was that the F.O.B. types just got tired of it and rose up and, you know, asserted their pride in their identity, kind of like the gay rights movement with those goddamned rainbow flags. And as long as it’s possible for those two groups to identify each other on sight, each one of them is going to see the other as, well, the Other, and killing people based on that is way more ingrained than killing them on this completely bogus and flimsy fake-Good and fake-Evil dichotomy that we were working with before.” “I get it,” Richard said. “But is that all we are? Just digital Crips and Bloods?” “What if it’s true?” Devin shrugged. “Then you’re not doing your fucking job,” Richard said. “Because the world is supposed to have a real story to it. Not just people killing each other over color schemes.” “Maybe you’re not doing yours,” Devin said. “How can I write a story about Good and Evil in a world where those concepts have no real meaning—no consequences?” “What sort of consequences do you have in mind? We can’t send people’s characters to virtual Hell.” “I know. Only Limbo.” They both laughed. ~ Neal Stephenson,
1428:I’ve just been thinking it would be a lot of fun to live in a defunct shopping mall!
Totally abandoned,
Yet still frozen in time,
Bright white lights shining,
Artificial turquoise fountains spewing out clear water,
Eerie eighties elevator music drifting by…
Dancing erratically, shouting to the top,
Because it’s sad to see these places die.
They’re a testament to the hubris of modern America, which is dying in and of itself.
Let’s face it. We know we can’t compete with
Online shopping
And
Made-in-China products
And
eBay
And
Amazon.

Those of us who spent our
High school
And college days
Being wage slaves to these dying malls,
We’ll be old and nostalgic someday,
Telling our grandkids about these wonderful buildings!
They housed sets of trendy clothes
Which nobody was rich enough to afford
Or thin enough to fit in.
We’ll tell them about the first time
We were almost trampled in a
Black Friday stampede.
The first time we saw a kid
Vomit in the ugly rainbow ball pit
At the children’s play area,
Dumped by babysitters to grow up there,
Spending their childhood draped in neon.
The first time eating greasy pad-thai
And hamburgers
At the food court.
The first time falling in love
In the dark movie theatre
That charges too much for stale popcorn.
Holding hands in the sunlit rays
Of the dusty projector…
Totally lost in moments.
What is the meaning of this voyage?

Our grandkids,
Who will probably have Smartphones
Surgically implanted to their brains
And identical glass condominiums by then,
They’ll gasp in shock and say,
“Wow, that sounds SO cool!”
And we’ll sigh and say,
“Meh… it was nothing special. ~ Rebecca McNutt,
1429:We get in and I start the car. “Are you going to be good to Lani?” I ask. I think of Tommy Cook, a pale boy with psoriasis; we used to tie him to a chair with bungee cords and put him in the middle of the road, then hide. Few cars would actually come down Rainbow Drive, but when they did, it always surprised me that the drivers would slow their vehicles and swerve around the chair. None of them ever got out of their cars to help Tommy; it was as though they were in on the prank. I don’t know how Tommy managed to let us catch him more than once. Maybe he liked the attention.

“I’ll try,” Scottie says. “But it’s hard. She has this face that you just want to hit.”

“I know what you mean,” I say, thinking of Tommy, but realize I’m not supposed to empathize. “What does that mean?” I ask. “The kind of face that you want to hit. Where did you get that?” Sometimes I wonder if Scottie knows what she’s saying or if it’s something she recites, like those kids who memorize the Declaration of Independence.

“It’s something Mom said about Danielle.”

“I see.” Joanie has carried her juvenile meanness into her adult life. She sends unflattering pictures of her ex-friends to the Advertiser to put in their society pages. She always has some sort of drama in her life, some friend I’m not supposed to speak to or invite to our barbecues, and then I hear her on the phone gossiping about the latest scandal in an outraged and thrilled voice. “You are going to die,” I’ll hear her say. “Oh my God, you will just die.”

Is this where Scottie gets it? By watching her mother use cruelty as a source of entertainment? I feel almost proud that I have made these deductions without the blogs and without Esther, and I’m eager to tell Joanie about all of this, to prove that I was capable without her. ~ Kaui Hart Hemmings,
1430:In Excelsis
You -- you -Your shadow is sunlight on a plate of silver;
Your footsteps, the seeding-place of lilies;
Your hands moving, a chime of bells across a windless air.
The movement of your hands is the long, golden running of light from a rising
sun;
It is the hopping of birds upon a garden-path.
As the perfume of jonquils, you come forth in the morning.
Young horses are not more sudden than your thoughts,
Your words are bees about a pear-tree,
Your fancies are the gold-and-black striped wasps buzzing among red apples.
I drink your lips,
I eat the whiteness of your hands and feet.
My mouth is open,
As a new jar I am empty and open.
Like white water are you who fill the cup of my mouth,
Like a brook of water thronged with lilies.
You are frozen as the clouds,
You are far and sweet as the high clouds.
I dare to reach to you,
I dare to touch the rim of your brightness.
I leap beyond the winds,
I cry and shout,
For my throat is keen as is a sword
Sharpened on a hone of ivory.
My throat sings the joy of my eyes,
The rushing gladness of my love.
How has the rainbow fallen upon my heart?
How have I snared the seas to lie in my fingers
And caught the sky to be a cover for my head? How have you come to dwell with
me,
Compassing me with the four circles of your mystic lightness,
So that I say "Glory! Glory!" and bow before you
As to a shrine?
104
Do I tease myself that morning is morning and a day after?
Do I think the air is a condescension,
The earth a politeness,
Heaven a boon deserving thanks?
So you -- air -- earth -- heaven -I do not thank you,
I take you,
I live.
And those things which I say in consequence
Are rubies mortised in a gate of stone.
~ Amy Lowell,
1431:Roads
I know a country laced with roads,
They join the hills and they span the brooks,
They weave like a shuttle between broad fields,
And slide discreetly through hidden nooks.
They are canopied like a Persian dome
And carpeted with orient dyes.
They are myriad-voiced, and musical,
And scented with happiest memories.
O Winding roads that I know so well,
Every twist and turn, every hollow and hill!
They are set in my heart to a pulsing tune
Gay as a honey-bee humming in June.
'T is the rhythmic beat of a horse's feet
And the pattering paws of a sheep-dog bitch;
'T is the creaking trees, and the singing breeze,
And the rustle of leaves in the road-side ditch.
A cow in a meadow shakes her bell
And the notes cut sharp through the autumn air,
Each chattering brook bears a fleet of leaves
Their cargo the rainbow, and just now where
The sun splashed bright on the road ahead
A startled rabbit quivered and fled.
O Uphill roads and roads that dip down!
You curl your sun-spattered length along,
And your march is beaten into a song
By the softly ringing hoofs of a horse
And the panting breath of the dogs I love.
The pageant of Autumn follows its course
And the blue sky of Autumn laughs above.
And the song and the country become as one,
I see it as music, I hear it as light;
Prismatic and shimmering, trembling to tone,
The land of desire, my soul's delight.
And always it beats in my listening ears
With the gentle thud of a horse's stride,
With the swift-falling steps of many dogs,
Following, following at my side.
202
O Roads that journey to fairyland!
Radiant highways whose vistas gleam,
Leading me on, under crimson leaves,
To the opaline gates of the Castles of Dream.
~ Amy Lowell,
1432:10 Small Streets That Live Large DIETMAR DENGER / LAIF / REDUX PICTURES BY MATT BLITZ | 238 words CAIRO, EGYPT Tenth-century El-Moez Street boasts medieval architecture that’s unparalleled in the Islamic world, like the Al-Azhar Mosque and the Bab Zuweila gate. COLMAR, FRANCE Canals, shops and rainbow-colored houses along Grand Rue will make you feel as if you fell into an Alsatian fairy tale. GEORGE TOWN, PENANG, MALAYSIA Vibrant murals adorn funky Beach Street, celebrated for food vendors. Slurp hokkien mee (prawn and egg broth) or ais kacang (shaved ice with red bean and grass jelly). QUEBEC CITY, CANADA Chockablock with shops, cafés and French architecture, Rue du Petit Champlain is the oldest road in a 17th-century district in the shadow of the Chateau Frontenac. DELHI, INDIA In one of Asia’s largest jewelry markets, merchants sell precious wares on narrow Dariba Kalan Road in the old city’s Chandni Chowk area, once known as “moonlit square.” DUBROVNIK, CROATIA Twelfth-century Placa Street draws eaters, shoppers and sightseers, just blocks from the Adriatic Sea and close to stunning beaches. HAVANA, CUBA Calle Obispo (pictured above) comes alive at night with drinks, cigars and music. See the Taquechel Pharmacy Museum and Hemingway’s digs at Hotel Ambos Mundos. AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS In a neighborhood of canal-lined streets Gasthuismolensteeg may be the most happening, with boutiques, the city’s best broodjes (sandwich) shop and the offbeat Museum of Spectacles. NEW YORK, NEW YORK Between Broadway and Bowery, snug Great Jones Street packs in grunge bars, swank restaurants, a tony spa and history, from 19th-century gang brawls to ’60s “jonesing.” OLINDA, PERNAMBUCO, BRAZIL The Rua Bispo Coutinho wends through a Unesco World Heritage district past sidewalk vendors, galleries and a sacred art museum in a 17th-century Episcopal palace, all just blocks from the Atlantic. ~ Anonymous,
1433:Pictures From An Exhibition
(Painting and Sculpture of a Decade 54­G4 Tate Gallery London April­June 1964)
No. 54 Jean Dubuffet 'Déclinaison de la Barbe' 1. 1959
'as­tu cuilli les fleurs de la barbe?'
Jean Dubuffet I wander the dark pebbles of your mind
picking beardflowers.
No. 73 Joseph Cornell 'Hotel de l'Etoile'
cool pillars of the hotel/in the
night outside the stars are always
so white/the sky is always so
blue/silver moon waiting patiently.
No. 84 Mark Rothko 'Reds ­ No. 229 x957
SCARLET
ORANGE
ORANGE
ORANGE
SCARLET
CRIMSON
SCARLET
No. 291 Robert Rauschenberg 'windward' 1963
printed oranges are painted
painted oranges are painted
Angry skyline over the gasworks
A Hawk sits brooding inside a painted rainbow.
Nos. 10­13 Josef Albers, Studies for 'Homage to the Square' 1961 – 2
look.
see.
long ago.
now.
No. 314 Bernard Requichot 'Sans Titre ­ Chasse de papiers choisis'
31
chasse aux papillons:
`Here Be Tygers' –
the fruit in the tin has a thousand eyes.
No. 349 Jim Dine 'Black Bathroom No. 2' 1962
black splashes on the white walls
interrupting the commercials
TURN ON THE GLEAMING WHITE SINK
AND POEMS COME OUT OF THE TAPS!
No. 139 Victor Vasarely 'Supernovae' 1959 - 61
No. So Louise Nevelson 'Sky Cathedral III' 1960
Black
Black
Black
Boxes
Black
Light
Black
Moonlight
Black
Emptiness
Black
Dust
Black
Boxes
Black
Black
Black
No. 247 Richard Diebenkorn 'Ingleside' 1963
Look through the Supermarket window/up the highway
the hill rises steeply/hoardings and magnolias bright
in the sunlight/white walls black freeways traffic signs
at intersections/green lawns dark hedges/colours
32
clear and bright as the packets in your wire basket.
~ Adrian Henri,
1434:Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief. Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:--he, however, is the creator. Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker--he, however, is the creator. Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses--and not herds or believers either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh--those who grave new values on new tables. Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for everything is ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed. Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers. Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and herdsmen and corpses! And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves. But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. 'Twixt rosy dawn and rosy dawn there came unto me a new truth. I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto the dead. With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman. To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers; and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart heavy with my happiness. I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going! ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
1435:Twenty, thirty, forty feet. The pressure wasn’t uncomfortable. I’d never tried to push it—to see if there was a limit to how deep I could dive. I knew most regular humans couldn’t go past two hundred feet without crumpling like an aluminum can. I should’ve been blind, too, this deep in the water at night, but I could see the heat from living forms, and the cold of the currents. It’s hard to describe. It wasn’t like regular seeing, but I could tell where everything was. As I got closer to the bottom, I saw three hippocampi—fish-tailed horses—swimming in a circle around an overturned boat. The hippocampi were beautiful to watch. Their fish tails shimmered in rainbow colors, glowing phosphorescent. Their manes were white, and they were galloping through the water the way nervous horses do in a thunderstorm. Something was upsetting them. I got closer and saw the problem. A dark shape—some kind of animal—was wedged halfway under the boat and tangled in a fishing net, one of those big nets they use on trawlers to catch everything at once. I hated those things. It was bad enough they drowned porpoises and dolphins, but they also occasionally caught mythological animals. When the nets got tangled, some lazy fishermen would just cut them loose and let the trapped animals die. Apparently this poor creature had been mucking around on the bottom of Long Island Sound and had somehow gotten itself tangled in the net of this sunken fishing boat. It had tried to get out and managed to get even more hopelessly stuck, shifting the boat in the process. Now the wreckage of the hull, which was resting against a big rock, was teetering and threatening to collapse on top of the tangled animal. The hippocampi were swimming around frantically, wanting to help but not sure how. One was trying to chew the net, but hippocampi teeth just aren’t meant for cutting rope. Hippocampi are really strong, but they don’t have hands, and they’re not (shhh) all that smart. Free ~ Rick Riordan,
1436:The Thread Of Life
The irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me:-Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?-And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.
II
Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
Around me free and sunny and at ease:
Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you?
But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
But what I was I am, I am even I.
III
Therefore myself is that one only thing
I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time's winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanitive;
400
Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
he bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1437:It is strange how this fails to annoy me, although as a rule I am sensitive to bad manners. It is just that occasionally, very occasionally, one meets someone who is so markedly a contrast with the general run of people that one’s instinctive reaction is one of admiration, indulgence, and, no doubt, if one is not very careful indeed, of supplication. I am not arguing the rights and wrongs of this: I am simply stating the facts as they appear to me. And not only to me, for I have noticed that extremely handsome men and extremely beautiful women exercise a power over others which they themselves have no need, or indeed no time, to analyse. People like Nick attract admirers, adherents, followers. They also attract people like me: observers. One is never totally at ease with such people, for they are like sovereigns and one’s duty is to divert them. Matters like worth or merit rarely receive much of their attention, for, with the power of choice which their looks bestow on them, they can change their minds when they care to do so. Because of their great range of possibilities, their attention span is very limited. And their beauty has accustomed them to continuous gratification.
I find such people – and I have met one or two – quite fascinating. I find myself respecting them, as I would respect some natural phenomenon: a rainbow, a mountain, a sunset. I recognize that they might have no intrinsic merit, and yet I will find myself trying to please them, to attract their attention. ‘Look at me,’ I want to say. ‘Look at me.’ And I am also intrigued by their destinies, which could, or should, be marvelous. I will exert myself for such people, and I will miss them when they leave. I will always want to know about them, for I tend to be in love with their entire lives. That is a measure of the power they exert. That is why I join Nick in a smile of complicity when he spares himself the boredom of a conversation with Dr. Simek. It is a kind of law, I suppose. ~ Anita Brookner,
1438:Perhaps that had been one of the ineradicable faults of mankind - for even a convinced atheist had to admit there were faults - that it was never content with a thing as a thing; it had to turn things into symbols of other things. A rainbow was never only a rainbow; a storm was a sign of celestial anger; and even from the puddingy earth came forth dark chthonian gods. What did it all mean? What an agnostic believed and what the willowy parson believed were not only irreconcilable systems of thought: they were equally valid systems of thought because, somewhere along the evolutionary line, man, developing this habit of thinking of symbols, had provided himself with more alternatives than he could manage. Animals moved in no such channel of imagination - they copulated and they ate; but the the saint, bread was a symbol of life, as the phallus was to the pagan. The animals themselves were pressed into symbolic service - and not only in the medieval bestiaries, by any means.

Such a usage was a distortion, although man seemed unable to ratiocinate without it. That had been the trouble right from the beginning. Perhaps it had even been the beginning, back among the first men that man could never get clearly defined (for the early men, being also symbols, had to be either lumbering brutes, or timid noble savages, or to undergo some other interpretation). Perhaps the first fire, the first tool, the first wheel, the first carving in a limestone cave, had each possessed a symbolic rather than a practical value, had each been pressed to serve distortion rather than reality. It was a sort of madness that had driven man from his humble sites on the edges of woods into towns and cities, into arts and wars, into religious crusades, into martyrdom and prostitution, into dyspepsia and fasting, into love and hatred, into this present cul-de-sac; it had all come about in pursuit of symbols. In the beginning was the symbol, and darness was over the face of the Earth. ~ Brian W Aldiss,
1439:High Noon
Time’s finger on the dial of my life
Points to high noon! And yet the half-spent day
Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,
Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.
To those who burn the candle to the stick,
The sputtering socket yields but little light.
Long life is sadder than early death.
We cannot count on raveled threads of age
Whereof to weave a fabric. We must use
The warp and woof the ready present yields
And toils while daylight lasts. When I bethink
How brief the past, the future still more brief,
Calls on to action, action! Not for me
Is time for retrospection or for dreams,
Not time for self-laudation or remorse.
Have I done nobly? Then I must not let
Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.
Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter taste
Of fruit that turned to ashes on my lip
Be my reminder in temptations hour,
And keep me silent when I could condemn.
Sometimes it takes the acid of a sin
To cleanse the clouded windows of our souls
So pity may shine through them.
Looking back,
My faults and errors seem like stepping-stones
That led the way to knowledge of the truth
And made me value virtue: sorrows shine
In rainbow colours o’er the gulf of years,
Where lie forgotten pleasures.
Looking forth,
Out to the westers sky still bright with noon,
I feel well spurred and booted for the strife
That ends not till Nirvana is attained.
Battling with fate, with men and with myself,
291
Up the steep summit of my life’s forenoon,
Three things I learned, three things of precious worth
To guide and help me down the western slope.
I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save.
To pray for courage to receive what comes,
Knowing what comes to be divinely sent.
To toil for universal good, since thus
And only thus can good come unto me.
To save, by giving whatsoe’er I have
To those who have not, this alone is gain.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
1440:For folks who have that casual-dude energy coursing through their bloodstream, that's great. But gays should not grow up alienated just for us to alienate each other. It's too predictable, like any other cycle of abuse. Plus, the conformist, competitive notion that by "toning down" we are "growing up" ultimately blunts the radical edge of what it is to be queer; it truncates our colorful journey of identity.

Said another way, it's like living in West Hollywood and working a gay job by day and working it in the gay nightlife, wearing delicate shiny shirts picked from up the gay dry cleaners, yet coquettishly left unbuttoned to reveal the pec implants purchased from a gay surgeon and shown off by prancing around the gay-owned-and-operated theater hopped up on gay health clinic steroids and wheat grass purchased from the friendly gay boy who's new to the city, and impressed by the monstrous SUV purchased from a gay car dealership with its rainbow-striped bumper sticker that says "Celebrate Diversity." Then logging on to the local Gay.com listings and describing yourself as "straight-acting."

Let me make myself clear. This is not a campaign for everyone to be like me. That'd be a total yawn. Instead, this narrative is about praise for the prancy boys. Granted, there's undecided gender-fucks, dagger dykes, faux-mos, po-mos, FTMs, fisting-top daddies, and lezzie looners who also need props for broadening the sexual spectrum, but they're telling their own stories.

The Cliff's Notes of me and mine are this: the only moments I feel alive are when I'm just being myself - not some stiff-necked temp masquerading as normal in the workplace, not some insecure gay boy aspiring to be an overpumped circuit queen, not some comic book version of swank WeHo living. If that's considered a political act in the homogenized world of twenty-first century homosexuals, then so be it.

— excerpt of "Praise For The Prancy Boys," by Clint Catalyst

appears in first edition (ISBN # 1-932360-56-5) ~ Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore,
1441:What the fuck is that?”
At the sound of V’s voice, John turned with the rest of them . . . and when he saw what was up at the head of the grand staircase, he blinked once. Twice. Twelve times.
Lassiter was standing at the top of the carpeted steps, his blond-and-black hair styled in a pompadour, a heavy Bible under his armpit, piercings catching the light . . . But none of that was the real shocker.
The fallen angel was dressed in a sparkling white Elvis costume. Complete with bell-bottoms, balloon sleeves, and lapels big enough to tent up the backyard. Oh, and rainbow wings that revealed themselves as he held his arms out, preacher style.
“Time to get the party started,” he said as he jogged down, sequins winking and flashing. “And where the hell’s my pulpit?”
V coughed out the smoke he’d just inhaled. “She’s having you do the service?”
The angel popped his already mile-high collar. “She said she wanted the holiest thing in the house to do it.”
“She got holey, all right,” somebody muttered.
“Is that Butch’s Bible?” V asked.
The angel flashed the goods. “Yup. And his BoC, he called it? I also got a sermon I did myself.”
“Saints preserve us,” came from the opposite side of the crowd.
“Wait, wait, wait.” V waved his hand-rolled around. “I’m the son of a deity and she picked you?”
“You can call me Pastor—and before Mr. Sox Fan gets his panties in a wad, I want everyone to know I’m legit. I went online, took a minister’s course in under an hour, and I’m ordained, baby.”
Rhage raised his hand. “Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question.”
“Yes, my son, you are going to hell.” Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around. “So where’s our bride? The groom? I’m ready to marry somebody.”
“I didn’t bring enough tobacco for this,” V bitched.
Rhage sighed. “There’s Goose in the bar, my brother—oh, wait. We don’t have a bar anymore.”
“I think I’ll just run an IV of morphine.”
“Can I put it in?” Lassiter asked.
“That’s what she said,” somebody shot back ~ J R Ward,
1442:The Gentle Hint
The old man sat upon his swag his eyes were red and bleared.
I doubt he’d had a wash for days or even combed his beard.
He cadged my pouch and filled his pipe and calmly blew a cloud
‘Some blokes ain’t got no pride’ he said, ‘but I was always proud.
Some time ago I humped me swag along the Lachlan side
A blazing drought had hit the land and all the stock had died.
One night a good bit after dark I reached a country town;
Pulls up outside the local hall and flings me bluey down.
A dance was going on inside, a crowd was on the floor,
So I ’itches up me pants a bit and mooches in the door.
Some tarts was taken round the grub; I thinks I’m just in time;
A cup of tea will do me good; them sandwiches look prime.
But all at once the head serang, a great big hulking brute,
Strides across the floor at me and landed me a beaut.
He never said what made him narked or what he’d done it for
Just simply hits me good and hard, and knocks me out the door.
I landed fair upon me back. I got a nasty jar
And I thought just how he weren’t polite, I wondered who ’e are.
I thought per’aps he meant no harm, so I ’itches up me pants
And makes me mind up come what would, I’d take another chance.
I mooches in the door again. They’re cartin’ round the sweets.
Cream puff and buns ’n rainbow cakes and other fancy eats.
I’m just reaching out me dook when, strike me blue and blind,
One feller grabs me in the front, another from behind.
They swings me like a bag o’ chaff and shouted one, two, three
And then they laughs and holler ‘Go’, and it was go for me.
I hurtled out into the night and lands upon a stump
(Just put yer ’and behind me ear, you still can feel the lump)
That settled me; my oath it did; they’d hurt me in me pride;
And I decided there and then I wouldn’t go inside.
I knew I wasn’t welcome there, I saw it clear as print;
Some blokes ain’t got no pride at all – but I can take a hint!
12
~ Edward Harrington,
1443:I call it the state where everyone, good and bad, is a poison-drinker: the state where everyone, good and bad, loses himself: the state where universal slow suicide is called — life.
Just look at these superfluous people! They steal for themselves the works of inventors and the treasures of the wise: they call their theft culture — and they turn everything to sickness and calamity.
Just look at these superfluous people! They are always ill, they vomit their bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another and cannot even digest themselves.
Just look at these superfluous people! They acquire wealth and make themselves poorer with it. They desire power and especially the lever of power, plenty of money — these impotent people!
See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another and so scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
They all strive towards the throne: it is a madness they have — as if happiness sat upon the throne! Often filth sits upon the throne — and often the throne upon filth, too.
They all seem madmen to me and clambering apes and too vehement. Their idol, that cold monster, smells unpleasant to me: all of them, all these idolaters, smell unpleasant to me.
My brothers, do you then want to suffocate in the fumes of their animal mouths and appetites? Better to break the window and leap into the open air.
Avoid this bad odour! Leave the idolatry of the superfluous!
Avoid this bad odour! Leave the smoke of these human sacrifices!
The earth still remains free for great souls. Many places — the odour of tranquil seas blowing about them — are still empty for solitaries and solitary couples.
A free life still remains for great souls. Truly, he who possesses little is so much the less possessed: praised be a moderate poverty!
Only there, where the state ceases, does the man who is not superfluous begin: does the song of the necessary man, the unique and irreplaceable melody, begin.
There, where the state ceases — look there, my brothers. Do you not see it: the rainbow and the bridges to the Superman? ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
1444:Empty
Can this be my poem?—this poor fragment
Of bald thought in meanest language dressed!
Can this string of rhymes be my sweet poem?
All its poetry wholly unexpressed!
Does it tell me of the dreams that wandered,
In the silent night-time, through my brain?
Of the woven web of wondrous fancies,
Half of keenest joy and half of pain?
Does it tell me of the awful beauty
That came down to hide this sordid earth?
Does it tell me of the inward crying?—
Of the glory whence it had its birth?
Only as the lamp, all dull and rusted,
Tells me of the flame that is put out,—
Of the shiny hair and happy faces
Lighted, when its radiance streamed about?
Only as this piece of glass, now lying
In the shade beside me, as I sit,
Tells me of the soft hues of the rainbow,
That the morning sunshine gave to it!
Only as this little flask, now smelling
Of the dust and mould with which 'tis lined,
Tells me of the lovely subtle fragrance
Of the perfume that it once enshrined!
Only as a picture, blurred and faded,
Tells me of the bloom of colour there,
When the painter's soul was with his canvas,
And his paint was bright, and fresh, and fair!
Only as the wires and keys—notes broken,
Odd and scattered—tell me of a strain
That once filled my very soul with rapture,
But can never be spelled out again!
95
Only as a bare brown flower-stalk tells me
Of the delicate blossom that it wore;
Of the humming bees in silken petals,
And the downy butterflies it bore!
Only as a crazy boat, sun-blistered,
Drawn up high and dry upon the sands,
Tells me of the blue and buoyant billows
Bearing breezy sails to foreign lands!
Only as a little dead lark, lying
With bedraggled wings and withered throat,
Tells me of the songs it heard in heaven—
Trying to teach me, here and there, a note!
Oh no! oh no! this is not my treasure—
This is but the shell where it has lain;
It is gone—the life, and light, and glory,—
And 'twill never come to me again!
~ Ada Cambridge,
1445:Christian And Jew
A Dialogue
'Oh happy happy land!
Angels like rushes stand
About the wells of light.'—
'Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight:
Hold fast my hand.'—
'As in a soft wind, they
Bend all one blessed way,
Each bowed in his own glory, star with star.'—
'I cannot see so far,
Here shadows are.'—
'White-winged the cherubim,
Yet whiter seraphim,
Glow white with intense fire of love.'—
'Mine eyes are dim:
I look in vain above,
And miss their hymn.'—
'Angels, Archangels cry
One to other ceaselessly
(I hear them sing)
One 'Holy, Holy, Holy' to their King.'—
'I do not hear them, I.'—
'At one side Paradise
Is curtained from the rest,
Made green for wearied eyes;
Much softer than the breast
Of mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes.
'All precious souls are there
Most safe, elect by grace,
All tears are wiped for ever from their face:
Untired in prayer
They wait and praise
Hidden for a little space.
114
'Boughs of the Living Vine
They spread in summer shine
Green leaf with leaf:
Sap of the Royal Vine it stirs like wine
In all both less and chief.
'Sing to the Lord,
All spirits of all flesh, sing;
For He hath not abhorred
Our low estate nor scorn'd our offering:
Shout to our King.'—
'But Zion said:
My Lord forgetteth me.
Lo, she hath made her bed
In dust; forsaken weepeth she
Where alien rivers swell the sea.
'She laid her body as the ground,
Her tender body as the ground to those
Who passed; her harpstrings cannot sound
In a strange land; discrowned
She sits, and drunk with woes.'—
'O drunken not with wine,
Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,—
Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb;
Arise, shine,
For thy light is come.'—
'Can these bones live?'—
'God knows:
The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin;
A wind blew on them and life entered in;
They shook and rose.
Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin,
Let life begin.'
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1446:The Spider Queen
IN the deep heart of furthest fairyland
Where foot of man has never trodden yet
The enchanted portals of her palace stand,
And there her sleepless sentinels are set.
All round grow forests of white eglantine
And drooping, dreaming clematis; there blows
The purple nightshade; there pale bindweeds twine
And there the pale, frail flower of slumber grows.
Her palaces are decked with gleaming wings,
Hung o'er with webs through spacious bower and hall,
Filled through and through with precious priceless things;
She is their mistress and she hates them all.
No darkling webs, woven in dust and gloom,
Adorn her palace walls; there gleam astir
Live threads of light, spun for a fairy's loom,
And stolen by her slaves and brought to her.
She wears a robe woven of the July sun,
Mixed with green threads won from the East at dawn,
Bordered with silver moonrays, finely spun,
And gemmed with glowworms from some shadowy lawn.
She wears a crown of dewdrops bright like tears,
Her girdle is a web of rainbow dyes;
She knows no youth, nor age; the hours and years
Leave never a shadow on her lips and eyes.
In magic rings of green and glistening light
Her fairies dance, in star-spun raiment clad,
Her people do her bidding day and night,
391
Her dark-robed servants toil to make her glad.
Her minstrels play to her--her singers raise
Soft songs, more sweet than man has ever heard,
With endless rhythms of love her courtiers praise,
And all their heart is in their every word.
She is the mistress of all things that set
Snare of fine webs to win their hearts' desire,
Queen of all folk who weave the death-strong net
Between the poppy and the wild-rose briar.
Yet sits despair upon that brow of hers,
And sorrow in her eyes makes festival;
The soul of grief with her sad soul confers,
And she sits lonely in her crowded hall;
Because she has woven a web of her bright hair-A tear-bright web, to catch one soul; and he
Beheld her, in her beauty, set the snare,
And seeing laughed, and laughing passed out free!
~ Edith Nesbit,
1447:...Whilst on board the Beagle I was quite orthodox, and I remember being heartily laughed at by several of the officers... for quoting the Bible as an unanswerable authority on some point of morality... But I had gradually come by this time, i.e., 1836 to 1839, to see that the Old Testament from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow at sign, &c., &c., and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos, or the beliefs of any barbarian.

...By further reflecting that the clearest evidence would be requisite to make any sane man believe in the miracles by which Christianity is supported, (and that the more we know of the fixed laws of nature the more incredible do miracles become), that the men at that time were ignorant and credulous to a degree almost uncomprehensible by us, that the Gospels cannot be proved to have been written simultaneously with the events, that they differ in many important details, far too important, as it seemed to me, to be admitted as the usual inaccuracies of eyewitnesses; by such reflections as these, which I give not as having the least novelty or value, but as they influenced me, I gradually came to disbelieve in Christianity as a divine revelation. The fact that many false religions have spread over large portions of the earth like wild-fire had some weight with me. Beautiful as is the morality of the New Testament, it can be hardly denied that its perfection depends in part on the interpretation which we now put on metaphors and allegories.

But I was very unwilling to give up my belief... Thus disbelief crept over me at a very slow rate, but was at last complete. The rate was so slow that I felt no distress, and have never since doubted even for a single second that my conclusion was correct. I can indeed hardly see how anyone ought to wish Christianity to be true; for if so the plain language of the text seems to show that the men who do not believe, and this would include my Father, Brother and almost all of my friends, will be everlastingly punished.

And this is a damnable doctrine. ~ Charles Darwin,
1448:That summer, in a small house near the beach, he began to write a book. He knew it would be the last thing he ever did, so he decided to write something advocating a crazy, preposterous idea—one so outlandish that nobody had ever written a book about it before. He was going to propose that gay people should be allowed to get married, just like straight people. He thought this would be the only way to free gay people from the self-hatred and shame that had trapped Andrew himself. It’s too late for me, he thought, but maybe it will help the people who come after me. When the book—Virtually Normal—came out a year later, Patrick died when it had only been in the bookstores for a few days, and Andrew was widely ridiculed for suggesting something so absurd as gay marriage. Andrew was attacked not just by right-wingers, but by many gay left-wingers, who said he was a sellout, a wannabe heterosexual, a freak, for believing in marriage. A group called the Lesbian Avengers turned up to protest at his events with his face in the crosshairs of a gun. Andrew looked out at the crowd and despaired. This mad idea—his last gesture before dying—was clearly going to come to nothing. When I hear people saying that the changes we need to make in order to deal with depression and anxiety can’t happen, I imagine going back in time, to the summer of 1993, to that beach house in Provincetown, and telling Andrew something: Okay, Andrew, you’re not going to believe me, but this is what’s going to happen next. Twenty-five years from now, you’ll be alive. I know; it’s amazing; but wait—that’s not the best part. This book you’ve written—it’s going to spark a movement. And this book—it’s going to be quoted in a key Supreme Court ruling declaring marriage equality for gay people. And I’m going to be with you and your future husband the day after you receive a letter from the president of the United States telling you that this fight for gay marriage that you started has succeeded in part because of you. He’s going to light up the White House like the rainbow flag that day. He’s going to invite you to have dinner there, to thank you for what you’ve done. Oh, and by the way—that president? He’s going to be black. ~ Johann Hari,
1449: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,
1450:Whales Weep Not!
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of the sea!
And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep of the sea
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's fathomless body.
And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and forth,
keep passing archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.
And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of the beginning
and the end.
And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
and all this happiness in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!
183
and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.
~ David Herbert Lawrence,
1451:BRING me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through
Under the Andes to the Cape,
Suffer'd no savour of the earth to 'scape.

Let its grapes the morn salute
From a nocturnal root,
Which feels the acrid juice
Of Styx and Erebus;
And turns the woe of Night,
By its own craft, to a more rich delight.

We buy ashes for bread;
We buy diluted wine;
Give me of the true,
Whose ample leaves and tendrils curl'd
Among the silver hills of heaven
Draw everlasting dew;
Wine of wine,
Blood of the world,
Form of forms, and mould of statures,
That I intoxicated,
And by the draught assimilated,
May float at pleasure through all natures;
The bird-language rightly spell,
And that which roses say so well:

Wine that is shed
Like the torrents of the sun
Up the horizon walls,
Or like the Atlantic streams, which run
When the South Sea calls.

Water and bread,
Food which needs no transmuting,
Rainbow-flowering, wisdom-fruiting,
Wine which is already man,
Food which teach and reason can.

Wine which Music is,
Music and wine are one,
That I, drinking this,
Shall hear far Chaos talk with me;
Kings unborn shall walk with me;
And the poor grass shall plot and plan
What it will do when it is man.
Quicken'd so, will I unlock
Every crypt of every rock.

I thank the joyful juice
For all I know;
Winds of remembering
Of the ancient being blow,
And seeming-solid walls of use
Open and flow.

Pour, Bacchus! the remembering wine;
Retrieve the loss of me and mine!
Vine for vine be antidote,
And the grape requite the lote!
Haste to cure the old despair;
Reason in Nature's lotus drench'd
The memory of ages quench'd
Give them again to shine;
Let wine repair what this undid;
And where the infection slid,
A dazzling memory revive;
Refresh the faded tints,
Recut the aged prints,
And write my old adventures with the pen
Which on the first day drew,
Upon the tablets blue,
The dancing Pleiads and eternal men.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bacchus
,
1452:I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea
Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?
Am I not always here, thy summer home?
Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve?
My breath thy healthful climate in the heats,
My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath?
Was ever building like my terraces?
Was ever couch magnificent as mine?
Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn
A little hut suffices like a town.
I make your sculptured architecture vain,
Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home,
And carve the coastwise mountain into caves.
Lo! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes,
Karnak and Pyramid and Giant's Stairs
Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab
Older than all thy race.

Behold the Sea,
The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July;
Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,

Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.
Rich are the sea-gods:who gives gifts but they?
They grope the sea for pearls, but more than pearls:
They pluck Force thence, and give it to the wise.
For every wave is wealth to Ddalus,
Wealth to the cunning artist who can work
This matchless strength. Where shall he find, O waves!
A load your Atlas shoulders cannot lift?

I with my hammer pounding evermore
The rocky coast, smite Andes into dust,
Strewing my bed, and, in another age,
Rebuild a continent of better men.
Then I unbar the doors: my paths lead out
The exodus of nations: I dispersed
Men to all shores that front the hoary main.

I too have arts and sorceries;
Illusion dwells forever with the wave.
I know what spells are laid. Leave me to deal
With credulous and imaginative man;
For, though he scoop my water in his palm,
A few rods off he deems it gems and clouds.
Planting strange fruits and sunshine on the shore,
I make some coast alluring, some lone isle,
To distant men, who must go there, or die.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Seashore
,
1453:Gods in The Lost Hero Aeolus The Greek god of the winds. Roman form: Aeolus Aphrodite The Greek goddess of love and beauty. She was married to Hephaestus, but she loved Ares, the god of war. Roman form: Venus Apollo The Greek god of the sun, prophecy, music, and healing; the son of Zeus, and the twin of Artemis. Roman form: Apollo Ares The Greek god of war; the son of Zeus and Hera, and half brother to Athena. Roman form: Mars Artemis The Greek goddess of the hunt and the moon; the daughter of Zeus and the twin of Apollo. Roman form: Diana Boreas The Greek god of the north wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods); the god of winter; father of Khione. Roman form: Aquilon Demeter The Greek goddess of agriculture, a daughter of the Titans Rhea and Kronos. Roman form: Ceres Dionysus The Greek god of wine; the son of Zeus. Roman form: Bacchus Gaea The Greek personification of Earth. Roman form: Terra Hades According to Greek mythology, ruler of the Underworld and god of the dead. Roman form: Pluto Hecate The Greek goddess of magic; the only child of the Titans Perses and Asteria. Roman form: Trivia Hephaestus The Greek god of fire and crafts and of blacksmiths; the son of Zeus and Hera, and married to Aphrodite. Roman form: Vulcan Hera The Greek goddess of marriage; Zeus’s wife and sister. Roman form: Juno Hermes The Greek god of travelers, communication, and thieves; son of Zeus. Roman form: Mercury Hypnos The Greek god of sleep; the (fatherless) son of Nyx (Night) and brother of Thanatos (Death). Roman form: Somnus Iris The Greek goddess of the rainbow, and a messenger of the gods; the daughter of Thaumas and Electra. Roman form: Iris Janus The Roman god of gates, doors, and doorways, as well as beginnings and endings. Khione The Greek goddess of snow; daughter of Boreas Notus The Greek god of the south wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods). Roman form: Favonius Ouranos The Greek personification of the sky. Roman form: Uranus Pan The Greek god of the wild; the son of Hermes. Roman form: Faunus Pompona The Roman goddess of plenty Poseidon The Greek god of the sea; son of the Titans Kronos and Rhea, and brother of Zeus and Hades. Roman form: Neptune Zeus The Greek god of the sky and king of the gods. Roman form: Jupiter ~ Rick Riordan,
1454:The Fish
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn't fight.
He hadn't fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age.
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
- the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badlyI thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
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of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
- It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face,
the mechanism of his jaw,
and then I saw
that from his lower lip
- if you could call it a lip
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels- until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
1455:La Nue
Oft when sweet music undulated round,
Like the full moon out of a perfumed sea
Thine image from the waves of blissful sound
Rose and thy sudden light illumined me.
And in the country, leaf and flower and air
Would alter and the eternal shape emerge;
Because they spoke of thee the fields seemed fair,
And Joy to wait at the horizon's verge.
The little cloud-gaps in the east that filled
Gray afternoons with bits of tenderest blue
Were windows in a palace pearly-silled
That thy voluptuous traits came glimmering through.
And in the city, dominant desire
For which men toil within its prison-bars,
I watched thy white feet moving in the mire
And thy white forehead hid among the stars.
Mystical, feminine, provoking, nude,
Radiant there with rosy arms outspread,
Sum of fulfillment, sovereign attitude,
Sensual with laughing lips and thrown-back head,
Draped in the rainbow on the summer hills,
Hidden in sea-mist down the hot coast-line,
Couched on the clouds that fiery sunset fills,
Blessed, remote, impersonal, divine;
The gold all color and grace are folded o'er,
The warmth all beauty and tenderness embower, -Thou quiverest at Nature's perfumed core,
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The pistil of a myriad-petalled flower.
Round thee revolves, illimitably wide,
The world's desire, as stars around their pole.
Round thee all earthly loveliness beside
Is but the radiate, infinite aureole.
Thou art the poem on the cosmic page -In rubric written on its golden ground -That Nature paints her flowers and foliage
And rich-illumined commentary round.
Thou art the rose that the world's smiles and tears
Hover about like butterflies and bees.
Thou art the theme the music of the spheres
Echoes in endless, variant harmonies.
Thou art the idol in the altar-niche
Faced by Love's congregated worshippers,
Thou art the holy sacrament round which
The vast cathedral is the universe.
Thou art the secret in the crystal where,
For the last light upon the mystery Man,
In his lone tower and ultimate despair,
Searched the gray-bearded Zoroastrian.
And soft and warm as in the magic sphere,
Deep-orbed as in its erubescent fire,
So in my heart thine image would appear,
Curled round with the red flames of my desire.
~ Alan Seeger,
1456:Autumn
I dwell alone - I dwell alone, alone,
Whilst full my river flows down to the sea,
Gilded with flashing boats
That bring no friend to me:
O love-songs, gurgling from a hundred throats,
O love-pangs, let me be.
Fair fall the freighted boats which gold and stone
And spices bear to sea:
Slim, gleaming maidens swell their mellow notes,
Love-promising, entreating Ah! sweet, but fleeting Beneath the shivering, snow-white sails.
Hush! the wind flags and fails Hush! they will lie becalmed in sight of strand Sight of my strand, where I do dwell alone;
Their songs wake singing echoes in my land They cannot hear me moan.
One latest, solitary swallow flies
Across the sea, rough autumn-tempest tossed,
Poor bird, shall it be lost?
Dropped down into this uncongenial sea,
With no kind eyes
To watch it while it dies,
Unguessed, uncared for, free:
Set free at last,
The short pang past,
In sleep, in death, in dreamless sleep locked fast.
Mine avenue is all a growth of oaks,
Some rent by thunder strokes,
Some rustling leaves and acorns in the breeze;
Fair fall my fertile trees,
That rear their goodly heads, and live at ease.
A spider's web blocks all mine avenue;
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He catches down and foolish painted flies,
That spider wary and wise.
Each morn it hangs a rainbow strung with dew
Betwixt boughs green with sap,
So fair, few creatures guess it is a trap:
I will not mar the web,
Though sad I am to see the small lives ebb.
It shakes - my trees shake - for a wind is roused
In cavern where it housed:
Each white and quivering sail,
Of boats among the water leaves
Hollows and strains in the full-throated gale:
Each maiden sings again Each languid maiden, whom the calm
Had lulled to sleep with rest and spice and balm
Miles down my river to the sea
They float and wane,
Long miles away from me.
Perhaps they say: ‘She grieves,
Uplifted, like a beacon, on her tower.’
Perhaps they say: ‘One hour
More, and we dance among the golden sheaves.’
Perhaps they say: ‘One hour
More, and we stand,
Face to face, hand in hand;
Make haste, O slack gale, to the looked-for land!’
My trees are not in flower,
I have no bower,
And gusty creaks my tower,
And lonesome, very lonesome, is my strand.
~ Christina Georgina Rossetti,
1457:In earlier times, one had an easier conscience about being a person than one does today. People were like cornstalks in a field, probably more violently tossed back and forth by God, hail, fire, pestilence, and war than they are today, but as a whole, as a city, a region, a field, and as to what personal movement was left to the individual stalk – all this was clearly defined and could be answered for. But today responsibility’s center of gravity is not in people but in circumstances. Have we not noticed that experiences have made themselves independent of people? They have gone on the stage, into books, into the reports of research institutes and explorers, into ideological or religious communities, which foster certain kinds of experience at the expense of others as if they are conducting a kind of social experiment, and insofar as experiences are not actually being developed, they are simply left dangling in the air. Who can say nowadays that his anger is really his own anger when so many people talk about it and claim to know more about it than he does? A world of qualities without a man has arisen, of experiences without the person who experiences them, and it almost looks as though ideally private experience is a thing of the past, and that the friendly burden of personal responsibility is to dissolve into a system of formulas of possible meanings. Probably the dissolution of the anthropocentric point of view, which for such a long time considered man to be at the center of the universe but which has been fading away for centuries, has finally arrived at the “I” itself, for the belief that the most important thing about experience is the experiencing, or of action the doing, is beginning to strike most people as naïve. There are probably people who still lead personal lives, who say “We saw the So-and-sos yesterday” or “We’ll do this or that today” and enjoy it without its needing to have any content of significance. They like everything that comes in contact with their fingers, and are purely private persons insofar as this is at all possible. In contact with such people, the world becomes a private world and shines like a rainbow. They may be very happy, but this kind of people usually seems absurd to the others, although it is still not at all clear why.

And suddenly, in view of these reflections, Ulrich had to smile and admit to himself that he was, after all, a character, even without having one. ~ Robert Musil,
1458:Shara met me at the airport in London, dressed in her old familiar blue woolen overcoat that I loved so much. She was bouncing like a little girl with excitement.
Everest was nothing compared to seeing her.
I was skinny, long-haired, and wearing some very suspect flowery Nepalese trousers. I short, I looked a mess, but I was so happy.
I had been warned by Henry at base camp not to rush into anything “silly” when I saw Shara again. He had told me it was a classic mountaineers’ error to propose as soon as you get home. High altitude apparently clouds people’s good judgment, he had said.
In the end, I waited twelve months. But during this time I knew that this was the girl I wanted to marry.
We had so much fun together that year. I persuaded Shara, almost daily, to skip off work early from her publishing job (she needed little persuading, mind), and we would go on endless, fun adventures.
I remember taking her roller-skating through a park in central London and going too fast down a hill. I ended up headfirst in the lake, fully clothed. She thought it funny.
Another time, I lost a wheel while roller-skating down a steep busy London street. (Cursed skates!) I found myself screeching along at breakneck speed on only one skate. She thought that one scary.
We drank tea, had afternoon snoozes, and drove around in “Dolly,” my old London black cab that I had bought for a song.
Shara was the only girl I knew who would be willing to sit with me for hours on the motorway--broken down--waiting for roadside recovery to tow me to yet another garage to fix Dolly. Again.
We were (are!) in love.
I put a wooden board and mattress in the backseat so I could sleep in the taxi, and Charlie Mackesy painted funny cartoons inside. (Ironically, these are now the most valuable part of Dolly, which sits majestically outside our home.)
Our boys love playing in Dolly nowadays. Shara says I should get rid of her, as the taxi is rusting away, but Dolly was the car that I will forever associate with our early days together. How could I send her to the scrapyard?
In fact, this spring, we are going to paint Dolly in the colors of the rainbow, put decent seat belts in the backseat, and go on a road trip as a family. Heaven. We must never stop doing these sorts of things. They are what brought us together, and what will keep us having fun.
Spontaneity has to be exercised every day, or we lose it.
Shara, lovingly, rolls her eyes. ~ Bear Grylls,
1459:The seafarers tell of the Eastern Isle of Bliss,
It is lost in a wilderness of misty sea waves.
But the Sky-land of the south, the Yueh-landers say,
May be seen through cracks of the glimmering cloud.
This land of the sky stretches across the leagues of heaven;
It rises above the Five Mountains and towers over the Scarlet Castle,

While, as if staggering before it, the Tien-tai Peak
Of forty-eight thousand feet leans toward the southeast.

So, longing to dream of the southlands of Wu and Yueh,
I flew across the Mirror Lake one night under the moon.

The moon in the lake followed my flight,
Followed me to the town of Yen-chi.
Here still stands the mansion of Prince Hsieh.
I saw the green waters curl and heard the monkeys shrill cries.
I climbed, putting on the clogs of the prince,
Skyward on a ladder of clouds,
And half-way up from the sky-wall I saw the morning sun,
And heard the heavens cock crowing in the mid-air.
Now among a thousand precipices my way wound round and round;
Flowers choked the path; I leaned against a rock; I swooned.

Roaring bears and howling dragons roused me
Oh, the clamorous waters of the rapids!
I trembled in the deep forest, and shuddered at the overhanging crags,
one heaped upon another.
Clouds on clouds gathered above, threatening rain;
The waters gushed below, breaking into mist.

A peal of blasting thunder!
The mountains crumbled.
The stone gate of the hollow heaven
Opened wide, revealing
A vasty realm of azure without bottom,
Sun and moon shining together on gold and silver palaces.

Clad in rainbow and riding on the wind,
The ladies of the air descended like flower, flakes;
The faery lords trooping in, they were thick as hemp-stalks in the fields.
Phoenix birds circled their cars, and panthers played upon harps.
Bewilderment filled me, and terror seized on my heart.
I lifted myself in amazement, and alas!
I woke and found my bed and pillow
Gone was the radiant world of gossamer.

So with all pleasures of life.
All things pass with the east-flowing water.
I leave you and go when shall I return?
Let the white roe feed at will among the green crags,
Let me ride and visit the lovely mountains!
How can I stoop obsequiously and serve the mighty ones!
It stifles my soul.



Li Po. Translated by: Shigeyoshi Obata

~ Li Bai, His Dream Of Skyland
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1460:Shelley’s Death
What! And it was so! Thou wert then
Death-stricken from behind,
O heart of hearts! and they were men,
That rent thee from mankind!
Greedy hatred chasing love,
As a hawk pursues a dove,
Till the soft feathers float upon the careless wind.
Loathed life! that I might break the chain
Which links my kind with me,
To think that human hands for gain
Should have been turned 'gainst thee,Thee that wouldst have given thine all
For the poor, the sick, the thrall,
And weighed thyself as dross, 'gainst their felicity!
We deemed that Nature, jealous grown,
Withdrew the glimpse she gave,
In thy bright genius, of her own,
And, not to slay, but save,
That she timely took back thus
What had been but lent to us,
Shrouding thee in her winds, and lulling 'neath her wave.
For it seemed meet thou shouldst not long
Toss on life's fitful billow,
Nor sleep 'mid mounds of silenced wrong
Under the clay-cold willow:
Rather that thou shouldst recline
Amid waters crystalline,
The sea-shells at thy feet, and sea-weed for thy pillow.
We felt we had no right to keep
What never had been ours;
That thou belongedst to the deep,
And the uncounted hours;
That thou earthly no more wert
Than the rainbow's melting skirt,
The sunset's fading bloom, and midnight's shooting showers.
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And, thus resigned, our empty hands
Surrendered thee to thine,
Thinking thee drawn by kindred bands
Under the swirling brine,
Playing there on new-strung shell,
Tuned to Ocean's mystic swell,
Thy lyrical complaints and rhapsodies divine.
But now to hear no sea-nymph fair
Submerged thee with her smile,
And tempests were content to spare
Thee to us yet awhile,
But for ghouls in human mould
Ravaging the seas for gold,Oh! this blots out the heavens, and makes mere living vile!
Yet thy brief life presaged such death,
And it was meet that they
Who poisoned, should have quenched, thy breath,
Who slandered thee, should slay;
That thy spirit, long the mark
Of the dagger drawn in dark,
Should by the ruffian's stroke be ravished from the day.
Hush! From the grave where I so oft
Have stood, 'mid ruined Rome,
I seem to hear a whisper soft
Wafted across the foam;
Bidding justest wrath be still,
Good feel lovingly for ill,
As exiles for rough paths that help them to their home.
~ Alfred Austin,
1461:1.
No, no! go not to Lethe, neither twist
  Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kissed
  By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
  Nor let the beetle nor the death-moth be
     Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
  For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
     And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

2.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
  Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
  And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
  Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
     Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
  Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
     And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

3.
She dwells with Beauty Beauty that must die;
  And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
  Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips;
Ay, in the very temple of delight
  Veiled Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
     Though seen of none save him whose strenuous
     tongue
  Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
     And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
'Lord Houghton gives the following stanza as the intended opening of the Ode, from the original manuscript:

Though you should build a bark of dead men's bones,
And rear a phantom gibbet for a mast,
Stitch shrouds together for a sail, with groans
To fill it out, blood-stained and aghast;
Although your rudder be a dragon's tail
Long sever'd, yet still hard with agony,
Your cordage large uprootings from the skull
Of bald Medusa, certes you would fail
To find the Melancholy -- whether she
Dreameth in any isle of Lethe dull.

His Lordship adds -- "But no sooner was this written, than the poet became conscious that the coarseness of the contrast would destroy the general effect of luxurious tenderness which it was the object of the poem to produce, and he confined the gross notion of Melancholy to less violent images,..."'
~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, Ode On Melancholy
,
1462:It all suddenly made me nervous, and a little, tiny, baby bit worried. Pulling one of the stools at the island back, I plopped into it and simply stared at that discolored, harsh face in unease. “I just want to know whether I need to steal a bat or make a phone call.”

His mouth had been open and poised to argue with me… until he heard the last thing I said. “What?”

“I need to know—”

“What do you need to steal a bat for?”

“Well, no one I know owns one, and I can’t go buy one at the store and have it caught on videotape.”

“Videotape?”

Did he know nothing?

“Aiden, come on, if you beat the shit out of someone with a bat, they’re going to look for suspects. Once they have suspects, they’ll look through their things or their purchases. They’ll see I bought one recently and know it was premeditated. Why are you looking at me like that?”

His mauve-colored eyelids went heavy over the bright whites of his eyes, and the expression on his face was filled such a vast range of emotions, one after another after another, that I wasn’t sure which one I was supposed to hold on to. He switched the icepack to the other side of his bruised jaw and shook his head. “The amount you know about committing crimes is terrifying, Van.” His mouth twitched under the rainbow of whatever he was thinking. “It scares the hell out of me, and I don’t get scared easily.”

I snorted, pretty pleased with myself. “Calm down. I went through this phase when I was into watching a lot of crime TV shows. I’ve never even stolen a pen in my life.”

Aiden’s careful expression didn’t go anywhere.

“I’m not trying to kill anyone… unless we had to,” I joked weakly.

His nostrils flared so slightly I almost missed it. But what I didn’t miss was the way the corners of his mouth tipped up into a tiny smile.

I smiled at him as innocently as possible. “So do you want to tell me who’s going to get the fists of fury?” I hoped I sounded as harmless as I intended, even though I felt the exact opposite as every second passed.

“Fists of fury?”

“Yep.” I held up my hands just a little so he could see them. He had no idea the number of fights I’d gotten into with my sisters over the years. I didn’t always win—I rarely won if I was going to be honest—but I never gave up.

The sigh that came out of him was so long and drawn out, I kind of prepped myself for the half-assed answer that was going to come out of his mouth.

“It’s nothing.” There it was ~ Mariana Zapata,
1463:I mounted the stairs to my pavilion and sank onto Hlidskjalf, the magic throne from which I can peer into the Nine Worlds. The seat cradled my posterior with its ermine-lined softness. I took a few deep breaths to focus my concentration, then turned to the worlds beyond.
I usually begin with a cursory look-see of my own realm, Asgard, then circle through the remaining eight: Midgard, realm of the humans; the elf kingdom of Alfheim; Vanaheim, the Vanir gods’ domain; Jotunheim, land of the giants; Niflheim, the world of ice, fog, and mist; Helheim, realm of the dishonorable dead; Nidavellir, the gloomy world of the dwarves; and Muspellheim, home of the fire giants.
This time, I didn’t make it past Asgard. Because goats.
Specifically, Thor’s goats, Marvin and Otis. They were on the Bifrost, the radioactive Rainbow Bridge that connects Asgard to Midgard, wearing footy pajamas. But there was no sign of Thor, which was odd. He usually kept Marvin and Otis close. He killed and ate them every day, and they came back to life the next morning.
More disturbing was Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost. He was hopping around on all fours like a deranged lunatic. “So here’s what I want you guys to do,” he said to Otis and Marvin between hops. “Cavort. Frolic. Frisk about. Okay?”
I parted the clouds. “Heimdall! What the Helheim is going on down there?”
“Oh, hey, Odin!” Heimdall’s helium-squeaky voice set my teeth on edge. He waved his phablet at me. “I’m making a cute baby goat video as my Snapchat story. Cute baby goat videos are huge in Midgard. Huge!” He spread his hands out wide to demonstrate.
“I’m not a baby!” Marvin snapped.
“I’m cute?” Otis wondered.
“Put that phablet away and return to your duties at once!”
According to prophecy, giants will one day storm across the Bifrost, a signal that Ragnarok is upon us. Heimdall’s job is to sound the alarm on his horn, Gjallar—a job he would not be able to perform if he were making Snapchat stories.
“Can I finish my cute baby goat video first?” Heimdall pleaded.
“No.”
“Aw.” He turned to Otis and Marvin. “I guess that’s a wrap, guys.”
“Finally,” Marvin said. “I’m going for a graze.” He hopped off the bridge and plummeted to almost certain death and next-day resurrection. Otis sighed something about the grass being greener on the other side, then jumped after him.
“Heimdall,” I said tightly, “need I remind you what could happen if even one jotun snuck into Asgard?”
Heimdall hung his head. “Apologetic face emoji.”
I sighed. “Yes, all right. ~ Rick Riordan,
1464:In The Virgins
You can't put in the ground swell of the organ
from the Christiansted, , Anglican Church
behind the paratrooper's voice: 'Turned cop
after Vietnam. I made thirty jumps.'
Bells punish the dead street and pigeons lurch
from the stone belfry, opening their chutes,
circling until the rings of ringing stop.
'Salud!' The paratrooper's glass is raised.
The congregation rises to its feet
like a patrol, with scuffling shoes and boots,
repeating orders as the organ thumps:
'Praise Ye the Lord. The Lord's name be praised.'
You cannot hear, beyond the quiet harbor,
the breakers cannonading on the bruised
horizon, or the charter engines gunning for
Buck Island. The only war here is a war
of silence between blue sky and sea,
and just one voice, the marching choir's, is raised
to draft new conscripts with the ancient cry
of 'Onward, Christian Soldiers,' into pews
half-empty still, or like a glass, half-full.
Pinning itself to a cornice, a gull
hangs like a medal from the serge-blue sky.
Are these boats all? Is the blue water all?
The rocks surpliced with lace where they are moored,
dinghy, catamaran, and racing yawl,
nodding to the ground swell of 'Praise the Lord'?
Wesley and Watts, their evangelical light
lanced down the mine shafts to our chapel pew,
its beam gritted with motes of anthracite
that drifted on us in our chapel benches:
from God's slow-grinding mills in Lancashire,
ash on the dead mired in Flanders' trenches,
as a gray drizzle now defiles the view
of this blue harbor, framed in windows where
two yellow palm fronds, jerked by the wind's rain,
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agree like horses' necks, and nodding bear,
slow as a hearse, a haze of tasseled rain,
and, as the weather changes in a child,
the paradisal day outside grows dark,
the yachts flutter like moths in a gray jar,
the martial voices fade in thunder, while
across the harbor, like a timid lure,
a rainbow casts its seven-colored arc.
Tonight, now Sunday has been put to rest.
Altar lights ride the black glass where the yachts
stiffly repeat themselves and phosphoresce
with every ripple - the wide parking-lots
of tidal affluence - and every mast
sways the night's dial as its needle veers
to find the station which is truly peace.
Like neon lasers shot across the bars
discos blast out the music of the spheres,
and, one by one, science infects the stars.
~ Derek Walcott,
1465:We clattered into the streets of Remalna under a brilliant sky. The cobblestones were washed clean, the roofs of the houses steamed gently. A glorious day, which should have brought everyone out not just for market but to talk and walk and enjoy the clear air and sunshine.
But every window was shuttered, and we rode alone along the main streets. I sensed eyes on us from behind the barriers of curtain, shutter, and door, and my hand drifted near the saddle-sword that I still carried, poor as that might serve as a weapon against whatever awaited us.
And yet nothing halted our progress, not even when we reached the gates of Athanarel.
It was Vidanric who spotted the reason why. I blinked, suddenly aware of a weird singing in my ears, and shook my head, wishing I’d had more sleep. Vidanric edged his mount near mine. He lifted his chin and glanced up at the wall. My gaze followed his, and a pang of shock went through me when I saw the white statues of guards standing as stiff as stone in the place where living beings ought to be.
We rode through the gates and the singing in my ears intensified, a high, weird note. The edges of my vision scintillated with rainbow sparks and glitters, and I kept trying--unsuccessfully--to blink it away.
Athanarel was utterly still. It was like a winter’s day, only there was no snow, just the bright glitter overlaying the quiet greenery and water, for even the fountains had stopped. Here and there more of the sinister white statues dotted the scene, people frozen midstride, or seated, or reaching to touch a door. A danger sense, more profound than any I had yet felt, gripped me. Beside me Vidanric rode with wary tension in his countenance, his gaze everywhere, watching, assessing.
We progressed into the great courtyard before the Royal Hall. The huge carved doors stood wide open, the liveried servants who tended them frozen and white.
We slowed our mounts and stopped at the terraced steps. Vidanric’s face was grim as he dismounted. In silence we walked up the steps. I glanced at the door attendant, at her frozen white gaze focused beyond me, and shuddered.
Inside, the Throne Room was empty save for three or four white statues.
No, not empty.
As we walked further inside, the sun-dazzle diminished, and in the slanting rays of the west windows we saw the throne, its highlights firelined in gold and crimson.
Seated on it, dressed entirely in black, golden hair lit like a halo round his head, was Flauvic.
He smiled gently. “What took you so long, my dear cousin Vidanric?” he said. ~ Sherwood Smith,
1466:Still, this moment belongs to the two of them, Mom and this handsome stranger. He reaches the passenger side door and stares down at her with steely violet eyes-down at my mother who never cries, down at my mother who’s now bawling like a spanked child-his face contorted in a rainbow of so many emotions, some that I can’t even name.
Then Grom the Triton king sinks to his knees in front of her, and a single tear spills down his face. “Nalia,” he whispers.
And then my mother slaps him. It’s not the kind of slap you get for talking back. It’s not the kind of punch she dealt Galen and Toraf in our kitchen. It’s the kind of slap a woman gives a man when he’s hurt her deeply.
And Grom accepts it with grace.
“I looked for you,” she shouts, even though he’s inches from her.
Slowly, as if in a show of peace, he takes the hand that slapped him and sandwiches it between his own. He seems to revel in the feel of her touch. His face is pure tenderness, his voice like a massage to the nerves. “And I looked for you.”
“Your pulse was gone,” she insists. By now she chokes back sobs between words. She’s fighting for control. I’ve never seen my mother fight for control.
“As was yours.” I realize Grom knows what not to say, what not to do to provoke her. He is the complete opposite of her, or maybe just a completion of her.
Her eyes focus on his wrist, and tears slip down her face, leaving faint trails of mascara on her cheeks. He smiles and slowly pulls his hand away. I think he’s going to show her the bracelet he’s wearing, but instead he rips it off his wrist and holds it out for her inspection. From where I’m standing it looks like a single black ball tied to some sort of string. By my mom’s expression, this black ball has meaning. So much meaning that I think she’s forgotten to breathe. “My pearl,” she whispers. “I thought I’d lost it.”
He encloses it in her hand. “This isn’t your pearl, love. That one was lost in the explosion with you. For almost an entire season, I scoured the oyster beds, looking for another one that would do. I don’t know why, but I thought maybe if I found another perfect pearl, I would somehow find you, too. When I found this though, it didn’t bring me the peace I’d hoped for. But I couldn’t bring myself to discard it. I’ve worn it on my wrist ever since.”
This is all it takes for my mom to throw herself into his arms, bringing Rachel partially with her. Even so, it’s probably the most moving moment I’ve ever encountered in my eighteen years.
Or at least it would be, if my mom weren’t clinging to a man who is not my dad. ~ Anna Banks,
1467:A Masque Of Venice
(A Dream.)
Not a stain,
In the sun-brimmed sapphire cup that is the skyNot a ripple on the black translucent lane
Of the palace-walled lagoon.
Not a cry
As the gondoliers with velvet oar glide by,
Through the golden afternoon.
From this height
Where the carved, age-yellowed balcony o'erjuts
Yonder liquid, marble pavement, see the light
Shimmer soft beneath the bridge,
That abuts
On a labyrinth of water-ways and shuts
Half their sky off with its ridge.
We shall mark
All the pageant from this ivory porch of ours,
Masques and jesters, mimes and minstrels, while we hark
To their music as they fare.
Scent their flowers
Flung from boat to boat in rainbow radiant showers
Through the laughter-ringing air.
See! they come,
Like a flock of serpent-throated black-plumed swans,
With the mandoline, viol, and the drum,
Gems afire on arms ungloved,
Fluttering fans,
Floating mantles like a great moth's streaky vans
Such as Veronese loved.
But behold
In their midst a white unruffled swan appear.
One strange barge that snowy tapestries enfold,
White its tasseled, silver prow.
Who is here?
Prince of Love in masquerade or Prince of Fear,
Clad in glittering silken snow?
Cheek and chin
Where the mask's edge stops are of the hoar-frosts hue,
And no eyebeams seem to sparkle from within
Where the hollow rings have place.
Yon gay crew
Seem to fly him, he seems ever to pursue.
'T is our sport to watch the race.
At his side
Stands the goldenest of beauties; from her glance,
From her forehead, shines the splendor of a bride,
And her feet seem shod with wings,
To entrance,
For she leaps into a wild and rhythmic dance,
Like Salome at the King's.
'T is his aim
Just to hold, to clasp her once against his breast,
Hers to flee him, to elude him in the game.
Ah, she fears him overmuch!
Is it jest,Is it earnest? a strange riddle lurks half-guessed
In her horror of his touch.
For each time
That his snow-white fingers reach her, fades some ray
From the glory of her beauty in its prime;
And the knowledge grows upon us that the dance
Is no play
'Twixt the pale, mysterious lover and the fayBut the whirl of fate and chance.
Where the tide
Of the broad lagoon sinks plumb into the sea,
There the mystic gondolier hath won his bride.
Hark, one helpless, stifled scream!
Must it be?
Mimes and minstrels, flowers and music, where are ye?
Was all Venice such a dream?
~ Emma Lazarus,
1468:A Poet’s Eightieth Birthday
``He dieth young whom the Gods love,'' was said
By Greek Menander; nor alone by One
Who gave to Greece his English song and sword
Re-echoed is the saying, but likewise he
``Who uttered nothing base,'' and from whose brow,
By right divine, the laurel lapsed to yours,Great sire, great successor,-in verse confirmed
The avowal of ``the Morning-Star of Song,''
Happiest is he that dieth in his flower.
Yet can it be that it is gain, not loss,
To quit the pageant of this life before
The heart hath learnt its meaning; leave half-seen,
Half-seen, half-felt, and not yet understood,
The beauty and the bounty of the world;
The fertile waywardness of wanton Spring,
Summer's deep calm, the modulated joy
Of Autumn conscious of a task fulfilled,
And home-abiding Winter's pregnant sleep,
The secret of the seasons? Gain, to leave
The depths of love unfathomed, its heights unscaled,
Rapture and woe unreconciled, and pain
Unprized, unapprehended? This is loss,
Loss and not gain, sheer forfeiture of good,
Is banishment from Eden, though its fruit
Remains untasted.
Interpret then the oracle, ``He dies young
Whom the Gods love,'' for Song infallible
Hath so pronounced! . . . Thus I interpret it:
The favourites of the Gods die young, for they,
They grow not old with grief and deadening time,
But still keep April moisture in their heart
May's music in their ears. Their voice revives,
Revives, rejuvenates, the wintry world,
Flushes the veins of gnarled and knotted age,
And crowns the majesty of life with leaves
As green as are the sapling's.
Thrice happy Poet! to have thus renewed
68
Your youth with wisdom,-who, though life still seems
To your fresh gaze as frolic and as fair
As in the callow season when your heart
Was but the haunt and pairing-place and nest
Of nightingale and cuckoo, have enriched
Joy's inexperienced warblings with the note
Of mellow music, and whose mind mature,
Laden with life's sustaining lessons, still
Gleams bright with hope; even as I saw, to-day,
An April rainbow span the August corn.
Long may your green maturity maintain
Its universal season; and your voice,
A household sound, be heard about our hearths,
Now as a Christmas carol, now as the glee
Of vernal Maypole, now as harvest song.
And when, like light withdrawn from earth to heaven,
Your glorious gloaming fades into the sky,
We, looking upward, shall behold you there,
Shining amid the young unageing stars.
~ Alfred Austin,
1469:I WANT her though, to take the same from me.
She touches me as if I were herself, her own.
She has not realized yet, that fearful thing, that
I am the other,
she thinks we are all of one piece.
It is painfully untrue.

I want her to touch me at last, ah, on the root and
quick of my darkness
and perish on me, as I have perished on her.

Then, we shall be two and distinct, we shall have
each our separate being.
And that will be pure existence, real liberty.
Till then, we are confused, a mixture, unresolved,
unextricated one from the other.
It is in pure, unutterable resolvedness, distinction
of being, that one is free,
not in mixing, merging, not in similarity.
When she has put her hand on my secret, darkest
sources, the darkest outgoings,
when it has struck home to her, like a death, "this is him! "
she has no part in it, no part whatever,
it is the terrible other ,
when she knows the fearful other flesh , ah, dark-
ness unfathomable and fearful, contiguous and concrete,
when she is slain against me, and lies in a heap
like one outside the house,
when she passes away as I have passed away
being pressed up against the other ,
then I shall be glad, I shall not be confused with her,
I shall be cleared, distinct, single as if burnished in silver,
having no adherence, no adhesion anywhere,
one clear, burnished, isolated being, unique,
and she also, pure, isolated, complete,
two of us, unutterably distinguished, and in unutterable conjunction.

Then we shall be free, freer than angels, ah, perfect.


VIII

AFTER that, there will only remain that all men
detach themselves and become unique,
that we are all detached, moving in freedom more
than the angels,
conditioned only by our own pure single being,
having no laws but the laws of our own being.

Every human being will then be like a flower, untrammelled.
Every movement will be direct.
Only to be will be such delight, we cover our faces
when we think of it
lest our faces betray us to some untimely fiend.

Every man himself, and therefore, a surpassing
singleness of mankind.
The blazing tiger will spring upon the deer, un-dimmed,
the hen will nestle over her chickens,
we shall love, we shall hate,
but it will be like music, sheer utterance,
issuing straight out of the unknown,
the lightning and the rainbow appearing in us
unbidden, unchecked,
like ambassadors.

We shall not look before and after.
We shall be , now .
We shall know in full.
We, the mystic NOW.

(From the poem the Manifesto) ~ D H Lawrence,
1470:I.
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;--
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.

II.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rockswith the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below.
And the beard and the hair
Of the River-god were
Seen through the torrents sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymphs flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III.
'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!'
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earths white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,--
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

IV.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forests night:--
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the Oceans foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
They passed to their Dorian home.

V.
And now from their fountains
In Ennas mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;--
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
When they love but live no more.
Published by Mrs. Shelley, Posthumous Poems, 1824, and dated by her 'Pisa, 1820.' There is a fair draft amongst the Shelley manuscripts at the Bodleian Library.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Arethusa
,
1471:A Man
Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon,
Casting to South his eye across the bourne
Of his dominion (where the Palmiped,
With leathers 'twixt his toes, paddles his marsh,
Amphibious) saw a rising cloud of hats,
And heard a faint, far sound of distant cheers
Below the swell of the horizon. 'Lo,'
Cried one, 'the President! the President!'
All footed webwise then took up the wordThe hill tribes and the tribes lacustrine and
The folk riparian and littoral,
Cried with one voice: 'The President! He comes!'
And some there were who flung their headgear up
In emulation of the Southern mob;
While some, more soberly disposed, stood still
And silently had fits; and others made
Such reverent genuflexions as they could,
Having that climate in their bones. Then spake
The Court Dunce, humbly, as became him: 'Sire,
If thou, as heretofore thou hast, wilt deign
To reap advantage of a fool's advice
By action ordered after nature's way,
As in thy people manifest (for still
Stupidity's the only wisdom) thou
Wilt get thee straight unto to the border land
To mark the President's approach with such
Due, decent courtesy as it shall seem
We have in custom the best warrant for.'
Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon,
Eyeing the storm of hats which darkened all
The Southern sky, and hearing far hurrahs
Of an exulting people, answered not.
Then some there were who fell upon their knees,
And some upon their Governor, and sought
Each in his way, by blandishment or force,
To gain his action to their end. 'Behold,'
They said, 'thy brother Governor to South
Met him even at the gateway of his realm,
63
Crook-kneed, magnetic-handed and agrin,
Backed like a rainbow-all things done in form
Of due observance and respect. Shall we
Alone of all his servitors refuse
Swift welcome to our master and our lord?'
Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon,
Answered them not, but turned his back to them
And as if speaking to himself, the while
He started to retire, said: 'He be damned!'
To that High Place o'er Portland's central block,
Where the Recording Angel stands to view
The sinning world, nor thinks to move his feet
Aside and look below, came flocking up
Inferior angels, all aghast, and cried:
'Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon,
Has said, O what an awful word!-too bad
To be by us repeated!' 'Yes, I know,'
Said the superior bird-'I heard it too,
And have already booked it. Pray observe.'
Splitting the giant tome, whose covers fell
Apart, o'ershadowing to right and left
The Eastern and the Western world, he showed
The newly written entry, black and big,
Upon the credit side of thine account,
Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon.
~ Ambrose Bierce,
1472:Nee and I walked on in silence for a time, then she said in a guarded voice, “What think you of my cousin?”
“So that is the famous Lady Tamara Chamadis! Well, she really is as pretty as I’d heard,” I said. “But…I don’t know. Somehow she embodies everything I’d thought a courtier would be.”
“Fair enough.” Nee nodded. “Then I guess it’s safe for me to say--at risk of appearing a detestable gossip--watch out.”
I touched the top of my hand where I could still feel the Duke of Savona’s kiss. “All right. But I don’t understand why.”
“She is ambitious,” Nee said slowly. “Even when we were young she never had the time for any of lower status. I believe that if Galdran Merindar had shown any interest in sharing his power, she would have married him.”
“She wants to rule the kingdom?” I asked, glancing behind us. The secluded little pool was bounded by trees and hidden from view.
“She wants to reign over Court,” Nee stated. “Her interest in the multitudes of ordinary citizens extends only to the image of them bowing down to her.”
I whistled. “That’s a pretty comprehensive judgment.”
“Perhaps I have spoken ill,” she said contritely. “You must understand that I don’t like my cousin, having endured indifference or snubs since we were small, an heir’s condescension for a third child of a secondary branch of the family who would never inherit or amount to much.”
“She seemed friendly enough just now.”
“The first time she ever addressed me as cousin in public,” Nee said. “My status appears to have changed since I went away to Tlanth, affianced to a count, with the possible new king riding escort.” Her voice took on an acidic sort of humor.
“And what about the Duke of Savona?” I asked, his image vivid in my mind’s eye.
“In what sense?” She paused, turning to study my face. “He is another whose state of mind is impossible to guess.”
I was still trying to disentangle all my observations from that brief meeting. “Is he, well, twoing with Lady Tamara?”
She smiled at the term. “They both are experts at dalliance, but until last year I had thought they had more interest in each other than in anyone else,” she said carefully. “Though even that is difficult to say for certain. Interest and ambition sometimes overlap and sometimes not.”
As we wound our way along the path back toward Athanarel in the deepening gloom, I saw warm golden light inside the palace windows. With a glorious flicker, glowglobes appeared along the pathway, suspended in the air like great rainbow-sheened bubbles, their light soft and benevolent.
“I’m not certain what you mean by that last bit,” I said at last. “As for the first, you said ‘until last year.’ Does that mean that Lady Tamara has someone else in view?”
“But of course,” Nee said blandly. “The Marquis of Shevraeth.”
I laughed all the way up the steps into the Residence. ~ Sherwood Smith,
1473:By December 1975, a year had passed since Mr. Harvey had packed his bags, but there was still no sign of him. For a while, until the tape dirtied or the paper tore, store owners kept a scratchy sketch of him taped to their windows. Lindsey and Samuel walked in the neighboorhood or hung out at Hal's bike shop. She wouldn't go to the diner where the other kids went. The owner of the diner was a law and order man. He had blown up the sketch of George Harvey to twice its size and taped it to the front door. He willingly gave the grisly details to any customer who asked- young girl, cornfield, found only an elbow.
Finallly Lindsey asked Hal to give her a ride to the police station. She wanted to know what exactly they were doing.
They bid farewell to Samuel at the bike shop and Hal gave Lindsey a ride through a wet December snow.
From the start, Lindsey's youth and purpose had caught the police off guard. As more and more of them realized who she was, they gave her a wider and wider berth. Here was this girl, focused, mad, fifteen...
When Lindsey and Hal waited outside the captain's office on a wooden bench, she thought she saw something across the room that she recognized. It was on Detective Fenerman's desk and it stood out in the room because of its color. What her mother had always distinguished as Chinese red, a harsher red than rose red, it was the red of classic red lipsticks, rarely found in nature. Our mother was proud of her ability fo wear Chinese red, noting each time she tied a particular scarf around her neck that it was a color even Grandma Lynn dared not wear.
Hal,' she said, every muscle tense as she stared at the increasingly familiar object on Fenerman's desk.
Yes.'
Do you see that red cloth?'
Yes.'
Can you go and get it for me?'
When Hal looked at her, she said: 'I think it's my mother's.'
As Hal stood to retrieve it, Len entered the squad room from behind where Lindsey sat. He tapped her on the shoulder just as he realized what Hal was doing. Lindsey and Detective Ferman stared at each other.
Why do you have my mother's scarf?'
He stumbled. 'She might have left it in my car one day.'
Lindsey stood and faced him. She was clear-eyed and driving fast towards the worst news yet. 'What was she doing in your car?'
Hello, Hal,' Len said.
Hal held the scarf in his head. Lindsey grabbed it away, her voice growing angry. 'Why do you have m mother's scarf?'
And though Len was the detective, Hal saw it first- it arched over her like a rainbow- Prismacolor understanding. The way it happened in algebra class or English when my sister was the first person to figure out the sum of x or point out the double entendres to her peers. Hal put his hand on Lindsey's shoulder to guide her. 'We should go,' he said.
And later she cried out her disbelief to Samuel in the backroom of the bike shop. ~ Alice Sebold,
1474:Mine are the night and morning,
The pits of air, the gulf of space,
The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
The innumerable days.

I hid in the solar glory,
I am dumb in the pealing song,
I rest on the pitch of the torrent,
In slumber I am strong.

No numbers have counted my tallies,
No tribes my house can fill,
I sit by the shining Fount of Life,
And pour the deluge still;

And ever by delicate powers
Gathering along the centuries
From race on race the rarest flowers,
My wreath shall nothing miss.

And many a thousand summers
My apples ripened well,
And light from meliorating stars
With firmer glory fell.

I wrote the past in characters
Of rock and fire the scroll,
The building in the coral sea,
The planting of the coal.

And thefts from satellites and rings
And broken stars I drew,
And out of spent and aged things
I formed the world anew;

What time the gods kept carnival,
Tricked out in star and flower,
And in cramp elf and saurian forms
They swathed their too much power.

Time and Thought were my surveyors,
They laid their courses well,
They boiled the sea, and baked the layers
Or granite, marl, and shell.

But he, the man-child glorious,
Where tarries he the while?
The rainbow shines his harbinger,
The sunset gleams his smile.

My boreal lights leap upward,
Forthright my planets roll,
And still the man-child is not born,
The summit of the whole.

Must time and tide forever run?
Will never my winds go sleep in the west?
Will never my wheels which whirl the sun
And satellites have rest?

Too much of donning and doffing,
Too slow the rainbow fades,
I weary of my robe of snow,
My leaves and my cascades;

I tire of globes and races,
Too long the game is played;
What without him is summer's pomp,
Or winter's frozen shade?

I travail in pain for him,
My creatures travail and wait;
His couriers come by squadrons,
He comes not to the gate.

Twice I have moulded an image,
And thrice outstretched my hand,
Made one of day, and one of night,
And one of the salt sea-sand.

One in a Judaean manger,
And one by Avon stream,
One over against the mouths of Nile,
And one in the Academe.

I moulded kings and saviours,
And bards o'er kings to rule;
But fell the starry influence short,
The cup was never full.

Yet whirl the glowing wheels once more,
And mix the bowl again;
Seethe, fate! the ancient elements,
Heat, cold, wet, dry, and peace, and pain.

Let war and trade and creeds and song
Blend, ripen race on race,
The sunburnt world a man shall breed
Of all the zones, and countless days.

No ray is dimmed, no atom worn,
My oldest force is good as new,
And the fresh rose on yonder thorn
Gives back the bending heavens in dew.
by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, Song of Nature
,
1475:To the Fire-Fly of Jamaica, Seen in a Collection
How art thou alter'd! since afar,
Thou seem'dst a bright earth wandering star;
When thy living lustre ran,
Tall majestic trees between,
And Guazume, or Swietan,
Or the Pimento's glossy green,
As caught their varnish'd leaves, thy glancing light
Reflected flying fires, amid the moonless night.
From shady heights, where currents spring,
Where the ground dove dips her wing,
Winds of night reviving blow,
Thro' rustling fields of maize and cane,
And wave the Coffee's fragrant bough;
But winds of night, for thee in vain
May breathe, of the Plumeria's luscious bloom,
Or Granate's scarlet buds, or Plinia's mild perfume.
The recent captive, who in vain,
Attempts to break his heavy chain,
And find his liberty in flight;
Shall no more in terror hide,
From thy strange and doubtful light,
In the mountain's cavern'd side,
Or gully deep, where gibbering monkies cling,
And broods the giant bat, on dark funereal wing.
Nor thee his darkling steps to aid,
Thro' the forest's pathless shade,
Shall the sighing Slave invoke;
Who, his daily task perform'd,
Would forget his heavy yoke;
And by fond affections warm'd,
Glide to some dear sequester'd spot, to prove,
Friendship's consoling voice, or sympathising love.
Now, when sinks the Sun away,
And fades at once the sultry day,
Thee, as falls the sudden night,
207
Never Naturalist shall view,
Dart with corruscation bright,
Down the cocoa avenue;
Or see thee give, with transient gleams to glow,
The green Banana's head, or Shaddock's loaded bough.
Ah! never more shalt thou behold,
The midnight Beauty, slow unfold
Her golden zone, and thro' the gloom
To thee her radiant leaves display,
More lovely than the roseate bloom
Of flowers, that drink the tropic day;
And while thy dancing flames around her blaze,
Shed odours more refin'd, and beam with brighter rays.
The glass thy faded form contains,
But of thy lamp no spark remains;
That lamp, which through the palmy grove,
Floated once with sapphire beam,
As lucid as the star of Love,
Reflected in the bickering stream;
Transient and bright! so human meteors rise,
And glare and sink, in pensive Reason 's eyes.
Ye dazzling comets that appear
In Fashion's rainbow atmosphere,
Lightning and flashing for a day;
Think ye, how fugitive your fame?
How soon from her light scroll away,
Is wafted your ephemeron name?
Even tho' on canvas still your forms are shewn,
Or the slow chisel shapes the pale resembling stone.
Let vaunting O STENTATION trust
The pencil's art, or marble bust,
While long neglected modest worth
Unmark'd, unhonor'd, and unknown,
Obtains at length a little earth,
Where kindred merit weeps alone;
Yet there, tho' V ANITY no trophies rear,
Is Friendship 's long regret, and true A FFECTION 's tear!
208
~ Charlotte Smith,
1476:Morning, evening, noon and night,
``Praise God!; sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned,
Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he laboured, long and well;
O'er his work the boy's curls fell.

But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, ``Praise God!''

Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.

Said Blaise, the listening monk, ``Well done;
``I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

``As well as if thy voice to-day
``Were praising God, the Pope's great way.

``This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
``Praises God from Peter's dome.''

Said Theocrite, ``Would God that I
``Might praise him, that great way, and die!''

Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.

With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.

God said in heaven, ``Nor day nor night
``Now brings the voice of my delight.''

Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,
Spread his wings and sank to earth;

Entered, in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well;

And morning, evening, noon and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.

And from a boy, to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling's hue:

The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:

And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.

(He did God's will; to him, all one
If on the earth or in the sun.)

God said, ``A praise is in mine ear;
``There is no doubt in it, no fear:

``So sing old worlds, and so
``New worlds that from my footstool go.

``Clearer loves sound other ways:
``I miss my little human praise.''

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell
The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by
The great outer gallery,

With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:

And all his past career
Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
Till on his life the sickness weighed;

And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer:

And rising from the sickness drear
He grew a priest, and now stood here.

To the East with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.

``I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell
``And set thee here; I did not well.

``Vainly I left my angel-sphere,
``Vain was thy dream of many a year.

``Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped-
``Creation's chorus stopped!

``Go back and praise again
``The early way, while I remain.

``With that weak voice of our disdain,
``Take up creation's pausing strain.

``Back to the cell and poor employ:
``Resume the craftsman and the boy!''

Theocrite grew old at home;
A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.

One vanished as the other died:
They sought God side by side.


~ Robert Browning, The Boy And the Angel
,
1477:I got your flowers. They’re beautiful, thank you.” A gorgeous riot of Gerber daisies and lilies in a rainbow of reds, pinks, yellows and oranges.
“Welcome. Bet Duncan loved sending one of his guys out to pick them up for me.”
She could hear the smile in his voice, imagined the devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, he did. Said it’s probably the first time in the history of WITSEC that a U.S. Marshal delivered flowers to one of their witnesses.”
A low chuckle. “Well, this was a special circumstance, so they helped me out.”
“I loved the card you sent with them the best though.” Proud of you. Give ‘em hell tomorrow. He’d signed it Nathan rather than Nate, which had made her smile. “I had no idea you were romantic,” she continued. “All these interesting things I’m learning about you.” She hadn’t been able to wipe the silly smile off her face after one of the security team members had knocked on her door and handed them to her with a goofy smile and a, “special delivery”.
“Baby, you haven’t seen anything yet. When the trial’s done you’re gonna get all the romance you can handle, and then some.”
“Really?” Now that was something for a girl to look forward to, and it sure as hell did the trick in taking her mind off her worries. “Well I’m all intrigued, because it’s been forever since I was romanced. What do you have in mind? Candlelit dinners? Going to the movies? Long walks? Lazy afternoon picnics?”
“Not gonna give away my hand this early on, but I’ll take those into consideration.”
“And what’s the key to your heart, by the way? I mean, other than the thing I did to you this morning.”
“What thing is that? Refresh my memory,” he said, a teasing note in his voice.
She smiled, enjoying the light banter. It felt good to let her worry about tomorrow go and focus on what she had to look forward to when this was all done. Being with him again, seeing her family, getting back to her life. A life that would hopefully include Nathan in a romantic capacity. “Waking you up with my mouth.”
He gave a low groan. “I loved every second of it. But think simpler.”
Simpler than sex? For a guy like him? “Food, then. I bet you’re a sucker for a home-cooked meal. Am I right?” He chuckled.
“That works too, but it’s still not the key.”
“Then what?”
“You.”
She blinked, her heart squeezing at the conviction behind his answer. “Me?”
“Yeah, just you. And maybe bacon,” he added, a smile in his voice. He was so freaking adorable.
“So you’re saying if I made and served you a BLT, you’d be putty in my hands?” Seemed hard to imagine, but okay.
A masculine rumble filled her ears. “God, yeah.”
She couldn’t help the sappy smile that spread across her face. “Wow, you are easy. And I can definitely arrange that.”
“I can hardly wait. Will you serve it to me naked? Or maybe wearing just a frilly little apron and heels?”
She smothered a laugh, but a clear image of her doing just that popped into her head, serving him the sandwich in that sexy outfit while watching his eyes go all heated. “Depends on how good you are.”
“Oh, baby, I’ll be so good to you, you have no idea. ~ Kaylea Cross,
1478:The masses of dense foliage all round became prison walls, impassable circular green ice-walls, surging towards her; just before they closed in, I caught the terrified glint of her eyes.

On a winter day she was in the studio, posing for him in the nude, her arms raised in a graceful position. To hold it for any length of time must have been a strain, I wondered how she managed to keep so still; until I saw the cords attached to her wrists and ankles.

Instead of the darkness, she faced a stupendous sky-conflagration, an incredible glacial dream-scene. Cold coruscations of rainbow fire pulsed overhead, shot through by shafts of pure incandescence thrown out by mountains of solid ice towering all round. Closer, the trees round the house, sheathed in ice, dripped and sparkled with weird prismatic jewels, reflecting the vivid changing cascades above. Instead of the familiar night sky, the aurora borealis formed a blazing, vibrating roof of intense cold and colour, beneath which the earth was trapped with all its inhabitants, walled in by those impassable glittering ice-cliffs. The world had become an arctic prison from which no escape was possible, all its creatures trapped as securely as were the trees, already lifeless inside their deadly resplendent armour.

Frozen by the deathly cold emanating from the ice, dazzled by the blaze of crystalline ice-light, she felt herself becoming part of the polar vision, her structure becoming one with the structure of ice and snow. As her fate, she accepted the world of ice, shining, shimmering, dead; she resigned herself to the triumph of glaciers and the death of her world.

Fear was the climate she lived in; if she had ever known kindness it would have been different. The trees seemed to obstruct her with deliberate malice. All her life she had thought of herself as a foredoomed victim, and now the forest had become the malign force that would destroy her. In desperation she tried to run, but a hidden root tripped her, she almost fell. Branches caught in her hair, tugged her back, lashed out viciously when they were disentangled. The silver hairs torn from her head glittered among black needles; they were the clues her pursuers would follow, leading them to their victim. She escaped from the forest at length only to see the fjord waiting for her. An evil effluence rose from the water, something primitive, savage, demanding victims, hungry for a human victim.

It had been night overhead all along, but below it was still daylight. There were no clouds. I saw islands scattered over the sea, a normal aerial view. Then something extraordinary, out of this world: a wall of rainbow ice jutting up from the sea, cutting right across, pushing a ridge of water ahead of it as it moved, as if the flat pale surface of sea was a carpet being rolled up. It was a sinister, fascinating sight, which did not seem intended for human eyes. I stared down at it, seeing other things at the same time. The ice world spreading over our world. Mountainous walls of ice surrounding the girl. Her moonwhite skin, her hair sparkling with diamond prisms under the moon. The moon’s dead eye watching the death of our world. ~ Anna Kavan,
1479:I’m not sure how the ponies happened, though I have an inkling: “Can I get you anything?” I’ll say, getting up from a dinner table, “Coffee, tea, a pony?” People rarely laugh at this, especially if they’ve heard it before. “This party’s ‘sposed to be fun,” a friend will say. “Really? Will there be pony rides?” It’s a nervous tic and a cheap joke, cheapened further by the frequency with which I use it. For that same reason, it’s hard to weed it out of my speech – most of the time I don’t even realize I’m saying it. There are little elements in a person’s life, minor fibers that become unintentionally tangled with your personality. Sometimes it’s a patent phrase, sometimes it’s a perfume, sometimes it’s a wristwatch. For me, it is the constant referencing of ponies.

I don’t even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced an actual pony, Juan-Valdez-style, I would run very fast in the other direction. During a few summers at camp, I rode a chronically dehydrated pony named Brandy who would jolt down without notice to lick the grass outside the corral and I would careen forward, my helmet tipping to cover my eyes. I do, however, like ponies on the abstract. Who doesn’t? It’s like those movies with the animated insects. Sure, the baby cockroach seems cute with CGI eyelashes, but how would you feel about fifty of her real-life counterparts living in your oven? And that’s precisely the manner in which the ponies clomped their way into my regular speech: abstractly. “I have something for you,” a guy will say on our first date. “Is it a pony?” No. It’s usually a movie ticket or his cell phone number. But on our second date, if I ask again, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a pony.

And thus the Pony drawer came to be. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but almost every guy I have ever dated has unwittingly made a contribution to the stable. The retro pony from the ‘50s was from the most thoughtful guy I have ever known. The one with the glitter horseshoes was from a boy who would later turn out to be straight somehow, not gay. The one with the rainbow haunches was from a librarian, whom I broke up with because I felt the chemistry just wasn’t right, and the one with the price tag stuck on the back was given to me by a narcissist who was so impressed with his gift he forgot to remover the sticker. Each one of them marks the beginning of a new relationship. I don’t mean to hint. It’s not a hint, actually, it’s a flat out demand: I. Want. A. Pony. I think what happens is that young relationships are eager to build up a romantic repertoire of private jokes, especially in the city where there’s not always a great “how we met” story behind every great love affair. People meet at bars, through mutual friends, on dating sites, or because they work in the same industry. Just once a coworker of mine, asked me out between two stops on the N train. We were holding the same pole and he said, “I know this sounds completely insane, bean sprout, but would you like to go to a very public place with me and have a drink or something...?” I looked into his seemingly non-psycho-killing, rent-paying, Sunday Times-subscribing eyes and said, “Sure, why the hell not?” He never bought me a pony. But he didn’t have to, if you know what I mean. ~ Sloane Crosley,
1480:The dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic. This may appear a surprising claim, which would not have seemed even remotely
conceivable at the start of the century and which is bound to encounter fierce resistance even now. However, when the time comes to look back at the century, it seems very likely that future literary historians, detached from the squabbles of our present, will see as its most representative and distinctive works books like J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and also George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm, William Golding’s Lord of the Flies and The Inheritors, Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five and Cat’s Cradle, Ursula Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot-49 and Gravity’s Rainbow. The list could readily be extended, back to the late nineteenth century with H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr Moreau and The War of the Worlds, and up to writers currently active like Stephen R. Donaldson and George R.R. Martin. It could take in authors as different, not to say opposed, as Kingsley and Martin Amis, Anthony Burgess, Stephen King, Terry Pratchett, Don DeLillo, and Julian Barnes. By the end of the century, even authors deeply committed to the realist novel have often found themselves unable to resist the gravitational pull of the fantastic as a literary mode.

This is not the same, one should note, as fantasy as a literary genre – of the authors listed above, only four besides Tolkien would find their works regularly placed on the ‘fantasy’ shelves of bookshops, and ‘the fantastic’ includes many genres besides fantasy: allegory and parable, fairy-tale, horror and science fiction, modern ghost-story and medieval romance. Nevertheless, the point remains.
Those authors of the twentieth century who have spoken most powerfully to and for their contemporaries have for some reason found it necessary to use the metaphoric mode of fantasy, to write about worlds and creatures which we know do not exist, whether Tolkien’s ‘Middle-earth’, Orwell’s ‘Ingsoc’, the remote islands of Golding and Wells, or the Martians and Tralfa-madorians who burst into peaceful English or American suburbia in Wells and Vonnegut. A ready explanation for this phenomenon is of course that it represents a kind of literary disease, whose sufferers – the millions of readers of fantasy – should be scorned, pitied, or rehabilitated back to correct and proper taste. Commonly the disease is said to be ‘escapism’: readers and writers of fantasy are fleeing from reality. The problem with this is that so many of the originators of the later twentieth-century fantastic mode, including all four of those first mentioned above (Tolkien, Orwell, Golding, Vonnegut) are combat veterans, present at or at least deeply involved in the most traumatically significant events of the century, such as the Battle of the Somme (Tolkien), the bombing of Dresden (Vonnegut), the rise and early victory of fascism (Orwell). Nor can anyone say that they turned their backs on these events. Rather, they had to find some way of communicating and commenting on them. It is strange that this had, for some reason, in so many cases to involve fantasy as well as realism, but that is what has happened. ~ Tom Shippey,
1481:Weather Permitting
The August day you wake to takes you by surprise.
Its bitterness. Black sullen clouds. Brackish downpour.
A drift-net of wetness enmeshes the rented cottage,
towels and children’s swimwear sodden on the line.
Dry-gulleted drains gulp down neat rain.
Drops bounce from a leaking gutter with hard,
uncompromising slaps: and, like resignation
in the face of death, you contemplate winter
with something close to tenderness, the sprint
from fuel shed to back door, the leisurely
ascent of peat smoke, even the suburban haze
of boiler flues when thermostats are set.
You warm to those thoughts as you sit there,
brainstorming ways to keep the family amused,
plans abandoned for barefoot games on dry sand.
Handcraft shops? Slot-machine arcades? Hotel grills?
In truth - manipulating toast crumbs backwards,
forwards at the unsteady table’s edge - you’d prefer
to return to your bed as if with some mild
ailment, pampered by duvet, whiskey, cloves.
II
Let it rain.
Let the clouds discharge their contents like reserve tanks.
Let the worms burrow their way to the topsoil
from whatever dank Sargasso they were spawned in.
Let dampness rot the coffin-boards of the summer house.
Let the shrubs lose their foothold in the wind,
the nettles lose their edge, the drenched rat
with slicked-back hair scuttle to its sewage pipe.
Let the tropical expanses of the rhubarb leaves
serve as an artificial pond, a reservoir.
17
Let the downpour’s impact on the toolshed be akin
to the dull applause on an archive recording of a love duet.
Let the bricklayers at the building site wrap
pathetic sheets of polythene around doomed foundations.
Let the limb ripped from the tree’s socket
hover fleetingly in the air, an olive branch.
Let a rainbow’s fantail unfurl like a bird of paradise.
Let a covenant be sealed, its wording watertight.
Let the floods recede.
Let there be light.
III after Giacomo Leopardi
The storm runs out of wind; nature, which
abhors a silence, fills the vacancy with birdsong.
Deserting the airless, low-ceilinged coop,
the hen repeats herself ad infinitum. Replenished
like the rain-barrels, hearts grow sanguine.
Hammering resumes. Humming. Gossip. Croons.
Sun strides down lanes that grass has repossessed,
takes a shine to the brasses at the hotel where,
by the window she thrust open, the chambermaid
is marvelling at the cleansed freshness, calm.
Balm of mind and body. Will we ever feel
more reconciled to life than now, ever
know a moment more conducive to new hopes,
eager beginnings, auspicious starts?
How easily pleased we are. Rescind
the threat of torment for the briefest
second and we blot out dark nights of the soul
when lightning flashes fanned by wind
ignited fire and brimstone visions.
Sorrow is perennial; happiness, a rare
bloom, perfumes the air - so that we breathe
with the ease of a camphor-scented chest
from which congestion has just lifted.
Lack of woe equates with rapture then,
though not till death will pain take full leave
18
of our senses, grant us permanent relief.
~ Dennis O'Driscoll,
1482:The Passing Of Spring
Spring came out of the woodland chase,
With her violet eyes and her primrose face,
With an iris scarf for her sole apparel,
And a voice as blithe as a blackbird's carol.
As she flitted by garth and slipped through glade,
Her light limbs winnowed the wind, and made
The gold of the pollened palm to float
On her budding bosom and dimpled throat.
Then, brushing the nut-sweet gorse, she sped
Where the runnel lisps in its reedy bed,
O'er shepherded pasture and crested fallow,
And buskined her thigh with strips of sallow.
By the marigold marsh she paused to twist
The gold-green coils round her blue-veined wrist,
And out of the water-bed scooped the cresses,
And frolicked them round her braidless tresses.
She passed by the hazel dell, and lifted
The coverlet fern where the snow had drifted,
To see if it there still lingered on,
Then shook the catkins, and laughed, `'Tis gone!'
Through the crimson tips of the wintry brake
She peeped, and shouted, `Awake! Awake!'
And over the hill and down the hollow
She called, `I have come. So follow, follow!'
Then the windflower looked through the crumbling mould,
And the celandine opened its eyes of gold,
And the primrose sallied from chestnut shade,
And carried the common and stormed the glade.
In sheltered orchard and windy heath
The dauntless daffodils slipped their sheath,
And, glittering close in clump and cluster,
Dared norland tempests to blow and bluster.
534
Round crouching cottage and soaring castle
The larch unravelled its bright-green tassel;
In scrub and hedgerow the blackthorn flowered,
And laughed at the May for a lagging coward.
Then, tenderly ringing old Winter's knell,
The hyacinth swung its soundless bell,
And over and under and through and through
The copses there shimmered a sea of blue.
Like a sunny shadow of cloudlet fleeting,
Spring skimmed the pastures where lambs were bleating;
Along with them gambolled by bole and mound,
And raced and chased with them round and round.
To the cuckoo she called, `Why lag you now?
The woodpecker nests in the rotten bough;
The song-thrush pipes to his brooding mate,
And the thistlefinch pairs: you alone are late.'
Then over the seasonless sea he came,
And jocundly answered her, name for name,
And, falsely flitting from copse to cover,
Made musical mock of the jilted lover.
But with him there came the faithful bird
That lives with the stars, and is nightly heard
When the husht babe dimples the mother's breast,
And Spring said, sighing, `I love you best.
`For sweet is the sorrow that sobs in song
When Love is stronger than Death is strong,
And the vanished Past a more living thing
Than the fleeting voice and the fickle wing.'
Then the meadows grew golden, the lawns grew white,
And the poet-lark sang himself out of sight;
And English maidens and English lanes
Were serenaded by endless strains.
The hawthorn put on her bridal veil,
535
And milk splashed foaming in pan and pail;
The swain and his sweeting met and kissed,
And the air and the sky were amethyst.
`Now scythes are whetted and roses blow,'
Spring, carolling, said; `It is time to go.'
And though we called to her, `Stay! O stay!'
She smiled through a rainbow, and passed away.
~ Alfred Austin,
1483:A Faint Music by Robert Hass

Maybe you need to write a poem about grace.

When everything broken is broken,
and everything dead is dead,
and the hero has looked into the mirror with complete contempt,
and the heroine has studied her face and its defects
remorselessly, and the pain they thought might,
as a token of their earnestness, release them from themselves
has lost its novelty and not released them,
and they have begun to think, kindly and distantly,
watching the others go about their days—
likes and dislikes, reasons, habits, fears—
that self-love is the one weedy stalk
of every human blossoming, and understood,
therefore, why they had been, all their lives,
in such a fury to defend it, and that no one—
except some almost inconceivable saint in his pool
of poverty and silence—can escape this violent, automatic
life’s companion ever, maybe then, ordinary light,
faint music under things, a hovering like grace appears.

As in the story a friend told once about the time
he tried to kill himself. His girl had left him.
Bees in the heart, then scorpions, maggots, and then ash.
He climbed onto the jumping girder of the bridge,
the bay side, a blue, lucid afternoon.
And in the salt air he thought about the word “seafood,”
that there was something faintly ridiculous about it.
No one said “landfood.” He thought it was degrading to the rainbow perch
he’d reeled in gleaming from the cliffs, the black rockbass,
scales like polished carbon, in beds of kelp
along the coast—and he realized that the reason for the word
was crabs, or mussels, clams. Otherwise
the restaurants could just put “fish” up on their signs,
and when he woke—he’d slept for hours, curled up
on the girder like a child—the sun was going down
and he felt a little better, and afraid. He put on the jacket
he’d used for a pillow, climbed over the railing
carefully, and drove home to an empty house.

There was a pair of her lemon yellow panties
hanging on a doorknob. He studied them. Much-washed.
A faint russet in the crotch that made him sick
with rage and grief. He knew more or less
where she was. A flat somewhere on Russian Hill.
They’d have just finished making love. She’d have tears
in her eyes and touch his jawbone gratefully. “God,”
she’d say, “you are so good for me.” Winking lights,
a foggy view downhill toward the harbor and the bay.
“You’re sad,” he’d say. “Yes.” “Thinking about Nick?”
“Yes,” she’d say and cry. “I tried so hard,” sobbing now,
“I really tried so hard.” And then he’d hold her for a while—
Guatemalan weavings from his fieldwork on the wall—
and then they’d fuck again, and she would cry some more,
and go to sleep.
And he, he would play that scene
once only, once and a half, and tell himself
that he was going to carry it for a very long time
and that there was nothing he could do
but carry it. He went out onto the porch, and listened
to the forest in the summer dark, madrone bark
cracking and curling as the cold came up.

It’s not the story though, not the friend
leaning toward you, saying “And then I realized—,”
which is the part of stories one never quite believes.
I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain
it must sometimes make a kind of singing.
And that the sequence helps, as much as order helps—
First an ego, and then pain, and then the singing ~ Robert Hass,
1484:Eclogue Of The Shepherd And The Townie
SHEPHERD
Not the blue-fountained Florida hotel,
Bell-capped, bellevued, straight-jacketed and decked
With chromium palms and a fromage of moon,
Not goodnight chocolates, nor the soothing slide
Of huîtres and sentinel straight-up martinis,
Neither the yacht heraldic nor the stretch
Limos and pants, Swiss banks or Alpine stocks
Shall solace you, or quiet the long pain
Of cold ancestral disinheritance,
Severing your friendly commerce with the beasts,
Gone, lapsed, and cancelled, rendered obsolete
As the gonfalon of Bessarabia,
The shawm, the jitney, the equestrian order,
The dark daguerreotypes of Paradise.
TOWNIE
No humble folding cot, no steaming sty
Or sheep-dipped meadow now shall dignify
Your brute and sordid commerce with the beasts,
Scotch your flea-bitten bitterness or down
The voice that keeps repeating, “Up your Ars
Poetica, your earliest diapered dream
Of the long-gone Odd Fellows amity
Of bunny and scorpion, the entente cordiale
Of lamb and lion, the old nursery fraud
And droll Aesopic zoo in which the chatter
Of chimp and chaffinch, manticore and mouse,
Diverts us from all thought of entrecôtes,
Prime ribs and rashers, filets mignonnettes,
Provided for the paired pythons and jackals,
Off to their catered second honeymoons
On Noah’s forty-day excursion cruise.”
SHEPHERD
15
Call it. if this should please you, but a dream,
A bald, long-standing lie and mockery,
Yet it deserves better than your contempt.
Think also of that interstellar darkness,
Silence and desolation from which the Tempter,
Like a space capsule exiled into orbit,
Looks down on our green cabinet of peace,
A place classless and weaponless, without
Envy or fossil fuel or architecture.
Think of him as at dawn he views a snail
Traveling with blind caution up the spine
Of a frond asway with its little inching weight
In windless nods that deepen with assent
Till the ambler at last comes back to earth,
Leaving his route, as on the boughs of heaven,
Traced with a silver scrawl. The morning mist
Haunts all about that action till the sun
Makes of it a small glory, and the dew
Holds the whole scale of rainbow, the accord
Of stars and waters, luminously viewed
At the same time by water-walking spiders
That dimple a surface with their passages.
In the lewd Viennese catalogue of dreams
It’s one of the few to speak of without shame.
TOWNIE
It is the dream of a shepherd king or child,
And is without all blemish except one:
That it supposes all virtue to stem
From pure simplicity. But many cures
Of body and of spirit are the fruit
Of cultivated thought. Kindness itself
Depends on what we call consideration.
Your fear of corruption is a fear of thought,
Therefore you would be thoughtless. Think again.
Consider the perfect hexagrams of snow,
Those broadcast emblems of divinity,
That prove in their unduplicable shapes
16
Insights of Thales and Pythagoras.
If you must dream, dream of the ratio
Of Nine to Six to Four Palladio used
To shape those rooms and chapels where the soul
Imagines itself blessed, and finds its peace
Even in chambers of the Malcontenta,
Those just proportions we hypostatize
Not as flat prairies but the City of God.
~ Anthony Evan Hecht,
1485:The Cloud
One summer morn, out of the sea-waves wild,
A speck-like Cloud, the season’s fated child,
Came softly floating up the boundless sky,
And o’er the sun-parched hills all brown and dry.
Onward she glided through the azure air,
Borne by its motion without toil or care,
When looking down in her ethereal joy,
She marked earth’s moilers at their hard employ;
“And oh!” she said, “that by some act of grace
’Twere mine to succour yon fierce-toiling race,
To give the hungry meat, the thirsty drink—
The thought of good is very sweet to think.”
The day advanced, and the cloud greater grew,
And greater; likewise her desire to do
Some charity to men had more and more,
As the long sultry summer day on wore,
Greatened and warmed within her fleecy breast,
Like a dove fledging in its downy nest.
The heat waxed fiercer, until all the land
Clared in the sun as ’twere a monstrous brand
And the shrunk rivers, few and far between,
Like molten metal lightened in the scene.
Ill could Earth’s sons endure their toilsome state,
Though still they laboured, for their need was great,
And many a long beseeching look they sped
Towards that fair cloud, with many a sigh that said:
“We famish for thy bounty! For our sake
O break thou! in a showery blessing, break!”
“I feel, and fain would help you, ” said the cloud,
And towards the earth her bounteous being bowed;
But then remem’bring a tradition she
Had in her youth learned from her native sea,
That when a cloud adventures from the skies
Too near the altar of the hills, it dies!
Awhile she wavered and was blown about
144
Hither and thither by the winds of doubt;
But in the midst of heaven at length all still
She stood; then suddenly, with a keen thrill
Of light, she said within herself, “I will!
Yea, in the glad strength of devotion, I Will help
you, though in helping you I die.”
Filled with this thought’s divinity, the cloud
Grew worldlike vast, as earthward more she bowed!
Oh, never erewhile had she dreamed her state
So great might be, beneficently great!
O’er the parched fields in her angelic love
She spread her wide wings like a brooding dove
Till as her purpose deepened, drawing near,
Divinely awful did her front appear,
And men and beasts all trembled at the view,
And the woods bowed, though well all creatures knew
That near in her, to every kind the same,
A great predestined benefactress came.
And then wide-flashed throughout her full-grown form
The glory of her will! the pain and storm
Of life’s dire dread of death, whose mortal threat
From Christ himself drew agonizing sweat,
Flashed seething out of rents amid her heaps
Of lowering gloom, and thence with arrowy leaps
Hissed jagging downward, till a sheety glare
Illumined all the illimitable air;
The thunder followed, a tremendous sound,
Loud doubling and reverberating round;
Strong was her will, but stronger yet the power
Of love, that now dissolved her in a shower,
Dropping in blessings to enrich the earth
With health and plenty at one blooming birth.
Far as the rain extended o’er the land,
A splendid bow the freshened landscape spanned
Like a celestial arc, hung in the air
By angel artists, to illumine there
The parting triumph of that spirit fair.
The rainbow vanished, but the blessing craved
Rested upon the land the cloud had saved.
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~ Charles Harpur,
1486:Hunger
I only find within my bones, A taste for eating earth and stones.
When I feed, I feed on air, Rocks and coals and iron ore.
My hunger, turn. Hunger, feed: A field of bran.
Gather as you can the bright, Poison weed.
Eat the rocks a beggar breaks,
The stones of ancient churches' walls,
Pebbles, children of the flood, Loaves left lying in the mud.
***
Beneath the bush a wolf will howl, Spitting bright feathers
From his feast of fowl: Like him, I devour myself.
Waiting to be gathered, Fruits and grasses spend their hours;
The spider spinning in the hedge, Eats only flowers.
Let me sleep! Let me boil, On the altars of Solomon;
Let me soak the rusty soil, And flow into Kendron.
Finally, O reason, O happiness, I cleared from the sky the blue which is darkness,
and I lived as a golden spark of this light, Nature. In my delight, I made my face
look as comic and as wild as I could:
It is recovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of the sun in the sea.
O my eternal soul,
Hold fast to desire
In spite of the night
And the day on fire.
You must set yourself free
From the striving of Man
And the applause of the World!
You must fly as you can...
No hope, forever; No _orietur._
Science and patience,
The torment is sure.
The fire within you,
Soft silken embers,
Is our whole duty--
66
But no one remembers.
It is recovered.
What? Eternity.
In the whirling light
Of the sun in the sea.
I became a fabulous opera. I saw that everyone in the world was doomed to
happiness. Action isn't life; it's merely a way of ruining a kind of strength, a
means of destroying nerves. Morality is water on the brain. It seemed to me that
everyone should have had several other lives as well. This gentleman doesn't
know what he's doing; he's an angel. That family is a litter of puppy dogs. With
some men, I often talked out loud with a moment from one of their other lives-that's how I happened to love a pig. Not a single one of the brilliant arguments of
madness-- the madness that gets locked up-- did I forget; I could go through
them all again, I've got the system down by heart. It affected my health. Terror
loomed ahead. I would fall again and again into a heavy sleep, which lasted
several days at a time, and when I woke up, my sorrowful dreams continued. I
was ripe for fatal harvest, and my weakness led me down dangerous roads to the
edge of the world, to the Cimmerian shore, the haven of whirlwinds and
darkness. I had to travel, to dissipate the enchantments that crowded my brain.
On the sea, which I loved as if it were to wash away my impurity, I watched the
compassionate cross arise. I had been damned by the rainbow. Felicity was my
doom, my gnawing remorse, my worm. My life would forever be too large to
devote to strength and to beauty. Felicity! The deadly sweetness of its sting
would wake me at cockcrow-- ad matutinum, at the Christus venit-- in the
soberest of cities.
O seasons, O chateaus! Where is the flawless soul?
I learned the magic of Felicity. It enchants us all.
To Felicity, sing life and praise, Whenever Gaul's cock crows.
Now all desire has gone-- It has made my life its own.
That spell has caught heart and soul, And scattered every trial.
O seasons, O chateaus! And, oh, the day it disappears, Will be the day I die.
O seasons, O chateaus! All that is over. Today, I know how to celebrate beauty.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1487:Florence
City acclaimed from far-off days
Fair, and baptized in field of flowers,
Once more I scan, with eager gaze,
Your soaring domes, your storied towers.
Nigh on eight lustres now have flown
Since first with trembling heart I came,
And, girdled by your mountain zone,
Found you yet fairer than your fame.
It was the season purple-sweet,
When figs are plucked, and grapes are pressed,
And all your folk with following feet
Bore a dead Poet to sacred rest.
You seemed to fling your gates ajar,
And gently lead me by the hand,
Saying, ``Behold! henceforth you are
No stranger in this Tuscan land.''
And though no love my love can wean
From Albion's crags and cradling sea,
You, Florence, since that hour, have been
More than a foster-nurse to me.
And seems that welcome half profaned,
If, in your lap lain oft and long,
I cherish to have something drained
Of Dante's soul and Petrarch's song?
But more than even Muse can give,
Is Love, which, songless though we be,
While the unloving jarring live,
Makes life one long sweet melody.
And you with love and friendship still
Have teemed, as teem your hills with wine,
And, through the seasons good or ill,
Have made their mellow vintage mine.
232
But most, while Fancy yet was young,
Yet timely cared no more to roam,
You lent your tender Tuscan tongue
To help me in my English home.
So now from soft Sicilian shore,
And Tiber's sterner tide, I bring
My Autumn sheaves, to share once more
The rapture of your rainbow Spring.
I, lingering in your palaced town,
Asudden, 'neath some beetling pile,
Catch sight of Dante's awful frown,
Or Vinci's enigmatic smile;
Then, following olden footsteps, stroll
To where, from May-day's mocking pyre,
Savonarola's tortured soul
Went up to Heaven in tongues of fire;
Or Buonarroti's godlike hand
Made marble block from Massa's steep
Dawn into Day at his command,
Or plunged it into Night and Sleep.
Onward I pass through radiant squares,
And widening ways whose foliage shames
Our leafless streets, to one that bears
The best-beloved of English names,
And climb the white-veiled slopes arrayed
In bridal bloom of peach and pear,
While, 'neath the olive's phantom shade,
Lupine and beanflower scent the air.
The wild-bees hum round golden bay,
The green frog sings on fig-tree bole,
And, see! down daisy-whitened way
Come the slow steers and swaying pole.
The fresh-pruned vine-stems, curving, bend
233
Over the peaceful wheaten spears,
And with the glittering sunshine blend
Their transitory April tears.
O'er wall and trellis trailed and wound,
Hang roses blushing, roses pale;
And, hark! what was that silvery sound?
The first note of the nightingale.
Curtained, I close my lids and dream
Of Beauty seen not but surmised,
And, lulled by scent and song, I seem
Immortally imparadised.
When from the deep sweet swoon I wake
And gaze past slopes of grape and grain,
Where Arno, like some lonely lake,
Silvers the far-off seaward plain,
I see celestial sunset fires
That lift us from this earthly leaven,
And darkly silent cypress spires
Pointing the way from hill to Heaven.
Then something more than mortal steals
Over the wavering twilight air,
And, messenger of nightfall, peals
From each crowned peak a call to prayer.
And now the last meek prayer is said,
And, in the hallowed hush, there is
Only a starry dome o'erhead,
Propped by columnar cypresses.
~ Alfred Austin,
1488:Eventually they climb sixteen steps into the Gallery of Mineralogy. The guide shows them a gate from Brazil and violet amethysts and a meteorite on a pedestal that he claims is as ancient as the solar system itself. Then he leads them single file down two twisting staircases and along several corridors and stops outside an iron door with a single keyhole. “End of tour,” he says.

A girl says, “But what’s through there?”

“Behind this door is another locked door, slightly smaller.”

“And what’s behind that?”

“A third locked door, smaller yet.”

“What’s behind that?”

“A fourth door, and a fifth, on and on until you reach a thirteenth, a little locked door no bigger than a shoe.”

The children lean forward. “And then?”

“Behind the thirteenth door”—the guide flourishes one of his impossibly wrinkled hands—“is the Sea of Flames.”

Puzzlement. Fidgeting. “Come now. You’ve never heard of the Sea of Flames?”

The children shake their heads. Marie-Laure squints up at the naked bulbs strung in three-yard intervals along the ceiling; each sets a rainbow-colored halo rotating in her vision.

The guide hangs his cane on his wrist and rubs his hands together. “It’s a long story. Do you want to hear a long story?”

They nod.

He clears his throat. “Centuries ago, in the place we now call Borneo, a prince plucked a blue stone from a dry riverbed because he thought it was pretty. But on the way back to his palace, the prince was attacked by men on horseback and stabbed in the heart.”

“Stabbed in the heart?”

“Is this true?”

A boy says, “Hush.”

“The thieves stole his rings, his horse, everything. But because the little blue stone was clenched in his fist, they did not discover it. And the dying prince managed to crawl home. Then he fell unconscious for ten days. On the tenth day, to the amazement of his nurses, he sat up, opened his hand, and there was the stone.

“The sultan’s doctors said it was a miracle, that the prince never should have survived such a violent wound. The nurses said the stone must have healing powers. The sultan’s jewelers said something else: they said the stone was the largest raw diamond anyone had ever seen. Their most gifted stonecutter spent eighty days faceting it, and when he was done, it was a brilliant blue, the blue of tropical seas, but it had a touch of red at its center, like flames inside a drop of water. The sultan had the diamond fitted into a crown for the prince, and it was said that when the young prince sat on his throne and the sun hit him just so, he became so dazzling that visitors could not distinguish his figure from light itself.”

“Are you sure this is true?” asks a girl.
“Hush,” says the boy.

“The stone came to be known as the Sea of Flames. Some believed the prince was a deity, that as long as he kept the stone, he could not be killed. But something strange began to happen: the longer the prince wore his crown, the worse his luck became. In a month, he lost a brother to drowning and a second brother to snakebite. Within six months, his father died of disease. To make matters even worse, the sultan’s scouts announced that a great army was gathering in the east.

"The prince called together his father’s advisers. All said he should prepare for war, all but one, a priest, who said he’d had a dream. In the dream the Goddess of the Earth told him she’d made the Sea of Flames as a gift for her lover, the God of the Sea, and was sending the jewel to him through the river. But when the river dried up, and the prince plucked it out, the goddess became enraged. She cursed the stone and whoever kept it. ~ Anthony Doerr,
1489:Fragments
In that fair capital where Pleasure, crowned
Amidst her myriad courtiers, riots and rules,
I too have been a suitor. Radiant eyes
Were my life's warmth and sunshine, outspread arms
My gilded deep horizons. I rejoiced
In yielding to all amorous influence
And multiple impulsion of the flesh,
To feel within my being surge and sway
The force that all the stars acknowledge too.
Amid the nebulous humanity
Where I an atom crawled and cleaved and sundered,
I saw a million motions, but one law;
And from the city's splendor to my eyes
The vapors passed and there was nought but Love,
A ferment turbulent, intensely fair,
Where Beauty beckoned and where Strength pursued.
II
There was a time when I thought much of Fame,
And laid the golden edifice to be
That in the clear light of eternity
Should fitly house the glory of my name.
But swifter than my fingers pushed their plan,
Over the fair foundation scarce begun,
While I with lovers dallied in the sun,
The ivy clambered and the rose-vine ran.
And now, too late to see my vision, rise,
In place of golden pinnacles and towers,
Only some sunny mounds of leaves and flowers,
Only beloved of birds and butterflies.
My friends were duped, my favorers deceived;
29
But sometimes, musing sorrowfully there,
That flowered wreck has seemed to me so fair
I scarce regret the temple unachieved.
III
For there were nights . . . my love to him whose brow
Has glistened with the spoils of nights like those,
Home turning as a conqueror turns home,
What time green dawn down every street uprears
Arches of triumph! He has drained as well
Joy's perfumed bowl and cried as I have cried:
Be Fame their mistress whom Love passes by.
This only matters: from some flowery bed,
Laden with sweetness like a homing bee,
If one have known what bliss it is to come,
Bearing on hands and breast and laughing lips
The fragrance of his youth's dear rose. To him
The hills have bared their treasure, the far clouds
Unveiled the vision that o'er summer seas
Drew on his thirsting arms. This last thing known,
He can court danger, laugh at perilous odds,
And, pillowed on a memory so sweet,
Unto oblivious eternity
Without regret yield his victorious soul,
The blessed pilgrim of a vow fulfilled.
IV
What is Success? Out of the endless ore
Of deep desire to coin the utmost gold
Of passionate memory; to have lived so well
That the fifth moon, when it swims up once more
Through orchard boughs where mating orioles build
And apple flowers unfold,
Find not of that dear need that all things tell
The heart unburdened nor the arms unfilled.
O Love, whereof my boyhood was the dream,
30
My youth the beautiful novitiate,
Life was so slight a thing and thou so great,
How could I make thee less than all-supreme!
In thy sweet transports not alone I thought
Mingled the twain that panted breast to breast.
The sun and stars throbbed with them; they were caught
Into the pulse of Nature and possessed
By the same light that consecrates it so.
Love! -- 'tis the payment of the debt we owe
The beauty of the world, and whensoe'er
In silks and perfume and unloosened hair
The loveliness of lovers, face to face,
Lies folded in the adorable embrace,
Doubt not as of a perfect sacrifice
That soul partakes whose inspiration fills
The springtime and the depth of summer skies,
The rainbow and the clouds behind the hills,
That excellence in earth and air and sea
That makes things as they are the real divinity.
~ Alan Seeger,
1490:Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
  Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
  Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
  From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
  The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
  Of the sunken sun
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
  Thou dost float and run,
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
  Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven
  In the broad daylight
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:

Keen as are the arrows
  Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
  In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
  With thy voice is loud.
As, when night is bare,
  From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;
  What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
  Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden
  In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
  Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
  In a palace tower,
Soothing her love-laden
  Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
  In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
  Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered
  In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
  Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves.

Sound of vernal showers
  On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
  All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,
  What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
  Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus hymeneal
  Or triumphal chaunt
Matched with thine, would be all
  But an empty vaunt
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
  Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
  What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance
  Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
  Never came near thee:
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
  Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
  Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
  And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
  With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn
  Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
  Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures
  Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
  That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
  That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
  From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now!
Composed at Leghorn, 1820, and published with "Prometheus Unbound" in the same year. There is a transcript in the Harvard manuscript.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, To A Skylark
,
1491:A youth, impelled by a burning thirst for knowledge
To roam to Sais, in fair Egypt's land,
The priesthood's secret learning to explore,
Had passed through many a grade with eager haste,
And still was hurrying on with fond impatience.
Scarce could the Hierophant impose a rein
Upon his headlong efforts. "What avails
A part without the whole?" the youth exclaimed;
"Can there be here a lesser or a greater?
The truth thou speak'st of, like mere earthly dross,
Is't but a sum that can be held by man
In larger or in smaller quantity?
Surely 'tis changeless, indivisible;
Deprive a harmony of but one note,
Deprive the rainbow of one single color,
And all that will remain is naught, so long
As that one color, that one note, is wanting."

While thus they converse held, they chanced to stand
Within the precincts of a lonely temple,
Where a veiled statue of gigantic size
The youth's attention caught. In wonderment
He turned him toward his guide, and asked him, saying,
"What form is that concealed beneath yon veil?"
"Truth!" was the answer. "What!" the young man cried,
"When I am striving after truth alone,
Seekest thou to hide that very truth from me?"

"The Godhead's self alone can answer thee,"
Replied the Hierophant. "'Let no rash mortal
Disturb this veil,' said he, 'till raised by me;
For he who dares with sacrilegious hand
To move the sacred mystic covering,
He'said the Godhead" "Well?""'will see the truth.'"
"Strangely oracular, indeed! And thou
Hast never ventured, then, to raise the veil?"
"I? Truly not! I never even felt
The least desire.""Is't possible? If I
Were severed from the truth by nothing else
Than this thin gauze" "And a divine decree,"
His guide broke in. "Far heavier than thou thinkest
Is this thin gauze, my son. Light to thy hand
It may bebut most weighty to thy conscience."

The youth now sought his home, absorbed in thought;
His burning wish to solve the mystery
Banished all sleep; upon his couch he lay,
Tossing his feverish limbs. When midnight came,
He rose, and toward the temple timidly,
Led by a mighty impulse, bent his way.
The walls he scaled, and soon one active spring
Landed the daring boy beneath the dome.

Behold him now, in utter solitude,
Welcomed by naught save fearful, deathlike silence,
A silence which the echo of his steps
Alone disturbs, as through the vaults he paces.
Piercing an opening in the cupola,
The moon cast down her pale and silvery beams,
And, awful as a present deity,
Glittering amid the darkness of the pile,
In its long veil concealed, the statue stands.

With hesitating step, he now draws near
His impious hand would fain remove the veil
Sudden a burning chill assails his bones
And then an unseen arm repulses him.
"Unhappy one, what wouldst thou do?" Thus cries
A faithful voice within his trembling breast.
"Wouldst thou profanely violate the All-Holy?"
"'Tis true the oracle declared, 'Let none
Venture to raise the veil till raised by me.'
But did the oracle itself not add,
That he who did so would behold the truth?
Whate'er is hid behind, I'll raise the veil."
And then he shouted: "Yes! I will behold it!"
"Behold it!"
Repeats in mocking tone the distant echo.

He speaks, and, with the word, lifts up the veil.
Would you inquire what form there met his eye?
I know not,but, when day appeared, the priests
Found him extended senseless, pale as death,
Before the pedestal of Isis' statue.
What had been seen and heard by him when there
He never would disclose, but from that hour
His happiness in life had fled forever,
And his deep sorrow soon conducted him
To an untimely grave. "Woe to that man,"
He warning said to every questioner,
"Woe to that man who wins the truth by guilt,
For truth so gained will ne'er reward its owner."
~ Friedrich Schiller, The Veiled Statue At Sais
,
1492:My favourite quotes, Part Two
-- from Michael Connelly's "Harry Bosch" series

The Black Box

On Bosch’s first call to Henrik, the twin brother of Anneke -

Henrik: "I am happy to talk now. Please, go ahead.”

“Thank you. I, uh, first want to say as I said in my email that the investigation of your sister’s death is high priority. I am actively working on it. Though it was twenty years ago, I’m sure your sister’s death is something that hurts till this day. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Detective. She was very beautiful and very excited about things. I miss her very much.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Over the years, Bosch had talked to many people who had lost loved ones to violence. There were too many to count but it never got any easier and his empathy never withered.


The Burning Room 2

Grace was a young saxophonist with a powerful sound. She also sang.

The song was “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and she produced a sound from the horn that no human voice could ever touch. It was plaintive and sad but it came with an undeniable wave of underlying hope.

It made Bosch think that there was still a chance for him, that he could still find whatever it was he was looking for, no matter how short his time was.

----------------

He grabbed his briefcase off his chair and walked toward the exit door. Before he got there, he heard someone clapping behind him. He turned back and saw it was Soto, standing by her desk. Soon Tim Marcia rose up from his cubicle and started to clap. Then Mitzi Roberts did the same and then the other detectives. Bosch put his back against the door, ready to push through. He nodded his thanks and held his fist up at chest level and shook it. He then went through the door and was gone.



The Burning Room 3

“What do you want to know, Bosch?”

Harry nodded. His instinct was right. The good ones all had that hollow space inside. The empty place where the fire always burns. For something. Call it justice. Call it the need to know. Call it the need to believe that those who are evil will not remain hidden in darkness forever.

At the end of the day Rodriguez was a good cop and he wanted what Bosch wanted. He could not remain angry and mute if it might cost Orlando Merced his due.

------------

“I have waited twenty years for this phone call . . . and all this time I thought it would go away. I knew I would always be sad for my sister. But I thought the other would go away.”


“What is the other, Henrik?” Though he knew the answer.

“Anger . . . I am still angry, Detective Bosch.”

Bosch nodded. He looked down at his desk, at the photos of all the victims under the glass top. Cases and faces. His eyes moved from the photo of Anneke Jespersen to some of the others. The ones he had not yet spoken for.

“So am I, Henrik,” he said. “So am I.”


Angle of Investigation

1972

They were heading south on Vermont through territory unfamiliar to him. It was only his second day with Eckersly and his second on the job.

Now

He knew that passion was a key element in any investigation. Passion was the fuel that kept his fire burning. So he purposely sought the personal connection or, short of that, the personal outrage in every case. It kept him locked in and focused. But it wasn’t the Laura syndrome. It wasn’t the same as falling in love with a dead woman. By no means was Bosch in love with June Wilkins. He was in love with the idea of reaching back across time and catching the man who had killed her.


The Scarecrow

At one time the newsroom was the best place in the world to work. A bustling place of camaraderie, competition, gossip, cynical wit and humor, it was at the crossroads of ideas and debate. It produced stories and pages that were vibrant and intelligent, that set the agenda for what was discussed and considered important in a city as diverse and exciting as Los Angeles. ~ Michael Connelly,
1493:I mourn upon this battle-field,
But not for those who perished here.
Behold the river-bank
Whither the angry farmers came,
In sloven dress and broken rank,
Nor thought of fame.
Their deed of blood
All mankind praise;
Even the serene Reason says,
It was well done.
The wise and simple have one glance
To greet yon stern head-stone,
Which more of pride than pity gave
To mark the Briton's friendless grave.
Yet it is a stately tomb;
The grand return
Of eve and morn,
The year's fresh bloom,
The silver cloud,
Might grace the dust that is most proud.

Yet not of these I muse
In this ancestral place,
But of a kindred face
That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.

Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star!
What hast thou to do with these
Haunting this bank's historic trees?
Thou born for noblest life,
For action's field, for victor's car,
Thou living champion of the right?
To these their penalty belonged:
I grudge not these their bed of death,
But thine to thee, who never wronged
The poorest that drew breath.

All inborn power that could
Consist with homage to the good
Flamed from his martial eye;
He who seemed a soldier born,
He should have the helmet worn,
All friends to fend, all foes defy,
Fronting foes of God and man,
Frowning down the evil-doer,
Battling for the weak and poor.
His from youth the leader's look
Gave the law which others took,
And never poor beseeching glance
Shamed that sculptured countenance.

There is no record left on earth,
Save in tablets of the heart,
Of the rich inherent worth,
Of the grace that on him shone,
Of eloquent lips, of joyful wit;
He could not frame a word unfit,
An act unworthy to be done;
Honour prompted every glance,
Honour came and sat beside him,
In lowly cot or painful road,
And evermore the cruel god
Cried, "Onward!" and the palm-crown showed.
Born for success he seemed,
With grace to win, with heart to hold,
With shining gifts that took all eyes,
With budding power in college-halls,
As pledged in coming days to forge
Weapons to guard the State, or scourge
Tyrants despite their guards or walls.
On his young promise Beauty smiled,
Drew his free homage unbeguiled,
And prosperous Age held out his hand,
And richly his large future planned,
And troops of friends enjoyed the tide,--
All, all was given, and only health denied.

I see him with superior smile
Hunted by Sorrow's grisly train
In lands remote, in toil and pain,
With angel patience labour on,
With the high port he wore erewhile,
When, foremost of the youthful band,
The prizes in all lists he won;
Nor bate one jot of heart or hope,
And, least of all, the loyal tie
Which holds to home 'neath every sky,
The joy and pride the pilgrim feels
In hearts which round the hearth at home
Keep pulse for pulse with those who roam.

What generous beliefs console
The brave whom Fate denies the goal!
If others reach it, is content;
To Heaven's high will his will is bent.
Firm on his heart relied,
What lot soe'er betide,
Work of his hand
He nor repents nor grieves,
Pleads for itself the fact,
As unrepenting Nature leaves
Her every act.

Fell the bolt on the branching oak;
The rainbow of his hope was broke;
No craven cry, no secret tear,--
He told no pang, he knew no fear;
Its peace sublime his aspect kept,
His purpose woke, his features slept;
And yet between the spasms of pain
His genius beamed with joy again.

O'er thy rich dust the endless smile
Of Nature in thy Spanish isle
Hints never loss or cruel break
And sacrifice for love's dear sake,
Nor mourn the unalterable Days
That Genius goes and Folly stays.
What matters how, or from what ground,
The freed soul its Creator found?
Alike thy memory embalms
That orange-grove, that isle of palms,
And these loved banks, whose oak-boughs bold
Root in the blood of heroes old.
E. B. E. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson, In Memoriam
,
1494:Childhood
I.
That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents or court,
nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;
his domain, insolent azure and verdure,
runs over beaches called by the shipless waves,
names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt.
At the border of the forest-- dream flowers tinkle, flash, and flare,-the girl with orange lips, knees
crossed in the clear flood that gushes from the fields,
nakedness shaded, traversed, dressed by rainbow, flora, sea.
Ladies who stroll on terraces adjacent to the sea;
baby girls and giantesses,
superb blacks in the verdigris moss,
jewels upright on the rich ground
of groves and little thawed gardens,-young mothers and big sisters with eyes full of pilgrimages,
sultanas, princesses tyrannical of costume and carriage,
little foreign misses and young ladies gently unhappy.
What boredom, the hour of the 'dear body' and 'dear heart.'
II.
It is she, the little girl, dead behind the rosebushes. -The young mamma, deceased, comes down the stoop.-The cousin's carriage creaks on the sand.-The little brother (he is in India!) there,
before the western sky in the meadow of pinks.
The old men who have been buried upright
in the rampart overgrown with gillyflowers.
Swarms of golden leaves surround the general's house.
They are in the south.-You follow the red road to reach the empty inn.
The chateau is for sale; the shutters are coming off.
The priest must have taken away the key of the church.
Around the park the keepers' cottages are uninhabited.
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The enclosures are so high that nothing
can be seen but the rustling tree tops.
Besides, there is nothing to be seen within.
The meadows go up to the hamlets without anvils or cocks.
The sluice gate is open.
O the Calvaries and the windmills of the desert,
the islands and the haystacks!
Magic flowers droned.
The slopes cradled him.
Beasts of a fabulous elegance moved about.
The clouds gathered over the high sea,
formed of an eternity of hot tears.
III.
In the woods there is a bird;
his song stops you and makes you blush.
There is a clock that never strikes.
There is a hollow with a nest of white beasts.
There is a cathedral that goes down and a lake that goes up.
There is a little carriage abandoned in the copse
or that goes running down the road beribboned.
There is a troupe of little actors in costume, glimpsed on the road
through the border of the woods.
And then, when you are hungry and thirsty,
there is someone who drives you away.
IV.
I am the saint at prayer on the terrace
like the peaceful beasts
that graze down to the sea of Palestine.
I am the scholar of the dark armchair.
Branches and rain hurl themselves at the windows of my library.
I am the pedestrian of the highroad by way of the dwarf woods;
the roar of the sluices drowns my steps.
I can see for a long time the melancholy wash of the setting sun.
I might well be the child abandoned on the jetty
on its way to the high seas, the little farm boy following the lane,
its forehead touching the sky. The paths are rough.
The hillocks are covered with broom.
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The air is motionless. How far away are the birds and the springs!
It can only be the end of the world ahead.
V.
Let them rent me this whitewashed tomb, at last,
with cement lines in relief,-- far down under ground.
I lean my elbows on the table,
the lamp shines brightly on these newspapers
I am fool enough to read again, these stupid books.
An enormous distance above my subterranean parlor,
houses take root, fogs gather.
The mud is red or black.
Monstrous city, night without end!
Less high are the sewers. At the sides,
nothing but the thickness of the globe.
Chasms of azure, wells of fire perhaps.
Perhaps it is on these levels that moons and comets meet,
fables and seas. In hours of bitterness,
I imagine balls of sapphire, of metal.
I am master of silence.
Why should the semblance of an opening
pale under one corner of the vault?
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
1495:I THE DARK

In a worldless timeless lightless great emptiness
   Four-faced Brahma broods.

nasad asin, no sad asit tadanim;
nasid raja no vioma paro yat.
kim avarivah? kuha? kasya sarmann?
Ambhah kim asid, gahanam gabhiram?

na mytur asid, amrtam na tarhi.
na ratria ahna asit pratekh.
anid avatam svadhaya tad ekam.
tasmad dhanyan na parah kim canasa.

tama asit tamasa gudham agre;
apraketam salilam sarvam a idam.
tuchyenabhu apihitam yad asit,
tapasas tan mahinajayataikam.

Of a sudden sea of joy surges through his heart
   The ur-god opens his eyes.
   Speech from four mouths
   Speeds from each quarter.
   Through infinite dark,
   Through limitless sky,
   Like a growing sea-storm,
   Like hope never sated,
   His Word starts to move.

Stirred by joy         his breathing quickens,
   His eight eyes quiver with flame.
His fire-matted hair    sweeps the horizon,
   Bright as a million suns.

From the towering source of the world
   In a thousand streams
Cascades the primeval blazing fountain,
   Fragmenting silence,
   Splitting its stone heart.

kamas tad agre sam avartatadhi
manaso retah prathamam yad asit?
sato bandhum asati nir avindan
hrdi pratisya kavayo manisa

II THE MUSIC

   In a universe rampant
   With new life exhalant,
   With new life exultant,
   Vishnu spreads wide
   His four-handed blessing.
   He raises his conch
   And all things quake
   At its booming sound.
   The frenzy dies down,
   The furnace expires,
   The planets douse
   Their flames with tears,
   The worlds Divine Poet
   Constructs its history,
   From wild cosmic song
   Its epic is formed.
   Stars in their orbits,
   Moon sun and planets
   He binds with his mace
   All things to Law,
   Imposes the discipline
   Of metre and rhyme.

   In the Manasa depths
   Vishnu watches -
   Beauties arise
   From the light of lotuses.
   Lakshmi strews smiles -
   Clouds show a rainbow,
   Gardens show flowers.
   The roar of Creation
   Resolves into music.
   Softness hides rigour,
   Forms cover power.

tirascino vitato rasmir esam:
adhah svid asid, upari svid asit?
retodha asan, mahimana asan;
svadha avasat, prayatih parastat.

Age after age after age is slave to a mighty rhythm
   At last the world-frame
   Tires in its body,
   Sleep in its eyes
   Slackens its structure,
   Diffuses its energy.
   From the heart of all matter
   Comes the anguished cry
   Wake, wake, great Shiva,
   Our body grows weary
   Of its law-fixed path,
   Give us new form.
   Sing our destruction,
   That we gain new life.

III THE FIRE

   The great god awakes,
   His three eyes open,
   He surveys all horizons.
He lifts his bow,      his fell pinaka,
   He pounds the world with his tread.
From first things to last  it trembles and shakes
         And shudders.
The bonds of nature are ripped.
The sky is rocked by the roar
Of a wave of ecstatic release.
   An inferno soars
   The pyre of the universe.

Shattered sun and moon, smashed stars and planets,
   Rain down from all angles,
   A blackness of all particles
   To be swallowed by flame,
   Absorbed in an instant.
   At the start of Creation
   There was a dark without origin,
   At the breaking of Creation
   There is fire without end
In an all-pervading sky-engulfing sea of burning
   Shiva shuts his three eyes.
   He begins his great trance.

ko adha veda? Ka iha pravocat,
kuta ajata, kuta iyam visrstih?
arvag deva asya visajanena:
atha ko veda yata ababhuva?

iyam visrstir yata ababhuva;
yadi vasa dadhe yadi van na:
yo asyadhyaksah parame vioman
so anga veda, yadi va na veda.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Brahm, Viu, iva
,
1496:Tristesses De La Lune (Sorrows Of The Moon)
Ce soir, la lune rêve avec plus de paresse;
Ainsi qu'une beauté, sur de nombreux coussins,
Qui d'une main distraite et légère caresse
Avant de s'endormir le contour de ses seins,
Sur le dos satiné des molles avalanches,
Mourante, elle se livre aux longues pâmoisons,
Et promène ses yeux sur les visions blanches
Qui montent dans l'azur comme des floraisons.
Quand parfois sur ce globe, en sa langueur oisive,
Elle laisse filer une larme furtive,
Un poète pieux, ennemi du sommeil,
Dans le creux de sa main prend cette larme pâle,
Aux reflets irisés comme un fragment d'opale,
Et la met dans son coeur loin des yeux du soleil.
Sadness of the Moon
Tonight the moon dreams with more indolence,
Like a lovely woman on a bed of cushions
Who fondles with a light and listless hand
The contour of her breasts before falling asleep;
On the satiny back of the billowing clouds,
Languishing, she lets herself fall into long swoons
And casts her eyes over the white phantoms
That rise in the azure like blossoming flowers.
When, in her lazy listlessness,
She sometimes sheds a furtive tear upon this globe,
A pious poet, enemy of sleep,
In the hollow of his hand catches this pale tear,
With the iridescent reflections of opal,
And hides it in his heart afar from the sun's eyes.
498
— Translated by William Aggeler
Sorrow of the Moon
More drowsy dreams the moon tonight. She rests
Like a proud beauty on heaped cushions pressing,
With light and absent-minded touch caressing,
Before she sleeps, the contour of her breasts.
On satin-shimmering, downy avalanches
She dies from swoon to swoon in languid change,
And lets her eyes on snowy visions range
That in the azure rise like flowering branches.
When sometimes to this earth her languor calm
Lets streak a stealthy tear, a pious poet,
The enemy of sleep, in his cupped palm,
Takes this pale tear, of liquid opal spun
With rainbow lights, deep in his heart to stow it
Far from the staring eyeballs of the Sun.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
The Sadness of the Moon
Tonight the moon, by languorous memories obsessed,
Lies pensive and awake: a sleepless beauty amid
The tossed and multitudinous cushions of her bed,
Caressing with an abstracted hand the curve of her breast.
Surrendered to her deep sadness as to a lover, for hours
She lolls in the bright luxurious disarray of the sky —
Haggard, entranced — and watches the small clouds float by
Uncurling indolently in the blue air like flowers.
When now and then upon this planet she lets fall,
Out of her idleness and sorrow, a secret tear,
Some poet — an enemy of slumber, musing apart —
Catches in his cupped hands the unearthly tribute, all
499
Fiery and iridescent like an opal's sphere,
And hides it from the sun for ever in his heart.
— Translated by George Dillon
Tristesses de la lune
the moon tonight, more indolently dreaming,
as on a pillowed bed, a woman seems,
caressing with a hand distraught and gleaming,
her soft curved bosom, ere she sinks in dreams.
against a snowy satin avalanche
she lies entranced and drowned in swooning hours,
her gaze upon the visions born to blanch
those far blue depths with ever-blossoming flowers.
and when in some soft languorous interval,
earthward, she lets a stealthy tear-drop fall,
a poet, foe to slumber, toiling on,
with reverent hollow hand receives the pearl,
where shimmering opalescences unfurl,
and shields it in his heart, far from the sun.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
Sorrows of the Moon
Tonight the moon dreams in a deeper languidness,
And, like a beauty on her cushions, lies at rest;
While drifting off to sleep, a tentative caress
Seeks, with a gentle hand, the contour of her breast;
As on a crest above her silken avalanche,
Dying, she yields herself to an unending swoon,
And sees a pallid vision everywhere she’d glance,
In the azure sky where blossoms have been strewn.
When sometime, in her weariness, upon her sphere
500
She might permit herself to sheda furtive tear,
A poet of great piety, a foe of sleep,
Catches in the hollow of his hand that tear,
An opal fragment, iridescent as a star;
Within his heart, far from the sun, it’s buried deep.
Translated by Anonymous
~ Charles Baudelaire,
1497:Glasgow
SING, poet, 'tis a merry world;
That cottage smoke is rolled and curled
In sport, that every moss
Is happy, every inch of soil: Before me runs a road of toil
With my grave cut across.
Sing, trailing showers and breezy downs I know the tragic hearts of towns.
City! I am true son of thine;
Ne'er dwelt I where great mornings shine
Around the bleating pens;
Ne'er by the rivulets I strayed,
And ne'er upon my childhood weighed
The silence of the glens.
Instead of shores where ocean beats
I hear the ebb and flow of streets.
Black Labor draws his weary waves
Into their secret moaning caves;
But, with the morning light,
That sea again will overflow
With a long, weary sound of woe,
Again to faint in night.
Wave am I in that sea of woes,
Which, night and morning, ebbs and flows.
I dwelt within a gloomy court,
Wherein did never sunbeam sport;
Yet there my heart was stirred My very blood did dance and thrill,
When on my narrow window-sill
Spring lighted like a bird.
Poor flowers! I watched them pine for weeks,
With leaves as pale as human cheeks.
Afar, one summer, I was borne;
Through golden vapors of the morn
I heard the hills of sheep:
10
I trod with a wild ecstasy
The bright fringe of the living sea:
And on a ruined keep
I sat, and watched an endless plain
Blacken beneath the gloom of rain.
Oh, fair the lightly-sprinkled waste,
O'er which a laughing shower has raced!
Oh, fair the April shoots!
Oh, fair the woods on summer days,
While a blue hyacinthine haze
Is dreaming round the roots!
In thee, O city! I discern
Another beaity, sad and strern.
Draw thy fierce streams of blinding ore,
Smite on a thousand anvils, roar
Down the harbor-bars;
Smoulder in smoky sunsets, flare
On rainy nights; with street and square
Lie empty to the stars.
From terrace proud to alley base
I know thee as my mother's face.
When sunset bathes thee in his gold,
In wreaths of bronze thy sides are rolled,
They smoke is dusky fire;
And, from the glory round thee poured,
A sunbeam like an angel's sword
Shivers upon a spire.
Thus have I watched thee, Terror! Dream!
While the blue night crept up the stream.
The wild train plunges in the hills,
He shrieks across the midnight rills;
Streams through the shifting glare,
The roar and flap of foundry fires,
That shake with light the sleeping shires;
And on the moorlands bare
He sees afar a crown of light
Hang o'er thee in the hollow night.
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And through thy heart as through a dream,
Flows on that black disdainful stream;
All scornfully it flows,
Between the huddled gloom of masts,
Silent as pines unvexed by blasts 'Tween lamps in streaming rows,
O wondrous sight! O stream of dread!
O long, dark river of the dead!
Afar, the banner of the year
Unfurls: but dimly prisoned here,
Tis only when I greet
A dropt rose lying in my way,
A butterfly that flutters gay
Athwart the noisy street,
I know the happy Summer smiles
Around thy suburbs, miles on miles.
'Twere neither pæan now, nor dirge,
The flash and thunder of the surge
On flat sands wide and bare;
No haunting joy or anguish dwells
In the green light of sunny dells,
Or in the starry air.
Alike to me the desert flower,
The rainbow laughing o'er the shower
While o'er thy walls the darkness sails,
I lean against the churchyard rails;
Up in the midnight towers
The belfried spire, the street is dead,
I hear in silence overhead
The clang of iron hours:
It moves me not - I know her tomb
Is yonder in the shapeless gloom.
All raptures of this mortal breath,
Solemnities of life and death,
Dwell in thy noise alone:
Of me thou hast become a part Some kindred with my human heart
Lives in thy streets of stone;
12
For we have been familiar more
Than galley-slave and weary oar.
The beech is dipped in wine; the shower
Is burnished; on the swinging flower
The latest bee doth sit.
The low sun stares through dust of gold.
And o'er the darkened heath and wold
The large ghost-moth doth flit.
In every orchard Autumn stands,
With apples in his golden hands.
But all these sights and sounds are strange;
Then wherefore from thee shoud I range?
Thou hast my kith and kin;
My childhood, youth, and manhood brave;
Thou hast that unforgotten grave
Within thy central din.
A sacredness of love and death
Dwells in thy noise and smoky breath.
~ Alexander Smith,
1498:An Ode To Antares
At dusk, when lowlands where dark waters glide
Robe in gray mist, and through the greening hills
The hoot-owl calls his mate, and whippoorwills
Clamor from every copse and orchard-side,
I watched the red star rising in the East,
And while his fellows of the flaming sign
From prisoning daylight more and more released,
Lift their pale lamps, and, climbing higher, higher,
Out of their locks the waters of the Line
Shaking in clouds of phosphorescent fire,
Rose in the splendor of their curving flight,
Their dolphin leap across the austral night,
From windows southward opening on the sea
What eyes, I wondered, might be watching, too,
Orbed in some blossom-laden balcony.
Where, from the garden to the rail above,
As though a lover's greeting to his love
Should borrow body and form and hue
And tower in torrents of floral flame,
The crimson bougainvillea grew,
What starlit brow uplifted to the same
Majestic regress of the summering sky,
What ultimate thing -- hushed, holy, throned as high
Above the currents that tarnish and profane
As silver summits are whose pure repose
No curious eyes disclose
Nor any footfalls stain,
But round their beauty on azure evenings
Only the oreads go on gauzy wings,
Only the oreads troop with dance and song
And airy beings in rainbow mists who throng
Out of those wonderful worlds that lie afar
Betwixt the outmost cloud and the nearest star.
Like the moon, sanguine in the orient night
Shines the red flower in her beautiful hair.
Her breasts are distant islands of delight
Upon a sea where all is soft and fair.
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Those robes that make a silken sheath
For each lithe attitude that flows beneath,
Shrouding in scented folds sweet warmths and tumid flowers,
Call them far clouds that half emerge
Beyond a sunset ocean's utmost verge,
Hiding in purple shade and downpour of soft showers
Enchanted isles by mortal foot untrod,
And there in humid dells resplendent orchids nod;
There always from serene horizons blow
Soul-easing gales and there all spice-trees grow
That Phoenix robbed to line his fragrant nest
Each hundred years in Araby the Blest.
Star of the South that now through orient mist
At nightfall off Tampico or Belize
Greetest the sailor rising from those seas
Where first in me, a fond romanticist,
The tropic sunset's bloom on cloudy piles
Cast out industrious cares with dreams of fabulous isles -Thou lamp of the swart lover to his tryst,
O'er planted acres at the jungle's rim
Reeking with orange-flower and tuberose,
Dear to his eyes thy ruddy splendor glows
Among the palms where beauty waits for him;
Bliss too thou bringst to our greening North,
Red scintillant through cherry-blossom rifts,
Herald of summer-heat, and all the gifts
And all the joys a summer can bring forth ----
Be thou my star, for I have made my aim
To follow loveliness till autumn-strown
Sunder the sinews of this flower-like frame
As rose-leaves sunder when the bud is blown.
Ay, sooner spirit and sense disintegrate
Than reconcilement to a common fate
Strip the enchantment from a world so dressed
In hues of high romance. I cannot rest
While aught of beauty in any path untrod
Swells into bloom and spreads sweet charms abroad
Unworshipped of my love. I cannot see
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In Life's profusion and passionate brevity
How hearts enamored of life can strain too much
In one long tension to hear, to see, to touch.
Now on each rustling night-wind from the South
Far music calls; beyond the harbor mouth
Each outbound argosy with sail unfurled
May point the path through this fortuitous world
That holds the heart from its desire. Away!
Where tinted coast-towns gleam at close of day,
Where squares are sweet with bells, or shores thick set
With bloom and bower, with mosque and minaret.
Blue peaks loom up beyond the coast-plains here,
White roads wind up the dales and disappear,
By silvery waters in the plains afar
Glimmers the inland city like a star,
With gilded gates and sunny spires ablaze
And burnished domes half-seen through luminous haze,
Lo, with what opportunity Earth teems!
How like a fair its ample beauty seems!
Fluttering with flags its proud pavilions rise:
What bright bazaars, what marvelous merchandise,
Down seething alleys what melodious din,
What clamor importuning from every booth!
At Earth's great market where Joy is trafficked in
Buy while thy purse yet swells with golden Youth!
~ Alan Seeger,
1499: ON

THE

NEW IDOL

Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not
where we live, my brothers: here there are states.
State? What is that? Well then, open your ears to me,
for now I shall speak to you about the death of peoples.
State is the name of the coldest of all cold monsters.
Coldly it tells lies too; and this lie crawls out of its
mouth: "I, the state, am the people." That is a lie! It
was creators who created peoples and hung a faith and
a love over them: thus they served life.
49

It is annihilators who set traps for the many and
call them "state": they hang a sword and a hundred
appetites over them.
Where there is still a people, it does not understand
the state and hates it as the evil eye and the sin
against customs and rights.
This sign I give you: every people speaks its tongue
of good and evil, which the neighbor does not understand. It has invented its own language of customs and
rights. But the state tells lies in all the tongues of
good and evil; and whatever it says it lies-and whatever it has it has stolen. Everything about it is false;
it bites with stolen teeth, and bites easily. Even its
entrails are false. Confusion of tongues of good and
evil: this sign I give you as the sign of the state. Verily,
this sign signifies the will to death. Verily, it beckons
to the preachers of death.
All-too-many are born: for the superfluous the state
was invented.
Behold, how it lures them, the all-too-many-and
how it devours them, chews them, and ruminatesl
"On earth there is nothing greater than I: the ordering finger of God am I"-thus roars the monster. And
it is not only the long-eared and shortsighted who sink
to their knees. Alas, to you too, you great souls, it
whispers its dark lies. Alas, it detects the rich hearts
which like to squander themselves. Indeed, it detects
you too, you vanquishers of the old god. You have
grown weary with fighting, and now your weariness
still serves the new idol. With heroes and honorable
men it would surround itself, the new idol! It likes to
bask in the sunshine of good consciences-the cold
monster
It will give you everything if you will adore it, this
50
new idol: thus it buys the splendor of your virtues
and the look of your proud eyes. It would use you as
bait for the all-too-many.
Indeed, a hellish artifice was invented there, a horse
of death, clattering in the finery of divine honors. Indeed, a dying for many was invented there, which
praises itself as life: verily, a great service to all preachers of death!
State I call it where all drink poison, the good and
the wicked; state, where all lose themselves, the good
and the wicked; state, where the slow suicide of all is
called "life."
Behold the superfluous They steal the works of the
inventors and the treasures of the sages for themselves;
"education" they call their theft-and everything turns
to sickness and misfortune for them.
Behold the superfluous They are always sick; they
vomit their gall and call it a newspaper. They devour
each other and cannot even digest themselves.
Behold the superfluous! They gather riches and become poorer with them. They want power and first
the lever of power, much money-the impotent paupersl
Watch them clamber, these swift monkeys They
clamber over one another and thus drag one another
into the mud and the depth. They all want to get to
the throne: that is their madness-as if happiness sat
on the throne. Often mud sits on the throne-and often
also the throne on mud. Mad they all appear to me,
clambering monkeys and overardent. Foul smells their
idol, the cold monster: foul they smell to me altoge ther,
these idolators.
My brothers, do you want to suffocate in the fumes
of their snouts and appetites? Rather break the windows and leap to freedom.
51
Escape from the bad smell Escape from the idolatry
of the superfluous!
Escape from the bad smell Escape from the steam
of these human sacrifices!
The earth is free even now for great souls. There
are still many empty seats for the lonesome and the
twosome, fanned by the fragrance of silent seas.
A free life is still free for great souls. Verily, whoever possesses little is possessed that much less: praised
be a little poverty
Only where the state ends, there begins the human
being who is not superfluous: there begins the song
of necessity, the unique and inimitable tune.
Where the state ends-look there, my brothers Do
you not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the overman?
Thus spoke Zarathustra.

~ Friedrich Nietzsche, ON THE NEW IDOL
,
1500:A God's Labour
I have gathered my dreams in a silver air
   Between the gold and the blue
And wrapped them softly and left them there,
   My jewelled dreams of you.

I had hoped to build a rainbow bridge
   Marrying the soil to the sky
And sow in this dancing planet midge
   The moods of infinity.

But too bright were our heavens, too far away,
   Too frail their ethereal stuff;
Too splendid and sudden our light could not stay;
   The roots were not deep enough.

He who would bring the heavens here
   Must descend himself into clay
And the burden of earthly nature bear
   And tread the dolorous way.

Coercing my godhead I have come down
   Here on the sordid earth,
Ignorant, labouring, human grown
   Twixt the gates of death and birth.

I have been digging deep and long
   Mid a horror of filth and mire
A bed for the golden river's song,
   A home for the deathless fire.

I have laboured and suffered in Matter's night
   To bring the fire to man;
But the hate of hell and human spite
   Are my meed since the world began.

For man's mind is the dupe of his animal self;
   Hoping its lusts to win,
He harbours within him a grisly Elf
   Enamoured of sorrow and sin.

The grey Elf shudders from heaven's flame
   And from all things glad and pure;
Only by pleasure and passion and pain
   His drama can endure.

All around is darkness and strife;
   For the lamps that men call suns
Are but halfway gleams on this stumbling life
   Cast by the Undying Ones.

Man lights his little torches of hope
   That lead to a failing edge;
A fragment of Truth is his widest scope,
   An inn his pilgrimage.

The Truth of truths men fear and deny,
   The Light of lights they refuse;
To ignorant gods they lift their cry
   Or a demon altar choose.

All that was found must again be sought,
   Each enemy slain revives,
Each battle for ever is fought and refought
   Through vistas of fruitless lives.

My gaping wounds are a thousand and one
   And the Titan kings assail,
But I dare not rest till my task is done
   And wrought the eternal will.

How they mock and sneer, both devils and men!
   "Thy hope is Chimera's head
Painting the sky with its fiery stain;
   Thou shalt fall and thy work lie dead.

"Who art thou that babblest of heavenly ease
   And joy and golden room
To us who are waifs on inconscient seas
   And bound to life's iron doom?

"This earth is ours, a field of Night
   For our petty flickering fires.
How shall it brook the sacred Light
   Or suffer a god's desires?

"Come, let us slay him and end his course!
   Then shall our hearts have release
From the burden and call of his glory and force
   And the curb of his wide white peace."

But the god is there in my mortal breast
   Who wrestles with error and fate
And tramples a road through mire and waste
   For the nameless Immaculate.

A voice cried, "Go where none have gone!
   Dig deeper, deeper yet
Till thou reach the grim foundation stone
   And knock at the keyless gate."

I saw that a falsehood was planted deep
   At the very root of things
Where the grey Sphinx guards God's riddle sleep
   On the Dragon's outspread wings.

I left the surface gauds of mind
   And life's unsatisfied seas
And plunged through the body's alleys blind
   To the nether mysteries.

I have delved through the dumb Earth's dreadful heart
   And heard her black mass' bell.
I have seen the source whence her agonies part
   And the inner reason of hell.

Above me the dragon murmurs moan
   And the goblin voices flit;
I have pierced the Void where Thought was born,
   I have walked in the bottomless pit.

On a desperate stair my feet have trod
   Armoured with boundless peace,
Bringing the fires of the splendour of God
   Into the human abyss.

He who I am was with me still;
   All veils are breaking now.
I have heard His voice and borne His will
   On my vast untroubled brow.

The gulf twixt the depths and the heights is bridged
   And the golden waters pour
Down the sapphire mountain rainbow-ridged
   And glimmer from shore to shore.

Heaven's fire is lit in the breast of the earth
   And the undying suns here burn;
Through a wonder cleft in the bounds of birth
   The incarnate spirits yearn

Like flames to the kingdoms of Truth and Bliss:
   Down a gold-red stairway wend
The radiant children of Paradise
   Clarioning darkness' end.

A little more and the new life's doors
   Shall be carved in silver light
With its aureate roof and mosaic floors
   In a great world bare and bright.

I shall leave my dreams in their argent air,
   For in a raiment of gold and blue
There shall move on the earth embodied and fair
   The living truth of you.
   ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems, A God's Labour, 534,

IN CHAPTERS [126/126]



   69 Poetry
   21 Fiction
   14 Integral Yoga
   10 Occultism
   9 Philsophy
   7 Philosophy
   6 Psychology
   4 Mysticism
   3 Christianity
   2 Buddhism
   1 Alchemy


   19 Percy Bysshe Shelley
   15 Sri Aurobindo
   9 William Wordsworth
   9 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   6 The Mother
   6 Satprem
   6 Friedrich Schiller
   5 Robert Browning
   5 John Keats
   5 Friedrich Nietzsche
   5 Carl Jung
   3 Rabindranath Tagore
   3 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   3 Aleister Crowley
   2 Li Bai
   2 James George Frazer
   2 H P Lovecraft
   2 Bokar Rinpoche


   19 Shelley - Poems
   9 Wordsworth - Poems
   9 Emerson - Poems
   6 Schiller - Poems
   6 Savitri
   5 Thus Spoke Zarathustra
   5 Keats - Poems
   5 Browning - Poems
   3 Tagore - Poems
   3 Mysterium Coniunctionis
   2 The Golden Bough
   2 The Bible
   2 Tara - The Feminine Divine
   2 On Thoughts And Aphorisms
   2 Lovecraft - Poems
   2 Li Bai - Poems
   2 Collected Poems


0 1958-03-07, #Agenda Vol 01, #unset, #Zen
   On the way, I stopped at J and Es place. They are living like native fishermen, in loincloths, in a coconut grove by the sea. The place is exceedingly beautiful, and the sea full of Rainbow-hued coral. And suddenly, within twenty-four hours, I realized an old dreamor rather, I purged myself of an old and tenacious dream: that of living on a Pacific island as a simple fisherman. And all at once, I saw, in a flash, that this kind of life totally lacks a center. You float in a nowhere. It plunges you into some kind of higher inertia, an illumined inertia, and you lose all true substance.
   As for me, I am totally out of my element in this new life, as though I were uprooted from myself. I am living in the temple, in the midst of pujas,1 with white ashes on my forehead, barefoot dressed like a Hindu, sleeping on cement at night, eating impossible curries, with some good sunburns to complete the cooking. And there I am, clinging to you, for if you were not there I would collapse, so absurd would it all be. You are the only realityhow many times have I repeated this to myself, like a litany! Apart from this, I am holding up quite well physically. But inside and outside, nothing is left but you. I need you, thats all. Mother, this world is so horrifyingly empty. I really feel that I would evaporate if you werent there. Well, no doubt I had to go through this experience Perhaps I will be able to extract some book from it that will be of use to you. We are like children who need a lot of pictures in order to understand, and a few good kicks to realize our complete stupidity.

0 1961-07-28, #Agenda Vol 02, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Now I see that these rays emanate from a recumbent oval of white light encircled by a superb Rainbow, and I sense that the one whom the light hides from my view is plunged into a profound repose. For long I remain at the outer edge of the Rainbow, trying to pierce through the light and see the one who is sleeping encircled by such splendor. Unable to discern anything, I enter the Rainbow, and thence into the white and shining oval. Here I see a marvelous being: stretched on what seems to be a mass of white eiderdown, his supple body, of incomparable beauty, is garbed in a long, white robe. His head rests on his folded arm, but of that I can see only his long hair, the hue of ripened wheat, flowing over his shoulders. A great and gentle emotion sweeps through me at this magnificent spectacle, and a deep reverence as well.
   Has the sleeper sensed my presence? For now he awakens and rises in all his grace and beauty. He turns towards me and his eyes meet mine, mauve and luminous eyes with a gentle, an infinitely tender expression. Wordlessly he bids me a sublime welcome and my whole being joyously responds. Taking my hand, he leads me to the couch he has just left. I stretch out on this downy whiteness, and his harmonious visage bends over me; a sweet current of force enters wholly into me, invigorating, revitalizing each cell.
   Then, wreathed by the splendid colors of the Rainbow, enveloped by lulling melodies and exquisite perfumes, beneath his gaze so powerful, so tender, I drift into a beatific repose. And during my sleep I learn many beautiful and useful things.
   Of all these marvelous things, understood without the noise of words, I mention only one.

0 1963-12-31, #Agenda Vol 04, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Each Rainbow brilliance was a splendid lie;
   A beauty unreal graced a glamour face.

0 1965-06-14, #Agenda Vol 06, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   For snakes, for instance, its quite remarkable. Some, when they dream of snakes, have the feeling theyre going to meet with catastrophes; I myself have had all sorts of dreams with snakes: I had to go through gardens full of snakes everywhereon the ground, in the trees, everywhere and not kindly snakes! But I knew very well what it meant; during the dream itself I knew it: it depended on certain mental conditions around me and ill willmental ill will.2 But if you have mental control and power, you can go through, they cannot touch you. And other people, when they see a snake, think it is the universal consciousness. So we cant say. Thon used to say that the serpent is the symbol of evolution, and those who were with him always saw Rainbow-colored serpents, with all the colors, and it was the symbol of universal evolution Basically, to tell the truth, everyone has his own symbolism And for myself, I have seen that it depended on the periods in my life, on the activities, on the degree of development. There are things I see again now in which I see another meaning, which was behind the meaning I had seen.
   Its very interesting, but it belongs entirely to the domain of relativity.

02.05 - Robert Graves, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Through a first Rainbow-limbo, webbed in white,
   Through chill Tyrrhenian grottoes, under water,

02.06 - The Kingdoms and Godheads of the Greater Life, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  She builds creation like a Rainbow bridge
  Between the original Silence and the Void.

02.07 - The Descent into Night, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
    Each Rainbow brilliance was a splendid lie;
    A beauty unreal graced a glamour face.

04.01 - The March of Civilisation, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 01, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   We may follow a little more closely the march of the centuries in their undulating movement. The creative intelligence of the Renaissance too belonged to a region of the higher mind, a kind of inspirational mind. It had not the altitude or even the depth of the Greek mind nor its subtler resonances: but it regained and re-established and carried to a new degree the spirit of inquiry and curiosity, an appreciation of human motives and preoccupations, a rational understanding of man and the mechanism of the world. The original intuitive fiat, the imaginative brilliance, the spirit of adventure (in the mental as well as the physical world) that inspired the epoch gradually dwindled: it gave place to an age of consolidation, organisation, stabilisation the classical age. The seventeenth century Europe marked another peak of Europe's civilisation. That is the Augustan Age to which we have referred. The following century marked a further decline of the Intuition and higher imagination and we come to the eighteenth century terre terre rationalism. Great figures still adorned that agestalwarts that either stuck to the prevailing norm and gave it a kind of stagnant nobility or already leaned towards the new light that was dawning once more. Pope and Johnson, Montesquieu and Voltaire are its high-lights. The nineteenth century brought in another crest wave with a special gift to mankind; apparently it was a reaction to the rigid classicism and dry rationalism of the preceding age, but it came burdened with a more positive mission. Its magic name was Romanticism. Man opened his heart, his higher feeling and nobler emotional surge, his subtler sensibility and a general sweep of his vital being to the truths and realities of his own nature and of the cosmic nature. Not the clear white and transparent almost glaring light of reason and logic, of the brain mind, but the rosy or Rainbow tint of the emotive and aspiring personality that seeks in and through the cosmic panorama and dreams of
   A light that was ne'er on sea or land. . .

04.02 - The Growth of the Flame, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  A Rainbow dream, a hope of golden change;
  Some secret wing of expectation beat,

10.02 - The Gospel of Death and Vanity of the Ideal, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Thy vision's error drew the Rainbow's arch;
  Thy mortal longing made for thee a soul.

10.03 - The Debate of Love and Death, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Or tricked in the Rainbow shifting of its hues
  Like echoes swam fainting into far sound.

1.01 - Tara the Divine, #Tara - The Feminine Divine, #unset, #Zen
  THE SAffiB WITH A Rainbow BODY
  Question: Sometimes, Westerners think that some cultural
  --
  several days. Finally, someone noticed Rainbows
  stemming from his window. Puzzled, Kunu Lama and
  --
  only Rainbows. They shook his clothes from which
  more small Rainbows escaped falling like rain! Of the
  sahib, only nails and hair were left.
  --
  the dissolution of the body in Rainbows at the time of
  death.
  --
  obtain a Rainbow body, then access to Tibetan
  buddhism is not limited by cultural barriers. From the

1.01 - Who is Tara, #How to Free Your Mind - Tara the Liberator, #Thubten Chodron, #unset
  like a Rainbow, mirage, or illusion. In this way, her body represents the compatibility of the two truths: conventional and ultimate. On the conventional
  level, Tara appears and exists. Yet when we search for her ultimate mode of

1.04 - The Aims of Psycho therapy, #The Practice of Psycho therapy, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  palette all the hues and shadings of the Rainbow. I would gladly paint such a
  picture if it lay within my power, for I have always felt the need for a

1.04 - THE APPEARANCE OF ANOMALY - CHALLENGE TO THE SHARED MAP, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  Quartz is connected with the sky world and with the Rainbow; pearl shell is similarly connected with
  the Rainbow serpent, that is, in sum, still with the sky. This sky symbolism goes along with ecstatic
  ascents to Heaven; for in many regions the candidate is believed to visit the sky, whether by his own

1.04 - The Paths, #A Garden of Pomegranates - An Outline of the Qabalah, #Israel Regardie, #Occultism
  The symbol of Sagittarius is the Centaur, half-man and half-beast, who is traditionally connected with Archery ; and the Horse, too, is a correspondence of Samech. The plant appropriate is the Rush, used for making arrows; perfume Lignaloes, and Green is the colour. The Rainbow is also a correspondence of Samech, and in this connection the God Ares is attri buted.
  The Tarot attri bution is XIV. -Temperance, showing an angel crowned with the golden sigil of the Sun, clothed in beautiful white robes, and on his breast are written the letters of the Tetragrammaton over a white square, wherein is a gold triangle. He pours a blue liquid from a gilt chalice into another.

1.05 - Buddhism and Women, #Tara - The Feminine Divine, #unset, #Zen
  it is mentioned that 25 of them obtained Rainbow
  bodies, that is, they left no remains, their bodies
  disappeared into Rainbows.
  - 135 - .
  --
  syllable HRI, she was born among Rainbows, celestial
  music, and wonderful perfumes. Immediately at birth,
  --
  sisters, have attained Rainbow bodies.
  In all the schools of Tibetan buddhism, Nyingma,

1.05 - Some Results of Initiation, #Knowledge of the Higher Worlds, #Rudolf Steiner, #Theosophy
  Its ground-color is different from any of the seven colors contained in the Rainbow. Anyone capable of observing it will find a color which is actually non-existent for sense perception but to which the color of the young peach-blossom may be comparable. If desired, the etheric body can be examined alone; for this purpose the soul-body must be extinguished by an effort of attentiveness in the manner described above. Otherwise the etheric body will present an ever changing picture owing to its interpenetration by the soul-body.
  Now, the particles of the etheric body are in continual motion. Countless currents stream through it in every direction. By these currents, life itself is maintained and regulated. Every body that has life, including animals and plants, possesses an etheric body. Even in minerals traces of it can be observed. These currents and movements are, to begin with, independent of human will and consciousness, just as the action of the

1.05 - The Magical Control of the Weather, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  imitation of a Rainbow, and sets it up over the snake. After that
  all he does is to sing over the snake and the mimic Rainbow; sooner
  or later the rain will fall. They explain this procedure by saying
  --
  sky till a Rainbow and clouds appeared and rain fell. A common way
  of making rain in many parts of Java is to ba the a cat or two cats,

1.06 - Being Human and the Copernican Principle, #Preparing for the Miraculous, #George Van Vrekhem, #Integral Yoga
  21 In Richard Dawkins: Unweaving the Rainbow, p. xi.
  22 Jacques Monod: Le hasard et la ncessit, p. 216.138

1.06 - On Work, #The Prophet, #Kahlil Gibran, #Poetry
  Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, He who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is nobler than he who ploughs the soil. And he who seizes the Rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet.
  But I say, not in sleep but in the overwakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;

1.07 - Incarnate Human Gods, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
  see a Rainbow they take it as a sign sent them by the departed Lama
  to guide them to his cradle. Sometimes the divine infant himself

1.09 - The Greater Self, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  We have cut little pieces out of that great indivisible oneness, that fullness of the world, that global self. We have sliced little pieces out of space and time, particles of self and not-self, protons and electrons, pluses and minuses tightly wedded to one another, good and evil, night and day inextricably bound to one another, incomplete without one another, never complete with each other; for all the nights and days together will never make a complete day; all the pluses and minuses, goods and evils, selves and not-selves added up will never make a full beauty, a single being. And we have replaced oneness by multiplicity, love by loves, rhythm by harmonies that are broken and restored. But our fusion is nothing but an addition, and life is born out of death as if we constantly had to destroy in order to be, split in order to join in a new appearance of unity which is only the sum of the same separations, of the same good and evil, of plus and minus, of a self that is a million past selves but not a single little full drop. We have drawn a little circle in the great indivisible Life, enclosed a fragment of being in a gelatine capsule, set apart one note of the great rhythm beneath a shell of beast or man, and seized a few hard and trenchant thoughts from the great Rainbow current whose strands dangled over the bushes of the world. We have cut up the great Look in the heart of things and produced a thousand irreducible facets. And since we could no longer see anything of the great world, shielded, fragmented and syncopated as it was, we have invented eyes to see what we had driven away, ears to hear what whispered everywhere, fingers to grasp a few fragments of a full beauty we had truncated, and thirst, desire, hunger for everything that was no longer us antennas, thousands of antennas to capture the one note that would fill our hearts. And since we could no longer grasp anything without these inventions, these eyes, senses and gray cells oh, so gray! we came to believe that the world was inaccessible without them, that it resembled the reading on our little dials, and that perhaps we were even the creators of the broken waves going through our antennas. We have said I, others, and I again and I forever and ever, in a black or a yellow skin, under an Athenian shell or a Theban one, under these ruins or those, under the same old ruins of little I's who die without knowing why, who live by fragments, enjoy themselves without ever really enjoying themselves, and come back again and again to understand what they had not understood and, perhaps, to build the full City of the great self at last. When we touch that fullness, our good will no longer clash with our evil, our pluses with our minuses, because everything will be our good and flow in the same direction; our nights will no longer be the opposite of our days, our loves a fraction of all loves, our little notes a cry torn from the great Note, because there will be only one music playing through our millions of instruments, only one love with a million faces and only one great day with its cool shades and Rainbow cascades beneath the great tree of the world. Then it may become unnecessary to die, because we will have found the secret of the life that is reborn from its own joy one dies only from lack of joy and in order to find an ever greater joy.
  This all, this great all has been seen by sages in their visions and by a few rare poets and thinkers: All this is Brahman immortal, naught else; Brahman is in front of us, Brahman behind us, to the south of us and to the North of us and below us and above us; it stretches everywhere. All this is Brahman alone, all this magnificent universe.19 Thou art woman and thou art man also; Thou art the boy and girl, and Thou art yonder worn and aged man that walkest bending upon a staff.... Thou art the blue bird and the green and the scarlet eyed.20 Thou art That, O Swetaketu.21 This great all that is us has shined at the summit of human accomplishment, left a few hieroglyphic traces on the walls of Thebes, and nourished initiates here and there at times we have entered a white radiance above the worlds where, in a flash, we have dissolved the little self and emerged into a cosmic consciousness.... But none of that has changed the world. We still did not have the clue that would connect that vision to this earth and make a new world with a new look. Our truths remained fragile; the earth remained refractory and rightly so. Why should it obey the illuminations from above if that light does not affect its matter, if it itself does not see and it itself is not illuminated? In truth, wisdom is very wise and the earth's darkness is not a negation of the Spirit, any more than night is a negation of day; it is an expectation and a calling for light, and so long as we do not call the light here, why should it trouble itself to move from its summits? So long as we do not turn our nocturnal half toward its sun, why should it be filled with light? If we seek solar wholeness on the summits of the mind, we shall have wholeness there, in a lovely thought; if we seek it in the heart, we shall have it there, in a tender emotion if we seek it in matter at every instant, we shall have that same wholeness in matter and at every instant of matter. We have to know where we are looking. We cannot reasonably find the light where we are not looking. Then, perhaps, we shall realize that this earth was not so dark after all. It was our look that was dark, our want of being that brought about the want of things. The earth's resistance is our own resistance and the promise of a solid truth: an innumerable bursting of Rainbows into incarnate myriads instead of an empty radiance on the heights of the Spirit.
  But the seeker of the new world has not pursued his quest in a straight line; he has not closed his doors, rejected matter, muffled his soul. He has taken his quest along wherever he went, on the boulevards and on the stairways, in the crowd and in the empty obscurity of millions of senseless gestures. He has pervaded all the wastelands with being, kindled his fire in all the vanities, and fed his need on the very inanity that stifled him. He was not a little one-pointed concentration that rose straight up to the heights and then fell asleep in the white peace of the spirit; he was this chaos and turmoil, this wandering back and forth, in nothing. He pulled all into his net the ups and downs, the blacks and less blacks and so-called whites, the falls and setbacks he held everything within his little circumference, with a fire at the center, a need for truth amid this chaos, a cry for help in this nothingness. He was a tangled course, an endless meandering of which he knew nothing, except that he carried his fire there his fire for nothing, for everything. He no longer even expected anything from anything; he was only like a mellowness of burning, as if that fire were the goal in itself, the being amid all this emptiness, the only presence in this enormous absence. It even ended up becoming a sort of quiet love, for nothing, for everything, here and there. And little by little, this nothingness was lit up; this emptiness was set afire by his look; this futility stirred with the same little warmth. And everything began to answer. The world came to life everywhere, but infinitesimal, microscopic: a powdering of little truths dancing here and there, in facts and gestures, in things and meetings it even seems as if they came to meet him. It was a strange multiplication, a kind of golden contagion.

11.01 - The Eternal Day The Souls Choice and the Supreme Consummation, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  From the Rainbow of imagination's wings.
  Immortal fragrance packed the quivering breeze.

1.11 - Higher Laws, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
  We soon forget them. They are the highest reality. Perhaps the facts most astounding and most real are never communicated by man to man. The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the Rainbow which I have clutched.
  Yet, for my part, I was never unusually squeamish; I could sometimes eat a fried rat with a good relish, if it were necessary. I am glad to have drunk water so long, for the same reason that I prefer the natural sky to an opium-eaters heaven. I would fain keep sober always; and there are infinite degrees of drunkenness. I believe that water is the only drink for a wise man; wine is not so noble a liquor; and think of dashing the hopes of a morning with a cup of warm coffee, or of an evening with a dish of tea! Ah, how low I fall when I am tempted by them! Even music may be intoxicating. Such apparently slight causes destroyed Greece and Rome, and will destroy England and America. Of all ebriosity, who does not prefer to be intoxicated by the air he breathes? I have found it to be the most serious objection to coarse labors long continued, that they compelled me to eat and drink coarsely also. But to tell the truth, I find myself at present somewhat less particular in these respects. I carry less religion to the table, ask no blessing; not because I am wiser than I was, but, I am obliged to confess, because, however much it is to be regretted, with years I have grown more coarse and indifferent. Perhaps these questions are entertained only in youth, as most believe of poetry. My practice is

1.11 - ON THE NEW IDOL, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  you not see it, the Rainbow and the bridges of the overman?
  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

1.12 - The Superconscient, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  We speak of "error" because we do not yet see the good it is preparing, or of which it is the visible half; we speak of "falsehood" because we have not yet had enough time to see the lotus blossom out of the mud; we speak of "black," but our daylight is black to one who sees the Light! Our error was the necessary companion of good; no was the inseparable other half of yes; white and black and all the other colors of the Rainbow were the various transcriptions of a unique light gradually unveiling itself. There are no opposites, only complements.
  The whole story of the ascent of consciousness is the story of a widening of the aperture, the passage from a linear and contradictory consciousness to a global one.
  --
  The planes of consciousness are characterized not only by different intensities of luminous vibrations, but by different sound-vibrations or rhythms one can hear when one has that "ear of ears" the Veda speaks of. Sounds or images, lights or forces or beings are various aspects of the same Existence manifesting differently and in varying intensities according to the plane. The farther one descends the ladder of consciousness, the more fragmented become the sound-vibrations, as well as the light, the beings, and the forces. On the vital plane, for example, one can hear the discordant and jarring vibrations of life, like certain types of music issuing from this plane or certain types of vital painting or poetry, which all express that broken and highly colored rhythm. The higher one rises, the more harmonious, unified and streamlined the vibrations become, such as certain great notes of Beethoven's string quartets, which seem to draw us upward, breathlessly, to radiant heights of pure light. The force of the music is no longer a matter of volume or multi-hued outbursts, but of a higher inner tension. The higher frequency of vibration turns the multi-hued Rainbow to pure white, to a note so high that it seems motionless, as if captured in eternity, one single sound-light-force which is perhaps akin to the sacred Indian syllable OM [the] Word concealed in the upper fire.35 "In the beginning was the Word," the Christian Scriptures also say.
  There exists in India a secret knowledge based upon sounds and the differences of vibratory modes found on different planes of consciousness. If we pronounce the sound OM, for example, we clearly feel its vibrations enveloping the head centers, while the sound RAM affects the navel center. And since each of our centers of consciousness is in direct contact with a plane, we can, by the repetition of certain sounds (japa), come into contact with the corresponding plane of consciousness.200 This is the basis of an entire spiritual discipline, called "tantric" because it originates from sacred texts known as Tantra. The basic or essential sounds that have the power to establish the contact are called mantras. The mantras, usually secret and given to the disciple by his Guru,201 are of all kinds (there are many levels within each plane of consciousness), and may serve the most contradictory purposes. By combining certain sounds, one can at the lower levels of consciousness generally at the vital level come in contact with the corresponding forces and acquire many strange powers: some mantras can cause death (in five minutes, with violent vomiting), some mantras can strike with precision a particular part or organ of the body, some mantras can cure, some mantras can start a fire, protect, or cast spells. This type of magic, or chemistry of vibrations, derives simply from a conscious handling of the lower vibrations. But there is a higher magic, which also derives from handling vibrations, on higher planes of consciousness. This is poetry, music, the spiritual mantras of the Upanishads and the Veda, the mantras given by a Guru to his disciple to help him come consciously into direct contact with a special plane of consciousness, a force or a divine being. In this case, the sound holds in itself the power of experience and realization it is a sound that makes one see.

1.25 - Fascinations, Invisibility, Levitation, Transmutations, Kinks in Time, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  In certain types of animal there appears, if tradition have any weight, to be a curious quality of sympathy? I doubt if that be the word, but can think of none better which enables them to assume at times the human form. No. 1 and the rest are also rans is the seal. There is a whole body of literature about this. Then come wolves, hyaenas, large dogs of the hunting type; occasionally leopards. Tales of cats and serpents are usually the other way round; it is the human (nearly always female) that assumes these shapes by witchcraft. But in ancient Egypt they literally doted on this sort of thing. The papyri are full of formulas for operating such transmutations. But I think that this was mostly to afford some relaxation for the spirit of the dead man; he nipped out of his sarcophagus, and painted the town all the colours of the Rainbow in one animal shape or another.
  The only experience I have of anything of this sort was when I was in Pacific waters, mostly at Honolulu or in Nippon. I was practising Astral projection. A sister of the Order who lived in Hong Kong helped me. I was to visit her, and the token of perfect success was to be that I should knock a vase off the mantel-piece. We appointed certain days and hours with some awkwardness, as my time-distance from her was constantly growing shorter for me to pay my visit. We got some remarkable results; our records of the interview used to tally with surprising accuracy; but the vase remained intact!

1.25 - On the destroyer of the passions, most sublime humility, which is rooted in spiritual feeling., #The Ladder of Divine Ascent, #Saint John of Climacus, #unset
  6. Painstaking repentance, mourning cleansed of all impurity, and holy humility in beginners, are as different and distinct from each other as yeast and flour from bread. By open repentance the soul is broken and refined; it is brought to a certain unity, I will even say a commingling with God, by means of the water of genuine sorrow. Then, kindled by the fire of the Lord, blessed humility becomes bread and is made firm without the leaven of pride. Therefore when this holy three-fold cord or, rather, heavenly Rainbow, unites into one power and activity, it acquires its own effects and properties. And whatever you name as a sign of one of them, is a token also of another. And so I shall try to prove what I have just said by a brief demonstration.
  7. The first and paramount property of this excellent and admirable trinity is the acceptance of indignity with the greatest pleasure, when the soul receives it with outstretched hands and welcomes it as something that relieves and cauterizes diseases of the soul and great sins. The second property is the loss of all bad temper, and modesty at its appeasement. The third and highest degree is a true distrust of ones good qualities and a constant desire to learn.

1961 03 11 - 58, #On Thoughts And Aphorisms, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   The occultist I spoke of used to say that the true interpretation of the Bible story about Paradise and the serpent is that man wanted to rise from a state of animal divinitylike the animalsto a state of conscious divinity through the development of the mind and that is what the symbol means when it is said that they ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. And the serpen the always used to say that it was iridescent, that is to say, it was all the colours of the Rainbowit was not at all the spirit of Evil, it was the evolutionary force, the force, the power of evolution, and of course it was the power of evolution that had made them taste of the fruit of knowledge.
   And so, according to him, Jehovah was the chief of the Asuras, the supreme Asura, the egoistic god who wanted to dominate everything and have everything under his control. And once he had taken the position of supreme lord in relation to earthly realisation, of course he was not pleased that man should make this mental progress, for it would bring him a knowledge that enabled him not to obey any longer! This made him furious! For it would enable man to become a god by the evolutionary power of consciousness. And that is why they were driven out of Paradise.

1970 04 15, #On Thoughts And Aphorisms, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   476Discipleship to God the Teacher, sonship to God the Father, tenderness of God the Mother, clasp of the hand of the divine Friend, laughter and sport with our Comrade and boy Playfellow, blissful servitude to God the Master, rapturous love of our divine Paramour, these are the seven beatitudes of life in the human body. Canst thou unite all these in a single supreme and Rainbow-hued relation? Then hast thou no need of any heaven and thou exceedest the emancipation of the Adwaitin.
   There is nothing to add. It is a perfect programme.

1.ac - The Ladder, #Crowley - Poems, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  Pierce through the Rainbow! Swift, O swift! how streams
  The world by! Let Sandalphon and his quire

1.ami - To the Saqi (from Baal-i-Jibreel), #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by Naeem Siddiqui Original Language Urdu Look! What wonders the spring has wrought! The river bank is a paradise! Rose-embowered glades, Blossoming jasmine and hyacinth, And violets, the envy of the skies!. Rainbow colours transformed Into a chorus of rapturous sounds, And the harmony of flowers The hillside is carnation-red; In the languid haze, the air Seems drunk with the beauty of life! The brook, on the heights of the hill, Dances to its own music. The world is dizzy in a pageant of colour! My rosy-cheeked Cup-bearer! The voice of spring is the voice of life! But the spring lasts not for ever; So bring me the cup that tears all veils -- The wine that brightens life -- The wine that intoxicates the world -- The wine in which flows The music of everlasting life, The wine that reveals eternity's secret. Unveil the secrets, O Saqi. Look! The world has changed apace! New are the songs, and new is the music; The West's magic has dissolved; The West's magicians are bewildered; Old politics has lost its game; The world is tired of kings; Gone are the days of the rich; Gone is the jugglery of old; Awake is China's sleeping giant; The Himalayas' torrents are unleashed; Sinai is riven; Moses awaits the light divine. The Muslim says that God is One But his heart is Still a heathen: Culture, sufism, rites and rthetoric, All adore non- Arab idols; The truth was lost in trifles, And the nation was lost in conventions. The speaker's rhetoric is enchanting, But is devoid of passion; It is clothed in logic neat, But lost in a maze of words; The sufi, unique in the love of truth, Unique in the love of God, Was lost in un-Islamic thought; Was lost in the hierarchic quest; The fire of love is extinguished, And a Muslim is a heap of ashes, O Saqi! Give me the old wine again! Let the potent cup go round! Let me soar on the wings of love; Make my dust bright-pinioned; Make wisdom free; And make the young guide the old; Thou it is that nourishest. this nation; Thou it is that canst sustain it; Urge them to move, to stir; Give them Ali's heart; give them Siddiq's passion; Let the same old love pierce their hearts; Awaken in them a burning zeal; Let the stars throw down their spears, And let the earth's dwellers tremble Give the young a passion that consumes; Give them my vision, my love of God; Free my boat from the whirlpool's grip, And make it move forward-, Reveal to me the secrets of life, For thou knowest them all; The treasures of a fakir like me Are suffused, unsleeping eyes, And secret yearnings of the heart-, My anguished sighs at night, My solitude in the world of men, My hopes and my fears, My quest untiring, My nature an arena of thought A mirror of the world. My heart a battlefield of life, With armies of suspicion, And bastions of certitude; With these treasures I am More rich than the richest of all. Let the young join my throng, And let them find an anchor of hope. The sea of life has its ebb and flow-, In every atom's heart is the pulse of life; It manifests itself in the body, As a flame conceals a wave of smoke; Contact with the earth was harsh for it, But it liked the labour; It is in motion, and not in motion; Tired of the elements' shackles; A unity, imprisoned by plurality; But always unique, unequalled. It has made this dome of myriad glass; It has carved this pantheon. It does not repeat its craft For thou art not me, and I am not thou; It has created the world of men, And remains in solitude, Its brightness is seen in the stars, And in the lustre of pearls-, To it belong the wildernesses, The flowers and the thorns; Mountains sometimes are shaken by its might; It captures angels and nymphs; It makes the eagle pounce on a prey, And leave a blood-stained body. Every atom throbs with life; Rest is an illusion; Life's journey pauses not, For every moment is a new glory; Life, thou thinkest, is a mystery; Life is a delight in eternal flight; Life has seen many ups and downs; It loves a journey, not a goal. Movement is life's being; Movement is truth, pause is a mirage. Life's enjoyment is in perils, In facing ups and downs; In the world beyond Life stalked for death, But the impulse to procreate Peopled the world of man and beast. Flowers blossomed and dropped From this tree of life. Fools think life is ephemeral; Life renews itself for ever -- Moving fast as a flash, Moving to eternity in a breath; Time, a chain of days and nights, Is the ebb and flow of breath. This flow of breath is like a sword, Selfhood is its sharpness; Selfhood is the secret of life; It is the world's awakening, Selfhood is solitary, absorbed, An ocean enclosed in a drop; It shines in light and in darkness, Existent in, but away from, thee and me. The dawn of life behind it, eternity before, It has no frontiers before, no frontiers behind. Afloat on the river of time, Bearing the buffets of the waves, Changing the course of its quest, Shifting its glance from time to time; For it a hill is a grain of sand, Mountains are shattered by its blows; A journey is its beginning and end, And this is the secret of its being. It is the moon's beam, the spark in the flint, Colourless itself, though infused with colours, No concern has it with the calculus of space, With linear time's limits, with the finitude of life. It manifested itself in man's essence of dust, After an eternity of a strife to be born. It is in thy heart that Selfhood has an abode, As heaven has its abode in the cornea of thy eye. To one who guards his Selfhood, The living that demeans it, is poison; He accepts only a living, That keeps his self- esteem; Keep away from royal pomp, Keep thy Selfhood free; Thou shouldst bow in prayer, Not bow to a human being. This myriad-coloured world, Under the sentence of death, This world of sight and sound, I Where life means eating and drinking, Is Selfhood's initial stage; It is not thy abode, O traveller! This dust-bowl is not the source of thy fire; The world is for thee, not thou for the world. Demolish this illusion of' time and space; Selfhood is the Tiger of God, the world is its prey; The earth is its prey, the heavens are its prey; Other worlds there are, still awaiting birth, The earth-born are not the centre of all life; They all await thy assault, Thy cataclysmic thought and deed; Days and nights revolve, To reveal thy Selfhood to thee; Thou art the architect of the world. Words fail to convey the truth; Truth is the mirror, words its shade; Though the breath is a burning flame, The flame has limited bounds. 'If now I soar any farther, The vision will sear my wings.' <
1f.lovecraft - The Challenge from Beyond, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   of the Rainbow-hued floor, tier on tier, each of a separate, vivid
   color. The ultimate tier was a purple cone, from the apex of which a
  --
   blood, and ran with insect-like quiverings across a Rainbow-hued hall
   and out through massive portals into the bright glow of alien suns.

1f.lovecraft - The Colour out of Space, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   of luminous amorphousness, that alien and undimensioned Rainbow of
   cryptic poison from the wellseething, feeling, lapping, reaching,

1.fs - Melancholy -- To Laura, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  As the wind the Rainbow shatters,
  Death thy bright smiles rends and scatters,
  Smile and Rainbow leave no traces;
  From the spring-time's laughing graces,

1.fs - Parables And Riddles, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
    Neath the Rainbow of Heaven stands free to the last,
     In the ocean it dips, and soars up to the skies.

1.fs - The Artists, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  As Rainbow-beams of sevenfold hue
   Dissolve again in that soft light,

1.fs - The Ideal And The Actual Life, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  Here, lovely as the Rainbow on the dew
   Of the spent thunder-cloud, to art is given,

1.fs - The Veiled Statue At Sais, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
  Deprive the Rainbow of one single color,
  And all that will remain is naught, so long

1.fs - The Walk, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
   Light as the Rainbow's spring through the air, as the dart from the bowstring,
   Leaps the yoke of the bridge over the boisterous stream.

1.jk - Endymion - Book I, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  Is of too wide, too Rainbow-large a scope,
  To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks.

1.jk - Endymion - Book II, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  Golden, or Rainbow-sided, or purplish,
  Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze;
  --
  Like Vulcan's Rainbow, with some monstrous roof
  Curves hugely: now, far in the deep abyss,

1.jk - Lamia. Part I, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  So Rainbow-sided, touchd with miseries,
  She seemd, at once, some penanced lady elf,

1.jk - Lamia. Part II, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
  There was an awful Rainbow once in heaven:
  We know her woof, her texture; she is given
  --
  Unweave a Rainbow, as it erewhile made
  The tender-persond Lamia melt into a shade.
  --
  (line 239): In the Autobiography of Haydon, as edited by the late Mr. Tom Taylor, we read at page 354 of Volume 1 (edition of 1853) that Keats and Lamb, at one of the meetings at Haydon's house, agreed that Newton "had destroyed all the poetry of the Rainbow, by reducing it to the prismatic colours." This meeting was what Haydon calls "the immortal dinner" of the 28th of December 1817; so that the idea appears to have persisted in Keats's mind.
  Last line: The following extract is appended in Keats's edition as a note to the last line of Lamia:--

1.jk - Ode On Melancholy, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
    Or on the Rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
       Or on the wealth of globed peonies;

1.kg - Little Tiger, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by Thubten Jinpa and Jas Elsener Original Language Tibetan The honey bee, a little tiger, is not addicted to the taste of sugar; his nature is to extract the juice from the sweet lotus flower! Dakinis, above, below, and on earth, unimpeded by closeness and distance, will surely extract the blissful essence when the yogins bound by pledges gather. The sun, the king of illumination, is not inflated by self-importance; by the karma of sentient beings, it shines resplendent in the sky. When the sun perfect in skill and wisdom dawns in the sky of the illuminated mind, without conceit, you beautify and crown the beings of all three realms. The smiling faces of the radiant moon are not addicted to hide and seek; by its relations with the sun, the moon takes waning and waxing forms. Though my gurus, embodiment of all refuge, are free of all fluctuation and of faults, through their flux-ridden karma the disciples perceive that the guru's three secrets display all kinds of effulgence. Constellations of stars adorning the sky are not competing in a race of speed; due to the force of energy's pull, the twelve planets move clockwise with ease. Guru, deity, and dakini -- my refuge -- though not partial toward the faithful, unfailingly you appear to guard those with fortunate karma blessed. The white clouds hovering above on high are not so light that they arise from nowhere; it is the meeting of moisture and heat that makes the patches of mist in the sky. Those striving for good karma are not greedy in self-interest; by the meeting of good conditions they become unrivaled as they rise higher. The clear expanse of the autumn sky is not engaged in the act of cleansing; yet being devoid of all obscuration, its pure vision bejewels the eyes. The groundless sphere of all phenomena is not created fresh by a discursive mind; yet when the face of ever-presence is known, all concreteness spontaneously fades away. Rainbows radiating colors freely are not obsessed by attractive costumes; by the force of dependent conditions, they appear distinct and clearly. This vivid appearance of the external world, though not a self-projected image, through the play of fluctuating thought and mind, appears as paintings of real things. [1585.jpg] -- from Songs of Spiritual Experience: Tibetan Buddhist Poems of Insight & Awakening, Translated by Thupten Jinpa / Translated by Jas Elsner

1.lb - His Dream Of Skyland, #Li Bai - Poems, #Li Bai, #Poetry
  Clad in Rainbow and riding on the wind,
  The ladies of the air descended like flower, flakes;

1.lb - Lu Mountain, Kiangsi, #Li Bai - Poems, #Li Bai, #Poetry
      Strange as if light-wet Rainbows lifted.
      I thought the Milky Way had shattered,

1.pbs - Alastor - or, the Spirit of Solitude, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  O Sleep? Does the bright arch of Rainbow clouds
  And pendent mountains seen in the calm lake
  --
  The beams of sunset hung their Rainbow hues
  High 'mid the shifting domes of sheeted spray
  --
  In Rainbow and in fire, the parasites,
  Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around
  --
  Nurses of Rainbow flowers and branching moss,
  Commit the colors of that varying cheek,

1.pbs - Arethusa, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  With her Rainbow locks
  Streaming among the streams;--

1.pbs - A Vision Of The Sea, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Like a Rainbow, and I the fallen shower?Lo! the ship
  Is settling, it topples, the leeward ports dip;

1.pbs - Charles The First, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Gloriously as a grave covered with virgin flowers. There's a Rainbow in the sky. Let your Majesty look at it, for
  'A Rainbow in the morning
  Is the shepherd's warning;'
  --
  But the Rainbow was a good sign, Archy: it says that the waters of the deluge are gone, and can return no more.
  Archy.
  Ay, the salt-water one: but that of tears and blood must yet come down, and that of fire follow, if there be any truth in lies.-- The Rainbow hung over the city with all its shops,...and churches, from north to south, like a bridge of congregated lightning pieced by the masonry of heaven like a balance in which the angel that distributes the coming hour was weighing that heavy one whose poise is now felt in the lightest hearts, before it bows the proudest heads under the meanest feet.
  Queen.
  --
  But for the Rainbow.
  It moved as the sun moved, and...until the top of the
  --
  So, as I had heard treasures were found where the Rainbow quenches its points upon the earth, I set off, and at the Tower --
  But I shall not tell your Majesty what I found close to the closet-window on which the Rainbow had glimmered.
  King.
  --
  Like the season, So blow the winds.But at the other end of the Rainbow, where the gray rain was tempered along the grass and leaves by a tender interfusion of violet and gold in the meadows beyond Lambeth, what think you that I found instead of a mitre?
  King.

1.pbs - Epipsychidion, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  The armies of the Rainbow-wingd showers;
  And, as those married lights, which from the towers

1.pbs - Epipsychidion - Passages Of The Poem, Or Connected Therewith, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  It floats with Rainbow pinions o'er the stream
  Of life, which flows, like a . . . dream

1.pbs - Hellas - A Lyrical Drama, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Are more than furnace-sparks or Rainbow-drops
  Before the Power that wields and kindles them.

1.pbs - Hymn of Apollo, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  I feed the clouds, the Rainbows, and the flowers,
  With their ethereal colors; the Moon's globe,

1.pbs - Hymn to Intellectual Beauty, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
   Weaves Rainbows o'er yon mountain-river,
  Why aught should fail and fade that once is shown,

1.pbs - Mont Blanc - Lines Written In The Vale of Chamouni, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
   Thine earthly Rainbows stretch'd across the sweep
   Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil

1.pbs - Peter Bell The Third, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Shades like a Rainbow's rise and flee,
   Mixed with a certain hungry wish.

1.pbs - Prometheus Unbound, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  A Rainbow's arch stood on the sea,
  Which rocked beneath, immovably;
  --
  That they might hide with thin and Rainbow wings
  The shape of Death; and Love he sent to bind
  --
  I see cars drawn by Rainbow-wingd steeds
  Which trample the dim winds: in each there stands
  --
  And creeping forms, and insects Rainbow-winged,
  And birds, and beasts, and fish, and human shapes,
  --
  With Rainbow-skirted showers, and odorous winds,
  And long blue meteors cleansing the dull night,

1.pbs - Queen Mab - Part I., #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
       Those lines of Rainbow light
     Are like the moonbeams when they fall

1.pbs - Queen Mab - Part VII., #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
   And blood-red Rainbows canopied the land.
   'Spirit! no year of my eventful being

1.pbs - The Revolt Of Islam - Canto I-XII, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
   She stood beside him like a Rainbow braided
    Within some storm, when scarce its shadows vast
  --
    After cold showers, like Rainbows woven there,
   Thus in her lips and cheeks the vital spirit

1.pbs - The Triumph Of Life, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Iris: classical goddess of the Rainbow.
  472.

1.pbs - To A Skylark, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  From Rainbow clouds there flow not
    Drops so bright to see

1.pbs - To The Mind Of Man, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Thou living light that in thy Rainbow hues
  Clothest this naked world; and over Sea

1.pbs - When The Lamp Is Shattered, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  The Rainbow's glory is shed.
  When the lute is broken,

1.rb - Pippa Passes - Part III - Evening, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  In March, a double Rainbow stopped the storm
  May's warm slow yellow moonlit summer nights

1.rb - Sordello - Book the Fifth, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  "A limpid purity to Rainbow flakes,
  "Or shadow, massed, freezes to gloom: behold

1.rb - Sordello - Book the First, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Laughing with lucid dew-drops Rainbow-edged.
  This world of ours by tacit pact is pledged

1.rb - Sordello - Book the Second, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Quivered i' the farthest Rainbow-vapour, glanced
  Athwart the flying herons? He advanced,

1.rb - The Boy And the Angel, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
  Then Gabriel, like a Rainbow's birth,
  Spread his wings and sank to earth;

1.rt - Babys World, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and Rainbows.
    Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never

1.rt - Brahm, Viu, iva, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
     Clouds show a Rainbow,
     Gardens show flowers.

1.rt - Fireflies, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  The Rainbow among the clouds may be great
  but the little butterfly among the bushes is greater.
  --
  The cloud laughed at the Rainbow
  saying that is was an upstart
  --
  The Rainbow calmly answered,
  "I am as inevitably real as tha sun himself."

1.rwe - Dmonic Love, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  Shrivel the Rainbow-colored walls
  Where in bright art each god and sibyl dwelt

1.rwe - Forerunners, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  By signs gracious as Rainbows.
  I thenceforward and long after,    

1.rwe - In Memoriam, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  The Rainbow of his hope was broke;
  No craven cry, no secret tear,--

1.rwe - May-Day, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  Wreaths of mist and Rainbow spanned,
  Arch on arch, the grimmest land;

1.rwe - Seashore, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  Fresh as the trickling Rainbow of July;
  Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds,

1.rwe - Song of Nature, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  The Rainbow shines his harbinger,
  The sunset gleams his smile.
  --
  Too slow the Rainbow fades,
  I weary of my robe of snow,

1.rwe - The Adirondacs, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  The Rainbow hours bedeck his glowing chair,
  The storm-winds urge the heavy weeks along,

1.rwe - The Forerunners, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  By signs gracious as Rainbows.
  I thenceforward and long after

1.rwe - Threnody, #Emerson - Poems, #Ralph Waldo Emerson, #Philosophy
  What Rainbows teach and sunsets show,
  Verdict which accumulates

1.wby - The Wanderings Of Oisin - Book I, #Yeats - Poems, #William Butler Yeats, #Poetry
  Like drops of frozen Rainbow light,
  And pondered in a soft vain mood

1.ww - A Poet! He Hath Put His Heart To School, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Proud as a Rainbow spanning half the vale,
  Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

1.ww - Book Tenth {Residence in France continued], #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  And through a Rainbow-arch that spanned the street,
  Triumphal pomp for liberty confirmed,

1.ww - Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  A Rainbow in the sky:
  So was it when my life began;

1.ww - Fidelity, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Thither the Rainbow comes--the cloud--
  And mists that spread the flying shroud;        

1.ww - Ode on Intimations of Immortality, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  The Rainbow comes and goes,
  And lovely is the rose;

1.ww - The Excursion- II- Book First- The Wanderer, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Varies its Rainbow hues. But vainly thus,
  And vainly by all other means, he strove

1.ww - The Excursion- V- Book Fouth- Despondency Corrected, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  The Rainbow smiling on the faded storm;
  The mild assemblage of the starry heavens;

1.yni - The Celestial Fire, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   English version by T. Carmi Original Language Hebrew Now an angel of the Lord appeared to Moses in a blazing fire -- a fire that devours fire; a fire that burns in things dry and moist; a fire that glows amid snow and ice; a fire that is like a crouching lion; a fire that reveals itself in many forms; a fire that is, and never expires; a fire that shines and roars; a fire that blazes and sparkles; a fire that flies in a storm wind; a fire that burns without wood; a fire that renews itself every day; a fire that is not fanned by fire; a fire that billows like palm branches; a fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning; a fire black as a raven; a fire, curled, like the colours of the Rainbow! [1835.jpg] -- from The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse, Edited by T. Carmi <
20.04 - Act II: The Play on Earth, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 05, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Be pure of all thy Rainbows.
   Enter into thy original Whiteness!

2.01 - On Books, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Zen
   Disciple: Scientists study the Rainbow and find that it is caused by the difference in the wave-lengths of light and they might say that is the reality of the Rainbow. But when the poet exclaims, "My heart leaps up when I behold a Rainbow in the sky," we have no right to say that the knowledge or experience of the scientist is right and that of the poet wrong.
   Sri Aurobindo: In fact, the Rainbow exists for neither. Only the scientist gets excited over the process, while the poet is excited over the result of the process.
   Disciple: Did you read Spengler's Decline of the West?
  --
   He has also argued against the scientists who insist that the so-called objective view is the only view that is permissible or intended. The Rainbow is not intended only to give man the knowledge or experience of the difference in the wave-lengths of light. The poet is equally entided to his experience when he says, "My heart leaps up when I behold a Rainbow in the sky."
   So also a 'ripple' in water is not meant only to give man the knowledge of the pressure of the air, and the force of surface-tension.

2.01 - The Picture, #Hymn of the Universe, #Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, #Christianity
  passed in Rainbow hues the reflection unless in-
  deed it were the creative prototype, the Ideaof

2.02 - The Ishavasyopanishad with a commentary in English, #Isha Upanishad, #unset, #Zen
  lines, with floods of more beautiful Rainbow lustre, to culminate
  at last in the pure white light of the supreme realisation, when

2.07 - ON THE TARANTULAS, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a Rainbow
  after long storms.

2.14 - The Unpacking of God, #Sex Ecology Spirituality, #Ken Wilber, #Philosophy
  All phenomena of samsara and nirvana manifest like Rainbows in the sky.
  Within this state of unwavering awareness,

2.16 - The Magick Fire, #Liber ABA, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
  8:This Incense is based upon Gum Olibanum, the sacrifice of the human will of the heart. This olibanum has been mixed with half its weight of storax, the earthly desires, dark, sweet, and clinging; and this again with half its weight of lignum aloes, which symbolizes Sagittarius, the arrow,1 and so represents the aspiration itself; it is the arrow that cleaves the Rainbow. This arrow is "Temperance" in the Taro; it is a life equally balanced and direct which makes our work possible; yet this life itself must be sacrificed!
  9:In the burning up of these things arise in our imagination those terrifying or alluring phantoms which throng the "Astral Plane." This smoke represents the "Astral Plane" which lies between the 1 Note that there are two arrows: the Divine shot downward, the human upward. The former is the Oil, the latter the Incense, or rather the finest part of it. See Liber CDXVIII, Fifth thyr. material and the spiritual. One may now devote a little attention to the consideration of this "plane," about which a great deal of nonsense has been written.

3.03 - SULPHUR, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [142] From what has been said it should be evident that sulphur is the essence of an active substance. It is the spirit of the metals,135 forming with quicksilver, the other spirit of nature, the two principles and the matter of the metals, since these two principles are themselves metals in potentia.136 Together with Mercurius it also forms the lapis.137 In fact, it is the heart of all things138 and the virtue of all things.139 Enumerating, along with water and moisture, the synonyms for the lapis as the whole secret and life of all things whatsoever, the Consilium coniugii says: The oil that takes up the colour, that is, the radiance of the sun, is itself sulphur.140 Mylius compares it to the Rainbow: The sulphur shines like the Rainbow above the waters . . . the bow of Isis stands half on the pure, liquid, and flowing water and half on the earth . . . hence the whole property of sulphur and its natural likeness are expressed by the Rainbow. Thus sulphur, so far as it is symbolized by the Rainbow, is a divine and wonderful experience. A few lines further on, after mentioning sulphur as one of the components of the water, Mylius writes that Mercurius (i.e., the water) must be cleansed by distillation from all foulness of the earth, and then Lucifer, the impurity and the accursed earth, will fall from the golden heaven.141 Lucifer, the most beautiful of the angels, becomes the devil, and sulphur is of the earths foulness. Here, as in the case of the dragons head, the highest and the lowest are close together. Although a personification of evil, sulphur shines above earth and water with the splendour of the Rainbow, a natural vessel142 of divine transformation.
  [143] From all this it is apparent that for the alchemists sulphur was one of the many synonyms for the mysterious transformative substance.143 This is expressed most plainly in the Turba:144 Therefore roast it for seven days, until it becomes shining like marble, because, when it does, it is a very great secret [arcanum], since sulphur has been mixed with sulphur; and thereby is the greatest work accomplished, by mutual affinity, because natures meeting their nature mutually rejoice.145 It is a characteristic of the arcane substance to have everything it needs; it is a fully autonomous being, like the dragon that begets, reproduces, slays, and devours itself. It is questionable whether the alchemists, who were anything but consistent thinkers, ever became fully conscious of what they were saying when they used such images. If we take their words literally, they would refer to an Increatum, a being without beginning or end, and in need of no second. Such a thing can by definition only be God himself, but a God, we must add, seen in the mirror of physical nature and distorted past recognition. The One for which the alchemists strove corresponds to the res simplex, which the Liber quartorum defines as God.146 This reference, however, is unique, and in view of the corrupt state of the text I would not like to labour its significance, although Dorns speculations about the One and the unarius are closely analogous. The Turba continues: And yet they are not different natures, nor several, but a single one, which unites their powers in itself, through which it prevails over the other things. See you not that the Master has begun with the One and ended with the One? For he has named those unities the water of the sulphur, which conquers the whole of nature.147 The peculiarity of sulphur is also expressed in the paradox that it is incremabile (incombustible), ash extracted from ash.148 Its effects as aqua sulfurea are infinite.149 The Consilium coniugii says: Our sulphur is not the common sulphur,150 which is usually said of the philosophical gold. Paracelsus, in his Liber Azoth, describes sulphur as lignum (wood), the linea vitae (line of life), and fourfold (to correspond with the four elements); the spirit of life is renewed from it.151 Of the philosophical sulphur Mylius says that such a thing is not to be found on earth except in Sol and Luna, and it is known to no man unless revealed to him by God.152 Dorn calls it the son begotten of the imperfect bodies, who, when sublimated, changes into the highly esteemed salt of four colours. In the Tractatus Micreris it is even called the treasure of God.153

3.13 - THE CONVALESCENT, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  on many-hued Rainbows."
  "O Zarathustra," the animals said, "to those who

31 Hymns to the Star Goddess, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  XVIII. The Rainbow
  As I sat in the shelter of the forest glade, my eye caught the multi-coloured gleam of diamonds. I looked again; the Sun rays were playing upon the dew which clung to a little curved twig.
  It seemed like a tiny Rainbow of promise.
  Then, while I watched in wonder, a small grey spider bridged the arch of the bow with his silken thread.
  Ah! My Beloved, thus, too, hath the Spider of Destiny woven his silken rope from extreme to extreme of the Great Rainbow of Promise.
  Fate hath fitted me as an Arrow to the String of Destiny in the bow of the Sun.

4.04 - THE REGENERATION OF THE KING, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [389] The lapis contains or produces all colours.102 Hoghelande says that the Hermaphroditic monster contains all colours.103 Poetic comparisons are also used, such as Iris, the Rainbow,104 or the iris of the eye.105 The eye and its colours are mentioned by Hippolytus. He calls attention to the Naassene analogy between the four rivers of paradise and the senses. The river Pison, which waters Havilah, the land of gold, corresponds to the eye: This, they say, is the eye, which by its bearing and its colours bears witness to what is said. 106 Abul-Qasim speaks of the tree with multicoloured blossoms.107 Mylius says: Our stone is the star-strewn Sol, from whom every colour proceeds by transformation, as flowers come forth in the spring. 108 The Tractatus Aris-totelis gives a more elaborate description: Everything that is contained beneath the circle of the moon . . . is made into one at the quadrangular ending,109 as if it were a meadow decked with colours and sweet-smelling flowers of divers kinds, which were conceived in the earth by the dew of heaven.110
  [390] The stages of the work are marked by seven colours which are associated with the planets.111 This accounts for the relation of the colours to astrology, and also to psychology, since the planets correspond to individual character components. The Aurora Consurgens relates the colours to the soul.112 Lagneus associates the four principal colours with the four temperaments.113 The psychological significance of the colours comes out quite clearly in Dorn: Truly the form which is the intellect of man is the beginning, middle, and end of the preparations, and this form is indicated by the yellow colour, which shows that man is the greater and principal form in the spagyric work, and one mightier than heaven.114 Since the gold colour signifies intellect, the principal informator (formative agent) in the alchemical process, we may assume that the other three colours also denote psychological functions, just as the seven colours denote the seven astrological components of character. Consequently the synthesis of the four or seven colours would mean nothing less than the integration of the personality, the union of the four basic functions, which are customarily represented by the colour quaternio blue-red-yellow-green.115
  --
  [392] Elsewhere Khunrath says that at the hour of conjunction the blackness and the ravens head and all the colours in the world will appear, even Iris, the messenger of God, and the peacocks tail. He adds: Mark the secrets of the Rainbow in the Old and New Testament.118 This is a reference to the sign of Gods covenant with Noah after the flood (Gen. 10 : 12f.) and to the one in the midst of the four and twenty elders, who was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine-stone, and there was a Rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald (Rev. 4 : 3f.),119 and to the vision of the angel with a Rainbow on his head (Rev. 10 : 1).120 Iris as the messenger of God is of special importance for an understanding of the opus, since the integration of all colours points, as it were, to a coming of God, or even to his presence.
  [393] The colour green, stressed by Khunrath, is associated with Venus. The Introitus apertus says: But in the gentle heat the mixture will liquefy and begin to swell up, and at Gods comm and will be endowed with spirit, which will soar upward carrying the stone with it, and will produce new colours, first of all the green of Venus, which will endure for a long time.121 Towards the end of this procedure, which was known as the regimen of Venus, the colour changes into a livid purple, whereupon the philosophical tree will blossom. Then follows the regimen of Mars, which displays the ephemeral colours of the Rainbow and the peacock at their most glorious. In these days the hyacinthine colour122 appears, i.e., blue.
  [394] The livid purple that appears towards the end of the regimen of Venus has something deathly about it. This is in accord with the ecclesiastical view of purple, which expresses the mystery of the Lords passion.123 Hence the regimen of Venus leads by implication to passion and death, a point I would emphasize in view of the reference to the dart of passion in the Cantilena. A passage from the Aquarium sapientum shows that colours are a means of expressing moral qualities and situations: While the digestion124 and coction of the dead spiritual body goes forward in man, there may be seen, as in the earthly opus, many variegated colours and signs, i.e., all manner of sufferings, afflictions, and tribulations, the chiefest of which . . . are the ceaseless assaults of the world, the flesh, and the devil.125
  --
  The serene and starry sky and the shining sun are peacocks. The deep-blue firmament shining with a thousand brilliant eyes, and the sun rich with the colours of the Rainbow, present the appearance of a peacock in all the splendour of its eye-bespangled feathers. When the sky or the thousand-rayed sun (sahasrnu) is hidden by clouds, or veiled by autumnal mists, it again resembles the peacock, which, in the dark part of the year, like a great number of vividly coloured birds, sheds its beautiful plumage, and becomes drab and unadorned; the crow which had put on the peacocks feathers then caws with the other crows in funereal concert. In winter the peacock-crow has nothing left to it except its shrill disagreeable cry, which is not dissimilar to that of the crow. It is commonly said of the peacock that it has an angels feathers, a devils voice, and a thiefs walk.130
  This would explain Dorns connecting the peacock with the ravens head (caput corvi).

4.14 - THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  On colorful Rainbows,
  Between false heavens

4.3 - Bhakti, #Essays Divine And Human, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  475. Discipleship to God the Teacher, sonship to God the Father, tenderness of God the Mother, clasp of the hand of the divine Friend, laughter and sport with our Comrade and boy Playfellow, blissful servitude to God the Master, rapturous love of our divine Paramour, these are the seven beatitudes of life in the human body. Canst thou unite all these in a single supreme & Rainbow-hued relation? Then hast thou no need of any heaven and thou exceedest the emancipation of the Adwaitin.
  476. When will the world change into the model of heaven?

5.4.01 - Notes on Root-Sounds, #Vedic and Philological Studies, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
   Iravat (), Rainbow.. a kind of lightning orange tree (therefore not motion)
   light, splendour.

6.07 - THE MONOCOLUS, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
   and of the female, have become of the same nature. The inscription says: Take therefore in Gods almighty name this black earth, reduce it very subtly and it will become like the head of a Raven. As if explaining the caput corvi the text remarks that the Silne endormy is bound by the shepherds with garlands of flowers in all colours of the Rainbow and, after quaffing his wine, says: I laugh at my bond. So say the philosophers that when the blackness appears one must rejoice.153 The text adds that Troy was reduced to ashes after ten years of siege.
  [725] This picture represents the union of the monocolus with the earth (the body). As the sulphur of the male Mercurius he is a very active power,154 for he is the red sulphur of the gold or the active principle of the sun. The king in the saffron-yellow robe was originally gold and the sun but has now become totally black the sol niger and even his blue robe, signifying heaven, is covered with a black one.155 Only the top of his crown displays the solar gold. Dame Earth wears the same crown (only it is all gold) and thus reveals that her nature is equivalent to his: both are sulphur. One could call the sulphur of the king the spirit, which, hiding its light in the darkness, unites with the queen.

6.0 - Conscious, Unconscious, and Individuation, #The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  At the top, the sun, surrounded by a Rainbow-coloured halo
  divided into twelve parts, like the zodiac. To the left, the
  --
  veloped from the previous picture), emitting Rainbow colours.
  These are the colours of the peacock's eye, which play a great
  --
  dala, too, the Rainbow colours spring from the red layer that
  means affectivity. Of the "life of Nature and Spirit" that is
  --
  light is composed of the Rainbow hues of the rising sun; it is a
  real cauda pavonis. There are six sets of sunbeams. This recalls
  --
  a lower half. 145 Above, the rings shine many-hued as a Rainbow;
  below, they consist of brown earth. Above, there hover three
  --
  rings of Rainbow-coloured light radiate in concentric circles.
  The mandala is laced together by four black and golden snakes,
  --
  the Rainbow-coloured radiation of the mandala begins again for
  the first time, and from then on was maintained for over ten
  --
  the Rainbow Goddess. A square head denotes a female deity, a
  round one a male deity. The arrangement of the four pairs of
  --
  Mother, bending, like the Rainbow Goddess, over the "Land"
  with its round horizon. Behind the mandala stands presum-

7.14 - Modesty, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  Newton was born in 1642 and died in 1727. In the course of his long life he studied Nature; the universal force of attraction called gravitation, the effect of the sun and the moon on the tides; the light of the sun and how its white ray is broken up into the seven colours of the Rainbow; and many other things besides. Everyone marvelled at the wisdom of this man who was so skilled in reading the works and wonders of Nature. One day a lady spoke to Newton of his learning and knowledge and he replied:
  259

7.6.12 - The Mother of God, #Collected Poems, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  To build her Rainbow worlds of mind and life.
  Between the superconscient absolute Light

Aeneid, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  a Rainbow casts a thousand shifting colors.
  Aeneas was astonished at the sight.
  --
  now speeds along her thousand-colored Rainbow,
  along her sloping path, noticed by none.
  --
  a great Rainbow beneath the clouds. Young Turnus
  had recognized her; stretching both hands starward,
  --
  I'ris goddess of the Rainbow, Juno's messenger, iv, 964.
  Is'marus

A God's Labour, #Collected Poems, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  I had hoped to build a Rainbow bridge
   Marrying the soil to the sky
  --
  Down the sapphire mountain Rainbow-ridged
   And glimmer from shore to shore.

Appendix 4 - Priest Spells, #Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2E, #unset, #Zen
      SPELL - Rainbow (Evocation, Alteration)
        Sphere: Weather, Sun
  --
        To cast this spell, the priest must be in sight of a Rainbow, or have a special component (see below). The Rainbow spell has two applications, and the priest can choose the desired one at the time of casting. These applications are as follows:
        Bow: The spell creates a shimmering, multi-layered short composite bow of Rainbow hues. It is light and easy to pull, so that any character can use it without penalty for nonproficiency. It is magical: Each of its shimmering missiles is the equivalent of a +2 weapon, including attack and damage bonuses. Magic resistance can negate the effect of any missile fired from the bow. The bow fires seven missiles before disappearing. It can be fired up to four times per round. Each time a missile is fired, one hue leaves the bow, corresponding to the color of arrow that is released. Each color of arrow has the ability to cause double damage to certain creatures, as follows:
        Red
  --
        Bridge: The caster causes the Rainbow to form a seven-hued bridge up to 3 feet wide per level of the caster. It must be at least 20 feet long and can be as long as 120 yards, according to the caster's desire. It lasts as long as the spell's duration or until ordered out of existence by the caster.
        The components for this spell are the priest's holy symbol and a vial of holy water. If no Rainbow is in the vicinity, the caster can substitute a diamond of not less than 1,000 gp value, specially prepared with bless and prayer spells while in sight of a Rainbow. The holy water and diamond disappear when the spell is cast.
      SPELL - Raise Dead (Necromancy)

BOOK I. -- PART III. SCIENCE AND THE SECRET DOCTRINE CONTRASTED, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  their qualities are only phenomenal, like the Rainbow. . . . Corpora omnia cum omnibus qualitatibus
  suis non sunt aliud quam phenomena bene fundata, ut Iris" (Letter to Father Desbosses,

Book of Genesis, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  12 And God said, This is the sign of the covenant I am making between me and you and every living creature with you, a covenant for all generations to come: 13 I have set my Rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth. 14 Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the Rainbow appears in the clouds, 15 I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life. 16 Whenever the Rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth. 17 So God said to Noah, This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth.
  The Sons of Noah: Shem, Ham, and Japheth

Book of Imaginary Beings (text), #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  wolf and a serpent, will scale the Rainbow Bifrost, which
  will break under their weight, thereby destroying the world.

For a Breath I Tarry, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
     High overhead, Solcom did not respond to any of Frost's transmissions, which meant that Frost was free to act as he chose. So as Solcom - like a falling sapphire - sped above the Rainbow banners of the Northern Lights, over the snow that was white, containing all colors, and through the sky that was black among the stars, Frost concluded his pact with Divcom, transcribed it within a plate of atomically-collapsed copper, and gave it into the turret of Mordel, who departed to deliver it to Divcom far below the Earth, leaving behind the sheer, peace-like silence of the Pole, rolling.
     Mordel brought the books, riffled them, took them back.

Liber 46 - The Key of the Mysteries, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   are the two piles of an immerse bridge made by the Rainbow of the final
   deluge, and which throws a bridge between the two worlds.

Liber 71 - The Voice of the Silence - The Two Paths - The Seven Portals, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
   that of the arrow piercing the Rainbow, the Cross erected upon the Hill
   of Golgotha, and so on. But the passive formula is that of the cup into

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 1, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  PURANI: Again, in regard to the Rainbow, the scientist study the wave-lengths
  of light while the poets make a play imagination over it. We have no means
  of saying that the real Rainbow exists for the scientist and not for the poet.
  SRI AUROBINDO: I should say it exists for neither. Only the scientists get excited over the process and the poets over the result.

The Act of Creation text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
  the Rainbow; yet the study of coloured spectra provided clues to the
  elementary structure of matter.
  --
  in the Rainbow colours of the spectroscope, the ghostly spirals of
  distant galaxies, the harmonious patterns of iron-filings around a mag-
  --
  shade into each other like the colours of the Rainbow.
  The act of creation itself, as we have seen, is based on essentially the
  same underlying pattern in all ranges of the continuous Rainbow spec-
  trum. But the criteria for judging the finished product differ of course
  --
  world, with the -Tower of Babel, the Rainbow as a sign, etc., etc/ 18
  He took strong exception to the 'damnable doctrine' that non-believers,

The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
  covered with wax; mattresses, with spheres, Rainbowed by metallic deposits, extend their
  necks, sometimes cylindrical and slender, sometimes widened or inflated; greenish horned
  --
  mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed with a cloud: and a Rainbow was upon his
  head, and his face was, as it were, the sun, and his feet were as pillars of fire. He had in his
  --
  shining in its first being with all the colors of the Rainbow". The very union of Zeus and
  Danae indicates the manner in which the solvent must be applied; the body, reduced to a fine
  --
  stones, and not a Rainbow, but a Phoenix bow. The tail is of celestial color with a gold luster,
  which represents the stars. Its tail feathers and its whole robe are like a first spring, rich of all
  --
  ark [*510-3] (Arche) indicates the beginning of the new era. The Rainbow (2) signifies the
  covenant that God makes with man, in a cycle which is just beginning; its is the bom-again or
  --
  (2) Translator's note: Rainbow in French is arc-en-ciel, literally the Ark in the Heaven.
  (3) Rene Basset: Apocryphes Ethioiens (Apocryphal Writings from Ethiopia), Paris, Biblio theque de la Haute

The Revelation of Jesus Christ or the Apocalypse, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  2 And immediately I was in the spirit: and, behold, a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the throne. 3 And he that sat was to look upon like a jasper and a sardine stone: and there was a Rainbow round about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald. 4 And round about the throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed in white raiment; and they had on their heads crowns of gold. 5 And out of the throne proceeded lightnings and thunderings and voices: and there were seven lamps of fire burning before the throne, which are the seven Spirits of God.
  6 And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round about the throne, were four living creatures full of eyes before and behind. 7 And the first living creature was like a lion, and the second living creature like a calf, and the third living creature had a face as a man, and the fourth living creature was like a flying eagle. 8 And the four living creatures had each of them six wings about him; and they were full of eyes within: and they rest not day and night, saying,
  --
  1 And I saw another mighty angel come down from heaven, clothed with a cloud: and a Rainbow was upon his head, and his face was as it were the sun, and his feet as pillars of fire: 2 And he had in his hand a little book open: and he set his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot on the earth, 3 And cried with a loud voice, as when a lion roareth: and when he had cried, seven thunders uttered their voices. 4 And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and write them not. 5 And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth lifted up his hand to heaven, 6 And sware by him that liveth for ever and ever, who created heaven, and the things that therein are, and the earth, and the things that therein are, and the sea, and the things which are therein, that there should be time no longer: 7 But in the days of the voice of the seventh angel, when he shall begin to sound, the mystery of God should be finished, as he hath declared to his servants the prophets.
  8 And the voice which I heard from heaven spake unto me again, and said, Go and take the little book which is open in the hand of the angel which standeth upon the sea and upon the earth. 9 And I went unto the angel, and said unto him, Give me the little book. And he said unto me, Take it, and eat it up; and it shall make thy belly bitter, but it shall be in thy mouth sweet as honey. 10 And I took the little book out of the angel's hand, and ate it up; and it was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it, my belly was bitter. 11 And he said unto me, Thou must prophesy again before many peoples, and nations, and tongues, and kings.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra text, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  "I shall join the creators, the harvesters, the celebrants: I shall show them the Rainbow and all the steps
  to the overman. To the hermits I shall sing my song,

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun rainbow

The noun rainbow has 2 senses (first 1 from tagged texts)
                    
1. (2) rainbow ::: (an arc of colored light in the sky caused by refraction of the sun's rays by rain)
2. rainbow ::: (an illusory hope; "chasing rainbows")


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun rainbow

2 senses of rainbow                          

Sense 1
rainbow
   => bow, arc
     => curve, curved shape
       => line
         => shape, form
           => attribute
             => abstraction, abstract entity
               => entity

Sense 2
rainbow
   => promise, hope
     => expectation, outlook, prospect
       => belief
         => content, cognitive content, mental object
           => cognition, knowledge, noesis
             => psychological feature
               => abstraction, abstract entity
                 => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun rainbow
                                    


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun rainbow

2 senses of rainbow                          

Sense 1
rainbow
   => bow, arc

Sense 2
rainbow
   => promise, hope




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun rainbow

2 senses of rainbow                          

Sense 1
rainbow
  -> bow, arc
   => rainbow

Sense 2
rainbow
  -> promise, hope
   => rainbow




--- Grep of noun rainbow
rainbow
rainbow cactus
rainbow fish
rainbow lorikeet
rainbow perch
rainbow pink
rainbow runner
rainbow seaperch
rainbow shower
rainbow smelt
rainbow trout



IN WEBGEN [10000/1327]

Wikipedia - 7G Rainbow Colony -- 2004 film by K. Selvaraghavan
Wikipedia - All Night Long (Rainbow song) -- 1980 single by Rainbow
Wikipedia - Ayida-Weddo -- Rainbow serpent loa
Wikipedia - Babe Rainbow (musician) -- Canadian musician and record producer
Wikipedia - Babe Rainbow -- 1992 studio album by The House of Love
Wikipedia - Beyond the Black Rainbow -- 2010 film by Panos Cosmatos
Wikipedia - Beyond the Rainbow -- 1922 film by Christy Cabanne
Wikipedia - Bifrost -- Burning rainbow bridge that reaches between Midgard (the world) and Asgard, the realm of the gods
Wikipedia - Binbeal -- God of rainbows in Australian Aboriginal religion and mythology
Wikipedia - Black Moth Super Rainbow -- American experimental electronic band
Wikipedia - Brainbow -- Neuroimaging technique to differentiate neurons
Wikipedia - Captain Ward and the Rainbow -- Traditional song
Wikipedia - Caveira (Rainbow Six Siege) -- Video game character
Wikipedia - Chasing a Rainbow: The Life of Josephine Baker -- 1986 film directed by Christopher Ralling
Wikipedia - Chasing Rainbows (1930 film) -- 1930 film
Wikipedia - Chasing Rainbows (song) -- 1996 single by Shed Seven
Wikipedia - Chennai Rainbow Pride -- LGBTIQA+ Pride March
Wikipedia - Cobra Juicy -- album by Black Moth Super Rainbow
Wikipedia - Cuchavira -- God of the rainbow in the Muisca religion of South America
Wikipedia - Draft:List of Rainbow Six Siege characters {{DISPLAYTITLE:Draft:List of ''Rainbow Six Siege'' characters -- Draft:List of Rainbow Six Siege characters {{DISPLAYTITLE:Draft:List of ''Rainbow Six Siege'' characters
Wikipedia - Eleanor & Park -- 2012 novel written by Rainbow Rowell
Wikipedia - Electoral district of Rainbow -- Electoral district
Wikipedia - End of the Rainbow (1930 film) -- 1930 film
Wikipedia - English ship Rainbow (1586) -- English warship, built 1586
Wikipedia - Equality House -- Rainbow-colored house supporting LGBTQ rights
Wikipedia - Fangirl (novel) -- 2013 Book by Rainbow Rowell
Wikipedia - Finian's Rainbow (1968 film) -- 1968 film by Francis Ford Coppola
Wikipedia - Finian's Rainbow -- 1947 musical with book by E.Y. Harburg and Fred Saidy, lyrics by Harburg, and music by Burton Lane
Wikipedia - For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf -- Theatre piece
Wikipedia - Gravity's Rainbow -- Novel by Thomas Pynchon
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Wikipedia - Hawaii Rainbow Warriors volleyball -- American college volleyball program
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Wikipedia - Over the Rainbow -- Song by Harold Arlen and Yip Harburg published in 1939
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Wikipedia - Rainbow (1921 film) -- 1921 film
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Wikipedia - Rainbow Bridge (Niagara Falls) -- Major crossing of the Niagara River
Wikipedia - Rainbow Bridge (pets) -- Theme of several works of poetry
Wikipedia - Rainbow Bridge (Tokyo) -- Suspension bridge in Tokyo, Japan
Wikipedia - Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer -- 1985 film by Kimio Yabuki, Bernard Deyries
Wikipedia - Rainbow Canyon (California) -- Canyon in Death Valley National Park, California
Wikipedia - Rainbow City, Alabama -- City in Alabama, United States
Wikipedia - Rainbow Coalition (Fred Hampton)
Wikipedia - Rainbow Connection -- Song originally appearing in the Muppet Movie
Wikipedia - Rainbow District School Board -- School board in Ontario, Canada
Wikipedia - Rainbow Ethiopia: Movement for Democracy and Social Justice -- Political party in Ethiopia
Wikipedia - Rainbow Falls (Hawaii) -- Waterfall in Hawaii County, Hawaii, United States
Wikipedia - Rainbow Family -- Counter-culture in existence since approximately 1970
Wikipedia - Rainbow flag (LGBT) -- Symbol of LGBTQ movement
Wikipedia - Rainbow Gathering -- International hippie camping event
Wikipedia - Rainbow (girl group) -- South Korean girl group
Wikipedia - Rainbow gravity theory -- physics theory
Wikipedia - Rainbow gudgeon -- Species of cyprinid fish
Wikipedia - Rainbow-independent set -- An independent set in a graph
Wikipedia - Rainbow Island (1917 film) -- 1917 film
Wikipedia - Rainbow jersey -- Colored jersey for the reigning World Champion in cycling
Wikipedia - Rainbow Magic -- British children's book series
Wikipedia - Rainbow March -- Annual LGBT event in Sapporo, Japan
Wikipedia - Rainbow nation -- A term used to describe post-Apartheid South Africa
Wikipedia - Rainbow: Nisha RokubM-EM-^M no Shichinin -- Prison drama manga
Wikipedia - Rainbow on the River -- 1936 film by Kurt Neumann
Wikipedia - Rainbow Over Broadway -- 1933 film by Richard Thorpe
Wikipedia - Rainbow Party (Zambia) -- Political party in Zambia
Wikipedia - Rainbow Pool -- Reflecting Pool on the National Mall in Washington D.C., United States
Wikipedia - Rainbow/PUSH -- American non-profit organization
Wikipedia - Rainbow Range (Rocky Mountains) -- Subrange of the Park Ranges in Alberta and British Columbia, Canada
Wikipedia - Rainbow Ridge -- In the central part of Brown Peninsula, in Victoria Land in Antarctica
Wikipedia - Rainbow Riley -- 1926 film
Wikipedia - Rainbow River -- River in Florida, United States
Wikipedia - Rainbow (rock band) -- English rock band
Wikipedia - Rainbow Room -- Event space and restaurant in New York City
Wikipedia - Rainbow Rowell -- American writer
Wikipedia - Rainbow sardine -- Species of fish
Wikipedia - Rainbows Children's Hospice Loughborough -- Hospice in Leicestershire, England
Wikipedia - Rainbow's End (1935 film) -- 1935 film by Norman Spencer
Wikipedia - Rainbows End -- Science fiction novel by Vernor Vinge
Wikipedia - Rainbow Series
Wikipedia - Rainbow Serpent -- Creator god and common motif in the art and religion of Aboriginal Australia
Wikipedia - Rainbow Six (novel) -- 1998 novel by Tom Clancy
Wikipedia - Rainbow Springs State Park -- State park in Florida, United States
Wikipedia - Rainbow starfrontlet -- Species of bird
Wikipedia - Rainbow Sun Francks -- Canadian actor
Wikipedia - Rainbow table -- Precomputed table for reversing cryptographic hash functions
Wikipedia - Rainbow Theatre
Wikipedia - Rainbow Tour (Kesha) -- Concert tour by Kesha
Wikipedia - Rainbow trout
Wikipedia - Rainbow Valley (film) -- 1935 film
Wikipedia - Rainbow Warrior (1955) -- Greenpeace vessel bombed by French intelligence service operatives in Auckland harbour, refloated and scuttled as a dive site
Wikipedia - Rainbow -- meteorological phenomenon
Wikipedia - Rainbow Without Colours -- 2015 Vietnamese movie
Wikipedia - Randy Rainbow -- American comedian, singer and YouTuber
Wikipedia - Reading Rainbow -- American children's television series
Wikipedia - Red rainbowfish -- species of rainbowfish
Wikipedia - Republic XF-12 Rainbow -- Prototype reconnaissance aircraft
Wikipedia - Ridin' on a Rainbow -- 1941 film by Lew Landers
Wikipedia - Riley of the Rainbow Division -- 1928 film
Wikipedia - Rio: Rainbow Gate! -- Japanese anime television series
Wikipedia - ROYGBIV -- Acronym for rainbow colors
Wikipedia - Sinking of the Rainbow Warrior -- Covert attack by French military frogmen on a civilian ship in peacetime
Wikipedia - The Babe Rainbow -- Australian rock band
Wikipedia - The Rainbow (1929 film) -- 1929 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow (1989 film) -- 1989 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Children -- 2001 album by Prince
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Fish -- Swiss book and television series
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Kid -- 2015 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Landscape (1632-1635) -- painting by Peter Paul Rubens
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Man -- 1929 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow (painting) -- 1878 painting by George Inness
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Princess -- 1916 film by J. Searle Dawley
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Sign -- African-American cultural center in Berkeley
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Thief
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Trail (1918 film) -- 1918 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Trail (1925 film) -- 1925 film
Wikipedia - The Rainbow Trail (1932 film) -- 1932 film
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Wikipedia - The Serpent and the Rainbow (film) -- 1988 film
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Wikipedia - Under the Rainbow -- 1981 comedy movie
Wikipedia - We're Dancing on the Rainbow -- 1952 film
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https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)#Authorship_and_background
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)#External_links
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)#References
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)#The_Story
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Serpent
https://religion.wikia.org/wiki/Talk:Rainbow_Bridge_(pets)
Kheper - chakras-rainbow -- 34
Integral World - Over the Rainbow: Civilizations, Spiral Dynamics, and the Emergence of a Global Holon
https://thoughtsandvisions-searle88.blogspot.com/2015/03/christian-buddhist-explorations-rainbow.html
dedroidify.blogspot - ziggy-marley-rainbow-in-sky
https://esotericotherworlds.blogspot.com/2019/02/investigating-rainbow-body.html
https://esotericotherworlds.blogspot.com/2019/02/rainbow-body.html
wiki.auroville - Auroville_Rainbow_Child
wiki.auroville - The_Sun_and_the_Rainbow
Dharmapedia - Rainbow_Gathering
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https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Reading_Rainbow
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Reading Rainbow (1983 - 2006) - The show is designed to encourage reading amongst youth. Using no puppets or gimmicks, this sincere, evenly paced show remains popular among children and educators. It is hosted by LeVar Burton, well known for his role in Roots and in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Rainbow Brite (1984 - 1985) - Rainbow Brite originated as a Hallmark character and soon starred in her own animated TV series in December 1984. The 13-episode series started on another planet, when a girl called Wisp discovers an end to the universe's dark times through the Rainbow Belt and becomes the keeper of color. Thus her...
Its Punky Brewster! (1985 - 1989) - An animated spinoff from the popular Punky Brewster live action sitcom. In it, Punky is once again a young girl, only this time she meets a magical furry creature that looks vaguely like an Ewok, named Glommer. Glommer is a fairytale creature that lives inside of the end of the rainbow with othes...
The Tony Orlando & Dawn Show (1973 - 1977) - In 1974, Tony Orlando & Dawns already huge recording career morphed into a hit weekly CBS-TV variety show, the result of a very successful 4-week summer replacement run. Originating as The Tony Orlando & Dawn Show and ending as The Tony Orlando & Dawn Rainbow Hour, the show received strong ratings...
Rainbow (1972 - 1992) - Rainbow ran on ITV for 20 years, mostly at lunchtimes. It became one of the highest rating childrens shows of all time and one of most enduringly popular. After over 1500 shows, Rainbow came to an end in 1992, but the show remains a massive success with people of all ages.
Rainbow Parade (RKO) (1934 - 1936) - A Cartoon Series feautring Felix the Cat, Molly Moo-Cow, and others. Burt Gillett and Ted Edsubagh were the main directors of the shorts. These shorts were done in the popluar Technicolor. These shorts have fallen in the public domain, and Turner, the owner of the classic RKO films, does not own thi...
Kid Power! (1972 - 1974) - Based on Morrie Turner's comic strip "Wee Pals," "Kid Power" was an animated series about a group of multi-cultural kids who were friends and strived to become better people with their organization, The Rainbow Club.
Color Me a Rainbow (1987 - Current) - a Christian children's show that first aired in 1987 on the American Christian Television System (ACTS), which was a precursor to today's Hallmark Channel. The show was produced by Shepherd & Associates in Lincoln, Nebraska. Linda King was the creator of the show and did the voices for the puppets.h...
Winx Club (2004 - 2016) - Winx Club is an animated series produced by Rainbow SpA and Nickelodeon, which are both part of Viacom. It was created by Iginio Straffi. The show is about Bloom, a 16-year-old girl from Earth, who discovers she has magical abilities. In the series opener, she saves Stella, a 17-year-old fairy princ...
Gift: Eternal Rainbow (2006 - Current) - The game premiered as the second best-selling PC game sold in Japan for the time of its release, and charted in the national top 50 three more times afterwards. A set of five drama CDs, one for each heroine, was released by Lantis between September 2005 and February 2006. There have been six light n...
Rainbow (2010 - 2010) - Japan, 1955: Mario Minakami has just arrived at Shounan Special Reform School along with five other teenagers who have been arrested on serious criminal charges. All assigned to the same cell, they meet older inmate Rokurouta Sakuragia former boxerwith whom they establish a close bond. Under his g...
MumbleBumble (1998 - 2000) - This happy-go-lucky hippo has a talent for turning the world into a silly fun-filled playground. Whether he's chasing rainbows, counting the stars or going spelunking, he's always got a surprise up his sleeve. And if MumbleBumble can't find what he's looking for, he simply invents it. After all,...
Rio: Rainbow Gate! (2011 - Current) - an anime series produced by Xebec under the direction of Takao Kato. Based on Tecmo's Rio Series (Rio Rio Shirzu) of pachinko games (from Rakushou! Pachi-Slot Sengen), the series revolves around titular character Rio Rollins, a popular casino dealer working at the Howard Resort who is known as...
Rainbow Sentai Robin (1966 - 1967) - It is the first anime to feature a 5-unit superhero team. While the animation was produced by Toei Animation (Toei Douga at the time), it was also technically produced by Ishinomori's studio, Studio Zero, that he founded with Fujiko F. Fujio and Shinichi Suzuki. The series was also broadcast in Germ...
The Rod, Jane and Freddy Show (1981 - 1990) - Rod, Jane and Freddy was the most famous name for a singing trio who appeared in children's programming on the British TV channel ITV in the 1970s and 1980s. They starred both in the long-running series Rainbow as well as their own 15-minute show, Rod, Jane and Freddy. They have also made numerous g...
Parpar Nechmad (1982 - 2009) - The long-running Israeli children's television program, aimed mainly at pre-schoolers. This show uses some elements from other shows like "Mister Rogers Neighborhood", "Reading Rainbow" and "Captain Kangaroo"
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (2010 - 2019) - My Little Pony Friendship is Magic is a show that follows a studious unicorn pony named Twilight Sparkle as her mentor Princess Celestia guides her to learn about friendship in the town of Ponyville. Twilight becomes close friends with five other ponies: Applejack, Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash,...
Kerokko Demetan (1973 - 1973) - Kerokko Demetan (English: Demetan Croaker; Demetan, the Boy Frog) is an anime series produced by Tatsunoko Production and developed by Tatsuo Yoshida. It follows a tree frog called Demetan, who migrated with his army family to Rainbow Pond after his siblings were tragically eaten by a salamader. The...
Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer(1985) - The universe is growing dark and on Earth it is eternal winter all because a selfish princess is trying to keep the diamond like planet Spectra to herself. Rainbow Brite, a girl in charge of changing the seasons and keeping the universe colorful, steps up to stop the princess. All of her friends hel...
Rainbow brite san diego zoo adventure (live action)(1983) - Rainbow brite travels to the real world to attend a zoo party but bad guys murky and lurk
Under the Rainbow(1981) - When Gestapo, Secret Service Agents, 150 midgets (extras for "The Wizard of Oz"), and a Japanese camera club converge on a California hotel, the predictable result is total chaos.
The Land Before Time VII: The Stone of Cold Fire(2001) - Littlefoot Sees A Flying Rock Falling From The Sky And Landed In The Smoking Mountain. When He Tells The Grown Ups About What He Saw, They Didn't Believe Him. Suddenly, The Rainbow Faces Tells The Littlefoot That It's Called The Stone Of Cold Fire. Petrie's Uncle Pterano Also Heard About This Stone...
The Serpent and the Rainbow(1988) - Dennis Alan heads to Haiti in hopes of obtaining a mysterious potion that represses the nervous and respiratory systems without causing death; this draught would also scientifically explain the myth of the zombie. Once on Caribbean soil, however, Alan encounters powerful cults, government corruption...
Rainbow Brite: Mighty Monstromurk Menace(1983) - One of many rainbow brit
Finian's Rainbow(1968) - An Irish immigrant and his daughter move into a town in the American South with a magical piece of gold that will change people's lives, including a struggling farmer and African American citizens threatened by a bigoted politician.
Rainbow Brite: Beginning of Rainbowland(1984) - A little girl named Wisp comes to a desolate dark land to save it. She is on a mission to find the "sphere of light
Death to Smoochy(2002) - "Rainbow Randolph" Smiley, a happily corrupt children's television host, is disgraced by an FBI sting for making deals with parents who want their kids on the show. He is replaced by the "squeaky clean" Sheldon Mopes and his character, Smoochy the Rhino. Mopes is uniquely sincere and thoroughly inte...
My Little Pony: Equestria Girls Rainbow Rocks(2014) - As a now reform Sunset Shimmer struggles to make friends with the other students of Canterlot High, a trio of new villains called The Sirens (Adagio, Sonata, and Aria) come and use their magic of music to take control of everyone to make a Battle of the Bands. With help of Twilight Sparkle, the Stud...
https://myanimelist.net/anime/10301/Rio__Rainbow_Gate_Special -- Ecchi, Game, Comedy
https://myanimelist.net/anime/1581/Gift__Eternal_Rainbow -- Comedy, Drama, Harem, Magic, Romance, School
https://myanimelist.net/anime/17249/Pretty_Rhythm__Rainbow_Live -- Slice of Life, Sports, Music, Shoujo
https://myanimelist.net/anime/2784/Gift__Eternal_Rainbow_-_Ki_no_Saka_Ryokan_Kiki_Ippatsu --
https://myanimelist.net/anime/36229/Rainbow_Signal__Hi-Fi_Set -- Music, Romance, Fantasy
https://myanimelist.net/anime/37027/Love_Live_Sunshine_The_School_Idol_Movie__Over_the_Rainbow -- Music, School, Slice of Life
https://myanimelist.net/anime/6114/Rainbow__Nisha_Rokubou_no_Shichinin -- Drama, Historical, Seinen, Thriller
https://myanimelist.net/anime/8133/Precure_All_Stars_Movie_DX2__Kibou_no_HikariRainbow_Jewel_wo_Mamore -- Action, Fantasy, Magic, Shoujo
https://myanimelist.net/anime/8241/Rio__Rainbow_Gate -- Game, Comedy, Ecchi
https://myanimelist.net/anime/8285/Ai_no_Senshi_Rainbowman -- Action, Adventure, Mecha, Sci-Fi
https://myanimelist.net/manga/7482/Rainbow__Nisha_Rokubou_no_Shichinin
Death to Smoochy (2002) ::: 6.4/10 -- R | 1h 49min | Comedy, Crime, Drama | 29 March 2002 (USA) -- A kids show host, Rainbow Randolph, is fired in disgrace while his replacement, Sheldon Mopes, aka Smoochy the Rhino, finds himself a rising star. Unfortunately for Sheldon, the business of kids television isn't all child's play. Director: Danny DeVito Writer:
Rainbow (2015) ::: 8.0/10 -- Dhanak (original title) -- Rainbow Poster -- Believing actor and goodwill ambassador Shah Rukh Khan can help her brother get an operation to restore his sight, a 10-year old girl takes her blind 8-year old brother on a trek across Rajasthan in search of the superstar. Director: Nagesh Kukunoor
Reading Rainbow ::: TV-Y | 30min | Family | TV Series (1983 ) Levar Burton introduces young viewers to illustrated readings of children's literature and explores their related subjects. Stars: LeVar Burton, Jennifer Betit Yen, Arnold Stang Available on Amazon
The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988) ::: 6.5/10 -- R | 1h 38min | Fantasy, Horror | 5 February 1988 (USA) -- An anthropologist goes to Haiti after hearing rumors about a drug used by black magic practitioners to turn people into zombies. Director: Wes Craven Writers: Wade Davis (inspired by the book), Richard Maxwell (screenplay) | 1
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Captain Earth -- -- Bones -- 25 eps -- Original -- Action Sci-Fi Space Romance Mecha -- Captain Earth Captain Earth -- One night, right before summer vacation, Manatsu Daichi, a second-year in high school, sees a weird round rainbow floating in the sky above Tanegashima and ventures there alone. He has seen this rainbow before. With the memories of his father's mysterious death and an encounter of a strange boy and girl, Daiji arrives on the island while the alarm of a building labeled Earth Engine is going off. Someone asks him if he is a captain, just as robotic intruders from Uranus called Kill-T-Gang arrive. The battle around the shining stars is about to begin. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- 61,017 6.42
Futari wa Precure -- -- Toei Animation -- 49 eps -- Original -- Action Comedy Magic Fantasy Shoujo -- Futari wa Precure Futari wa Precure -- Futari wa Precure protagonists Nagisa Misumi and Honoka Yukishiro are about as different as two people can get. Nagisa is the captain of the lacrosse team, a lover of food, and a hater of homework. Honoka loves to learn, working with the science club and earning the nickname "The Queen of Knowledge" from her fellow classmates. Their lives are unconnected until one day, when a mysterious star shower unites them. -- -- Nagisa and Honoka meet Mipple and Mepple, two residents of the Garden of Light. Their homeland has been conquered by the evil forces of the Dark Zone who now have their sights set on the Garden of Rainbows: Earth. With powers from the Garden of Light, Nagisa becomes Cure Black and Honoka becomes Cure White. Together, they are Pretty Cure! Now Pretty Cure must locate the Prism Stones, the only power strong enough to defeat the Dark Zone and repair the damage done to the Garden of Light. Will these magical girls be able to protect their home from the evil that threatens it? Or will they be sucked into the darkness? -- -- Licensor: -- 4Kids Entertainment -- 36,291 7.00
Gift: Eternal Rainbow -- -- OLM -- 12 eps -- Visual novel -- Comedy Drama Harem Magic Romance School -- Gift: Eternal Rainbow Gift: Eternal Rainbow -- Amaumi Haruhiko is a high school student who attends Shimano Academy in a town called Narasakicho. Narasakicho contains an unknown rainbow which constantly overlooks the town and is related to granting a magical wish called "Gift." Gift is a once-in-a-lifetime present between two people. -- -- As a child, Haruhiko has been close with his childhood friend, Kirino, until he obtains a new non-blood sister by the name of Riko. Haruhiko develops a strong relationship with Riko until they sadly depart due to the fact Haruhiko's father could no longer support the two of them. -- -- After some times passes by, Riko finally returns to the town of Narasakicho, and along with Kirino, starts to attend Shimano Academy with Haruhiko. The series revolves around the relationship among these main protagonists and slowly reveals the story behind both Gift and the rainbow. -- TV - Oct 6, 2006 -- 28,911 6.61
Gift: Eternal Rainbow - Ki no Saka Ryokan Kiki Ippatsu!! -- -- OLM -- 1 ep -- Visual novel -- Harem Comedy Magic Romance Ecchi -- Gift: Eternal Rainbow - Ki no Saka Ryokan Kiki Ippatsu!! Gift: Eternal Rainbow - Ki no Saka Ryokan Kiki Ippatsu!! -- Haruhiko, Riko, Yukari, Chisa and Rinka are trying to help Kirino save her family's inn from bankruptcy due to their newest rival, Hotel Moonstone. As a result, they decided that creating high-class cuisine was the best method in order to help the Konosaka Inn attract customers. However, in the process of creating this high-class cuisine Yukari, Chisa and Rinka mysteriously and instantaneously develop overpowering feelings towards Haruhiko and end up vigorously competing for him. Unfortunately, for Haruhiko this harem contains mixes of both heaven and hell. -- Special - Jun 22, 2007 -- 6,846 6.73
Love Live! Sunshine!! The School Idol Movie: Over the Rainbow -- -- Sunrise -- 1 ep -- Original -- Music School Slice of Life -- Love Live! Sunshine!! The School Idol Movie: Over the Rainbow Love Live! Sunshine!! The School Idol Movie: Over the Rainbow -- Following the closure of Uranohoshi Girls' High School, the third-year students—Dia Kurosawa, Kanan Matsuura, and Mari Ohara—have just graduated, leaving Aqours with solely the first and second-years. While searching for a new place the remaining members can use to practice, they decide to visit the new school they will soon enroll in. However, to their surprise, the building seems to be abandoned! It turns out that due to the school board's worries regarding how the freshly transferred Uranohoshi students may burden the clubs, they were instead sent to a branch school. This sets Aqours on a new goal—to prove that Uranohoshi students are serious in their clubs as well. Meanwhile, another problem arises: the third-years have unexpectedly gone missing during their graduation trip! -- -- Love Live! Sunshine!! The School Idol Movie: Over the Rainbow revolves around the remaining Aqours members as they venture out to search for their missing seniors and, at the same time, try to figure out a way to change the new school's mind. -- -- Movie - Jan 4, 2019 -- 29,822 7.61
Mushishi -- -- Artland -- 26 eps -- Manga -- Adventure Slice of Life Mystery Historical Supernatural Fantasy Seinen -- Mushishi Mushishi -- "Mushi": the most basic forms of life in the world. They exist without any goals or purposes aside from simply "being." They are beyond the shackles of the words "good" and "evil." Mushi can exist in countless forms and are capable of mimicking things from the natural world such as plants, diseases, and even phenomena like rainbows. -- -- This is, however, just a vague definition of these entities that inhabit the vibrant world of Mushishi, as to even call them a form of life would be an oversimplification. Detailed information on Mushi is scarce because the majority of humans are unaware of their existence. -- -- So what are Mushi and why do they exist? This is the question that a "Mushishi," Ginko, ponders constantly. Mushishi are those who research Mushi in hopes of understanding their place in the world's hierarchy of life. -- -- Ginko chases rumors of occurrences that could be tied to Mushi, all for the sake of finding an answer. -- -- It could, after all, lead to the meaning of life itself. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 641,581 8.69
Planet With -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Original -- Action Mecha Sci-Fi -- Planet With Planet With -- According to the theories of oneiromancy, dreams of dragons represent the struggle of losing yourself to your own anger. Fittingly, Souya Kuroi wakes up from a nightmare of a massive dragon destroying everything around him in a blaze of rainbow colored light. After being told that he lost his parents and memory in a strange accident, the waking world becomes another nightmare in itself. With this dream being his only memory, he has no choice but to be taken care of by his two strange guardians: the spunky and energetic maid Ginko, and a huge cat known only as "Sensei." -- -- His new life is turned upside down when the denizens of Saromisaka City are beset by a teddy bear-shaped UFO. When military power proves to be ineffective, seven mysterious people rise up to fight off the monstrosity. These heroes destroy the invader in a flurry of rainbow colored lights, the very same lights that Souya saw in his nightmare. -- -- With the alien threat repelled, these seven strangers find themselves facing a new adversary: Souya. Swearing vengeance upon the people who decimated his old life, he begins his crusade against these "heroes" and becomes embroiled in a struggle of galactic proportions. -- -- 49,177 7.22
Pretty Rhythm: Rainbow Live -- -- Dongwoo A&E, Tatsunoko Production -- 51 eps -- Game -- Slice of Life Sports Music Shoujo -- Pretty Rhythm: Rainbow Live Pretty Rhythm: Rainbow Live -- Naru Ayase is an 8th grader who can see the colors of music when she listens to it. For Naru, who is extremely good at decorating, becoming the owner of a shop like Dear Crown was her dream. One day, she finds out that the manager of a newly-opened shop is recruiting middle school girls who can do Prism Dance, and immediately applies. Naru begins to Prism Dance at the audition, and an aura she's never experienced spreads out in front of her. At that moment, a mysterious girl named Rinne asks her if she can see "rainbow music." -- -- (Source: ANN) -- 10,286 7.52
Rainbow: Nisha Rokubou no Shichinin -- -- Madhouse -- 26 eps -- Manga -- Drama Historical Seinen Thriller -- Rainbow: Nisha Rokubou no Shichinin Rainbow: Nisha Rokubou no Shichinin -- Japan, 1955: Mario Minakami has just arrived at Shounan Special Reform School along with five other teenagers who have been arrested on serious criminal charges. All assigned to the same cell, they meet older inmate Rokurouta Sakuragi—a former boxer—with whom they establish a close bond. Under his guidance, and with the promise that they will meet again on the outside after serving their sentences, the delinquents begin to view their hopeless situation in a better light. -- -- Rainbow: Nisha Rokubou no Shichinin follows the seven cellmates as they struggle together against the brutal suffering and humiliation inflicted upon them by Ishihara, a sadistic guard with a grudge on Rokurouta, and Gisuke Sasaki, a doctor who takes pleasure in violating boys. Facing such hellish conditions, the seven inmates must scrape together all the strength they have to survive until their sentences are up; but even if they do, just what kind of lives are waiting for them on the other side? -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- TV - Apr 7, 2010 -- 314,140 8.51
Rio: Rainbow Gate! -- -- Xebec -- 13 eps -- Other -- Game Comedy Ecchi -- Rio: Rainbow Gate! Rio: Rainbow Gate! -- The "Howard Resort Hotel" is an entertainment destination where people gather from around the world to grab huge fortunes. In the casino is a beautiful female dealer named Rio Rollins, known far and wide as the "Goddess of Victory". -- -- In order to approach closer to her mother, one of history's greatest dealers, she does battle to gather up the legendary cards called "gates". Those who gather all 13 gate cards are presented with the title MVCD (Most Valuable Casino Dealer), proof that they are a top dealer. -- -- Set in a vast resort, an exciting battle begins with rival dealers that'll take your breath away! Throw in some "supreme comedy" and a story that makes you cry when you least expect it, these cute and sexy girls will explode off your screen! With everyone's cheer of "Leave it to Rio!", Lady Luck'll be with you, too! -- -- Licensor: -- Media Blasters -- TV - Jan 4, 2011 -- 34,687 5.89
Rio: Rainbow Gate! Special -- -- Xebec -- 1 ep -- - -- Ecchi Game Comedy -- Rio: Rainbow Gate! Special Rio: Rainbow Gate! Special -- An extra episode of Rio: Rainbow Gate! which will be bundled with the seventh volume of the Blu-ray and the DVD. -- -- Licensor: -- Media Blasters -- Special - Oct 19, 2011 -- 4,630 6.08
Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna -- -- Gallop -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Game Adventure Shounen -- Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna -- While riding with Jack Atlas and Crow Hogan, Yuusei Fudou's Stardust Dragon is captured by Paradox, a mysterious Turbo Duelist from the future, during a Turbo Duel and turned into a Sin Monster. With the help of the Crimson Dragon, Yuusei chases after Paradox as he enters a time slip, ending up in the past. During this time, Paradox duels against Jaden Yuki, who is still able to use the powers of Yubel and The Supreme King. However, by this time Paradox had also captured Cyber End Dragon and Rainbow Dragon and overwhelms Jaden. He is saved thanks to Yuusei and the Crimson Dragon. Jaden informs Yuusei of Paradox's true intentions. By stealing various monsters from across time and turning them dark, he plans to kill Maximillion Pegasus, the creator of Duel Monsters, preventing the game from being created and causing the events of all three series to never happen. -- -- Yuusei and Jaden agree to pursue Paradox, which leads them to the past and causes a meeting with the King of Games, Yuugi Mutou. However, by the time Yuusei and Jaden arrive, Paradox had already attacked his time, supposedly killing both Pegasus and Yuugi's grandpa, and had also managed to steal Blue-Eyes White Dragon and Red-Eyes Black Dragon. After explaining everything to Yuugi, he agrees to fight with Yuusei and Jaden against Paradox in the ultimate three-on-one duel to free the trapped monsters and save both the world and time itself before it's too late. -- -- (Source: Wikipedia) -- -- Licensor: -- 4Kids Entertainment, Flatiron Film Company -- Movie - Jan 23, 2010 -- 38,569 7.13
Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna -- -- Gallop -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Game Adventure Shounen -- Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna Yu☆Gi☆Oh! Movie: Chou Yuugou! Toki wo Koeta Kizuna -- While riding with Jack Atlas and Crow Hogan, Yuusei Fudou's Stardust Dragon is captured by Paradox, a mysterious Turbo Duelist from the future, during a Turbo Duel and turned into a Sin Monster. With the help of the Crimson Dragon, Yuusei chases after Paradox as he enters a time slip, ending up in the past. During this time, Paradox duels against Jaden Yuki, who is still able to use the powers of Yubel and The Supreme King. However, by this time Paradox had also captured Cyber End Dragon and Rainbow Dragon and overwhelms Jaden. He is saved thanks to Yuusei and the Crimson Dragon. Jaden informs Yuusei of Paradox's true intentions. By stealing various monsters from across time and turning them dark, he plans to kill Maximillion Pegasus, the creator of Duel Monsters, preventing the game from being created and causing the events of all three series to never happen. -- -- Yuusei and Jaden agree to pursue Paradox, which leads them to the past and causes a meeting with the King of Games, Yuugi Mutou. However, by the time Yuusei and Jaden arrive, Paradox had already attacked his time, supposedly killing both Pegasus and Yuugi's grandpa, and had also managed to steal Blue-Eyes White Dragon and Red-Eyes Black Dragon. After explaining everything to Yuugi, he agrees to fight with Yuusei and Jaden against Paradox in the ultimate three-on-one duel to free the trapped monsters and save both the world and time itself before it's too late. -- -- (Source: Wikipedia) -- Movie - Jan 23, 2010 -- 38,569 7.13
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20th Century Masters The Millennium Collection: The Best of Rainbow
7G Rainbow Colony
Adventures in Rainbow Country
AGM-136 Tacit Rainbow
Ajamaru Lakes rainbowfish
Algie Rainbow
Another Rainbow Publishing
Anthony Rainbow
A Rainbow in Curved Air
Arctostaphylos rainbowensis
Arfak rainbowfish
A Shine of Rainbows
At the End of the Rainbow
At the Rainbow
Axelrod's rainbowfish
Baja California rainbow trout
Banded rainbowfish
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Big Rainbow
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Black Moth Super Rainbow
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For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide / When the Rainbow Is Enuf
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The Best of Rainbow
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Threadfin rainbowfish
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Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six 3: Raven Shield
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True and the Rainbow Kingdom
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User:UBX/Autistic Rainbow
USS Rainbow
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Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale
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