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The Stranger
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1:What can man suffer direr or worse than enslaved from a victorBoons to accept, to take safety and ease from the foe and the stranger,Fallen from the virtue stern that heaven permits to a mortal?Death is not keener than this nor the slaughter of f ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems 5.1.01 - Ilion,

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1:Shall I let in the stranger, ~ Dylan Thomas
2:The stranger swore briefly but vividly. ~ H G Wells
3:The stranger’s arm intercepted him. ~ Steven Erikson
4:Truth, as ever, avoids the stranger. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
5:his head. “Ring any bells?” asked the stranger. ~ Ben Coes
6:It's you my love, you who are the stranger. ~ Leonard Cohen
7:The stranger has no friend, unless it be a stranger. ~ Saadi
8:Yes, sometimes it’s the strangers that sustain you. ~ Zadie Smith
9:The deeper we went, the stranger things became. ~ Patrick Rothfuss
10:I am a stranger, learning to love the strangers around me ~ June Jordan
11:Beauty Lures the Stranger More Easily into Danger -Septimus Heap ~ Angie Sage
12:The more clever and cunning people are, the stranger the events will be. ~ Laozi
13:Farewell to ye all! In the land of the stranger I rise or I fall. ~ Davy Crockett
14:It is much easier to forgive the stranger than it is one you love. ~ Chanel Cleeton
15:The more we learn about the planet, the stranger it becomes to us. ~ Eugene Thacker
16:Beauty Lures the Stranger More Easily into Danger

-Septimus Heap ~ Angie Sage
17:The more you love a memory, the stronger and the stranger it becomes. ~ Vladimir Nabokov
18:Who was I? The stranger was footsteps in the snow a long time ago. ~ William S Burroughs
19:The tongue of slander is too prompt with wanton malice to wound the stranger. ~ Aeschylus
20:Shaking hands with the strangers of opposite sex is forbidden ~ Mohammad Hussein Fadlallah
21:The face of the stranger was completely blank as he increased the pressure. ~ Hadena James
22:Beware the stranger offering gifts, as true for man as it is for fish, ~ Richard Paul Evans
23:Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister and Brother, ~ Rudyard Kipling
24:Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. ~ Rabindranath Tagore
25:By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, and what to those we give, to Jove is lent. ~ Homer
26:Finally, you come to your senses.

Gerard to Isabel - The Stranger I Married ~ Sylvia Day
27:I turned you into a stranger in order to forget you and now I'm the stranger. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n
28:I turned you into a stranger in order to forget you and now I'm the stranger. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon
29:I write for myself and strangers. The strangers, dear Readers, are an afterthought. ~ Gertrude Stein
30:The stranger smiled at her. "Humanity has found a cure to a disease they never new existed. ~ Jeyn Roberts
31:Distance is confusing,” the stranger would tell people, anyone who would listen. “So is time. ~ Joseph Fink
32:Would you truly sleep with strangers?" "I don't know, I haven't met the strangers yet. ~ Laurell K Hamilton
33:Maybe hell is seeing the lost loved painted over the faces of the strangers we meet. ~ Shaun David Hutchinson
34:He approached the stranger and drew his sword.
"Señor," he said, "we will now discuss music. ~ Lord Dunsany
35:Most of the strangers we fall in love with seem to act as strangers rather than being strangers. ~ M F Moonzajer
36:The house you live in will never fall down, if you pity the stranger who stands at your door. ~ Gordon Lightfoot
37:Where the strangers we meet, take us down one way streets, and forgetting is something we're taught. ~ Lang Leav
38:The first band I was in, I think was called The Strangers. I got the sack because I was too small! ~ Noel Redding
39:PSA18.44 As soon as they hear of me, they shall obey me: the strangers shall submit themselves unto me. ~ Anonymous
40:The sicker mother got, the stranger the people surrounding her became. I called them The Garland Freaks. ~ Lorna Luft
41:The stranger came out of the sea like a water ghost, barefoot and wearing the scars of his journey. ~ Samantha Shannon
42:It is rash to intrude upon the piety of others: both the depth and the grace of it elude the stranger. ~ George Santayana
43:You may never understand How the stranger is inspired For he is not always evil, And he is not always wrong. ~ Billy Joel
44:For years the strangers among us had passed sullenly in the hallways; now we looked, we nodded, we smiled. ~ Jerry Spinelli
45:...he glanced at the stranger in the seat beside him and tried to remember when she used to be his daughter. ~ Jodi Picoult
46:One would be in less danger From the wiles of the stranger If one's own kin and kith Were more fun to be with. ~ Ogden Nash
47:The ladies’ fans opened with cracks like pistol shots, and were held up to block the stranger from view. ~ Frances Hardinge
48:I guess my question is: Is the new you the stranger? Or is the stranger the person you leave behind?" -Sherm ~ Rebecca Stead
49:RANDY MCKENZIE COULD remember the first time his father had introduced him to the stranger things of the world. ~ J F Dubeau
50:Who are you?” the boy asked. He examined the stranger from head to toe and made a face. “You’re ugly.” “And ~ Claire Legrand
51:I never wanted to be the person that waited for a stranger to come to town - I wanted to be the stranger! ~ Elizabeth Gilbert
52:There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty. ~ Markus Zusak
53:The fuck are you staring at? I hiss at the stranger staring at me in my rearview. Oh, wait, that's me. ~ Sean Murphy
54:By fearing the stranger, by abusing the vulnerable and the outcast, society creates its own monsters. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
55:How many poems must you write to convince yourself you have a family? Everyone leaves and you end up the stranger. ~ Fatimah Asghar
56:As strange as the new days seemed to us at first, the old days would come to feel very quickly the stranger. ~ Karen Thompson Walker
57:Like pregnant women lose their teeth feeding the stranger, junkies lose their yellow fangs feeding the monkey. ~ William S Burroughs
58:Nature comes home to one most when one is at home. The stranger and traveler finds her a stranger and traveler also. ~ John Burroughs
59:There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it had been empty. ~ Markus Zusak
60:Go to the devil!” said the stranger in a tremendous voice, and “Shut that door after you.” So that brief interview terminated. ~ H G Wells
61:an experience can be as startling as the first awareness of a stranger walking by your side at night. You are the stranger. ~ Beryl Markham
62:He is more worth to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else's friend and brother. So which life is more important? ~ Madeline Miller
63:I got several slaps on my bare ass from the strangers who had just watched me take a beating. I decided boxing is super-gay. ~ Nick Pageant
64:... the stranger is not a threat but an opportunity to grow in my view of reality, to grow in my own sense of possibility ~ Parker J Palmer
65:It's the worst feeling when you come home alone late at night and think the stranger sitting on your couch is a pile of clothes. ~ Dane Cook
66:I love Billy Joel. I cry sometimes when I hear 'The Stranger.' 'You May Be Right' may be one of the greatest songs ever written. ~ Adam Pally
67:An enemy, in Karhide, is not a stranger, an invader. The stranger who comes unknown is a guest. Your enemy is your neighbor. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
68:Even if you’ve no idea where you’re going, you have to look like you do. It’s what keeps the locals different from the strangers. ~ Kate Griffin
69:The Southern heart is too impulsive; Southern hospitality is too lavish with the stranger.
- "The Spirit of Tennessee Journalism ~ Mark Twain
70:And a soul
if it is to know itself
must look
into its own soul:
the stranger and enemy, we've seen him in the mirror. ~ George Seferis
71:I got several slaps on my bare ass from the strangers who had just watched me take a beating. I decided boxing is super-gay.   Back ~ Nick Pageant
72:No path between the stranger’s home and ours should be left unclosed, or the sorrow and evil of his home may descend to ours. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton
73:What is your dissertation, Ilana Davita?” “Babel and Camus: Twists of Fate and Faith. Babel’s The Red Cavalry and Camus’s The Stranger. ~ Chaim Potok
74:If you’re not able to communicate successfully between yourself and yourself, how are you supposed to make it with the strangers outside? ~ John Brooks
75:While contemporary Christians tend to equate morality with sexual ethics, our ancestors defined morality as welcoming the stranger. ~ Diana Butler Bass
76:Albert Camus’s The Stranger, which he’d found revelatory at nineteen. An ancient copy of Don DeLillo’s Great Jones Street had been a ~ Matthew FitzSimmons
77:And oppress not the widow, nor the fatherless, the stranger, nor the poor; and let none of you imagine evil against his brother in your heart. ~ Anonymous
78:If you are not able to communicate successfully between yourself and yourself, how are you supposed to make it with the strangers outside? ~ Jules Feiffer
79:I had to test your courage,” the stranger said. “Courage is the quality most essential to understanding the Language of the World.” The boy ~ Paulo Coelho
80:Camus says in 'The Stranger' that reason is the enemy of imagination. Sometimes you have to put reason aside and make something beautiful. ~ Oscar Niemeyer
81:It is unpredictable for you to know which of the strangers you are about to meet that becomes your friend. Be polite to every stranger! ~ Israelmore Ayivor
82:“I trust the unfamiliar Close to the stranger As far away I put my hands in yours.” ~ Hannah ArendtLeonardo da Vinci (circa 1478) twitter.com/cschachner/sta…
83:When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the edges of your field or pick the fallen fruit. Leave these for the poor and the stranger. ~ Anonymous
84:Rabids, the stranger had called them. It fit. I wondered where he was now, where he was going. I hoped, wherever it was, he would find his peace. ~ Julie Kagawa
85:She quite enjoyed the intensity of the stranger's gaze whenever their eyes met, and her sudden shortness of breath was not in the least alarming. ~ Cindy Anstey
86:Most religions live from a narrative that shapes their relationship with the divine other, God or the gods, and with the human other, the stranger. ~ Timothy Radcliffe
87:She was a stranger, but not just any stranger. She was "the stranger". And of course, that was the difference that made everyone's emotions stranger. ~ Shannon L Alder
88:I don’t think anyone’s had the stranger danger talk with him. Because rule number one is that you don’t jump into strange unmarked vans with the bad guys, ~ T M Frazier
89:He kept on digging but the grave did not get any deeper. “The dead are poor,” he said in the voice of the stranger. You can’t be any poorer than dead. ~ Flannery O Connor
90:He held the sword as if he's used one before," Rhys said.
The stranger snorted. "Of course I've used a sword. What kind of Highlander can no' wield a blade? ~ Donna Grant
91:There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately felt and puts the stranger at once at his ease. ~ Washington Irving
92:We are like oil and vinegar most of the time. But when you shake us up real good, the combination is heavenly.~ Janet Chapman Anna Segee, The Stranger in Her Bed ~ Janet Chapman
93:As the stranger came closer, Dud understood everything and welcomed it, and when the pain came, it was as sweet as silver, as green as still water at dark fathoms. ~ Stephen King
94:You are not a cake, you are a human being, and I can see your vagina,' snapped Nadya.

The stranger shrugged.

'It's a nice one. I'm not ashamed of it. ~ Seanan McGuire
95:Maybe my work is somewhat divided into family stories, things I know intimately, and then everybody else in the world - the strangers who I am totally fascinated with. ~ Peter Orner
96:To approach the stranger is to invite the unexpected, release a new force, let the genie out of the bottle. It is to start a new train of events that is beyond your control. ~ T S Eliot
97:And so I learned that familiar paths traced in the dusk of summer evenings may lead as well to prisons as to innocent, untroubled sleep. ========== The Stranger (Albert Camus) ~ Anonymous
98:One of the stranger facets of consistency bias is how it can be evoked on the spot. If you are primed to believe you are an honest person, you will then act as if you are. ~ David McRaney
99:In the big, crowded, noisy room where golden suns swam on the walls and the years and Years were told on golden dials, he searched for the alien, the stranger, his wife. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
100:There is a difference between feeding someone and eating dinner with them. If every Christian at home just made room for the stranger we would end homelessness overnight. ~ Shane Claiborne
101:True Hospitality is welcoming the stranger on her own terms. This kind of hospitality can only be offered by those who've found the center of their lives in their own hearts. ~ Henri Nouwen
102:As for asking favors or handouts, no.'
But you'll take them from a stranger.'
He looked me straight in the eye. 'The stranger can keep going and pretend not to hear. ~ Raymond Chandler
103:Eyes dug into my back again, almost a physical feeling. I half wanted to turn and sarcastically thank the stranger for waiting. Instead, I jogged toward the truck, time ticking. ~ K F Breene
104:Though you forget the way to the Temple,
There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger. ~ T S Eliot
105:I wasn't sure who I was most scared of at the moment. The stranger I was learning about too quickly, or the woman I'd known my entire life that was quickly becoming a stranger. ~ Megan Miranda
106:At first it seems obvious, but the more you think about it the stranger the deductions from this axiom seem to become; in the end you cease to understand what is meant by it. ~ Bertrand Russell
107:The stranger pulled his punch and glared at her. He curled his lip to bare a fang. But did he apologize? No! His exposed canine thickened and lengthened, pushing past his lower lip. ~ Celia Kyle
108:15These six cities shall be for refuge for the people of Israel, and for the stranger and for the sojourner among them, that anyone who kills any person without intent may flee there. ~ Anonymous
109:The presumption of innocence is not just a legal concept. In commonplace terms, it rests on that generosity of spirit which assumes the best, not the worst, of the stranger. ~ Kingman Brewster Jr
110:When unsure of the stranger’s intentions, the best policy is to open a meaningful dialogue. “Hey, dickhead! Who taught you to shoot, Louis Braille? That arrow missed me by a mile. ~ Ilona Andrews
111:And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you . . .” —Leviticus 19:33-34 ~ Michael Z Williamson
112:Very foolish it is to use the wrong word to a stranger; for though the heart may be clean of offence, how is the stranger to know that? He is more like to search truth with a dagger. ~ Rudyard Kipling
113:So, I'm not strange anymore?" he asks.
"What?"
"You're riding in my car, which must mean I'm not a stranger anymore."
"Actually, the more I'm around you, the stranger you get. ~ Kiersten White
114:You know, the condom is the glass slipper of our generation. You slip it on when you meet a stranger. You dance all night, then you throw it away. The condom, I mean. Not the stranger. ~ Chuck Palahniuk
115:It is easy to do things for our own families and loved ones, but to give of our substance for the stranger who is in need is the real test of our charity and love for our fellowmen. ~ Nathan Eldon Tanner
116:But today, I study the stranger’s face. The brown hair half pulled up on top of the head in a frantic work bun, naked skin, shadows and lines creeping towards the eyes like subsidence cracks. ~ Fiona Barton
117:WESLEY AYERS is the stranger in the halls of the Coronado. He is the Keeper in the garden who shares my secret. He is the boy who reads me books. He is the one who teaches me how to touch. ~ Victoria Schwab
118:You ask a question that philosophers argue over,” Chiron had said. “He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else’s friend and brother. So which life is more important? ~ Madeline Miller
119:The ultimate message of this book is terrifying: you may not know your own children, and, worse yet, your children may be unknowable to you. The stranger you fear may be your own son or daughter. ~ Sue Klebold
120:Two things I do value a lot, intimacy and the capacity for joy, didn't seem to be on anyone else s list. I felt like the stranger in a strange land, and decided I'd better not marry the natives. ~ Richard Bach
121:Creff was visibly agitated by the stranger's appearance at our door. Memory calls to mind the anxious wringing of his hands, resembling two furless pink badgers wrestling for each other's throats... ~ K W Jeter
122:In a mask we are faceless and classless, ageless and anonymous. Masks reveal the primal urge to behave like the beast in rut that leaps on the stranger or waits in the penumbra to be leapt upon. ~ Chloe Thurlow
123:An identity is questioned only when it is menaced, as when the mighty begin to fall, or when the wretched begin to rise, or when the stranger enters the gates, never, thereafter, to be a stranger. ~ James A Baldwin
124:I love your bracelet!’ I said to the brunette next to me, because, while most girls are onto the whole stranger-with-candy thing, the strangers-with-compliments strategy is still remarkably effective. ~ Ally Carter
125:Hail! the small courtesies of life, for smooth do ye make the road of it, like grace and beauty, which beget inclinations to love at first sight; it is ye who open the door and let the stranger in. ~ Laurence Sterne
126:I have at last, after several months' experience, made up my mind that [New York] is a splendid desert--a domed and steepled solitude, where the stranger is lonely in the midst of a million of his race. ~ Mark Twain
127:I don’t trust people who cook from recipes,” said the stranger, as if he hadn’t heard him. “So whom do you trust?” asked Morini. “People who eat when they’re hungry, I guess,” said the stranger. Then ~ Roberto Bola o
128:We're all bits that the war didn't take, Flinty thought, gazing at the stranger's back. But those left behind had a right to know more about the beast who'd chewed their lives and spat the remnants out. ~ Jackie French
129:At the start of this journey I wondered if America was too suspicious to let a stranger into its heart. But on this day I wonder if it’s the stranger who’s too suspicious to allow America into his heart. ~ Mike McIntyre
130:Max saw the stranger give him the once-over, recognised it for what it was. Women had been making him offers since before he was legal. And he'd learned to turn them down without hurting their feelings ... ~ Nalini Singh
131:For it is said, "You shall strengthen the stranger and the dweller in your midst and live with him," that is to say, strengthen him until he needs no longer fall upon the mercy of the community or be in need. ~ Maimonides
132:To really find God is to search for him not only in ourselves, not only in our loved ones, not only in our neighbors, not only in the strangers that we encounter, but ultimately in our enemies as well. ~ Arianna Huffington
133:A credulous mind . . . finds most delight in believing strange things, and the stranger they are the easier they pass with him; but never regards those that are plain and feasible, for every man can believe such. ~ Anonymous
134:I cannot think of a single field in biology or medicine in which we can claim genuine understanding, and it seems to me the more we learn about living creatures, especially ourselves, the stranger life becomes. ~ Lewis Thomas
135:It's weird. Sometimes it feels like we're still the ones in the pictures, and everything that happened after happened to other people. And then sometimes we're the other people, and the strangers are in the frames. ~ Emma Mills
136:She could always mark the moment when the stranger on the other end of the line began to speak to her louder and more slowly, like she needed their help to comprehend things when they were the ones with a problem. ~ Alyssa Cole
137:Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not. —T. S. Eliot ~ Harlan Coben
138:For a long time I've walked through this world with the desire, like in Rear Window, to look into other people's lives because I know that there is a way in which I am the same as so many of the strangers that I see. ~ Will Oldham
139:If you think the person you're following has spotted you, turn and have a nice chat with a stranger on the street. The stranger may think you're a lunatic, but the person you're tailing will think you're harmless. ~ Kirsten Miller
140:By Christmas, like most freshmen, he was done with religion, and he mooched around campus with a copy of The Stranger under his arm, hoping to impress women with long dark hair and mysteries that needed to be solved. ~ John Sandford
141:Jesus is the starving, the parched, the prisoner, the stranger, the naked, the sick, the dying. Jesus is the oppressed, the poor. To live with Jesus is to live with the poor. To live with the poor is to live with Jesus. ~ Jean Vanier
142:I'm not...' Angharad began, but then she thought. Not what? Not a bad person? Perhaps. But had she never known anger? Never held unkind thoughts? The stranger's observation was valid. No one was innocent of darkness. ~ Charles de Lint
143:It was nice of her to want to believe the best about me. People tend to do that with the strangers they're fucking. If she wanted to think that apathy and independence were the same thing, good for her. Maybe she was right. ~ Paul Neilan
144:It was nice of her to want to believe the best about me. People tend to do that with the strangers they’re fucking. If she wanted to think that apathy and independence were the same thing, good for her. Maybe she was right. ~ Paul Neilan
145:Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. There is one who remembers the way to your door: Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.

- T. S. Eliot ~ Harlan Coben
146:They are the children of the strangers,I told her. They have no faces. They have eyes.
Pretend they are birds. They cant see us. They don't know it yet. they don't want to believe it, but they wont ever see us again. ~ Shirley Jackson
147:The movement in our relationship to God is always from God to us. Always. We can't, through our piety or goodness, move closer to God. God is always coming near to us. Most especially in the Eucharist and in the stranger. ~ Nadia Bolz Weber
148:Look unto others and ponder the sin and folly you find
there. For their sin is your sin, and their folly is your folly.
Seek ye the true reflecting pool? Look to the stranger you
despise, not the friend you love. ~ R Scott Bakker
149:A cake’s a cake, whether or not it’s been frosted,” said the stranger primly. “You are not a cake, you are a human being, and I can see your vagina,” snapped Nadya. The stranger shrugged. “It’s a nice one. I’m not ashamed of it. ~ Seanan McGuire
150:Ignorance is the parent of fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night. ~ Herman Melville
151:For it is said, "You shall strengthen the stranger and the dweller in your midst and live with him," that is to say, strengthen him until he needs no longer fall upon the mercy of the community or be in need. ~ Maimonides, Mishneh Torah (c. 1180)
152:[...] There are tales among us that you have sold yourself to the devil, and I know not what.'

'We all have, have we not?' returned the stranger, looking up. 'If we were fewer in number, perhaps he would give better wages. ~ Charles Dickens
153:That has always seemed to me one of the stranger aspects of literary fame: you prove your competence as a writer and an inventor of stories, and then people clamour for you to make speeches and tell them what you think about the world. ~ J M Coetzee
154:Even in these first days together, it is very clear that this feeling of mine for the stranger has trumped all the other adventures in my life. It has shuffled everything and everyone else I thought I was moving toward or away from. ~ Marlena de Blasi
155:The descendants of Abraham were flattered by the opinion, that they alone were the heirs of the covenant, and they were apprehensive of diminishing the value of their inheritance, by sharing it too easily with the strangers of the earth. ~ Edward Gibbon
156:Hi," the werewolf said. He was dark-haired and broad, with gold eyes, big hands, and a feral scruffiness that Cole felt and instantly responded to. He had the weird urge to kill a cow and present it to the stranger. Two cows. ~ MaryJanice Davidson
157:There was nothing for it but to sit in my usual place beside Mrs. Van Hopper while she, like a large, complacent spider, spun her wide net of tedium about the stranger's person." I think I've met Mrs. Van Hopper on numerous occasions. ~ Daphne du Maurier
158:The stranger acted no differently from the fortune-teller who intuits that you have recently suffered a setback; she is unfailingly correct. Witchcraft merely supplied the culprit, sometimes in advance of her crime, often many years later. ~ Stacy Schiff
159:You have made me known to friends whom I knew not. You have given me seats in homes not my own. You have brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger... When one knows You, then there is no alien, and no door is shut. ~ Rabindranath Tagore
160:He was skinny with soft hair, and his thick, murky eyes watched as the stranger played one more song in the heavy room. From face to face, he looked on as the man played and the woman wept. The different notes handled her eyes. Such sadness. ~ Markus Zusak
161:But you will.” The stranger dragged Ruta by her useless arm. “I told you that you had an important destiny to fulfill, and so you shall: You, Ruby Bates, are the beginning of the end. Naughty John, Naughty John, does his work with his apron on…. ~ Anonymous
162:Cranky old Leviticus gave us—gave Christ—not only “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” but also the rather forgotten “Thou shalt love the stranger as thyself,” two verses that appear to be merged in the Parable of the Good Samaritan. ~ Marilynne Robinson
163:You need to be confronted
By the Stranger on the shore
You need to have Him search your soul
You need to hear the call
You need to learn exactly
What it means for you to follow
You need to realize that He`s asking for your all. ~ Michael Card
164:I was hoping to feel something when I saw her. She was my incubating uterus and birthday party thrower for the last seventeen years. I half expected a rush of warmth or memories, some familiarity. I flinch away from the stranger in front of me. ~ Colleen Hoover
165:Judge righteously between every man and his brother, and the stranger that is with him. Ye shall not respect persons in judgement; but ye shall hear the small as well as the great; ye shall not be afraid of the face of man; for the judgement is God's. ~ Anonymous
166:The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. ~ H G Wells
167:The magnanimous know very well that they who give time, or money, or shelter, to the stranger--so it be done for love, and not forostentation--do, as it were, put God under obligation to them, so perfect are the compensations of the universe. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
168:The stranger's first feeling, when suddenly confronted by that towering and awful apparition wrapped in its shroud of snow, is breath-taking astonishment. It is as if heaven's gates had swung open and exposed the throne. (Twain on seeing the Jungfrau.) ~ Mark Twain
169:The stranger’s way of looking at things, the eye of a man who does not recognize, who is beyond this world, the eye as frontier between being & non-being — belongs to the thinker. It is also the eye of a dying man, a man losing recognition. ~ Paul Val ry
170:The stranger whipped around to face him, his long black hair flying in a whirlwind around his shoulder. The man had a temper, but he was beautiful. Nothing Rory said could have done him justice. He walked like a prince and dressed--well--like an artist. ~ Z A Maxfield
171:For three days, Shandy Gamble had been lying on his back in the Perigord House awaiting the stranger in the black mustache. Nichols, his name was, and if they were ever going to start cattle buying they had better be moving. The season was already late. ~ Louis L Amour
172:There comes a time in every young girl's life when she is instructed by a complete stranger to scale a tall ladder for dinner atop a roof, and in almost every case the best thing to do is refuse and run home to call the asylum from which the stranger escaped. ~ Gina Damico
173:The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking as it seemed from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. ~ H G Wells
174:What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes. ~ Charles Baudelaire
175:And now,' said the stranger, 'farewell, goodness, humanity, gratitude... Farewell all those feelings that nourish and illuminate the heart! I have taken the place of Providence to reward the good; now let the avenging God make way for me to punish the wrongdoer! ~ Alexandre Dumas
176:Vattier, eh?” I thought I heard the stranger mutter under his breath, “Well, you can call me Bonnie Bell.” Chevelle waited unmoved for his response. He finally held his hand out in return. “Steed. Steed Summit.” They shot me a glare as my giggle slipped out. Steed ~ Melissa Wright
177:In mysteries what we know, and our realization of what we do not know, proceed together; the larger the island of knowledge, the longer the shoreline of wonder. It is like the quantum world, where the more we understand its formalism, the stranger that world becomes. ~ Huston Smith
178:wants to help,” Clara says in her childish Jeju dialect. Young-sook watches the strangers try to assist her grandson as he loads the bags of algae onto the flatbed. Once everything is secured, she climbs behind her grandson and wraps her arms around his waist. She nudges ~ Lisa See
179:When we select a partner, we commit to a story. Yet we remain forever curious: what other stories could we have been part of? Affairs offer us a window into those other lives, a peek at the stranger within. Adultery is often the revenge of the deserted possibilities. ~ Esther Perel
180:Since the 1970s, I have asked students if they would first try to save their drowning dog or a drowning stranger. And for 40 years I have received the same results: One third vote for their dog, one third for the stranger, and one third don't know what they would do. ~ Dennis Prager
181:The “natural” human tendency to respond to the stranger, the strange idea and the creative individual with fear and aggression can be more easily comprehended, once it is understood that these diverse phenomena share categorical identity with the “natural disaster. ~ Jordan Peterson
182:You stared at the stranger in front of you and decided,
categorically, that this was no longer your son. Or you made the decision to find whatever scraps of
your child you still could in what he had become.
Was that even really a choice, if you were a mother? ~ Jodi Picoult
183:The “natural” human tendency to respond to the stranger, the strange idea and the creative individual with fear and aggression can be more easily comprehended, once it is understood that these diverse phenomena share categorical identity with the “natural disaster. ~ Jordan B Peterson
184:The idea that we are our brother's keeper and our sister's keeper. That we should treat others as we would want to be treated. And that we care for the sick... feed the hungry... and welcome the stranger... no matter where they come from, or how they practice their faith. ~ Michelle Obama
185:Strangely it was social embarrassment that kept me from crying my eyes out, shouting at the injustice of it, kicking tables over: the idea that the strangers to either side might have heard my diagnosis and even now be listening and silently judging me. How terribly British. ~ Mark Lawrence
186:True hospitality is marked by an open response to the dignity of each and every person. Henri Nouwen has described it as receiving the stranger on his own terms, and asserts that it can be offered only by those who 'have found the center of their lives in their own hearts'. ~ Kathleen Norris
187:I had now regained my liberty," said the stranger; "but I had lost my reputation; for there is a wide difference between the case of a man who is barely acquitted of a crime in a court of justice, and of him who is acquitted in his own heart, and in the opinion of the people. ~ Henry Fielding
188:Having anticipated the onward march of our selfish genes, many of us are unprepared for children who present unfamiliar needs. Parenthood abruptly catapults us into a permanent relationship with a stranger, and the more alien the stranger, the stronger the whiff of negativity. ~ Andrew Solomon
189:The challenge to writers today, I think, is not to disown any part of our heritage. Whatever our theme in writing, it is old and tried. Whatever our place, it has been visited by the stranger, it will never be new again. It is only the vision that can be new; but that is enough. ~ Eudora Welty
190:The stranger might laugh and seem to enjoy the writing, but you hug to yourself the thought that they didn't quite understand its force and quality the way you do - just as your friends (thank heavens) don't also fall in love with the person you are going on and on about to them. ~ Stephen Fry
191:For most of us, being an “easy mark” has come to mean being a chump or a sucker or a pushover—shaming identities that are associated with weakness and a lack of street smarts. For the strangers who broke bread at my grandmother’s house, the mark was a sign of courage and compassion. ~ Bren Brown
192:I think about some of the novels I love - The Stranger, Disgrace, Quicksand and Passing, Giovanni's Room, The Talented Mr. Ripley. I think I'm more intrigued by characters who don't do the right thing and where we are allowed to identify with their shame/dishonesty/envy... whatever. ~ Danzy Senna
193:Rough and dark is often the veil of the soul, while within, so pure and transparent. Like the grey crust upon ice, that, when severed, reveals within a pure blue light, like the transparent ether. Thus remain veiled to the stranger, but be not concealed from thyself. ~ Jean Paul Friedrich Richter
194:You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” Those most likely to befriend strangers, in other words, are those who have been strangers themselves. The best way to grow empathy for those who are lost is to know what it means to be lost yourself. ~ Barbara Brown Taylor
195:What can man suffer direr or worse than enslaved from a victor
Boons to accept, to take safety and ease from the foe and the stranger,
Fallen from the virtue stern that heaven permits to a mortal?
Death is not keener than this nor the slaughter of f ~ Sri Aurobindo, Collected Poems, Ilion,
196:Yet birth, and lust, and illness, and death are changeless things, and when one of these harsh facts springs out upon a man at some sudden turn of the path of life, it dashes off for the moment his mask of civilization and gives a glimpse of the stranger and stronger face below. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle
197:Human societies provide us with various more elaborate devices. One of the most effective is respect. You don’t like the stranger, but your carefully respectful behavior to him elicits the same from him, thus avoiding the sterile expense of time and blood on aggression and defense. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
198:I don’t want anyone but you. I’ve never loved another woman. I know you think I’m a different person than you thought you knew. Maybe you think there’s the husband me and the stranger me. But neither guy ever loved her. I love you. Every version of me loves you. Today. Now. Always. - Adam ~ C D Reiss
199:"I seek the meaning of existence," said the stranger. "You are of course assuming," said the Master, "that existence has a meaning." "Doesn't it?" "When you experience existence as it is - not as you think it is you will discover that your question has no meaning," said the Master. ~ Anthony de Mello
200:The stranger’s presence alerts him to his mother’s absence. For Spitz, this behavioral reaction signaled the attainment of psychological capacities that make a singular, personal attachment possible. “There is no love until the loved one can be distinguished from all others” (1965, ~ Stephen A Mitchell
201:Take then this Book, look into it, and show me when Jesus was not forgiving. Read this diving tragedy and tell me where He speaks without mercy and compassion. You visit not the sick and the imprisoned; nor do you feed the hungry or give refuge to the stranger or comfort to the mourner. ~ Khalil Gibran
202:He didn't have the loose-limbed cockiness of a man her age, springing to attention with the desire to impress everyone with his agility and form. No, the stranger moved with a languorous arrogance of a man more settled into his skin. A sort of graceful conceit that suggested entitlement. ~ Vivienne Lorret
203:answered his telephone himself if he happened to be at hand when it signalled because each call offered good odds that he would be justified in being gratifyingly rude to some stranger for daring to invade his privacy without cause—“cause” by Harshaw’s definition, not by the stranger’s. ~ Robert A Heinlein
204:I couldn’t do it. Be a monster hunter on purpose. I’d never stop hyperventilating. Like, when do you have time to make comic books?” “My proclivities are prob’ly indicative of some profound underlying psychological damage,” the Stranger said. “But I reckon you play the hand the dealer gives you. ~ T A Pratt
205:ps.146.8 Jehovah is loosing the prisoners, Jehovah is opening (the eyes of) the blind, Jehovah is raising the bowed down, Jehovah is loving the righteous, ps.146.9 Jehovah is preserving the strangers, The fatherless and widow He causeth to stand, And the way of the wicked He turneth upside down. ~ Anonymous
206:A First Mute Coming
702
A first Mute Coming—
In the Stranger's House—
A first fair Going—
When the Bells rejoice—
A first Exchange—of
What hath mingled—been—
For Lot—exhibited to
Faith—alone—
~ Emily Dickinson
207:Just read this fabulous screenplay. A remake of Camus's The Stranger with Meursault as a bi break-dancing punk rocker. Randy showed it to me. I loved it. Randy thinks "basically unfilmable" and that filming an orange rolling around a parking lot for three hours would draw a bigger audience. ~ Bret Easton Ellis
208:Psychologists tested the story of the Good Samaritan. What they learned gives us reason to pause. The greatest determinant of who stopped to help the stranger in need was not compassion, morality, or religious creed. It was those who had the time. Makes me wonder if I have time to do good. ~ Richard Paul Evans
209:Half smiling, with imperturbable brightness and friendliness, the Buddha looked steadily at the stranger and dismissed him with a hardly visible gesture. 'You are clever, O Samana,' said the Illustrious One, 'you know how to speak cleverly, my friend. Be on your guard against too much cleverness. ~ Hermann Hesse
210:The wearing of costly array is directly opposite to being adorned with good works. Nothing can be more evident than this; for the more you lay out on your own apparel, the less you have left to clothe the naked, to feed the hungry, to lodge the stranger, to relieve those that are sick and in prison. ~ John Wesley
211:Stories are all around us, caught in the throats of the strangers you walk past and scrawled on the pages of locked diaries. They’re in love letters that were never sent and between the lines of every conversation ever spoken. Just because your story’s not written down doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. ~ Jodi Picoult
212:If the observation were made to you that "Strangers become intimate, and as intimacy grows they lower their guards and less mind their manners until errors are made, which decreases intimacy until estrangement exceeds that which existed before the strangers ever met," would you be inclined to agree? ~ Padgett Powell
213:Those you have deeply loved become part of you. The longer you live, there will always be more people to be loved by you and to become part of your inner community. The wider your inner community becomes, the more easily you will recognize your own brothers and sisters in the strangers around you. ~ Henri J M Nouwen
214:For you, Elisabeth.” He offered me the flute again. This time I took it. Despite the cold air, the instrument was warm, and felt almost like skin beneath my hands. It was only after the stranger disappeared that I realized he had called me by my given name. Elisabeth. How could he have possibly known? * ~ S Jae Jones
215:The cartoonist Jules Feiffer, contemplating the communication problem in a nonindustrial context, has said, “Actually, the breakdown is between the person and himself. If you’re not able to communicate successfully between yourself and yourself, how are you supposed to make it with the strangers outside? ~ John Brooks
216:Was this how a mutiny was sparked? In a moment of heedlessness, so that one became a stranger to the person one had been a moment before? Or was it the other way around? That this was when one recognized the stranger that one had always been to oneself; that all one’s loyalties and beliefs had been misplaced? ~ Amitav Ghosh
217:Once outside, the stranger continued his warning. "Go back to the old ways! Hibernate! Only those who hibernate shall be saved! So says I.M. Weird!"
Officer Marguerite closed the door. But out of sight isn't always out of mind. The raggedy stranger's warning cast a spell of gloom over the Town Hall audience. ~ Stan Berenstain
218:We were along there, floating on a sea of black emptiness--all the chapters unwritten.
''The beginning of the perfect world,"I said.
"The beginning," the stranger repeated. "tThe world that is beautiful. Let there be chickens. Let there be trees. Let there be us. Let there be safe places to stay the night. ~ Ramona Ausubel
219:Which one is really my child? The one I brought forth with my own groans who has no liking for the thing I love most in all the world, or the stranger’s child whom fate placed in my life, the one who is absorbing and treasuring every word I give her, whose eyes are learning every day, whom I would love to teach... ~ Susan Vreeland
220:It is hard to meet a stranger. Even the greatest extravert meeting even the meekest stranger knows a certain dread, though he may not know he knows it. Will he make a fool of me wreck my image of myself invade me destroy me change me? Yes, that he will. There's the terrible thing: the strangeness of the stranger. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
221:It is terrifying in retrospect to grasp how seriously the Torah took the phenomenon of xenophobia, hatred of the stranger. It is as if the Torah were saying with the utmost clarity: reason is insufficient. Sympathy is inadequate. Only the force of history and memory is strong enough to form a counterweight to hate. ~ Jonathan Sacks
222:Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines. ~ Henri Nouwen
223:Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines. ~ Henri J M Nouwen
224:First the strangers came with argument and authority and gunpowder to back up both. And in the four hundred years Kino's people had learned only one defense - a slight slitting of the eyes and a slight tightening of the lips and a retirement. Nothing could break down this wall, and they could remain whole within the wall. ~ John Steinbeck
225:Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it, is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces daily, that were once the countenances of friends ~ Charles Dickens
226:When the Stranger says: "What is the meaning of this city? Do you huddle close together because you love each other?" What will you answer? "We all dwell together To make money from each other"? or "This is a community"? Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger. Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. ~ T S Eliot
227:Every place of arrival should have a booth set up and manned by an ordinary person whose task it is to greet strangers and give them a little trophy of local space-time stuff - tell them of his difficulties in high school and put a pinch of soil in their pockets - in order to insure that the stranger shall not become an Anyone. ~ Walker Percy
228:Every performance is different. There are so many factors involved... the people I've met that day, the weather, the city I'm in, conversations, sleep, mood, everything. However, there are many nights when the stars align and I feel like both the story teller and the stranger in the crowd, hearing it all for the very first time. ~ Dia Frampton
229:Now I see, however,'—he exhaled smoke slowly—'that it is with them as with all men—in certain matters they are wise, and in others most foolish. Very foolish it is to use the wrong word to a stranger; for though the heart may be clean of offence, how is the stranger to know that? He is more like to search truth with a dagger. ~ Rudyard Kipling
230:The stranger’s hand emerged, holding something that looked to Chia like a very large pair of chromeplated scissors, but then unfolded, with a series of small sharp clicks, and apparently of its own accord, into a kind of glittering, skeletal axe, its leading edge hawklike and lethal, the head behind it tapering like an icepick. ~ William Gibson
231:Ridiculously, she wished she could write to her Christopher about the stranger she had just met.
He was so contemptuous, she would write. He dismissed me as someone who didn’t deserve a modicum of respect. Clearly he thinks I’m wild and more than a little mad. And the worst part is that he’s probably right. ~ Lisa Kleypas
232:What is it about the pain of others? Easier to pretend that it doesn’t exist. Easier to refuse to make the effort of empathy, to believe instead that the stranger’s body on the sidewalk is simply a render ghost, an accumulation of coloured pixels, which winks out of existence when we turn our head, changing the channel of our gaze. ~ Olivia Laing
233:One evening the stranger told Old Gao that the frames they were making had been invented by an American, only seventy years before. This seemed like nonsense to Old Gao, who made frames as his father had, and as they did across the valley, and as, he was certain, his grandfather and his grandfather’s grandfather had, but he said nothing. ~ Neil Gaiman
234:The major characteristics discoverable by the stranger in Mr F.'s Aunt, were extreme severity and grim taciturnity; sometimes interrupted by a propensity to offer remarks in a deep warning voice, which, being totally uncalled for by anything said by anybody, and traceable to no association of ideas, confounded and terrified the Mind. ~ Charles Dickens
235:Preacher pulled her gun to her lap, the trigger aimed toward the stranger. . . . He stared at her like he was ready to dial 911, until he saw she was of European heritage, saw her clerical collar, saw the Bible on the dashboard. White, blond, and Christian. Trifecta. The man's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, waved, and kept going. ~ Eric Jerome Dickey
236:When the Stranger says: “What is the meaning of this city ?
Do you huddle close together because you love each other?”
What will you answer? “We all dwell together
To make money from each other”? or “This is a community”?
Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.
Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions. ~ T S Eliot
237:Sumi was just explaining how you’re the most boring cardboard parody of a girl ever to walk this world or any other, and we should all feel sorry for you,” said one of the strangers, adjusting her glasses as she turned to look at Nancy. “That makes you sound like my kind of person. Please, sit, and relieve some of the tedium of our table. ~ Seanan McGuire
238:was just about to invite you to dance,” came the unexpected reply. The orchestra was switching tempos and Nancy nodded. She followed the stranger to the center of the floor where several other couples were trying unsuccessfully to keep from bumping into each other. “I don’t know your name,” the young detective said as the two began to dance. ~ Carolyn Keene
239:Studies have shown that not only does your brain direct your movements, your movements can affect what you think and how you feel. When test subjects are induced to move toward a stranger, the subjects tend to like the stranger more than when the subjects are induced to move away. This may be why shaking hands and bowing forward became traditions. ~ Bill Nye
240:American culture, perhaps more than any other, prizes individualism. Our narratives of art, politics, and business idolize the person who triumphs against the odds, with only himself or herself to answer to. The lone wolf. The stranger in town. The maverick. The plucky kid. The Final Girl. You've only got yourself, in the end. It's all up to you. ~ Andi Zeisler
241:Do you not know that God entrusted you with that money (all above what buys necessities for your families) to feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to help the stranger, the widow, the fatherless; and, indeed, as far as it will go, to relieve the wants of all mankind? How can you, how dare you, defraud the Lord, by applying it to any other purpose? ~ John Wesley
242:saddlebags and called for water to be heated. He knelt and removed his outer tunic and rolled the white sleeves of the inner one. He rubbed astringent oil into his hands and along his forearms to the elbow, to the amusement of the nephew, who drew a wrongheaded moral from the notion of a physician who medicated himself and not his patient. The stranger ~ Michael Chabon
243:We never know whom we marry; we just think we do. Or even if we first marry the right person, just give it a while and he or she will change. For marriage, being [the enormous thing it is] means we are not the same person after we have entered it. The primary problem is... learning how to love and care for the stranger to whom you find yourself married. ~ Timothy J Keller
244:It still amazed me sometimes when I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I would be startled to see the stranger there, as if still expecting to see my blond hair and tight skin, my hands with long, straight fingers. Age was a thief, an insidious one who instead of robbing you at night while you slept took all of your possessions one by one and forced you to watch. ~ Karen White
245:There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger's origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. ~ Kenneth Grahame
246:i had to test your courage,” the stranger said.
“courage is the quality most essential to understand the Language of the World.”
.
.
“you must not let up, even after having come so far,” he continued. “you must love the desert, but never trust it completely. because the desert tests all men: it challenges every step, and kills those who become distracted. ~ Paulo Coelho
247:The man Jack was tall. This man was taller. The man Jack wore dark clothes. This man’s clothes were darker. People who noticed the man Jack when he was about his business-- and he did not like to be noticed-- were troubled, or made uncomfortable, or found themselves unaccountably scared. The man Jack looked up at the stranger, and it was the man Jack who was troubled. ~ Neil Gaiman
248:You think back to Tele players, and James Burton was the one who started it all. He inspired Roy Nichols (guitar for Merle Haggard & the Strangers), Don Rich (guitar for Buck Owens & the Buckaroos), and guys like that to push the envelope and expand on that sound... I really identify with that kind of thinking ... those guys to me are the reason why any of us do this. ~ Brad Paisley
249:They played that wild, strange, ancient game of morra, which with its antics, its vociferation, its twinkling, dazzling, ceaseless movement of the fingers, so utterly bewilders the stranger who watches it. They looked to mo like maniacs. But to be sure, if dogs ruled in the world they would very often raise the cries of " Rabies!" against very many human actions and grimaces. ~ Ouida
250:In this respect ‘Ἡγεμονιχόν would be a fitting title for the will; yet again this title seems to apply to the intellect, in so far as that is the guide and leader, like the footman who walks in front of the stranger. In truth, however, the most striking figure for the relation of the two is that of the strong blind man carrying the sighted lame man on his shoulders. ~ Arthur Schopenhauer
251:In the 'Odyssey,' Homer enumerates the strangers that even a simple community would "call from abroad"- the "master of some craft, a prophet, a healer of disease, a builder or else a wondrous bard." In contrast to the original peasants and chiefs these are the new inhabitants of the city. Where they were lacking, the country town remained sunk in a somnolent provincialism. ~ Lewis Mumford
252:While contemporary Christians tend to equate morality with sexual ethics, our ancestors defined morality as welcoming the stranger. Unlike almost every other contested idea in early Christianity, including the nature of Christ and the doctrine of the Trinity, the unanimous witness of the ancient fathers and mothers was that hospitality was the primary Christian virtue. ~ Diana Butler Bass
253:Come with me if you want to live.”
Neva stared at the enormous hand the stranger extended her. Her gaze followed the black leather-clad arm up to the massive shoulders, the strong jaw, and the thick lock of wavy blonde hair hanging over his dark glasses. “You have so got to be kidding me,” she said.
He shrugged. “I always wanted to say that line. Except I’m not kidding. ~ Dani Harper
254:Assimilation was frequently but another name for the very special brand of relations between human beings which had been imposed by colonialism. These relations demanded that the individual, torn from the context to which he owed his identity, should replace his habits of feeling, thinking, and acting by another set of habits which belonged to the strangers who dominated him. ~ James Baldwin
255:natural selection a couple of hundred thousand years. It’s sure to find ways to make you hate strangers who might be threats to survival. Better safe than sorry. Hate all strangers. The best way of making you hate strangers who just might hurt you is the way religion does it. It even gets you to give up your life for some greater cause—protecting your tribe from the strangers. ~ Alex Rosenberg
256:No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from."
"But what if he is your friend?" Achilles had asked him, ... [o]r your brother? Should you treat him the same as a stranger?"
"You ask a question that philosophers argue over," Chiron had said. "He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else's friend and brother. So which life is more important? ~ Madeline Miller
257:I advised you to not look for hope from your leaders, for they shall feed you naught but lies. Yet hope exists. Seek for it, Brys Beddict, in the one who stands at your side, from the stranger upon the other side of the street. Be brave enough to endeavour to cross that street. Look neither skyward nor upon the ground. Hope persists, and its voice is compassion, and honest doubt. ~ Steven Erikson
258:That's not the way he told it, Tarwater said. He said that when the schoolteacher was seven years old, he had good sense but later it dried up. His daddy was an ass and not fit to raise him and his mother was a whore. She ran away from here when she was eighteen years old.

It took her that long? the stranger said in an incredulous tone. My, she was kind of a ass herself. ~ Flannery O Connor
259:But there are no safe spaces. 'Home' can be unsafe and dangerous because it bears the likelihood of intimacy and thus thinner boundaries. Staying 'home' and not venturing out from our group comes from woundedness, and stagnates our growth. To bridge means loosening our borders, not closing off to others. Bridging is the work of opening the gate to the stranger, within and without. ~ Gloria E Anzald a
260:shared a meal together that the disciples realized the stranger was more than a fellow journeyman or prophet. When he broke the bread and gave thanks, “their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (Luke 24:31). It was Jesus! Something about communion triggers our memory and helps us see things as they really are. Something about communion opens our eyes to Jesus at the table. As ~ Rachel Held Evans
261:They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees, and the clouds, and the sky over their heads, and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the landscapes drawn up for them to see on their walks, the rooms in which they lived and loved, were even more pleased with their love than they were themselves. ~ Boris Pasternak
262:And if minor characters show an inclination to become major characters … you at least give them a shot at it, because … just as in the real world it may take you many years to find out that the stranger you talked to once for half an hour in the railroad station may have done more to point you to where your true homeland lies than your priest or your best friend or even your psychiatrist. ~ Anne Lamott
263:Ignorance is the parent of fear, and being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I confess I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus broken into my room at the dead of night. In fact, I was so afraid of him that I was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him. ~ Herman Melville
264:Not the people but the mind, Not the storm but the silence, Not the answer but the question, Not the result but the reason, I am scared of. Not the real but the dream, Not the moment but the memory, Not the lie but the truth, Not the death but the life, I am scared of. Not the end but the start, Not the strangers but the known, Not the hate but the love, Not the world but the me, I am scared of. ~ Savi Sharma
265:She the stranger, the foreigner, of alien blood and mind, did not share his power or his conscience or his knowledge or his exile. She shared nothing at all with him, but had met him and joined with him wholly and immediately across the gulf of their great difference: as if it were that difference, the alienness between them, that let them meet, and that in joining them together, freed them. ~ Ursula K Le Guin
266:For here it was now, as clear as it had ever been. And, worst of all, he was aware of an impulse to tell Bruno everything, the stranger on the train who would listen, commiserate, and forget. The idea of telling Bruno began to comfort him. Bruno was not the ordinary stranger on the train by any means. He was cruel and corrupt enough himself to appreciate a story like that of his first love. ~ Patricia Highsmith
267:Not the people but the mind, Not the storm but the silence, Not the answer but the question, Not the result but the reason, I am scared of. Not the real but the dream, Not the moment but the memory, Not the lie but the truth, Not the death but the life, I am scared of. Not the end but the start, Not the strangers but the known, Not the hate but the love, Not the world but the me, I am scared of.’ I ~ Savi Sharma
268:Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation,
You will greet yourself arriving
At your own door, in your own mirror,
And each will smile at the other's welcome.

And say, sit here, Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
To itself, to the stranger who has loved you...

Feast on your own life. ~ Derek Walcott
269:Be generous in prosperity and thankful in adversity,

Be fair in thy judgment, and guarded in thy speech.

Be a lamp unto those who walk in darkness, and a home to the stranger.

Be eyes to the blind, and a guiding light unto the feet of the erring.

Be a breath of life to the body of humankind, a dew to the soil of the human heart,

and a fruit upon the tree of humility. ~ Bah u ll h
270:Ten thousand dollars." I hear Lily's gasp of disbelief behind me.

Oh fuck.

"Fifteen"

Twenty," counters Christian quietly.

Twenty-five," the stranger says.

"One hundred thousand dollars," he says his voice ringing clear and loud through the marquee.

"What the fuck?" Lily hisses audibly behind me, and a general gasp of dismay and amusement ripple through the crowd. ~ E L James
271:I continued asking questions. The answers came within seconds. What shall I do with the stranger? Invite him into my house, and treat him like a brother, so that he may become one. That’s to extend the hand of trust to someone so that his or her best part can step forward and reciprocate. That’s to manifest the sacred hospitality that makes life between those who do not yet know each other possible. ~ Jordan Peterson
272:Help, I said. “Is this real? Am I still me?”
The Stranger comforted, “Everything stays true. You are yourself, no matter how much you have to change.”
But what had I done? I couldn’t remember; I must have made each required movement…I must have passed instinctively through the motions that somehow changed me from girl to woman. Although if there was such a transformation, I had not witnessed it. ~ Ramona Ausubel
273:I continued asking questions. The answers came within seconds. What shall I do with the stranger? Invite him into my house, and treat him like a brother, so that he may become one. That’s to extend the hand of trust to someone so that his or her best part can step forward and reciprocate. That’s to manifest the sacred hospitality that makes life between those who do not yet know each other possible. ~ Jordan B Peterson
274:When he noticed that the patient was awake, he smiled at him.
"Are you a God or the devil? the dying man once asked him.
The stranger shrugged and thought about it.
"A bit of both", he answered at last.
"In principle, I'm an atheist," the patient informed him. "Although in fact I have a lot of faith",
"Like so many. Rest now, my friend. Heaven can wait. And hell is too small for you". ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n
275:11and you shall rejoice before the LORD your God, you and your son and your daughter and your male and female servants and the Levite who is within your [city] gates, and the stranger and the orphan and the widow who are among you, at the place where the LORD your God chooses to establish His Name (Presence). 12“You shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and you shall be careful to obey these statutes. ~ Anonymous
276:There are valleys that lead to the bottom of the world, so it seems, but what world is that? The universe has no sides, no end, can’t be mapped. Enough to make a man talk about God, make a man superstitious and worship an idol. The science never gets as far as the strangeness. The more sophisticated my equipment, the stranger the worlds it detects. I sometimes think I’m sailing through a vast thought. ~ Jeanette Winterson
277:Thus it is our daughters leave us,
Those we love, and those who love us!
Just when they have learned to help us,
When we are old and lean upon them,
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers,
With his flute of reeds, a stranger
Wanders piping through the village,
Beckons to the fairest maiden,
And she follows where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
278:Now No-One Will Be Listening To Songs
Now no-one will be listening to songs.
The days long prophesied have come to pass.
The world has no more miracles. Don't break
My heart, song, but be still: you are the last.
Not long ago you took your morning flight
With all a swallow's free accomplishment.
Now that you are a hungry beggar-woman,
Don't go knocking at the stranger's gate.
~ Anna Akhmatova
279:I brought to mind the image of the stranger lying there in the first light of dawn: the slight growth of whiskers on his chin, strands of his red hair shifting gently on the faint stirrings of the morning breeze, the pallor, the extended legs, the quivering fingers, that last, sucking breath. And that word, blown into my face ... "Vale."

The thrill of it all!

Yes," I said, "it was devastating. ~ Alan Bradley
280:In college I took a social psychology course, something I thought useful for a career in advertising. Psychologists tested the story of the Good Samaritan. What they learned gives us reason to pause. The greatest determinant of who stopped to help the stranger in need was not compassion, morality, or religious creed. It was those who had the time. Makes me wonder if I have time to do good. Apparently, Angel does. ~ Richard Paul Evans
281:Nadya, who had spotted the three of them, was waving her arms frantically over her head, signaling her distress. In case this wasn’t enough, she shouted, “Over here! Next to the naked lady!” “A cake’s a cake, whether or not it’s been frosted,” said the stranger primly. “You are not a cake, you are a human being, and I can see your vagina,” snapped Nadya. The stranger shrugged. “It’s a nice one. I’m not ashamed of it. ~ Seanan McGuire
282:You don’t really believe I intend harm, do you?” If he intended to marry her, she considered that great harm indeed. But Flora the housemaid couldn’t say that. Bill rose and gave himself a good shake before he trotted forward to investigate the stranger’s boots. Bite him, Bill. Lord Lyle clicked his elegant fingers. And Bill, the rotten traitor, yipped in delight and rolled over to offer his pink belly for a scratch. “Nice ~ Anna Campbell
283:Home Fires
IN a Yiddish eating place on Rivington Street ... faces ... coffee spots ... children
kicking at the night stars with bare toes from bare buttocks.
They know it is September on Rivington when the red tomaytoes cram the
pushcarts,
Here the children snozzle at milk bottles, children who have never seen a cow.
Here the stranger wonders how so many people remember where they keep
home fires.
~ Carl Sandburg
284:The absurdity of public-choice theory is captured by Nobel Prize-winning economist Amartya Sen in the following little scenario: "Can you direct me to the railway station?" asks the stranger. "Certainly," says the local, pointing in the opposite direction, towards the post office, "and would you post this letter for me on your way?" "Certainly," says the stranger, resolving to open it to see if it contains anything worth stealing. ~ Linda McQuaig
285:I still remember him fondly, there in the doorway. He was absolutely the first person to show me how comfortable it is to arrive in a strange, potentially hostile environment, and discover that you have been preceded by your reputation, that you don't have to do anything to be accepted, that your name is known, that everyone knows about you, and it's the others, the strangers, who must strive to win your favor, and not you theirs. ~ Elena Ferrante
286:At once the senior pilot arose in his mighty bulk and began to struggle into his coat, with awe-inspiring upheavals. The stranger and I hurried impulsively to his assistance, and directly we laid our hands on him he became perfectly quiescent. We had to raise our arms very high, and to make efforts. It was like caparisoning a docile elephant. With a "Thanks, gentlemen," he dived under and squeezed himself through the door in a great hurry. ~ Joseph Conrad
287:When the inhabitants of some sequestered island first descry the "big canoe" of the European rolling through the blue waters towards their shores, they rush down to the beach in crowds, and with open arms stand ready to embrace the strangers. Fatal embrace! They fold to their bosoms the vipers whose sting is destined to poison all their joys; and the instinctive feeling of love within their breasts is soon converted into the bitterest hate. ~ Herman Melville
288:The Prophet said: “Islam began as something strange, and it shall return to being something strange as it began, so give glad tidings to the strangers.” [Sahih Muslim] By being ‘strange’ to this dunya, we can live in it, without being of it. And it is through that detachment that we can empty the vessel of our heart in preparation for that which nourishes it and gives it life. By emptying our heart, we prepare it for its true nourishment: God. ~ Yasmin Mogahed
289:Give me ... a compassionate heart, quickly moved to grieve for the woes of others and to active pity for them, even as our Lord Jesus Christ beheld our poverty and hasted to help us. Give me grace ever to alleviate the crosses and difficulties of those around me, and never to add to them; teach me to be a consoler in sorrow, to take thought for the stranger, the widow, and the orphan; let my charity show itself not in words only but in deed and truth. ~ Johann Arndt
290:You are free, said the stranger.
Before I arrived there.
Costume. I had a costume on though.
I was curious: what his reaction might be?

He closed his other eyes.
I’ll send an ego instead of you.
Getting softer, I feel it, he feels it too. Hardly moves. He chokes himself inside me.
Now I must live with another dead man.

It’s not even hopeless.
Not vicious.
Serves the absence.
Delivers the unnecessary.
(Lovers) ~ Kinga Fabo
291:A Concordance of Leaves is an epic poem of the indomitable yet fragile human spirit. Philip Metres brings Palestine and Palestinians into English with rare luminosity. One feels echoes of Oppen's succinct tenderness in the depiction of the numerous characters of this work. Without other, there is no self. And that other is the stranger who must be loved. Concordance is, after all, a wedding poem-leaves and pages in search of a certain passage toward harmony. ~ Fady Joudah
292:In the hands of [God's] children, it is food for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, raiment for the naked. it gives to the traveler and the stranger where to lay his head. By it we may supply the place of a husband to the widow, and of a father to the fatherless. We may be a defense for the oppressed, a means of health to the sick, of ease to them that are in pain. It may be as eyes to the blind, as feet to the lame: yea, a lifter up from the gates of death! ~ John Wesley
293:It is not our free will but 'it is the Lord who sets the captive free' (Ps. 145:7). It is not our own virtue but 'it is the Lord who lifts up those who were laid low' (Ps. 145:8). It is not application to reading but 'it is the Lord who gives light to the blind' (Ps. 145:8). It is not our cautiousness but 'it is the Lord who protects the stranger' (Ps. 145:9). It is not our endurance but 'it is the Lord who raises or gives support to the fallen' (Ps. 144:14). ~ John Cassian
294:Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger.
Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.

There is one who remembers the way to your door:
Life you may evade, but Death you shall not.
You shall not deny the Stranger.

They constantly try to escape
From the darkness outside and within
By dreaming of systems so perfect that no one will need to be good.
But the man that is shall shadow
The man that pretends to be. ~ T S Eliot
295:We could not have been more firmly dismissed. Emerson bowed in silence, and I felt a certain … well, perhaps embarrassment is the proper word. For the first time I could see the priest’s point of view. The strangers had moved into his town, told his people they were wrong, threatened his spiritual authority, and he had no recourse, for the strangers were protected by the government. A way of life centuries old was passing; and he was helpless to prevent it. ~ Elizabeth Peters
296:Well," Puck commented, looking around at our odd party, "this is it, huh? I must admit, this is probably one of the stranger things I've had to do, with one of the stranger groups I've had to do it with."
The Wolf snorted. "No stranger than usual, Goodfellow."
"I guess not." Puck sighed, then straightened with a bright grin, rubbing his hands. "Welp, as a certain furball would point out, time's a-wasting. Who's up for saving the Nevernever one more time? ~ Julie Kagawa
297:We should be able to attend and respond to others, but focusing on them too much isn’t just counterproductive, it’s also destructive, undermining our self-confidence and interfering with our ability to notice what’s being exchanged in the moment. Even in the imagined power pose condition, people were able to fully inhabit the moment—noticing without judging their environment, feeling neither threatened by nor dominant over the strangers coming in and out of the room. ~ Amy Cuddy
298:When I speak of life and love as expanding with age, sex seems the least important thing. At any age we grow by the enlarging of consciousness, by learning a new language, or a new art or craft (gardening?) that implies a new way of looking at the universe. Love is one of the great enlargers of the person because it requires us to "take in" the stranger and to understand him, and to exercise restraint and tolerance as well as imagination to make the relationship work. ~ May Sarton
299:They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the “blaze of passion” often falsely ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the wide expanses they saw on their walks, the rooms in which they lived or met, took more delight in their love than they
themselves did. ~ Boris Pasternak
300:Fly! Fly! About with your ship and fly! Row, row, row for your lives away from this accursed shore.”
“Compose yourself,” said Reepicheep, “and tell us what the danger is. We are not used to flying.”
The stranger started horribly at the voice of the Mouse, which he had not noticed before.
“Nevertheless you will fly from here,” he gasped. “This is the Island where Dreams come true.”
“That’s the island I’ve been looking for this long time,” said one of the sailors. ~ C S Lewis
301:In my own life, as winters turn into spring, I find it not only hard to cope with mud but also hard to credit the small harbingers of larger life to come, hard to hope until the outcome is secure. Spring teaches me to look more carefully for the green stems of possibility; for the intuitive hunch that may turn into a larger insight, for the glance or touch that may thaw a frozen relationship, for the stranger's act of kindness that makes the world seem hospitable again. ~ Parker J Palmer
302:Navigating the crowd on the sidewalk is a challenge I like. I’m running without touching anyone else on the street. I’m a character in a human video game, keeping my bubble of space from being invaded, eyeing an open slot on the sidewalk, speeding up to grab it before someone else does, slowing down until I see another space, working together with the strangers on the street as though we’re all performing an elaborate dance perfectly choreographed for thousands of people. ~ Lauren Graham
303:O my language,
help me to adapt and embrace the universe. Inside me
there’s a balcony no one passes under for a greeting.
And outside me a world that doesn’t return the greeting.
My language, will I become what you’ll become, or are you
what becomes of me?
[…] For who, if I utter what isn’t poetry,
will understand me? Who will speak to me of a hidden
longing for a lost time if I utter what isn’t poetry?
And who will know the stranger’s land? … ~ Mahmoud Darwish
304:If elementary training in neighbor love focuses on family and friends, in secondary neighbor-love studies, we learn to see the outlier, the outsider, the outcast, the stranger, the alien, and even the enemy as neighbors too. Such an education can be deeply subversive, some might even say unpatriotic. After all, political figures, military leaders, and rising demagogues consistently consolidate power by scapegoating and dehumanizing an outsider, an outcast, or an enemy. But ~ Brian D McLaren
305:I found the woman's rapt expression disconcerting as she carried Gabriella to the second floor bedroom and gently placed her under the worn but downy soft quilts. But what was most disturbing was the sound of the door being locked from the outside after Rebekah left the room. I flipped open my phone for reassurance but didn't find it there. The farm was obviously beyond cell tower range. I tried to calm fears by reminding myself that we were in fact the strangers in this situation. ~ Loretta Marion
306:He, the stranger, was speaking to her brother Jesse. The sun was at his back and it shone around him like a golden halo. Even from the distance she could see that he was handsome in a curious way. He was finely dressed and worthily shod. Real pince-nez spectacles of circular glass were perched upon his nose. And his trim form and deignful expression gave him a princely air.

Meggie's eyes widened. Her heart beat faster and the blood sped through her veins.

A prince. Her prince. ~ Pamela Morsi
307:I agree with you," replied the stranger; "we are unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves -- such a friend ought to be -- do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I -- I have lost everything, and cannot begin life anew. ~ Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
308:So what’s your name?” the stranger asked.

Tarrah pulled his shirt away from her head and held out her hand. “Tarrah. Tarrah Reid.”

He slipped his hand into hers, his cheeks stiffening as he held back a smile.

Tarrah sighed, knowing exactly what he was thinking. She was completely aware of the fact that she held the name of a famous Hollywood actress. The association actually helped with her “Christmas floozy” persona during the holidays, so she’d never really minded. ~ Victoria H Smith
309:Peter was rapt. He tilted his head to better study the stranger before him, and presently issued a hesitant, hoarse croak in the minor key. There followed a dense silence where neither Lucy nor Mr. Olderglough drew a breath, and then, finally, Peter sang his long-lost tune. It came out in purling currents, as though his keeping it in had been an agony. Peter sang to his reflection, sang a love song to himself, for he was no longer alone, and the world was filled with unmapped possibilities. ~ Patrick deWitt
310:Parenthood abruptly catapults us into a permanent relationship with a stranger, and the more alien the stranger, the stronger the whiff of negativity. We depend on the guarantee in our children's faces that we will not die. Children whose defining quality annihilates that fantasy of immortality are a particular insult; we must love them for themselves, and not for the best of ourselves in them, and that is a great deal harder to do. Loving our own children is an exercise for the imagination. ~ Andrew Solomon
311:The only way I’m going to let you up is if you tell me that’s what you want. Or maybe you’d rather me invite the others in here to watch.” Holy good shit. Rex entered him as he spoke, and Sawyer could almost feel the strangers crowding in around them, watching. “Yeah, they’d come in and watch you getting the fucking of your life. Wondering if I’ll let them take a turn next. Think I should?” he asked as he thrust several times in a row, fast and hard enough to make Sawyer’s prostate sing. “Please, ~ S E Jakes
312:Aleister Crowley told a friend he could make any random fall over without touching them. To illustrate, he walked behind a stranger for a block or so, matching his footsteps precisely to the stranger’s. He then scuffed his heels, as if stumbling and falling. And the stranger fell over. The stranger had heard himself fall, and so he fell. If Facebook tells you that everything around you is sad and depressing often enough, you get sad and depressed. All hail the Great Beast 666 of black marketing. ~ Warren Ellis
313:Assisi was like something, but like what? Like something one had always known, but never seen. Something perceived from afar, like a wind from the promised land that greeted the stranger and sojourner coming up out of bondage from Egypt. It was joy, no doubt about that. But a joy unlike any other joy he had ever experienced. Unexpected joy in a dark time. Curious joy. There was no other word that approximated it. A taste of sweetness like the fecundity of grape arbors in the terraces below, ~ Michael D O Brien
314:Reba hesitated. He could see it. A primal reaction—more a reflex. He was, after all, a stranger. We are trained by both biology and society to fear the stranger. But evolution has given us societal niceties too. They were in a public parking lot and he seemed like a nice man, a dad and all, and he had a car seat and, well, it would be rude to say no, wouldn’t it? These calculations all took mere seconds, no more than two or three, and in the end, politeness beat out survival. It often did. “Sure. ~ Harlan Coben
315:Another school of opinion followed Mr. Fearenside, and either accepted the piebald view or some modification of it; as, for instance, Silas Durgan, who was heard to assert that “if he chooses to show enself at fairs he’d make his fortune in no time,” and being a bit of a theologian, compared the stranger to the man with the one talent. Yet another view explained the entire matter by regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic. That had the advantage of accounting for everything straight away. Between ~ H G Wells
316:saddlebags and called for water to be heated. He knelt and removed his outer tunic and rolled the white sleeves of the inner one. He rubbed astringent oil into his hands and along his forearms to the elbow, to the amusement of the nephew, who drew a wrongheaded moral from the notion of a physician who medicated himself and not his patient. The stranger leaned in to sniff at the Italian’s breath, pressed an ear against his chest and took the poor fellow’s pulse. While he worked, he asked about the ~ Michael Chabon
317:Scripture is vast, and people can pick and choose what they emphasize, and so for hundreds of years verses that said that you are to welcome the stranger, that with Christ there's neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female, we've broken down the dividing wall with the original church, where Christians were first called Christian was the church of Antioch in which for the first time you had Jews, Gentiles of all different ethnicities come together as one people. That's when they were called Christians. ~ Michael Emerson
318:How jarring it must have been to be an adult Narraganett [Native American] and this strange white man shows up out of the blue and shatters his lifelong peace of mind with what the stranger calls the 'good news' that the native is in fact a wicked, worthless evildoer and so was his mother. So said native dies terrified by his big, naughty un-christian heart of stone instead of, say, as the Shawnee Tecumseh would later advise, 'Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.'" (The Wordy Shipmates) ~ Sarah Vowell
319:If Those Who Love Us
F those who love us find us true
And kind and gentle, and are glad
When each grim working day is through
To have us near them, why be sad?
If those who know us best rejoice
In what we are and hold us dear,
What matter if the stranger's voice
Shall speak the bitter jibe and jeer?
If those who cling to us still smile
Though grim misfortune has us down,
If they still think our work worth while,
What matters it if strangers frown?
~ Edgar Albert Guest
320:Oh, all right,” she said. “But be careful, those tiles are rotten.” The stranger’s face had a pained expression of stupor and he seemed to be battling silently against his primary instincts so as not to break up the mirage. Remedios the Beauty thought that he was suffering from the fear that the tiles would break and she bathed herself more quickly than usual so that the man would not be in danger. While she was pouring water from the cistern she told him that the roof was in that state because ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez
321:One walks along a street and strays unknowingly from one's path; one then looks up and suddenly for those familiar landmarks of orientation, and, seeing none, one feels lost. Panic drapes the look of the world in a strangeness, and the more one stares blankly at the world, the stranger it looks, the more hideously frightening it seems. There is then born in one a wild, hot wish to project out upon the alien world the world that one is seeking. This wish is a hunger for power, to be in command of one's self. ~ Richard Wright
322:That's how it goes these days, huh? Moving forward at the sounds of horns on highways, at the cue of traffic signals, turnstiles, tollbooths, ushered and rushed to the next stop on the itinerary, and there are days on the commuter train in the winter when it's got dark early and you can't see out because of the reflection and you might put down your paper or put aside your book and really look at yourself, because amid the noise and the smoke and the strangers and what's become of your life: there you are. ~ Wilton Barnhardt
323:Chiron had said once that nations were the most foolish of mortal inventions. “No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.”

“But what if he is your friend?” Achilles had asked him, feet kicked up on the wall of the rose-quartz cave. “Or your brother? Should you treat him the same as a stranger?”

“You ask a question that philosophers argue over,” Chiron had said. “He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else’s friend and brother. So which life is more important? ~ Madeline Miller
324:The stranger astonished him more and more by her dignified and serious manner. It's usually the case, isn't it, that a young girl giggles when a man speaks with her, or else blushes, hides her face, and behaves awkwardly? The stranger was nothing like this. She maintained her poise, natural, cold and majestic. He delighted in her bearing, his fascination growing all the time; his eyes sparkled and his half-open mouth, showing his white teeth, made him look as if he needed to breathe more than usual. ~ Leopold von Sacher Masoch
325:The late John Gardner once said that there are only two plots in all of literature. You go on a journey or a stranger comes to town. Since women, for many years, were denied the journey, they were left with only one plot in their lives --
to await the stranger. Indeed, there is essentially no picaresque tradition among women novelists. While the latter part of the twentieth century has seen a change of tendency, women's literature from Austen to Woolf is by and large a literature about waiting, usually for love. ~ Mary Morris
326:The alien is that which stems from elsewhere and does not belong here . . . The stranger who does not know the ways of the foreign land wanders about lost; if he learns its ways too well, he forgets that he is a stranger and gets lost in a different sense by succumbing to the lure of the alien world and becoming estranged to his own origin . . . The recollection of his own alienness, the recognition of his place of exile for what it is, is the first step back; the awakened homesickness is the beginning of the return. ~ Hans Jonas
327:The stranger looked at his watch; he jumped to his feet. "Nine o'clock! Mrs. Braile, I'm ashamed. But you must blame your husband, partly. Good night, ma'am; good—Why, look here, Squire Braile!" he arrested himself in offering his hand. "How about the obscurity of the scene where Joe Smith founded his superstition, which bids fair to live right along with the other false religions? Was Leatherwood, Ohio, a narrower stage than Manchester, New York? And in point of time the two cults were only four years apart. ~ William Dean Howells
328:A custom existed among the first generations of Christians, when faith was a bright fire that warmed more than those who kept it burning. In every house then a room was kept ready for any stranger who might ask for shelter; it was even called “the stranger’s room.” Not because these people thought they could trace something of someone they loved in the stranger who used it, not because the man or woman to whom they gave shelter reminded them of Christ, but because—plain and simple and stupendous fact—he or she was Christ. ~ Dorothy Day
329:Thus it is that they whom we denominate "savages" are made to deserve the title. When the inhabitants of some sequestered island first descry the "big canoe" of the European rolling through the blue waters towards their shores, they rush down to the beach in crowds, and with open arms stand ready to embrace the strangers. Fatal embrace! They fold to their bosoms the vipers whose sting is destined to poison all their joys; and the instinctive feeling of love within their breasts is soon converted into the bitterest hate. ~ Herman Melville
330:We’re living the dream, you know.” Tripp was right, of course, but it was interesting how we described our personal paradise as a “dream.” Dreams are fragile. Dreams don’t last. One day you wake up and poof, the dream is gone. You stir and feel it pull away from you as you helplessly grab at the smoky remnants. But it’s useless. The dream dissolves, gone forever. And standing there, watching his son play the game he loved, Adam couldn’t help but feel that since the stranger’s visit, they were all on the verge of waking up. The ~ Harlan Coben
331:The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd. The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself or some one else, as he chooses. [...] The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. [...] What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire...to the unexpected as it comes along, the stranger as he passes. ~ Charles Baudelaire
332:It was a piece of advice only, and aimed at myself as much, I suppose, as at you.—For those of easy tongues, she said. Remember, some live all their lives without discovering this truth; that the noblest and most terrible power we possess is the power we have, each of us, over the chance-met, the stranger, the passer-by outside your life and your kin. Speak, she said, as you would write: as if your words were letters of lead, graven there for all time, for which you must take the consequences. And take the consequences. ~ Dorothy Dunnett
333:It was their haughtiness that preserved them intact from all human sympathy, from arousing the least interest in the strangers seated round about them, among whom M. de Stermaria kept up the glacial, preoccupied, distant, stiff, touchy and ill-intentioned air that we assume in a railway refreshment-room in the midst of fellow-passengers whom we have never seen before and will never see again, and with whom we can conceive of no other relations than to defend from their onslaught our cold chicken and our corner seat in the train. ~ Marcel Proust
334:O Ye Seeming Fair Yet Inwardly Foul!

Ye are like clear but bitter water, which to outward seeming is crystal pure but of which, when tested by the divine Assayer, not a drop is accepted. Yea the sun beam falls alike upon the dust and the mirror, yet differ they in reflection even as doth the star from the earth: nay, immeasurable is the difference!

O My Friend In Word!

Ponder awhile. Hast thou ever heard that friend and foe should abide in one heart? Cast out then the stranger, that the Friend may enter his home. ~ Bah u ll h
335:But somehow, in some way, for some reason, the love had died in me, and I suddenly realised it, and was suddenly sure. It wasn’t completely over, my feeling for Karla. It never is completely over. But there was nothing of the jealousy I once would’ve felt for the stranger Ranjit. There was no rage against him, and no feeling of hurt inspired by her. I felt numbed and empty sitting there, as if the war, and the loss of Khaderbhai and Khaled, and the face-off with Madame Zhou and her twins had poured anaesthetic into my heart. ~ Gregory David Roberts
336:Their arrogance protected them against any liking for their fellow-man, against the slightest interest in the strangers sitting all about them, amidst whom M. de Stermaria adopted the manner one has in the buffet-car of a train, grim, hurried, stand-offish, brusque, fastidious and spiteful, surrounded by other passengers whom one has never seen before, whom one will never see again and towards whom the only conceivable way of behaving is to make sure that they keep away from one's cold chicken and stay out of one's chosen corner-seat. ~ Marcel Proust
337:As an aside; here’s that old magic trick. Aleister Crowley told a friend he could make any random fall over without touching them. To illustrate, he walked behind a stranger for a block or so, matching his footsteps precisely to the stranger’s. He then scuffed his heels, as if stumbling and falling. And the stranger fell over. The stranger had heard himself fall, and so he fell. If Facebook tells you that everything around you is sad and depressing often enough, you get sad and depressed. All hail the Great Beast 666 of black marketing. ~ Warren Ellis
338:I AM TOLD YOU KNOW EVERYTHING.
The holy man opened the other eye. “The secret of existence is to disdain earthly ties, shun the chimera of material worth, and seek oneness with the Infinite,” he said. “And keep your thieving hands off my begging bowl.” The sight of the supplicant was giving him trouble.
I’VE SEEN THE INFINITE, said the stranger. IT’S NOTHING SPECIAL.
The holy man glanced around. “Don’t be daft,” he said. “You can’t see the Infinite. ’Cos it’s infinite.” I HAVE. “All right, what did it look like?” IT’S BLUE. ~ Terry Pratchett
339:Imagine further, line by line,
These warrior thousands on the field supine:–
So in that crystal place, in silent rows,
Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes.– 740
The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac’d
Such thousands of shut eyes in order plac’d;
Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips
All ruddy,–for here death no blossom nips.
He mark’d their brows and foreheads; saw their hair
Put sleekly on one side with nicest care;
And each one’s gentle wrists, with reverence, Put cross-wise to its heart. ~ John Keats
340:Meaning comes from the unknown, from the stranger, from the unpredictable that suddenly knocks at your door — a flower that suddenly blooms and you never expected it; a friend that suddenly happens to be on the street you were not waiting for; a love that blooms suddenly and you were not even aware that this was going to happen, you had not even imagined, not even dreamed. Then life has meaning. Then life has a dance. Then every step is happy because it is not a step filled with duty, it is a step moving into the unknown. The river is going towards the sea. ~ Osho
341:East of the sun and west of the moon.' As unfathomable as the words were, I realized I must figure them out, reason it through. For I would go to this impossible land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. From the moment the sleigh had vanished from sight and I could no longer hear the silver bells I knew that I would go after the stranger that had been the white bear to make right the terrible wrong I had done him.... All that mattered was to make things right. And I would do whatever it took, journey to wherever I must, to reach that goal. ~ Edith Pattou
342:Stowing the body on the roof of the cabin so that the dogs could not get at it, we entered and held a council of war. The sailors emptied the; two fifty-pound sacks of nuggets on the table, and from this moment the Madness began to grow. Even Lucy, for all her impassive Indian nature, was so fascinated by the glittering heap that she could hardly cook dinner. After a few minutes of talk and conjecture, Innuit Kid returned with the information that the strangers had turned into the Stuart River. Confusion prevailed. Even the woman understood its import. ~ Charles Dickens
343:Today, the sun is everywhere, and everything solid is nothing but its own shadow, I know that the real things in life, the things I remember, the things I turn over in my hands, are not houses, bank accounts, prizes or promotions. What I remember is love -- all love -- love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in a café. Myself, even, which is the hardest thing of all to love, because love and selfishness are not the same thing. It is easy to be selfish. It is hard to love who I am. No wonder I am surprised if you do. ~ Jeanette Winterson
344:The political enemy need not be morally evil or aesthetically ugly; he need not appear as an economic competitor, and it may even be advantageous to engage with him in business transactions. But he is, nevertheless, the other, the stranger; and it is sufficient for his nature that he is, in a specially intense way, existentially something different and alien, so that in the extreme case conflicts with him are possible. These can neither be decided by a previously determined general norm nor by the judgment of a disinterested and therefore neutral third party. ~ Carl Schmitt
345:The stranger says there are no more couches and he will have to
sleep in your bed. You try to warn him, you tell him
you will want to get inside him, and ruin him,
but he doesn't listen.
You do this, you do. You take the things you love
and tear them apart
or you pin them down with your body and pretend they're yours.
So, you kiss him, and he doesn't move, he doesn't
pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn't moved,
he's frozen, and you've kissed him, and he'll never
forgive you, and maybe now he'll leave you alone. ~ Richard Siken
346:the feeling of being a digression not the link in the argument,
a new direction, an offshoot, the limb going on elsewhere,

and liking that error, a feeling of being capable because an error,

of being wrong perhaps altogether wrong a piece from another set

stripped of position stripped of true function

and loving that error, loving that filial form, that break from perfection

where the complex mechanism fails, where the stranger appears in the clearing,

out of nowhere and uncalled for, out of nowhere to share the day. ~ Jorie Graham
347:Neither the Ten Commandments nor the Bible elsewhere commands us to love our parents. This is particularly striking given that the Bible commands us to love our neighbor, to love God, and to love the stranger. The Bible understands that there will always be individuals who, for whatever reason, do not love a parent. Therefore, it does not demand what may be psychologically or emotionally impossible. But it does demand that we show honor to our parents. And it makes this demand only with regard to parents. There is no one else whom the Bible commands us to honor. ~ Dennis Prager
348:Perhaps you will not be able completely to identify this presence and this continuous action going on within you unless it happens to be taking place formally on the altar before you: but at least then, obscurely, you will recognize in the breaking of the Bread the Stranger Who was your companion yesterday and the day before. And like the disciples of Emmaus, you will realize how fitting it was that your heart should burn within you when the incidents of your day’s work spoke to you of the Christ Who lived and worked and offered His sacrifice within you all the time. ~ Thomas Merton
349:The stranger says there are no more couches and he will have to
sleep in your bed. You try to warn him, you tell him
you will want to get inside him, and ruin him,
but he doesn’t listen.
You do this, you do. You take the things you love
and tear them apart

or you pin them down with your body and pretend they’re yours.
So, you kiss him, and he doesn’t move, he doesn’t
pull away, and you keep on kissing him. And he hasn’t moved,
he’s frozen, and you’ve kissed him, and he’ll never
forgive you, and maybe now he’ll leave you alone. ~ Richard Siken
350:Even so, she would go on loving him, because for the first time in her life, she knew freedom. She could love him, even if he never knew; she did not need his permission to miss him, to think of him every moment of the day, to await him for the evening meal, and to worry about the plots that people could be weaving against the foreigner.

This was freedom: to feel what the heart desired, with no thought to the opinion of the rest. She had fought with her neighbors and her friends about the stranger's presence in her house; there was no need to fight against herself. ~ Paulo Coelho
351:Bedu notice everything and forget nothing. Garrulous by nature, they reminisce endlessly, whiling away with the chatter the long marching hours, and talking late into the night round their camp fires. Their life is at all times desperately hard, and they are merciless critics of those who fall short in patience, good humour, generosity, loyalty, or courage. They make no allowance for the stranger. Whoever lives with the Bedu must accept Bedu conventions, and conform to Bedu standards. Only those who have journeyed with them them can appreciate the strain of such a life. ~ Wilfred Thesiger
352:Our heroes have arrived, then," the stranger said, his voice a soft, bubbly murmur.

"Excuse me?" Poison queries.

The odd creature put down his rod in a little wooden cradle that rested next to him and got up from the edge of the jetty. He looked them over with his vast, yellowish eyes.

"Hmm," he said gloomily. "You don't seem a bad bunch." He jostled past them and began to shuffle back towards his house. "At least you're not the typical muscle-bound warrior, beautiful sorceress, and amusing thief sidekick. By the waters, did that become stale fast. ~ Chris Wooding
353:Wait a minute.” She pulled away. “Why aren’t you angry with me? You and I, we kissed, we might have--” Cass couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Exactly how far would she have let things go if she hadn’t been ripped from her moment of fantasy by the stranger on the bridge? When he had loosened her bodice and reached beneath her chemise to stroke the skin of her upper back, all she had wanted was for him to loosen the rest of the laces. She definitely hadn’t been thinking about telling him to stop.
Falco’s eyes gleamed in the night. “Go on. We might have what? ~ Fiona Paul
354:Ridiculously, she wished she could write to her Christopher about the stranger she had just met.
He was so contemptuous, she would write. He dismissed me as someone who didn't deserve a modicum of respect. Clearly he thinks I'm wild and more than a little mad. And the worst part is that he's probably right.
It crossed her mind that this was why she preferred the company of animals to people. Animals weren't deceitful. They didn't give one conflicting impression of who they were. And one was never tempted to hope that an animal might change its nature. ~ Lisa Kleypas
355:As the mother of a small boy, she had developed a bad habit of carrying a little of everything in her purse, not to mention all the little treasures that Jeremy had given her—pretty rocks, a wilted violet, a ring he’d made from braided pine needles. The collection was a junky-looking mess. When the stranger picked up an unwrapped peppermint candy with more hair on it than stripes, Chloe wished the floor planks would separate and swallow her. His hard mouth twitched as he dropped the candy back in her purse along with an emergency tampon whose wrapper had nearly disintegrated. ~ Catherine Anderson
356:The house reminds me of our house when Max's parents were trying to sell it [...]
Every time the strangers came over to look at the house, Max's parents would push all of the papers and magazines into a kitchen drawer and throw all the clothes on the floor into a closet. And they would make their bed, which they never do. They had to make it look like no one in the house ever forgot to put anything away so the strangers would see what the house looked like if perfect people lived inside.
That's what Mrs. Patterson's house looks like. It looks ready for strangers to come over. ~ Matthew Dicks
357:I wouldn’t do that if I were you. We don’t need that kind of trouble,” the stranger warned. Her snarl of frustration cut through the din of conversation in the bar, garnering the attention of more than a few patrons. But the warmth of the hand encircling her wrist distracted her, reminding her why she’d come this far from home in the first place. She didn’t want to spend Christmas alone this year. She raised her eyes to the newcomer to discover sex on legs standing next to her. At least six feet of broad, muscular male stood less than a foot away from her and just ripe for the picking. ~ Eliza Gayle
358:...we were different boys, we were brave new boys without a Mum. So when he told us what happened I don't know what my brother was thinking but I was thinking this:
Where are the fire engines? Where is the noise and clamour of an event like this? Where are the strangers going out of their way to help, screaming, flinging bits of emergency glow-in-the-dark equipment at us to try and settle us and save us?
There should be men in helmets speaking a new and dramatic language of crisis. There should be horrible levels of noise, completely foreign and inappropriate for our cosy London flat. ~ Max Porter
359:Oh, what a love it was, utterly free, unique, like nothing else on earth! Their thoughts were like other people's songs.

They loved each other, not driven by necessity, by the "blaze of passion" often falsely ascribed to love. They loved each other because everything around them willed it, the trees and the clouds and the sky over their heads and the earth under their feet. Perhaps their surrounding world, the strangers they met in the street, the wide expanses they saw on their walks, the rooms in which they lived or met, took more delight in their love than they themselves did. ~ Boris Pasternak
360:I could say the stranger was beautiful, but to describe
him thus was to call Mozart “just a musician.” His beauty was that of an ice storm, lovely and deadly. He was not handsome, not the way Hans was handsome; the stranger’s features were too long, too pointed, too alien. There was a prettiness about him that was almost girly, and an ugliness about him that was just as compelling. I understood then what Constanze had meant when those doomed young ladies longed to hold on to him the way they yearned to grasp candle flame or mist. His beauty hurt, but it was the pain that made it beautiful. ~ S Jae Jones
361:The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life. ~ Derek Walcott
362:The waters which we spread upon the desert have become blood. Blood upon our land! Behold our desert which could
rejoice and blossom; it has lured the stranger and seduced him in our midst.
They come for violence! Their faces are closed up as for the last wind of
Kralizec! They gather the captivity of the sand. They suck up the abundance of
the sand, the treasure hidden in the depths. Behold them as they go forth to
their evil work. It is written: 'And I stood upon the sand, and I saw a beast
rise up out of that sand, and upon the head of that beast was the name of God! ~ Frank Herbert
363:This story ["The Depressed Person"] was the most painful thing I ever wrote. It's about narcissism, which is a part of depression. The character has traits of myself. I really lost friends while writing on that story, I became ugly and unhappy and just yelled at people. The cruel thing with depression is that it's such a self-centered illness - Dostoevsky shows that pretty good in his "Notes from Underground". The depression is painful, you're sapped/consumed by yourself; the worse the depression, the more you just think about yourself and the stranger and repellent you appear to others. ~ David Foster Wallace
364:As I laid the book down there was a knock at the door, and my stranger came in.  I gave him a pipe and a chair, and made him welcome.  I also comforted him with a hot Scotch whisky; gave him another one; then still another—hoping always for his story. After a fourth persuader, he drifted into it himself, in a quite simple and natural way: THE STRANGER'S HISTORY I am an American.  I was born and reared in Hartford, in the State of Connecticut—anyway, just over the river, in the country.  So I am a Yankee of the Yankees—and practical; yes, and nearly barren of sentiment, I suppose—or poetry, in other words. ~ Mark Twain
365:Love After Love"

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life. ~ Derek Walcott
366:Anyone who's ever flown London to Sydney, seated next to or anywhere in the proximity of a fussy baby, you'll no doubt fall right into the swing of things in Hell. What with the strangers and crowding and seemingly endless hours of waiting for nothing to happen, for you Hell will feel like one long, nostalgic hit a deja vu. Especially if your in-flight movie was The English Patient. In Hell, whenever the demons announce they're going to treat everyone to a big-name Hollywood movie, don't get too excited because it's always The English Patient, or, unfortunately, The Piano. It's never The Breakfast Club. ~ Chuck Palahniuk
367:Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
~ Derek Walcott
368:Seance
The stranger walks into the dark room where the two
men sit at the table and talk of travel. The stranger joins in the conversation,
saying: 'I have also traveled' and the two men look up and seem surprised at his
sudden appearance. In the corners of the ceiling there is a sound as of very swift
wings, a muttering of motors, and a chattering of thin voices. The stranger
disappears. His voice is heard first in this corner, then in that, until it fades away
somewhere near the open window. Where the stranger stood the two men find a
railway ticket to an unknown destination.
~ Edouard Roditi
369:Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life. ~ Derek Walcott
370:It's a goodly life that you lead, friends; no doubt the best in the world, if only you are strong enough to lead it!'
'Yes, it's the life, the only life, to live,' responded the Water Rat dreamily, and without his usual whole-hearted conviction.
'I did not exactly say that,' the stranger replied cautiously, 'but no doubt it's the best. I've tried it, and I know. And because I've tried it - six months of it - and know it's the best, here I am, footsore and hungry, tramping away from it, tramping southward, following the old call, back to the old life, the life which is mine and which will not let me go. ~ Kenneth Grahame
371:It Was Upon
It was upon a July evening.
At a stile I stood, looking along a path
Over the country by a second Spring
Drenched perfect green again. 'The lattermath
Will be a fine one.' So the stranger said,
A wandering man. Albeit I stood at rest,
Flushed with desire I was. The earth outspread,
Like meadows of the future, I possessed.
And as an unaccomplished prophecy
The stranger's words, after the interval
Of a score years, when those fields are by me
Never to be recrossed, now I recall,
This July eve, and question, wondering,
What of the lattermath to this hoar Spring?
~ Edward Thomas
372:THE CONSCIOUSNESS IS THE ATMAN, THE SOUL.


The first meaning is: in this world, only consciousness is yours. The word atman means: that which is your own. Regardless of how much the rest may appear to you as your own, it is alien. All of that which you otherwise claim as yours – friends, loved ones, family, wealth, fame, high position, a great empire – it is all a deception. Because one day death will snatch it all away from you. So death is the criterion for determining who is your own and who is the stranger. That which death can separate you from, know that it didn’t belong to you, and that which it can’t, was indeed your own. ~ Osho
373:The Sunlit House
White, through the gate it gleamed and slept
In shattered sunshine. The parched garden flowers
Their scarlet petals from the beds unswept
Like children unloved and ill-kept
Dreamed through the hours Two blue hydrangeas by the blistered door burned
brown
Watched there, and no one in the town
Cared to go past it night or day
Though why this was they wouldn't say
But I, the stranger, knew that I must stay.
Pace up the weed-grown paths and down Till one afternoon - there is just a doubt Bit I fancy I heard a tiny shout From an upper window a bird flew out And I went my way.
~ Charlotte Mary Mew
374:No sooner had one season slipped out the door than the next came in by another door. A person might scramble to the closing door and call out, Hey, wait a minute, there’s one last thing I forgot to tell you. But nobody would be there any more. The door shuts tight. Already another season is in the room, sitting in a chair, striking a match to light a cigarette. Anything you forgot to mention, the stranger says, you might as well go ahead and tell me, and if it works out, I’ll get the message through.

Nah, it’s okay, you say, it was nothing really. And all around, the sound of the wind. Nothing, really. A season’s died, that’s all. ~ Haruki Murakami
375:Once [the Senator's] brain has come into play with the mysterious stranger, that stranger exists, really does exist: he will not disappear from the Petersburg prospects while a senator with such thoughts exists, because thought, too, exists.

And so let our stranger be a real live stranger! And let my stranger's two shadows be real live shadows!

Those dark shadows will follow, they will follow on the stranger's heels, in the same way as the stranger himself will directly follow the senator; the aged senator will pursue you, he will pursue you, too, reader, in his black carriage: and from this day forth you will never forget him! ~ Andrei Bely
376:first is the otherlander, or utlänning, the stranger that we recognize as being a human of our world, but of another city or country. The second is the framling—Demosthenes merely drops the accent from the Nordic främling. This is the stranger that we recognize as human, but of another world. The third is the raman, the stranger that we recognize as human, but of another species. The fourth is the true alien, the varelse, which includes all the animals, for with them no conversation is possible. They live, but we cannot guess what purposes or causes make them act. They might be intelligent, they might be self-aware, but we cannot know it. ~ Orson Scott Card
377:Solitude is never where you are; it is always where you are not, and is only possible with a stranger present; whatever the place or whoever the person, it must be one that is wholly ignorant concerning you, and concerning which or whom you are equally ignorant, so that will and sensation remain suspended and confused in an anxious uncertainty, while with the ceasing of all affirmation on your part, your own inner consciousness ceases at the same time. True solitude is to be found in a place that lives a life of its own, but which for you holds no familiar footprint, speaks in no known voice, and where accordingly the stranger is yourself. ~ Luigi Pirandello
378:Um, excuse me…” I hear a man’s voice.

“She’s all right,” Rami says. “She’s with me. She’s my friend. She’s just a bit upset.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right, miss?”

I drag my hands away from my face and look up into an unfamiliar bearded face. “Do you know this man?” the stranger asks me.

“Y-yes,” I gasp.

“That’s all right then.” He pats me on the shoulder. “There’s a hospital just down the road if you need help,” I hear him tell Rami.

“Thanks,” Rami replies.

“I guess it doesn’t look too good, me wrestling on the pavement with a screaming girl,” Rami says, a smile in his voice. ~ Tabitha Suzuma
379:A stranger came out to White Acre one day to sell Henry a pony, for Alma to learn to ride. The pony's name was Soames, and he was the color of sugar icing, and Alma loved him immediately. A price was negotiated. The two men settled on three dollars. Alma, who was only six years old, asked, "Excuse me, sir, but does that price also include the bridle and saddle which the pony is currently wearing?"
The stranger balked at the question, but Henry roared with laughter. "She's got you there, man!" he bellowed, and for the rest of that day, he ruffled Alma's hair whenever she came nearer, saying, "What a good little auctioneer I've got as a daughter! ~ Elizabeth Gilbert
380:The stranger went into the little parlour of the Coach and Horses about half-past five in the morning, and there he remained until near midday, the blinds down, the door shut, and none, after Hall’s repulse, venturing near him. All that time he must have fasted. Thrice he rang his bell, the third time furiously and continuously, but no one answered him. “Him and his ‘go to the devil’ indeed!” said Mrs. Hall. Presently came an imperfect rumour of the burglary at the vicarage, and two and two were put together. Hall, assisted by Wadgers, went off to find Mr. Shuckleforth, the magistrate, and take his advice. No one ventured upstairs. How the stranger occupied ~ H G Wells
381:A beggar had been sitting by the side of a road for over thirty years. One day a stranger walked by. "Spare some change?" mumbled the beggar, mechanically holding out his old baseball cap. "I have nothing to give you," said the stranger. Then he asked: "What's that you are sitting on?" "Nothing," replied the beggar. "Just an old box. I have been sitting on it for as long as I can remember." "Ever looked inside?" asked the stranger. "No," said the beggar. "What's the point? There's nothing in there." "Have a look inside," insisted the stranger. The beggar managed to pry open the lid. With astonishment, disbelief, and elation, he saw that the box was filled with gold. ~ Anonymous
382:The stranger was still smiling. He transformed himself into a rose bush and entwined me. My Christian education meant that ever since childhood I have had a horror of vice and it was not without a quite understandable terror that I discerned the pleasure I felt in the embrace of this vigorous bush whose branches gradually mingled with my limbs, my hair and my looks. When one of its flowers came apart in my mouth, I could feel myself grasping the sorcerer in my arms in my turn. He was transformed into a torrent, and I was a barge, into desert and I was smoke, into a car and I was a road, into a man and I was a woman. 'What we are doing is very wrong,' he said and was off. ~ Robert Desnos
383:without raising his face guard, he looked to the kidnapper. "It seems to be the piece we require. We shall take the girl and be on our way," he said, moving toward the door. The captor stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. "What?" the soldier said, irritated. The kidnapper held the hand out palm up. All hope was dashed away as she struggled to comprehend the pieces as they came together. He was waiting to be paid! The Northern Army was in league with the stranger who had captured her! Why? And why did they want her? A thousand thoughts of fear burned across the back of Myranda's mind and her heart fluttered in her chest. The exchange between the conspirators continued. ~ Joseph R Lallo
384:Proem Ii
Ah! why so brief the visit, short his stay?
The acquaintance so surprising, and so sweet,
Stolen is my heart, 't is journeying far away,
With that shy stranger whom my voice did greet.
That hour so fertile of entrancing thought,
So rapt the conversation, and so free,
My heart lost soundings, tenderly upcaught,
Driven by soft sails of love and ecstasy!
Was I then? was I? clasped in Love's embrace,
And touched with ardors of divinity?
Spake with my chosen lover face to face,
Espoused then truly? such my destiny?
I cannot tell; but own the pleasing theft,
That when the stranger went, I was of Love bereft.
~ Amos Bronson Alcott
385:Just like the strangers who'd fed me in El Salvador or South Africa, I was going to have to see and understand the hunger of other, different men and women, and make a gesture of welcome, and eat with them. And just as I hadn't "deserved" any of what had been given to me—the fish, the biscuits, the tea so abundantly poured out back in those years—I didn't deserve communion myself now. I wasn't getting it because I was good. I wasn't getting it because I was special. I certainly didn't get to pick who else was good enough, holy enough, deserving enough, to receive it. It wasn't a private meal. The bread on that Table had to be shared with everyone in order for me to really taste it. ~ Sara Miles
386:There are many men in London, you know, who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. It is for the convenience of these that the Diogenes Club was started, and it now contains the most unsociable and unclubbable men in town. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger's Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offenses, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion. My brother was one of the founders, and I have myself found it a very soothing atmosphere. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle
387:In asking for a relic of Descartes, the chevalier de Terlon was standing at the crossroads of the ancient and modern. He was applying to a modern thinker - the inventor of analytic geometry, no less - a primitive tradition that extends back not only to the institutionalization of Christianity in the fourth century, when Christians first broke into the tombs of saints to gather relics, but farther still, beyond the horizon of recorded history. The request is all the stranger for the fact that the man whose remains were treated in this quasisaintlike way would go down in history as the progenitor of materialism, rationalism, and a whole tradition that looked on such veneration as nonsense. ~ Russell Shorto
388:Once, a woman attending a nonresidential metta weekend in New York City was on her way back to the retreat site on Saturday morning when a man approached her on the railway platform and asked a question about the train schedule. Even though she was holding a schedule in her hand, her thought was, “He looks really weird! I’d better get rid of him.” Her initial claim to have no knowledge of the trains was belied by her clearly visible schedule. She tried a few ploys to have him go away, to no avail. Finally, she randomly pointed to someone else on the platform and said, “You should go ask him.” The stranger looked at her uneasily and said, “Oh no! I couldn’t ask him—he looks really weird! ~ Sharon Salzberg
389:It seemed to me that I, rather than he, had brought this about, and my despair was extreme. For now that I knew that I loved him, it was his whole life that I loved. And I would never know that life. Changes would no doubt take place, and I would not even know what they were. 'How is he?' I would long to ask. But there would be no one to ask. If I were to pass him in the corridor, or in the Library, I would have to smile like the stranger he wanted me to be. And if I wished to please him, I must simply go away. And his life, his life...would go on without me. And I would have no knowledge of it. And since I had apparently understood so little, I could not even blame him. I get things wrong, you see. ~ Anita Brookner
390:The Nordic language recognizes four orders of foreignness. The first is the otherlander, or utlänning, the stranger that we recognize as being a human of our world, but of another city or country. The second is the framling—Demosthenes merely drops the accent from the Nordic främling. This is the stranger that we recognize as human, but of another world. The third is the raman, the stranger that we recognize as human, but of another species. The fourth is the true alien, the varelse, which includes all the animals, for with them no conversation is possible. They live, but we cannot guess what purposes or causes make them act. They might be intelligent, they might be self-aware, but we cannot know it. ~ Orson Scott Card
391:Awareness started to creep in, clawing its way past the pain and numbness. He was lying on cold ground, his right cheek on a rough, hard floor. Concrete maybe. Adam tried to open his eyes, but it felt like spiders had spun webs across them. When he blinked hard, a fresh surge of pain nearly made him gasp out loud. When his eyes finally did open, he saw a pair of Adidas sneakers. He tried to remember what had happened. He’d been following Gabrielle. He remembered that now. He’d been following her to a lake and then. . . . “Adam?” He knew that voice. He had heard it only once before, but it had echoed in his head ever since. With his cheek still on the concrete, he forced his gaze upward. The stranger. “Why ~ Harlan Coben
392:The Torah is the world’s great protest against empires and imperialism. There are many dimensions to this protest. One dimension is the protest against the attempt to justify social hierarchy and the absolute power of rulers in the name of religion. Another is the subordination of the masses to the state – epitomized by the vast building projects, first of Babel, then of Egypt, and the enslavement they entailed. A third is the brutality of nations in the course of war (the subject of Amos’ oracles against the nations). Undoubtedly, though, the most serious offence – for the prophets as well as the Mosaic books – was the use of power against the powerless: the widow, the orphan and, above all, the stranger. ~ Jonathan Sacks
393:The woman at the other end of the room stood unmoving, her posture a slender question mark, silhouetted against the light from the window. She had large dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes that appeared damp from crying. Her sable-brown hair was looped into a careless braid down her back, and she wore a gauzy skirt and blouse, an apron, a pair of oven mitts and espadrilles tied at the ankles.
The two of them stared at one another. The stranger shifted, stepping into a shaft of light through the open window. She had the face of an old Hollywood movie star, with an aquiline nose and full lips. She wore little or no makeup; her olive-toned skin gave her an air of unstudied elegance, needing no embellishment. ~ Susan Wiggs
394:The Family must serve the Nation––But it is not enough that the family commune maintain neighbourly relations with other such communes, and towards the stranger within the gates. The family is the unit of the nation; and the nation is an organic whole, a living body, built up, like the natural body, of an infinite number of living organisms. It is only as it contributes its quota towards the national life that the life of the family is complete. Public interests must be shared, public work taken up, the public welfare cherished––in a word, its integrity with the nation must be preserved, or the family ceases to be part of a living whole, and becomes positively injurious, as decayed tissue in the animal organism. ~ Anonymous
395:She asked me if she could become a woman of Israel.” “And what did you tell her?” “Why, I told her no, of course.” Ardon was surprised at the question. “You know that an idolater and a stranger cannot be a part of Israel.” “You know our history better than that. Moses was married to an Ethiopian woman. She wasn’t born a Hebrew. There are others too. You remember how Moses used to say that the strangers and foreigners could join us if they wanted to worship Jehovah.” Indeed, Ardon did know this, but he had shut it out of his mind. He never understood that and was resentful of strangers who were admitted into the fellowship of the nation of Israel. “But in any case,” he said, “she’s a prostitute, so that bars her. ~ Gilbert Morris
396:But it is not these things which most impress the stranger on his journey into the civil lines, into the old city itself (where he becomes lost and notes the passage of a woman dressed in the burkha in the street of the moneylenders) and then back past the secretariat, the Legislative Assembly and Government House, and on into the old cantonment in a search for points of present contact with the reality of twenty years ago, the repercussions, for example, of the affair in the Bibighar Gardens. What impresses him is something for which there is no memorial but which all these things collectively bear witness to: the fact that here in Ranpur, and in places like Ranpur, the British came to the end of themselves as they were. ~ Paul Scott
397:Will there be anything else, sir?” the maid asked. “Yes. I want you to accompany this lady to her suite. And come back to inform me when she is safely returned.” “Yes, Mr. Rutledge.” Mr. Rutledge? Poppy felt her heart stop. She looked back at the stranger. Deviltry glittered in his green eyes. He seemed to relish her open astonishment. Harry Rutledge . . . the mysterious and reclusive owner of the hotel. Who was nothing at all as she had imagined him to be. Bewildered and mortified, Poppy turned from him. She crossed the threshold and heard the door close, the latch clicking smoothly shut. How wicked he was, to have amused himself at her expense! She consoled herself with the knowledge that she would never see him again. ~ Lisa Kleypas
398:The most recent flood of newcomers, however, seemed different. The empire had always been able to absorb new people into its expanding body, and the immigrants had proved more often than not to be a source of strength, but times had changed. The empire was now on the defensive, and the Germanic peoples crossing its borders wanted its land, not its culture. They were coming on their own terms, unwilling to be absorbed, speaking their own languages, and retaining their distinct cultures. The influx of new blood was no longer the source of strength it had always been. For many of those watching the traditions of millennia getting swept away, the strangers seemed like a frightening wave threatening to overwhelm the empire. ~ Lars Brownworth
399:[...] Look at the way people try to make points of contact with others when they meet. Look at the way you instinctively try to establish whether somebody you meet for the first time knows somebody you know. Watch people do it. I'm from such and such place. Oh yes? So you know So-and-So? Yes! And So-and-So? No, I don't know her, but of course, there's So-and-So. That's how it works."

"I suppose so. But why?"

"Because we don't like impersonality. Maybe..."

David joined in. "Because we had to."

She asked him: "Had to what?"

"Because he had to co-operate. That's deep in the genes. We had to co-operate with one another and so we needed to know whether the stranger was a threat. [...] ~ Alexander McCall Smith
400:Humans fear the supernatural, both the undivine ( the animal impulses such as sexuality, the unconscious, the unknown, the alien) and the divine (the superhuman, the god in us).
Culture and religion seek to protect us from these two forces.
The female, by virtue of creating entities of flash and blood in her stomach (she bleeds every month but does not die) by virtue of being in tune with nature's cycles, is feared. Because, according to Christianity and most other major religions, woman is carnal, animal, and closer to the undivine, she must be protected. Protected from herself. Woman is the stranger, the other. She is man's recognized nightmarish pieces, his Shadow-Beast. The sight of her sends him into a frenzy of anger and fear. ~ Gloria E Anzald a
401:Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.

Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.

When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Old And New

402:The words kept landing like punches, dazing Adam, sapping his resistance, leaving him shaken and confused and ready to take a standing eight count. He wanted to fight back, grab the guy by the shirt, toss him across the room for insulting his wife like this. But he didn’t for two reasons. One, there was the whole dazed-like-taking-punches, sapped-resistance thing. Two, something about the way the man spoke, something about the guy’s confident tone, the damn conviction in his voice, made Adam start thinking it might be smartest to listen. “Who are you?” Adam asked. “Does it matter?” “Yeah, it does.” “I’m the stranger,” he said. “The stranger with important knowledge. She lied to you, Adam. Corinne. She was never pregnant. It was all a ruse to get you back.” Adam ~ Harlan Coben
403:The café was the last in the street, if not in all Paris, to lack both a juke-box and neon lighting – and to remain open in August – though there were bagatelle tables that bumped and flashed from dawn till night. For the rest, there was the usual mid-morning hubbub, of grand politics, and horses, and whatever else Parisians talked; there was the usual trio of prostitutes murmuring among themselves, and a sullen young waiter in a soiled shirt who led them to a table in a corner that was reserved with a grimy Campari sign. A moment of ludicrous banality followed. The stranger ordered two coffees, but the waiter protested that at midday one does not reserve the best table in the house merely in order to drink coffee; the patron had to pay the rent, monsieur! Since ~ John le Carr
404:[I]t seems to me that a lot of the stranger ideas people have about medicine derive from an emotional struggle with the very notion of a pharmaceutical industry. Whatever our political leanings, we all feel nervous about profit taking any role in the caring professions, but that feeling has nowhere to go. Big pharma is evil; I would agree with that premise. But because people don’t understand exactly how big pharma is evil, their anger gets diverted away from valid criticisms—its role in distorting data, for example, or withholding lifesaving AIDS drugs from the developing world—and channeled into infantile fantasies. “Big pharma is evil,” goes the line of reasoning; “therefore homeopathy works and the MMR vaccine causes autism.” This is probably not helpful. ~ Ben Goldacre
405:Is there anything I can do for you in return for your service to our people?” Rahab hesitated, and then she gathered her courage and said, “I want to worship your God, sir.” Joshua was tremendously pleased with her answer. “Why, of course. Ardon, take her to Phinehas. Tell him that I want him to teach her the ways of Jehovah.” “But—” Ardon almost blurted out that the woman was a harlot and an idolatress, but Joshua’s eyes met his, and he stopped at once. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Moses said many times that there would be no difference between our people and the stranger. He was very stern as he spoke these words. Now, you see that my orders are carried out. And Rahab,” he said turning to her, “you will always have a place in Israel.” “I thank you so much—for me and my family. ~ Gilbert Morris
406:There were two people…things at the cave entrance,’ I whispered, shuffling as close to him as possible, my eyes trained on where the strangers had stood only seconds ago. At my words, Patrick seemed to jolt awake.
‘Sometimes the fire makes shadows when it’s dying,’ he said, sitting up, his arm brushing against my side. ‘I’ve slept here many times and it happens,’ he added.
‘No. They were real.’ My thudding heart was like thunder in my ears. ‘They were really tall and pale, and blond, really, really blond.’
‘Maybe, as you were falling asleep tonight, you were thinking about the shadows at your window, which caused you to dream about two blond men?’ His warm breath tickled my hair. ‘And maybe, deep down, you have a thing for blonds. I’m a little offended, actually. ~ Vanessa Garden
407:My dress is caught in the settee. And I would be much obliged if you would help me out of it!” “The dress or the settee?” the stranger asked, sounding interested. “The settee,” Pandora said irritably. “I’m all tangled up in these dratted—” she hesitated, wondering what to call the elaborate wooden curls and twists carved into the back of the settee. “—swirladingles,” she finished. “Acanthus scrolls,” the man said at the same time. A second passed before he asked blankly, “What did you call them?” “Never mind,” Pandora said with chagrin. “I have a bad habit of making up words, and I’m not supposed to say them in public.” “Why not?” “People might think I’m eccentric.” His quiet laugh awakened a ticklish feeling in her stomach. “At the moment, darling, made-up words are the least of your problems. ~ Lisa Kleypas
408:You are aware that what they do, they do for the world, and the results are, of course, magnificent. But when you . . . read Douglas Adams. . . you feel you are, perhaps, the only person in the world who really gets them. Just about everybody else admires them, of course, but no one really connects with them in the way you do . . . It’s like falling in love. When an especially peachy Adams’ turn of phrase or epithet enters the eye and penetrates the brain, you want to tap the shoulder of the nearest stranger and share it. The stranger might laugh and seem to enjoy the writing, but you hug to yourself the thought that they didn’t quite understand its force and quality the way you do, just as your friends, thank heavens, don’t also fall in love with the person you are going on and on about to them. ~ Stephen Fry
409:This desire to learn what the faith is from those who have lived it in the face of being told they are not welcome or worthy is far more than “inclusion.” Actually, inclusion isn’t the right word at all, because it sounds like in our niceness and virtue we are allowing “them” to join “us”—like we are judging another group of people to be worthy of inclusion in a tent that we don’t own. I realized in that coffee shop that I need the equivalent of the Ethiopian eunuch to show me the faith. I continually need the stranger, the foreigner, the “other” to show me water in the desert. I need to hear, “here is water in the desert, so what is to keep me, the eunuch, from being baptized?” Or me the queer or me the intersex or me the illiterate or me the neurotic or me the overeducated or me the founder of ~ Nadia Bolz Weber
410:The Stranger

Looking as I’ve looked before, straight down the heart
of the street to the river
walking the rivers of the avenues
feeling the shudder of the caves beneath the asphalt
watching the lights turn on in the towers
walking as I’ve walked before
like a man, like a woman, in the city
my visionary anger cleansing my sight
and the detailed perceptions of mercy
flowering from that anger

if I come into a room out of the sharp misty light
and hear them talking a dead language
if they ask me my identity
what can I say but
I am the androgyne
I am the living mind you fail to describe
in your dead language
the lost noun, the verb surviving
only in the infinitive
the letters of my name are written under the lids
of the newborn child ~ Adrienne Rich
411:I must beg your forgiveness, Father. For years I hated you for leaving me here alone. I told myself you'd got the death you deserved. That's why I never came to see you. Forgive me.'

My father never liked tears. He thought a man never cried for others, only for himself. And if he did cry, he was a coward and deserved no pity. I didn't want to cry for my father and betray him yet again.

'I would have liked you to have seen my name in a book, even if you couldn't read it. I would have liked you to have been here with me, to see that your son is managing to get on in life and has been able to do things that you were never allowed to do. I would have likd to have known you, Father, and for you to have known me. I turned you into a stranger in order to forget you and now I'm the stranger. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n
412:The Torah asks, why should you not hate the stranger? Because you once stood where he stands now. You know the heart of the stranger because you were once a stranger in the land of Egypt. If you are human, so is he. If he is less than human, so are you. You must fight the hatred in your heart as I once fought the greatest ruler and the strongest empire in the ancient world on your behalf. I made you into the world’s archetypal strangers so that you would fight for the rights of strangers – for your own and those of others, wherever they are, whoever they are, whatever the colour of their skin or the nature of their culture, because though they are not in your image, says God, they are nonetheless in Mine. There is only one reply strong enough to answer the question: Why should I not hate the stranger? ~ Jonathan Sacks
413:A feeling of superiority counteracts imitation. Had the millions of immigrants who came to this country been superior people—the cream of the countries they came from—there would have been not one U.S.A. but a mosaic of lingual and cultural groups. It was due to the fact that the majority of the immigrants were of the lowest and the poorest, the despised and the rejected, that the heterogeneous millions blended so rapidly and thoroughly. They came here with the ardent desire to shed their old world identity and be reborn to a new life; and they were automatically equipped with an unbounded capacity to imitate and adopt the new. The strangeness of the new country attracted rather than repelled them. They craved a new identity and a new life—and the stranger the new world the more it suited their inclination. ~ Eric Hoffer
414:I’m a writer. I have to believe in the power of love. Suicide isn’t an option.’ ‘Not for you.’ ‘And not for you. If you’re thinking about it, you can also put some thought into the fact that you don’t have the right to take your own life. Nobody does.’ ‘Why not?’ Rannveig like the runway asked, her eyes wide, innocent of the cruel, broken question she’d just asked. ‘Think of it this way, Rannveig, does a deranged person have the right to kill a stranger?’ ‘No.’ ‘No. And when suicide is in your head, you’re the deranged person, and you’re also the stranger, in danger of the harm you might do to yourself. No matter how bad things get, you don’t have the right to kill the stranger that you might become, for a while, in your own life. The rest of your life would tell you, at that point, it’s not an option. ~ Gregory David Roberts
415:There she is, that girl, on a planet of grass. Her wants are simple: to tilt her face to the sun and feel its warmth. To clutch the earth beneath her fingers. To escape from and return to the house she was born in. To see her life from a distance, as clear as a photograph, as mysterious as a fairy tale. This is a girl who has lived through broken dreams and promises. Still lives. Will always live on that hillside, at the center of a world that unfolds all the way to the edges of the canvas. Her people are witches and persecutors, adventurers and homebodies, dreamers and pragmatists. Her world is both circumscribed and boundless, a place where the stranger at the door may hold a key to the rest of her life. What she wants most—what she truly yearns for—is what any of us want: to be seen. And look. She is. ~ Christina Baker Kline
416:The more a psychologist — a born and inevitable psychologist and analyst of the soul — turns himself towards exceptional examples and human beings, the greater the danger to him of suffocation from pity. He has to be hard and cheerful, more so than another man. For the corruption and destruction of loftier men, of the stranger type of soul, is the rule: it is terrible to have such a rule always before one's eyes. The multifaceted torture of the psychologist who has uncovered this destructiveness, who once discovers and then almost always rediscovers throughout all history this entire inner 'hopelessness' of the loftier people, this eternal 'too late!' in every sense, can perhaps one day come to the point where he turns with bitterness against his own lot and attempts self-destruction — where he 'corrupts' himself. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
417:God’s grace is a gift that is freely given to us. We don’t earn a thing when it comes to God’s love, and we only try to live in response to the gift. No one is climbing the spiritual ladder. We don’t continually improve until we are so spiritual we no longer need God. We die and are made new, but that’s different from spiritual self-improvement. We are simultaneously sinner and saint, 100 percent of both, all the time. The Bible is not God. The Bible is simply the cradle that holds Christ. Anything in the Bible that does not hold up to the Gospel of Jesus Christ simply does not have the same authority. The movement in our relationship to God is always from God to us. Always. We can’t, through our piety or goodness, move closer to God. God is always coming near to us. Most especially in the Eucharist and in the stranger. ~ Nadia Bolz Weber
418:A Gentleman
'He has robbed two clubs. The judge at Salisbury
Can't give him more than he undoubtedly
Deserves. The scoundrel! Look at his photograph!
A lady-killer! Hanging's too good by half
For such as he.' So said the stranger, one
With crimes yet undiscovered or undone.
But at the inn the Gipsy dame began:
'Now he was what I call a gentleman.
He went along with Carrie, and when she
Had a baby he paid up so readily
His half a crown. Just like him. A crown'd have been
More like him. For I never knew him mean.
Oh! but he was such a nice gentleman. Oh!
Last time we met he said if me and Joe
Was anywhere near we must be sure and call.
He put his arms around our Amos all
As if he were his own son. I pray God
Save him from justice! Nicer man never trod.'
~ Edward Thomas
419:Monuments of murder, how poor the thoughts, how mean the memories ye awaken, compared with those that speak to the heart of man on the heights of Phyle, or by thy lone mound, grey Marathon! We stand amidst weeds and brambles and long waving herbage. Where we stand reigned Nero,—here were his tessellated floors; here, “Mighty in the heaven, a second heaven,” hung the vault of his ivory roofs; here, arch upon arch, pillar on pillar, glittered to the world the golden palace of its master,—the Golden House of Nero. How the lizard watches us with his bright, timorous eye! We disturb his reign. Gather that wild flower: the Golden House is vanished, but the wild flower may have kin to those which the stranger's hand scattered over the tyrant's grave; see, over this soil, the grave of Rome, Nature strews the wild flowers still! ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton
420: by Rabindranath Tagore
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest. Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ 3) Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not (from Gitanjali)

421:Humboldt's glorious descriptions are & will for ever be unparalleled: but even he with his dark blue skies & the rare union of poetry with science which he so strongly displays when writing on tropical scenery, with all this falls far short of the truth,he averred." The delight one experiences in such times bewilders the mind; if the eye attempts to follow the flight of a gaudy butter-fly, it is arrested by some strange tree or fruit; if watching an insect one forgets it in the stranger flower it is crawling over; if turning to admire the splendor of the scenery, the individual character of the foreground fixes the attention. The mind is a chaos of delight, out of which a world of future & more quiet pleasure will arise. I am at present fit only to read Humboldt; he like another sun illuminates everything I behold. ~ Charles Darwin
422:I can’t- we can’t do that.”

“But you’ll play strip poker with strangers?” He seemed to be studying me very closely.

“Well, yeah-” this was a strange conversation to be having as I was speaking both in the theoretical and the literal. Theoretically, I’d play strip poker with strangers, depending on the circumstances and the strangers, but I had no literal intention of doing so.

Quinn quickly countered, “And if I happened to be playing poker- strip poker- at the only table in the casino, would you still play?”

I hesitated, feeling like I was being led into a trap that involved Quinn getting naked... which actually sounded really nice. I reluctantly said, “No.”

“Why?”

“Because… I- you’re you.” I congratulated myself for not slurring the words even as sweat was beading on my chest and upper back. ~ Penny Reid
423:A beggar had been sitting by the side of a road for over thirty years. One day a stranger walked by. “Spare some change?” mumbled the beggar, mechanically holding out his old baseball cap. “I have nothing to give you,” said the stranger. Then he asked: “What’s that you are sitting on?” “Nothing,” replied the beggar. “Just an old box. I have been sitting on it for as long as I can remember.” “Ever looked inside?” asked the stranger. “No,” said the beggar. “What’s the point? There’s nothing in there.” “Have a look inside,” insisted the stranger. The beggar managed to pry open the lid. With astonishment, disbelief, and elation, he saw that the box was filled with gold. I am that stranger who has nothing to give you and who is telling you to look inside. Not inside any box, as in the parable, but somewhere even closer: inside yourself. ~ Eckhart Tolle
424:The French magazine Parents says that if a baby is scared of strangers, his mother should warn him that a visitor will be coming over soon. Then, when the doorbell rings, ‘Tell him that the guest is here. Take a few seconds before opening the door . . . if he doesn’t cry when he sees the stranger, don’t forget to congratulate him.’ I hear of several cases where, upon bringing a baby home from the maternity hospital, the parents give the baby a tour of the house.9 French parents often tell babies what they’re doing to them: I’m picking you up, I’m changing your nappy, I’m going to give you a bath. This isn’t just to make soothing sounds; it’s to convey information. And since the baby is a person like any other, parents are often quite polite about all this. (Plus it’s apparently never too early to start instilling good manners.) ~ Pamela Druckerman
425:Tink looked over at Ren. “Wait. Have you two stopped fighting? Oh my Queen Mab, you guys are in love again!”
My eyes widened as I glanced around, seeing that several of the strangers were watching us with detached interest. “Tink . . .”
“We were never not together,” Ren said, dropping his arm over my shoulders.
The blue and red bag slipped to the floor as he clapped his hands like an overexcited seal. “You guys are! This is amazing.”
“Tink,” I said again, this time with a little more force behind his name.
“Thank the faery lords and ladies, I will not be a product of a split home.”
“For the last time, we are not your parents, Tink.” I shook my head as I started to turn but stopped. “Pick up your bag.”
Ren leaned in as Tink snatched the bag off the floor. “You sound like his mom.”
“Shut up,” I hissed. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout
426:The Prodigal Son
COME home, come home, for your eyes are sore
With the glare of the noonday sun,
And nothing looks as it did before,
And the best of the day is done.
You have played your match, and ridden your race,
You have fought in your fight--and lost;
And life has set its claws in your face,
And you know what the scratches cost.
Out there the world is cruel and loud,
It strikes at the beaten man;
Come out of the press of the stranger crowd
To the place where your life began.
The best robe lies in the cedar chest,
And your father's ring is here;
You have known the worst, come home to the best-You will pay for it, never fear!
In every kiss of your sister's mouth,
In each tear from your mother's eyes,
You will pay the price of the days in the South
Where the far-off country lies.
~ Edith Nesbit
427:The stranger did not go to church, and indeed made no difference between Sunday and the irreligious days, even in costume. He worked, as Mrs. Hall thought, very fitfully. Some days he would come down early and be continuously busy. On others he would rise late, pace his room, fretting audibly for hours together, smoke, sleep in the armchair by the fire. Communication with the world beyond the village he had none. His temper continued very uncertain; for the most part his manner was that of a man suffering under almost unendurable provocation, and once or twice things were snapped, torn, crushed, or broken in spasmodic gusts of violence. He seemed under a chronic irritation of the greatest intensity. His habit of talking to himself in a low voice grew steadily upon him, but though Mrs. Hall listened conscientiously she could make neither head nor tail of what she heard. ~ H G Wells
428:Chaos is the domain of ignorance itself. It's unexplored territory. Chaos is what extends, eternally and without limit, beyond the boundaries of all states, all ideas, and all disciplines. It's the foreigner, the stranger, the member of another gang, the rustle in the bushes in the night-time, the monster under the bed, the hidden anger of your mother, and the sickness of your child. Chaos is the despair and horror you feel when you have been profoundly betrayed. It's the place you end up when things fall apart; when your dreams die, your career collapses, or your marriage ends. It's the underworld of fairytale and myth, where the dragon and the gold it guards eternally co-exist. Chaos is where we are when we don't know where we are, and what we are doing when we don't know what we are doing. It is, in short, all those things and situations we neither know nor understand. ~ Jordan Peterson
429:It was simply what you did: you made conversation in elevators, complimented small children in strollers, looked up from your magazine to greet the stranger who took the seat beside you on a bus. You said, with simple friendliness, That’s a lovely hat, or Isn’t it cold?—because it was another way of saying here we are, all of us, more or less in the same boat. It was the habit of friendliness, a lifetime of it. Mary Keane smiled. Her dress and her son’s jacket and the slipcover on the couch beneath her were soaked and the next contraction was already gathering strength in the small of her back. Mary Keane smiled politely as Mr. Persichetti poked his head around the door to the vestibule and said, “Hello.” He took her hand and then her pulse. He put his broad palm on her forehead and then took her hand again as her face flushed and she drew her legs up against the pain. He ~ Alice McDermott
430:Part of you liked him," Jack said, giving her an intent stare. "I could see it in your writing."
She smiled uncomfortably. "Well, in the realm of fantasy, I suppose I did. But certainly not in reality."
The hand behind her neck closed in a gentle but secure grip. "Then here is your birthday present, Amanda. A night of fantasy." He loomed over her, his head and broad shoulders obliterating the firelight as he bent to kiss her.
"Wait," Amanda said in a flash of panic, turning her head as Jack's mouth approached hers. His lips pressed on her cheek, a brush of intimate heat that astonished her. "Wait," she said again, her voice wobbling. Her face was turned full toward the fire, its yellow glow dazzling her eyes as she sought to avoid the stranger's exploring kisses. His mouth moved gently over her cheek and toward her ear, tickling the tiny wisps of hair just above it. ~ Lisa Kleypas
431:Look around you,” the stranger said. “Can’t you see that we are living amongst the ruins of our civilisation?”
The words seemed to chime in with the deliberations already in Egremont’s mind, and he thought again of the disillusionment he felt over his own time spent in the corridors of power in the European Union. What good had come out of the project? A series of once great cities Americanised out of all recognition, streets thronged with homogenised consumerist outlets, a gulf between cultural and historical identity, blatant social engineering, obscenely wealthy masters of state and private enterprises, a celebrity-obsessed media, intellectual debates reduced to sound bites, a collective attention span that diminished year on year, aged people with plastic faces worshipping youth and an intelligentsia committed only to the self-destructive cause of fashionable cynicism. ~ Mark Samuels
432:Chaos is the domain of ignorance itself. It's unexplored territory. Chaos is what extends, eternally and without limit, beyond the boundaries of all states, all ideas, and all disciplines. It's the foreigner, the stranger, the member of another gang, the rustle in the bushes in the night-time, the monster under the bed, the hidden anger of your mother, and the sickness of your child. Chaos is the despair and horror you feel when you have been profoundly betrayed. It's the place you end up when things fall apart; when your dreams die, your career collapses, or your marriage ends. It's the underworld of fairytale and myth, where the dragon and the gold it guards eternally co-exist. Chaos is where we are when we don't know where we are, and what we are doing when we don't know what we are doing. It is, in short, all those things and situations we neither know nor understand. ~ Jordan B Peterson
433:The Flight Of Peace
TRUST and Treachery, Wisdom, Folly,
Madness, Mirth and Melancholy,
Love and Hatred, Thrift and Pillage,
All are housed in one small village.
And if such be Life’s mix’d being,
Where may Peace from ruin fleeing,
Find a shelter and inherit
All the calm of her own merit?
In a bark of gentle motion
Sailing on the summer ocean?
There worst war the tempest wages
And the whirlpool’s hunger rages.
In some lonely new-world bower,
Hidden like a forest flower?
There too, there, to irk the stranger,
Stalks the wild-eyed spirit Danger!
Vainly would she build by roving
Or in hoping or in loving,
Or in solitary spaces,
Having in all times and places,
Or in none a home of beauty
In the fearless heart of Duty,
Dwelling there and seeing
God’s right hand all things decreeing.
~ Charles Harpur
434:The stranger contemplated her for a moment. "Shall I send for a housemaid to accompany you?"
Poppy's first inclination was to agree. But she didn't want to wait here with him, even for a few minutes. She didn't trust him in the least.
As he saw her indecision, his mouth twisted sardonically. "If I were going to molest you," he pointed out, "I would have done so by now."
Her flush deepened at his bluntness. "So you say. But for all I know, you could be a very slow molester."
He looked away for a moment, and when he glanced back at her, his eyes were bright with amusement. "You're safe, Miss Hathaway." His voice was rich with unspent laughter. "Really. Let me send for a maid."
The glow of humor changed his voice, imparting such warmth and charm that Poppy was almost startled. She felt her heart begin to pump some new and agreeable feeling through her body. ~ Lisa Kleypas
435:thought, as she decided to get off the elevator with those two, on the eleventh floor. Then she’d go back downstairs, wait for the stranger to get lost somewhere, and not go back upstairs until she found Dan. She’d call him to apologize, invent something that would explain why she’d stood him up. Anything, only not to go back to her room alone, when the creepy stranger knew what floor she was on. A chime and the elevator came to a gentle stop on the eleventh floor. The young couple, entangled in a breathless kiss, almost missed it but eventually proceeded out of the cabin, and she took one step toward the door. “This isn’t your stop, Miss,” the stranger said, and the sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine. Instead of bursting through that door, she froze in place, petrified as if she’d seen a snake, and then turned to look at him. “Do I know you?” The stranger shook his head ~ Leslie Wolfe
436:We live liturgically, telling our sacred Story in worship and song. We fast and we feast. We marry and give our children in marriage, and though in exile, we work for the peace of the city. We welcome our newborns and bury our dead. We read the Bible and we tell our children about the saints. And we also tell them in the orchard and by the fireside about Odysseus, Achilles, and Aeneas, of Dante and Don Quixote, and Frodo and Gandalf and all the tales that bear what it means to be men and women of the West.

We work, we pray, we confess our sins, we show mercy, we welcome the stranger, and we keep the commandments. When we suffer, especially for Christ's sake, we give thanks, because that is what Christians do. Who knows what God, in turn, will do with our faithfulness? It is not for us to say. Our command is, in the words of the Christian poet W.H. Auden, to "stagger onward rejoicing ~ Rod Dreher
437:1039
To An Old Friend
When we have lived our little lives and wandered all their byways through,
When we've seen all that we shall see and finished all that we must do,
When we shall take one backward look off yonder where our journey ends,
I pray that you shall be as glad as I shall be that we were friends.
Time was we started out to find the treasures and the joys of life;
We sought them in the land of gold through many days of bitter strife.
When we were young we yearned for fame; in search of joy we went afar,
Only to learn how very cold and distant all the strangers are.
When we have met all we shall meet and know what destiny has planned,
I shall rejoice in that last hour that I have known your friendly hand;
I shall go singing down the way off yonder as my sun descends
As one who's had a happy life, made glorious by the best of friends.
~ Edgar Albert Guest
438:According to Ibn ‘Abbās, may God be pleased with him and his father, the Prophet David, God bless him and give him peace, used to say in his intimate Prayers: ‘My God, who inhabits Your House? And from whom do you accept the Prayer?’ Then God told him by inspiration: ‘David, he who inhabits My House, and he whose Prayer I accept, is none but he who is humble before My Majesty, spends his days in remembrance of Me and keeps his passions in check for My sake, giving food to the hungry and shelter to the stranger and treating the afflicted with compassion. His light shines in the sky like the sun. If he invokes Me, I am at his service. If he asks of Me, I grant his request. In the midst of ignorance, I give him discernment; in heedlessness, remembrance, in darkness, light. He stands out among ordinary people as Paradise towers over earthly gardens, its rivers inexhaustible and its fruits not subject to decay. ~ Abu Hamid al Ghazali
439:Who is this?” the stranger demanded, staring at me like an insect under a microscope.

Tanner rose from behind the desk, but before he could introduce me, Tink stepped forward, coming to stand next to me. “She’s Buffy with the bad hair.”

Slowly, I turned and looked up at him. “Buffy with the bad hair?”

He nodded eagerly, glancing at the stranger. “Yeah, like it’s a combination of Buffy and Beyonce, the two greatest females of all time. You’re like Buffy. Bad ass. But you’re not Becky with the good hair. You have bad hair. We all know that.”

I stared at him. “My hair isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad.” Tink’s eyes glimmered. “You definitely aren’t a Becky.”

“I think it’s a compliment to not be a Becky,” Ren chimed in, and when I looked over at him, amusement danced in his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure that being a Becky isn’t just about hair.”

I hated all of them. Seriously. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout
440:With the bears looking on
in amazement and shock,
Bigpaw held back
that tower of rock.
And with the great strength
of his mighty right arm,
he protected small Brother
and Sister from harm.

“Bigpaw’s our friend.
He’s very nice.
He saved us once.
Now he’s rescued us twice.”

Weapons and hats
filled the air,
plus thankful shouts
from every bear.

There was joy in the valley
on that fateful day.
The bears welcomed the stranger;
yes, they had a debt to repay.

But it was more than that.
At Thanksgiving dinner
the very next day,
host Papa Bear
had this to say:
“Friends, we are thankful that
we’ve learned to share
our bounty with our fellow bear.”

“Excuse me, please,
if you don’t mind.
Here is something
you left behind.”

“Look, Papa!
Your favorite treat,
mixed nuts!”

Yes, friends, it was quite a Thanksgiving--
no
441:Our age makes higher demands of solidarity and benevolence on people today than ever before. Never before have people been asked to stretch out so far, and so consistently, so systematically, so as a matter of course, to the stranger outside the gates” (p. 695). How do we manage to do it? Or how could we? “Well, one way is that performance of these standards has become part of what we understand as a decent, civilized human life” (p. 696). The mechanism then becomes shame: to not meet these expectations is not only to be abnormal but almost inhuman. One can see this at work in a heightened version of holier-than-Thou: You don’t recycle (gasp)? You use plastic shopping bags (horror)? You don’t drive a Prius (eek!)? “You won’t wear the ribbon?!”44 This has to also be seen in light of Taylor’s earlier analysis of the sociality of mutual display and the self-consciousness it generates (pp. 481-82). So what we get is justice chic. ~ James K A Smith
442:Darwin, landing in Brazil in 1832, had a similar reaction, colored by his reading of his predecessor." Humboldt's glorious descriptions are & will for ever be unparalleled: but even he with his dark blue skies & the rare union of poetry with science which he so strongly displays when writing on tropical scenery, with all this falls far short of the truth,he averred." The delight one experiences in such times bewilders the mind; if the eye attempts to follow the flight of a gaudy butter-fly, it is arrested by some strange tree or fruit; if watching an insect one forgets it in the stranger flower it is crawling over; if turning to admire the splendor of the scenery, the individual character of the foreground fixes the attention. The mind is a chaos of delight, out of which a world of future & more quiet pleasure will arise. I am at present fit only to read Humboldt; he like another sun illuminates everything I behold. ~ Charles Darwin
443:When the cubs told Papa
their Bigpaw tale,
his eyes opened wide,
his face grew pale.

Pa didn’t hear
the positive part.
All he heard was “Bigpaw.”
The name struck terror
in Papa Bear’s heart.

“Just hold on,” said Mama.
“Whether or not the legend is true,
we must welcome the stranger.
It’s the right thing to do.”

“But ignoring the news
that Bigpaw was nice
and paying no heed
to Mama’s advice.
Papa Bear called up
the Bear National Guard.
They would deal with the stranger.
They would deal with him hard.

Meanwhile Bigpaw had climbed
to a high mountain ledge.
He stretched and he yawned
as he looked over the edge.

As Bigpaw’s yawns
rolled into the valley
through a mountain pass
known as Echo Alley,
they grew from a rumble
to an enormous roar,
and confirmed the bears’ fears
about the Thanksgiving monster
of legend and lore. ~ Stan Berenstain
444:Love Guerdons
DEAREST, if I almost cease to weep for you,
Do not doubt I love you just the same;
'Tis because my life has grown to keep for you
All the hours that sorrow does not claim.
All the hours when I may steal away to you,
Where you lie alone through the long day,
Lean my face against your turf and say to you
All that there is no one else to say.
Do they let you listen--do you lean to me?
Know now what in life you never knew,
When I whisper all that you have been to me,
All that I might never be to you?
Dear, lie still. No tears but mine are shed for you,
No one else leaves kisses day by day,
No one's heart but mine has beat and bled for you,
No one else's flowers push mine away.
No one else remembers--do not call to her,
Not alone she treads the churchyard grass;
You are nothing now who once were all to her,
Do not call her--let the strangers pass!
~ Edith Nesbit
445:I hope you like pickles, dude, because we’re going to have to eat this whole jar so we can fill it with jelly beans.” I look at the jar. “I don’t like pickles that much. You?” Logan pops the top while we walk back to the dorm and starts eating. This is what friendship is all about. He crunches each bite over and over until he swallows, and then he reaches for a second one and passes it to me, taking another for himself. He stops a stranger on the street. “You want a pickle?” he asks. The stranger sidesteps him. “What?” he asks. “You act like it’s every day somebody offers you a free pickle.” The man keeps going. “Dude, I think he thought you mean a pickle.” I make air quotes when I say the word pickle. “How could I mean a pickle when I’m standing here holding a jar of pickles?” he asks. I shrug. “You didn’t look like his type anyway.” “I’m too pretty for him, right?” he asks. Logan’s all tatted up, on top of being huge. “That has to be it.” By ~ Tammy Falkner
446:I was about to march straight into the Goblin Grove and drag my sister back home to safety when the stranger drew back his hood.
I gasped.
I could say the stranger was beautiful, but to describe him thus was to call Mozart "just a musician." His beauty was that of an ice storm, lovely and deadly. He was not handsome, not the way Hans was handsome; the stranger's features were too long, too pointed, too alien. There was a prettiness about him that was almost girly, and an ugliness about him that was just as compelling. I understood then what Constanze had meant when those doomed young ladies longed to hold on to him the way they yearned to grasp candle flame or mist. His beauty hurt, but it was the pain that made it beautiful. Yet it was not his strange and cruel beauty that moved me, it was the fact that I knew that face, that hair, that look. He was as familiar to me as the sound of my own music.
This was the Goblin King. ~ S Jae Jones
447:The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking as it seemed from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried. He staggered into the Coarch and Horses, more dead than alive as it seemed, and flung his portmanteau down. "A fire," he cried, "in the name of human charity! A room and a fire!" He stamped and shook the snow from off himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a ready acquiescence to terms and a couple of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn. ~ H G Wells
448:As the years passed, new myths arose to explain the mysterious objects the strangers brought from the land of the dead. A nineteenth-century missionary recorded, for example, an African explanation of what happened when captains descended into the holds of their ships to fetch trading goods like cloth. The Africans believed that these goods came not from the ship itself but from a hole that led into the ocean. Sea sprites weave this cloth in an "oceanic factory, and, whenever we need cloth, the captain ... goes to this hole and rings a bell." The sea sprites hand him up their cloth, and the captain "then throws in, as payment, a few dead bodies of black people he has bought from those bad native traders who have bewitched their people and sold them to the white men." The myth was not so far from reality. For what was slavery in the American South, after all, but a system for transforming the labor of black bodies, via cotton plantations, into cloth? ~ Adam Hochschild
449:I love the story about the old farmer, ragged and barefooted, who sat on the steps of his tumbledown shack, chewing on a stem of grass. A passerby stopped and asked if he might have a drink of water. Wishing to be sociable, the stranger engaged the farmer in some conversation. “How is your cotton crop this year?” “Ain’t got none,” replied the farmer. “Didn’t you plant any cotton?” asked the passerby. “Nope,” said the farmer, “’fraid of boll weevils.” “Well,” asked the newcomer, “how’s your corn doing?” “Didn’t plant none,” replied the farmer, “’fraid there wasn’t going to be enough rain.” “Well,” asked the inquisitive stranger, “what did you plant?” “Nothing,” said the farmer, “I just played it safe.” A lot of well-intentioned people live by the philosophy of this farmer, and never risk upsetting the apple cart. They would prefer to “play it safe.” These people will never know the thrill of victory, because to win a victory one must risk a failure. C. ~ John C Maxwell
450:The Christian answer to this is that no two people are compatible. Duke University ethics professor Stanley Hauerwas has famously made this point:   Destructive to marriage is the self-fulfillment ethic that assumes marriage and the family are primarily institutions of personal fulfillment, necessary for us to become “whole” and happy. The assumption is that there is someone just right for us to marry and that if we look closely enough we will find the right person. This moral assumption overlooks a crucial aspect to marriage. It fails to appreciate the fact that we always marry the wrong person. We never know whom we marry; we just think we do. Or even if we first marry the right person, just give it a while and he or she will change. For marriage, being [the enormous thing it is] means we are not the same person after we have entered it. The primary problem is . . . learning how to love and care for the stranger to whom you find yourself married.40 ~ Timothy J Keller
451:1004
The Way To Make Friends
THE way to make friends is as easy
As breathing the fresh morning air;
It isn't an art to be studied
Alone by the men who can spare
The time from their every day labors,
To ponder on classical lore,
It never is taught in a college
And it isn't a trick or a chore.
The way to make friends is to be one,
To smile at the stranger you meet,
To think cheerful thoughts and to speak them
Aloud to the people you greet.
To hold your hand out to a brother,
And cheerfully say: 'Howdy-do,'
In a way that he'll know that you mean it,
That's all that's expected of you.
Be honest in all of your dealings,
Be true to your word and your home,
And you will make friends, never doubt it,
Wherever you happen to roam.
Condemn not the brother who falters,
Nor fawn on the rich and the great.
Speak kindly to all who approach you,
And give up all whining at fate.
~ Edgar Albert Guest
452:Bright were the memories of his childhood at these docks, to which he had been ever drawn by the allure of the stranger traders as they swung into their berths like weary and weathered heroes returned from some elemental war. In those days it was uncommon to see the galleys of the Freemen Privateers ease into the bay, sleek and riding low with booty. They hailed from such mysterious ports as Filman Orras, Fort By a Half, Dead Man's Story, and exile; names that rang of adventure in the ears of a lad who had never seen his home city from outside its walls.
The man slowed as he reached the foot of the stone pier. The years between him and that lad marched through his mind, a possession of martial images growing ever grimmer. If he searched out the many crossroads he had come to in the past, he saw their skies storm-warped, the lands ragged and wind-torn. The forces of age and experience worked on them now, and whatever choices he had made then seemed fated and almost desperate. ~ Steven Erikson
453:Chiron had said once that nations were the most foolish of mortal inventions. “No man is worth more than another, wherever he is from.”

“But what if he is your friend?” Achilles had asked him, feet kicked up on the wall of the rose-quartz cave. “Or your brother? Should you treat him the same as a stranger?”

“You ask a question that philosophers argue over,” Chiron had said. “He is worth more to you, perhaps. But the stranger is someone else’s friend and brother. So which life is more important?”

We had been silent. We were fourteen, and these things were too hard for us. Now that we are twenty-seven, they still feel too hard.

He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will be dead soon, and his honor is all that will remain. It is his child, his dearest self. Should I reproach him for it? I have saved Briseis. I cannot save them all.

I know, now, how I would answer Chiron. I would say: there is no answer. Whichever you choose, you are wrong. ~ Madeline Miller
454:FORM IS ECSTATIC

There is a shimmering excitement in being sentient and shaped. The

caravan master sees his camels lost in it, nose to tail, as he himself is,

his friend, and the stranger coming toward them. A gardener watches the

sky break into song, cloud wobbly with what it is. Bud, thorn, the same.

Wind, water, wandering this essential state. Fire, ground, gone. That's

how it is with the outside. Form is ecstatic. Now imagine the inner:

soul, intelligence, the secret worlds!
And don't think the garden loses its

ecstasy in winter. It's quiet, but the roots are down there rioutous.

If someone bumps you in the street, don't be angry. Everyone careens

about in this surprise. Respond in kind. Let the knots untie, turbans

be given away. Someone drunk on this could drink a donkeyload a night.

Believer, unbeliever, cynic, lover, all combine in the spirit-form we are,

but no one yet is awake like Shams. ~ Rumi
455:Poppy turned toward the stranger, who had come into the room and closed the concealed door. It was difficult to ascertain his age—he appeared to be on the early side of his thirties, but there was an air of hard-bitten worldliness about him, a sense that he had seen enough of life to cease being surprised by anything. He had heavy, well-cut hair, black as midnight, and a fair complexion in which his dark brows stood out in striking contrast. And he was as handsome as Lucifer, his brows strong, the nose straight and defined, the mouth brooding. The angle of his jaw was sharp, tenacious, anchoring the grave features of a man who perhaps took everything—including himself—a bit too seriously. Poppy felt herself flush as she stared into a pair of remarkable eyes . . . intense cool green with dark rims, shadowed by bristly black lashes. His gaze seemed to take her in, consuming every detail. She noticed faint shadows beneath his eyes, but they did nothing to impair his hard-faced good looks. ~ Lisa Kleypas
456:Evans turned away, did something with his left eyelid for the benefit of the other two. "It's got him," he smirked. "He's tuned-in from now on."

Time started to slow up and act crazy. Minutes took much longer to pass than they had before. It was hard for him to adjust himself to the new ratio, he got all balled-up. When it seemed like half an hour had gone by, the radio would still be playing only the first chorus of the same selection that had begun a good thirty minutes before. Otherwise, nothing much happened. Vinnie was doing a good deal of muffled giggling over there on the divan. The stranger who had been sitting reading the paper got up, yawned, stretched ponderously, and strolled out into the hall, with a muttered "Happy landing!" by way of leave-taking. He didn't come back again any more.

Turner looked down one time and a quarter of an inch of charred paper was all that was left between his fingers. Then the next time he looked there was a full length cigarette again. ~ Cornell Woolrich
457:In 2008, Lawrence Williams and John Bargh conducted a study where they had people meet strangers. One group held a cup of warm coffee, and the other group held iced coffee. Later, when asked to rate the stranger’s personality, the people who held the warm coffee said they found the stranger to be nice, generous, and caring. The other group said the same person was difficult, standoffish, hard to talk to. In another round of research subjects held either a heating pad or a cold pack and then were asked to look at various products and judge their overall quality. Once they had done this, the experimenters told them they could choose a gift to keep for participating or they could give the gift to someone else. Those who held the heating pad chose to give away their reward 54 percent of the time, but only 25 percent of the cold pack group shared. The groups had turned their physical sensations into words, and then used those words as metaphors to explain their perceptions or predict their own actions. ~ David McRaney
458:Why are you in here?” He turned her to face him. No one of Poppy’s acquaintance had ever handled her so familiarly. They were close enough to the overhead lightwell that Poppy could see the outline of hard, lean features and the glitter of deep-set eyes. Fighting to catch her breath, Poppy winced at the sharp ache in her neck. She reached for it and tried to soothe the pain as she spoke. “I was . . . I was chasing a ferret, and the fireplace in Mr. Brimbley’s office opened, and we went through it and then I tried to find another way out.” Nonsensical as the explanation was, the stranger sorted through it efficiently. “A ferret? One of your sister’s pets?” “Yes,” she said, bewildered. She rubbed her neck and winced. “But how did you know . . . have we met before? No, please don’t touch me, I . . . ouch!” He had turned her around and had put his hand on the side of her neck. “Be still.” His touch was deft and sure as he massaged the tender nerve. “If you try to run from me, I’ll only catch you again. ~ Lisa Kleypas
459:In the Sonoran Desert there are ponds. You could be standing in the middle of one and not know it, because the ponds are usually dry. Nor would you know that inches below your feet, frogs are sleeping, their heartbeats down to once or twice per minute. They lie dormant and waiting, these mud frogs, for without water their lives are incomplete, they are not fully themselves. For many months they sleep like this within the earth. And then the rain comes. And a hundred pairs of eyes pop out of the mud, and at night a hundred voices call across the moonlit water.

It was wonderful to see, wonderful to be in the middle of: we mud frogs awakening all around. We were awash in tiny attentions. Small gestures, words, empathies thought to be extinct came to life. For years the strangers among us had passed sullenly in the hallways; now we looked, we nodded, we smiled. If someone got an A, others celebrated, too. If someone sprained an ankle, others felt the pain. We discovered the color of each other's eyes. ~ Jerry Spinelli
460:The One In Ten
Nine passed him by with a hasty look,
Each bent on his eager way;
One glance at him was the most they took,
'Somebody stuck,' said they;
But it never occurred to the nine to heed
A stranger's plight and a stranger's need.
The tenth man looked at the stranded car,
And he promptly stopped his own.
'Let's see if I know what your troubles are,'
Said he in a cheerful tone;
'Just stuck in the mire. Here's a cable stout,
Hitch onto my bus and I'll pull you out.'
'A thousand thanks,' said the stranger then,
'For the debt that I owe you;
I've counted them all and you're one in ten
Such a kindly deed to do.'
And the tenth man smiled and he answered then,
'Make sure that you'll be the one in ten.'
Are you one of the nine who pass men by
In this hasty life we live?
Do you refuse with a downcast eye
The help which you could give?
Or are you the one in ten whose creed
Is always to stop for the man in need?
~ Edgar Albert Guest
461:He unnerved her.
She was grateful to him and didn’t argue when he said that they should ride Javelin together and lead the two mares. She saw his worried look. How it assessed her. She knew as well as he did that she was likely to fall asleep in the saddle. Javelin was sturdy enough to bear them both, at least for a while. The plan made sense. But she resented it.
It was the way she felt, tucked up against the stranger’s chest, cradled by either arm. It was the way her body seemed to know him.
Her head swayed. She let herself rest against him.
It wasn’t right that her body should know this person when her mind didn’t. Hazily, she realized that he could tell her any lie he wanted.
Her memory was a mouth with the teeth torn out. She kept reaching in, probing the holes, pulling back. It hurt.
Yes, any lie.
He had saved her, but she didn’t know what he wanted from her--or what he might say to get it.
His heart beat against her spine. It lulled her even as she knew that it shouldn’t. She slept. ~ Marie Rutkoski
462:Nationalism, originally a progressive movement, replaced the bonds of feudalism and absolutism. The average man today obtains his sense of identity from his belonging to a nation, rather than from his being a "Son of Man." His objectivity, that is, his reason, is warped by this fixation. He judges the "stranger" with different criteria than the members of his own clan. His feelings toward the stranger are equally warped. Those who are not "familiar" by bonds of blood and soil (expressed a common language, customs, food, song, etc.) are looked upon with suspicion, and paranoid delusions about them can spring up at the slightest provocation. This incestuous fixation not only poisons the relationship of the individual to the stranger, but to the members of his own clan and to himself. The person who has not freed himself from the ties to blood and soil is not yet fully born as a human being; his capacity for love and reason are crippled; he does not experience himself nor his fellow man in their-and his own-human reality. ~ Erich Fromm
463:The highway that takes travelers from Abu Dhabi to Dubai is clean and fine. Illuminated at night by cat's eye reflectors, it's a highway designed for machines, where Lamborghinis speed, why the desert got bisected, why the camels were fenced out. But Chainsmoke couldn't be bothered. He spent his trip napping on a stranger's shoulder, dreaming about money. He woke to honks. There had been a pileup not far from the Jebel Ali zone. A trailer overturned. Happened too quickly for the brakes to even matter for the cars behind. The smaller cars got smaller. Bodies lay where they landed, most still inside battered vehicles, like bits of fish. The ambulance had not yet arrived. A young Emirati left his Land Cruiser to direct the traffic. Chainsmoke looked at his watch, estimated the number of vehicles, how slowly they crawled. "Could we make it in 45 minutes?" Chainsmoke bellowed. The driver shrugged his shoulders. "Patience boy," said the stranger whose shoulder he napped on. "Anything can wait after children have died. ~ Deepak Unnikrishnan
464:Ears In The Turrets Hear
Ears in the turrets hear
Hands grumble on the door,
Eyes in the gables see
The fingers at the locks.
Shall I unbolt or stay
Alone till the day I die
Unseen by stranger-eyes
In this white house?
Hands, hold you poison or grapes?
Beyond this island bound
By a thin sea of flesh
And a bone coast,
The land lies out of sound
And the hills out of mind.
No birds or flying fish
Disturbs this island’s rest.
Ears in this island hear
The wind pass like a fire,
Eyes in this island see
Ships anchor off the bay.
Shall I run to the ships
With the wind in my hair,
Or stay till the day I die
And welcome no sailor?
Ships, hold you poison or grapes?
Hands grumble on the door,
Ships anchor off the bay,
Rain beats the sand and slates.
Shall I let in the stranger,
Shall I welcome the sailor,
Or stay till the day I die?
Hands of the stranger and holds of the ships,
Hold you poison or grapes?
58
~ Dylan Thomas
465:1007
The Wide Outdoors
The rich may pay for orchids rare, but, Oh the apple tree
Flings out its blossoms to the world for every eye to see,
And all who sigh for loveliness may walk beneath the sky
And claim a richer beauty than man's gold can ever buy.
The blooming cherry trees are free for all to look upon;
The dogwood buds for all of us, and not some favorite one;
The wide outdoors is no man's own; the stranger on the street
Can cast his eyes on many a rose and claim its fragrance sweet.
Small gardens are shut in by walls, but none can wall the sky,
And none can hide the friendly trees from all who travel by;
And none can hold the apple boughs and claim them for his own,
For all the beauties of the earth belong to God alone.
So let me walk the world just now and wander far and near;
Earth's loveliness is mine to see, its music mine to hear;
There's not a single apple bough that spills its blooms about
But I can claim the joy of it, and none can shut me out.
~ Edgar Albert Guest
466:Love Thyself Last
Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty
To those who walk beside thee down life’s road;
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,
And help them bear the burden of earth’s load.
Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger,
Who staggers ‘neath his sin and his despair;
Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger,
To heights where he may see the world is fair.
Love thyself last. The vastnesses above thee
Are filled with Spirit Forces, strong and pure.
And fervently, these faithful friends shall love thee:
Keep thou thy watch o’er others, and endure.
Love thyself last; and oh, such joy shall thrill thee,
As never yet to selfish souls was given.
Whate’er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee,
And earth shall seem the ante-room of Heaven.
Love thyself last, and thou shall grow in spirit
To see, to hear, to know, and understand.
The message of the stars, lo, thou shall hear it,
And all God’s joys shall be at thy command.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
467:Two amber eyes watched from the woods. Blinking against the sunshine, Thunder unsheathed his claws. He smelled tom. Tasting the air, he detected the odd scent of frost and stone. This cat wasn’t from around here. He narrowed his eyes, glimpsing the dark shape of a black cat, and growled as the stranger’s gaze flicked toward the sparrow. “Catch your own prey,” he warned. “That was my prey.” The tom padded forward, his paws clumsily scuffing the sandy earth as he stepped from the trees. Thunder’s pelt pricked. “What do you mean?” “I was stalking it when you caught it.” Unease flashed through Thunder. He hadn’t even realized he was being watched. He needed to be more careful on this new territory. But the tom did not seem angry. Thunder suddenly saw how his pelt hung off his skinny frame, and how his shoulders jutted like twigs beneath his fur. He recognized the look of hunger hollowing the cat’s eyes and glanced guiltily at the sparrow. “I didn’t realize.” Should he give up his catch? What about Thistle and Clover? They were hungry too. “Where are you from? ~ Erin Hunter
468:AFFIRMATION CREED OF THE ARRIVIST: I am God, and all other gods are my imagery. I gave birth to myself. I am millions of forms excreating; eternal; and nothing exists except through me; yet I am not them—they serve me. I am inconceivable because I make the conceivable as I so will. I am beyond Law, for my casualness rationalizes all things to my pleasure. I am the stranger, ever. We, the new Arrivists have a lusty heritage from the hierocracy of ancient Egypt, and such great familiars as Lao-Tzu, Pythagoras, Sappho, Socrates, Zeno and others who have substantiated their beliefs (and like them we have been spat on by the ugliest denominators): our great copula is the giving. 'Arrivism' formulates from our integrals: our 'thisness' into 'as if becoming 'as now'—the intentional becoming extentional; action by spontaneity conforming everything critical and subvertive to itself, which is the mechanism of evoking our 'thisness'. 'As now' has no pendency: things are, because we are always the potential of what we last were. The gospel of the Arrivist is always his own. ~ Anonymous
469:He seemed to weave, like the spider, from pure impulse, without reflection. Every man's work, pursued steadily, tends in this way to become an end in itself, and so to bridge over the loveless chasms of life. Silas's hand satisfied itself with throwing the shuttle, and his eye with seeing the little squares in the cloth complete themselves under his effort. Then there were the calls of hunger; and Silas, in his solitude, had to provide his own breakfast, dinner, and supper, to fetch his own water from the well, and put his own kettle on the fire; and all these immediate promptings helped, along with the weaving, to reduce his life to the unquestioning activity of a spinning insect. He hated the thought of the past; there was nothing that called out his love and fellowship toward the strangers he had come amongst; and the future was all dark, for there was no Unseen Love that cared for him. Thought was arrested by utter bewilderment, not its old narrow pathway was closed, and affection seemed to have died under the bruise that had fallen on its keenest nerves. ~ George Eliot
470:A woman sees herself dying, in these cases not at the actual moment of death but months, sometimes years before, when death has hideously come to dwell in her. The sufferer makes the acquaintance of the stranger whom she hears coming and going in her brain. She does not know him by sight, it is true, but from the sounds which she hears him regularly make she can form an idea of his habits. Is he a criminal? One morning, she can no longer hear him. He has gone. Ah! If it were only for ever! In the evening he has returned. What are his plans? Her specialist, put to the question, like an adored mistress, replies with avowals that one day are believed, another day fail to convince her. Or rather it is not the mistress’s part but that of the servants one interrogates that the doctor plays. They are only third parties. The person whom we press for an answer, whom we suspect of being about to play us false, is life itself, and although we feel her to be no longer the same we believe in her still or at least remain undecided until the day on which she finally abandons us. ~ Marcel Proust
471:Pete's Error
There’s a new grace up on Boot Hill, where we’ve planted Rowdy Pete;
He died one evenin’, sudden, with his leather on his feet;
He was Cactus Center’s terror with that work of art, the Colt,
But, somehow, without warnin’, he up and missed his holt.
His fav’rite trick in shootin’ was to grab his victim’s right,
Then draw his own revolver — and the rest was jest 'Good-night';
He worked it in succession on nine stout and well-armed men,
But a sickly-lookin’ stranger made Pete’s feet slip up at ten.
Pete had follered out his programme and had passed the fightin’ word;
He grabbed the stranger’s right hand, when a funny thing occurred;
The stranger was left-handed, which Pete hadn’t figgered out,
And, afore he fixed his error, Peter was dead beyond all doubt.
It was jest another instance of a flaw in work of man;
A lefty never figgered in the gunman’s battle plan;
There ain’t no scheme man thinks of that Dame Nature cannot beat —
So his pupils are unlearnin’ that cute trick they got from Pete.
~ Arthur Chapman
472:The Goatherd and the Wild Goats A GOATHERD, driving his flock from their pasture at eventide, found some Wild Goats mingled among them, and shut them up together with his own for the night. The next day it snowed very hard, so that he could not take the herd to their usual feeding places, but was obliged to keep them in the fold. He gave his own goats just sufficient food to keep them alive, but fed the strangers more abundantly in the hope of enticing them to stay with him and of making them his own. When the thaw set in, he led them all out to feed, and the Wild Goats scampered away as fast as they could to the mountains. The Goatherd scolded them for their ingratitude in leaving him, when during the storm he had taken more care of them than of his own herd. One of them, turning about, said to him: “That is the very reason why we are so cautious; for if you yesterday treated us better than the Goats you have had so long, it is plain also that if others came after us, you would in the same manner prefer them to ourselves.” Old friends cannot with impunity be sacrificed for new ones. ~ Aesop
473:In my experience - and this is a very awkward way to put it, since I don't really know what the word experience means - the strangest people in one's life are the people one has known and loved, still know and will always love. Here, both I and the vocabulary are both in trouble, for strangest does not imply stranger. A stranger is a stranger is a stranger, simply, and you watch the stranger to anticipate his next move. But the people who elicit from you a depth of attention and wonder which we helplessly call love are perpetually making moves which cannot possibly be anticipated. Eventually, you realize that it never occurred to you to anticipate their next move, not only because you couldn't but because you didn't have to: it was not a question of moving on the next move, but simply, of being present. Danger, true, you try to anticipate and you prepare yourself, without knowing it, to stand in the way of death. For the strangest people in the world are those people recognized, beneath one's senses, by one's soul - the people utterly indispensable for one's journey. ~ James Baldwin
474:The Bank Roll
HOW dear to my heart is the bank roll departed,
The five-spots and tens in the strong rubber band,
The yellow boys, too, that were mine when I started,
And oft I caressed with a fatherly hand.
The wide, bulging bank roll that set my eyes popping,
The bank roll I had when we struck the hotel;
The bank roll she touched when she journeyed out shopping,
The bank roll now vanished that served us so well.
The wide, bulging bank roll, the rubber bound bank roll,
The bank roll now vanished that served us so well.
How sweet from the green, crinkled wad't was to peel one,
And flash it about for the strangers to see;
How splendid to know that the wad was a real one,
And all it was made of belonged unto me.
Now the tear of regret in my sad eyes is welling,
Once again I am making the poverty yell;
And I sigh, as I sit in my poor, humble dwelling,
For the bank roll now vanished that served us so well,
The wide, bulging bank roll, the Michigan bank roll,
The rubber bound bank roll that served us so well.
~ Edgar Albert Guest
475:The Joy Of Getting Back
There ain't the joy in foreign skies that those of home possess,
An' friendliness o' foreign folks ain't hometown friendliness;
An' far-off landscapes with their thrills don't grip me quite as hard
As jes' that little patch o' green that's in my own backyard.
It's good to feel a stranger's hand grip heartily your own,
It's good to see a stranger's smile when you are all alone ;
But though a stranger's grip is warm, an' though his smile is sweet
There's something in the home folks' way that has the stranger's beat.
A railroad train that's outward bound bears many a man an' dame
Who think a thousand miles away the sunsets brighter flame;
An' seekin' joys they think they lack they pack their grips an' roam,
An' just as I, they some day find the sweetest joys at home.
Away from home the girls are fair an' men are kind of heart,
An' there you'll always find a few who sigh when you depart,
But though you rode a million miles o'er gleaming railroad track
You'd never find a joy to beat the joy of gettin' back.
~ Edgar Albert Guest
476:East of the sun and west of the moon.” As unfathomable as the words were, I realized I must figure them out, reason it through. For I would go to this impossible land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. From the moment the sleigh had vanished from sight and I could no longer hear the silver bells, I knew that I would go after the stranger that had been the white bear to make right the terrible wrong I had done him.
It didn’t occur to me to do anything else.
I could just as easily have looked around and thought, At last, I am free to return to my home and family! I could have put it all behind me and briskly turned my steps toward home. But I did not. Instead I was busily mapping out a journey to an unreachable place.
In the meager light of the small fire, I gathered my things together. When weaving a cloth, you must always know where you are in the design. So it was with me. Before I could begin to chart my course, I had to first find out where I was.
All that mattered was to make things right. And I would do whatever it took, journey to wherever I must to reach that goal. ~ Edith Pattou
477:American Boys, Hello!
Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French
As along through France we go.
But the moments to us that are keen and sweet
Are the ones when our khaki boys we meet,
Stalwart and handsome and trim and neat;
And we call to them-'Boys, hello!'
'Hello, American boys,
Luck to you, and life's best joys!
American boys, hello!'
We couldn't do that if we were at homeIt never would do you know!
For there you must wait till you're told who's who,
And to meet in the way that nice folks do.
Though you knew his name, and your name he knewYou never would say 'Hello, hello, American boy!'
But here it's just a joy,
As we pass along in the stranger throng,
To call out, 'Boys, hello!'
For each is a brother away from home;
And this we are sure is so,
There's a lonesome spot in his heart somewhere,
And we want him to feel there are friends
right there
In this foreign land, and so we dare
To call out 'Boys, hello!'
'Hello, American boys,
Luck to you, and life's best joys!
American boys, hello!'
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
478:lived a poor tailor, who had a son called Aladdin, a careless, idle boy who would do nothing but play all day long in the streets with little idle boys like himself. This so grieved the father that he died; yet, in spite of his mother's tears and prayers, Aladdin did not mend his ways. One day, when he was playing in the streets as usual, a stranger asked him his age, and if he were not the son of Mustapha the tailor. "I am, sir," replied Aladdin; "but he died a long while ago." On this the stranger, who was a famous African magician, fell on his neck and kissed him, saying: "I am your uncle, and knew you from your likeness to my brother. Go to your mother and tell her I am coming." Aladdin ran home, and told his mother of his newly found uncle. "Indeed, child," she said, "your father had a brother, but I always thought he was dead." However, she prepared supper, and bade Aladdin seek his uncle, who came laden with wine and fruit. He presently fell down and kissed the place where Mustapha used to sit, bidding Aladdin's mother not to be surprised at not having seen him before, as he had been forty years out of the country. ~ Anonymous
479:One summer afternoon I came home and found all the umbrellas sitting in the kitchen, with straw hats on, telling who they are.
...
The umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings stood up and said, "I am the umbrella that peels the potatoes with a pencil and makes a pink ink with the peelings." ...
The umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs stood up and said, "I am the umbrella that runs to the corner to get corners for the handkerchiefs."

...

"I am the umbrella that holds up the sky. I am the umbrella the rain comes through. I am the umbrella that tells the sky when to begin raining and when to stop raining.
"I am the umbrella that goes to pieces when the wind blows and then puts itself back together again when the wind goes down. I am the first umbrella, the last umbrella, the one and only umbrella all other umbrellas are named after, first, last and always."
When the stranger finished this speech telling who he was and where he came from, all the other umbrellas sat still for a little while, to be respectful.
~ Carl Sandburg
480:In the course of the conversation mention was made of the Blessed Virgin. The stranger remarked that though he admitted that the Mother of Christ had conceived without detriment to her virginal purity, yet he could not believe that after the conception of her divine Son she was still a virgin. He was so obstinate in holding this opinion, that no amount of reasoning on the part of Ignatius could force him to abandon it. Shortly afterward the Saracen rode on, leaving the pilgrim to his own reflections. These were not of the most peaceful nature. He was sorely troubled as he thought over the conduct of his recent fellow-traveler, and felt that he had but poorly acquitted himself of his duty of honoring the Mother of God. The longer his mind thought upon the matter, the more his soul was filled with indignation against himself for having allowed the Saracen to speak as he had done of the Blessed Virgin, and for the lack of courage he fancied he had shown in not at once resenting the insult. He consequently felt impelled by a strong impulse to hasten after him and slay the miscreant for the insulting language he had used. ~ Ignatius of Loyola
481:It is sad to think that the love of a mother can possess villainous
aspects. Little as was the space occupied by Cosette,
it seemed to her as though it were taken from her own, and
that that little child diminished the air which her daughters
breathed. This woman, like many women of her sort,
had a load of caresses and a burden of blows and injuries
to dispense each day. If she had not had Cosette, it is certain
that her daughters, idolized as they were, would have
received the whole of it; but the stranger did them the service
to divert the blows to herself. Her daughters received nothing
but caresses. Cosette could not make a motion which
did not draw down upon her head a heavy shower of violent
blows and unmerited chastisement. The sweet, feeble being,
who should not have understood anything of this world or
of God, incessantly punished, scolded, ill-used, beaten, and
seeing beside her two little creatures like herself, who lived
270 Les Miserables
in a ray of dawn!
Madame Thenardier was vicious with Cosette. Eponine
and Azelma were vicious. Children at that age are o ~ Victor Hugo
482:In the course of the conversation mention was made of the Blessed Virgin. The stranger remarked that though he admitted that the Mother of Christ had conceived without detriment to her virginal purity, yet he could not believe that after the conception of her divine Son she was still a virgin. He was so obstinate in holding this opinion, that no amount of reasoning on the part of Ignatius could force him to abandon it. Shortly afterward the Saracen rode on, leaving the pilgrim to his own reflections. These were not of the most peaceful nature. He was sorely troubled as he thought over the conduct of his recent fellow-traveler, and felt that he had but poorly acquitted himself of his duty of honoring the Mother of God. The longer his mind thought upon the matter, the more his soul was filled with indignation against himself for having allowed the Saracen to speak as he had done of the Blessed Virgin, and for the lack of courage he fancied he had shown in not at once resenting the insult. He consequently felt impelled by a strong impulse to hasten after him and slay the miscreant for the insulting language he had used. ~ Saint Ignatius of Loyola
483:THIRD DEFINITIVE ARTICLE OF PERPETUAL PEACE
III. The rights of men, as citizens of the world, shall be limited to the conditions of universal hospitality.
We are speaking here, as in the previous articles, not of philanthropy, but of right; and in this sphere hospitality signifies the claim of a stranger entering foreign territory
to be treated by its owner without hostility. The latter may send him away again if this can be done without causing his death; but, so long as he conducts himself peaceably, he must not be treated as an enemy. It is not a right to be treated as a guest to which the stranger can lay claim-a special friendly compact on his behalf would be required to make him for a given time an actual inmate-but he has a right of visitation. This right to present themselves to society belongs to all mankind in virtue of our common right of possession of the surface of the earth on which, as it is a globe, we cannot be infinitely scattered, and must in the end reconcile ourselves to existence side by side: at the same time, originally no one individual had more right than another to live in any one particular spot. ~ Immanuel Kant
484:The Bottom
I stopped drinking on my way down the hill
to the liquor store when two guys pulled up
and tried to drag me into their pickup. I crossed the street
then ran in the opposite direction, puffing
against the incline. The stranger thrust into reverse
and, when I wouldn't talk to him,
threw a bag of McDonald’s trash at me,
Stuck up bitch. I stopped drinking
when I realized I was fighting
for the vodka at the bottom of the hill
more than I was fighting against the terrible
things that could have happened to me
inside the cab of that rusty Chevy. I stopped drinking
before cell phones. I stopped drinking
after Days of Wine and Roses. I stopped drinking
even as I kept walking to El Prado Spirits
and the guy behind the counter who recognized me
asked if I was alright. I didn't tell him
what had happened because he might have called
the police and then I would have had to wait
for them to arrive to fill out a report, delaying my Smirnoff.
I stopped drinking even before I had that last sip,
as I ran back up the hill squeezing a bottle by its neck.
~ Denise Duhamel
485:In Memoriam A. H. H.: 105. To-Night Ungather'D Let
Us Leave
To-night ungather'd let us leave
This laurel, let this holly stand:
We live within the stranger's land,
And strangely falls our Christmas-eve.
Our father's dust is left alone
And silent under other snows:
There in due time the woodbine blows,
The violet comes, but we are gone.
No more shall wayward grief abuse
The genial hour with mask and mime;
For change of place, like growth of time,
Has broke the bond of dying use.
Let cares that petty shadows cast,
By which our lives are chiefly proved,
A little spare the night I loved,
And hold it solemn to the past.
But let no footstep beat the floor,
Nor bowl of wassail mantle warm;
For who would keep an ancient form
Thro' which the spirit breathes no more?
Be neither song, nor game, nor feast;
Nor harp be touch'd, nor flute be blown;
No dance, no motion, save alone
What lightens in the lucid east
Of rising worlds by yonder wood.
Long sleeps the summer in the seed;
Run out your measured arcs, and lead
The closing cycle rich in good.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson
486:I think about all the ways I’ve been perceived by others over the years: as a burden, a dutiful daughter, a girlfriend, a spiteful wretch, an invalid…
This is my letter to the World that never wrote to Me.
“You showed what no one else could see,” I tell him.
He squeezes my shoulder. Both of us are silent, looking at the painting.
There she is, that girl, on a planet of grass. Her wants are simple: to tilt her face to the sun and feel its warmth. To clutch the earth beneath her fingers. To escape from and return to the house she was born in.
To see her life from a distance, as clear as a photograph, as mysterious as a fairy tale.
This is a girl who has lived through broken dreams and promises. Still lives. Will always live on that hillside, at the center of a world that unfolds all the way to the edges of the canvas. Her people are witches and persecutors, adventures and homebodies, dreamers and pragmatists. Her world is both circumscribed and boundless, a place where the stranger at the door may hold a key to the rest of her life.
What she most wants—what she most truly yearns for—is what any of us want: to be seen.
And look. She is. ~ Christina Baker Kline
487:The Home Of Peace
Trust and treachery, wisdom, folly,
Madness, mirth and melancholy,
Love and hatred, thrift and pillage,
All are housed in every village.
And in such a world’s mixed being,
Where may peace, from ruin fleeing,
Find fit shelter and inherit
All the calm of her own merit?
In a bark of gentle motion
Sailing on the summer ocean?
There worst war the tempest wages,
And the hungry whirlpool rages.
In some lonely new-world bower
Hidden like a forest flower?
There, too, there, to fray the stranger
Stalks the wild-eyed savage, danger!
In some Alpine cot, by fountains
Flowing from snow-shining mountains?
There the avalanches thunder,
Crushing all that lieth under!
In some hermit-tent, pitched lowly
Mid the tombs of prophets holy?
There to harry and annoy her
Roams the infidel destroyer.
In palatial chambers gilded,
Guarded round with towers high-builded?
Change may enter these to-morrow,
And with change may enter sorrow.
Find, O peace, thy home of beauty
In the steadfast heart of duty,
Dwelling ever there, and seeing
God through every phase of being
184
~ Charles Harpur
488:The stranger drew the curtains round the bed, took up the light, and inspected the apartment. The walls of both rooms were hung with drawings of masterly excellence. A portfolio was filled with sketches of equal skill,—but these last were mostly subjects that appalled the eye and revolted the taste: they displayed the human figure in every variety of suffering,—the rack, the wheel, the gibbet; all that cruelty has invented to sharpen the pangs of death seemed yet more dreadful from the passionate gusto and earnest force of the designer. And some of the countenances of those thus delineated were sufficiently removed from the ideal to show that they were portraits; in a large, bold, irregular hand was written beneath these drawings, “The Future of the Aristocrats.” In a corner of the room, and close by an old bureau, was a small bundle, over which, as if to hide it, a cloak was thrown carelessly. Several shelves were filled with books; these were almost entirely the works of the philosophers of the time,—the philosophers of the material school, especially the Encyclopedistes, whom Robespierre afterwards so singularly attacked when the coward deemed it unsafe to leave his reign without a God. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton
489:The cartoonist Jules Feiffer, contemplating the communication problem in a nonindustrial context, has said, “Actually, the breakdown is between the person and himself. If you’re not able to communicate successfully between yourself and yourself, how are you supposed to make it with the strangers outside?” Suppose, purely as a hypothesis, that the owner of a company who orders his subordinates to obey the antitrust laws has such poor communication with himself that he does not really know whether he wants the order to be complied with or not. If his order is disobeyed, the resulting price-fixing may benefit his company’s coffers; if it is obeyed, then he has done the right thing. In the first instance, he is not personally implicated in any wrongdoing, while in the second he is positively involved in right doing. What, after all, can he lose? It is perhaps reasonable to suppose that such an executive might communicate his uncertainty more forcefully than his order. Possibly yet another foundation grantee should have a look at the reverse of communication failure, where he might discover that messages the sender does not even realize he is sending sometimes turn out to have got across only too effectively. ~ John Brooks
490:Be generous in prosperity, and thankful in adversity. Be worthy of the trust of thy neighbor, and look upon him with a bright and friendly face. Be a treasure to the poor, an admonisher to the rich, an answerer of the cry of the needy, a preserver of the sanctity of thy pledge. Be fair in thy judgment, and guarded in thy speech. Be unjust to no man, and show all meekness to all men. Be as a lamp unto them that walk in darkness, a joy to the sorrowful, a sea for the thirsty, a haven for the distressed, an upholder and defender of the victim of oppression. Let integrity and uprightness distinguish all thine acts. Be a home for the stranger, a balm to the suffering, a tower of strength for the fugitive. Be eyes to the blind, and a guiding light unto the feet of the erring. Be an ornament to the countenance of truth, a crown to the brow of fidelity, a pillar of the temple of righteousness, a breath of life to the body of mankind, an ensign of the hosts of justice, a luminary above the horizon of virtue, a dew to the soil of the human heart, an ark on the ocean of knowledge, a sun in the heaven of bounty, a gem on the diadem of wisdom, a shining light in the firmament of thy generation, a fruit upon the tree of humility. ~ Bah u ll h
491:Only A Sad Mistake
Only a blunder-a sad mistake;
All my own fault and mine alone.
The saddest error a heart can make;
I was so young, or I would have known.
Only his rare, sweet, tender smile;
Only a lingering touch of his hand.
I think I was dreaming all the while,
The reason I did not understand.
Yet, somewhere, I've read men woo this way;
That eyes speak, sometimes, before the tongue.
And I was sure he would speak some day;
Pardon the folly-I was so young.
Was I, say-for now I am old!
So old, it seems like a hundred years
Since I felt my heart growing hard and cold
With a pain too bitter and deep for tears.
I saw him lean over the stranger's chair,
With a warm, new light in his beautiful eyes;
And I woke from my dreaming, then and there,
And went out of my self-made Paradise.
He never loved me-I know, I see!
Such sad, sad blunders as young hearts make.
She did not win him away from me,
For he was not mine. It was my mistake.
A woman should wait for a man to speak
Before she dreams of his love, I own;
But I was a girl-girls' hearts are weak;
437
And the pain, like the fault, is mine alone.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
492:Early on that same day Farringcourt had spoken in the House, — a man to whom no one would lend a shilling, whom the privilege of that House kept out of gaol, whose word no man believed; who was wifeless, childless, and unloved. But three hundred men had hung listening upon his words. When he laughed in his speech, they laughed; when he was indignant against the Minister, they sat breathless, as the Spaniard sits in the critical moment of the bull-killing. Whichever way he turned himself, he carried them with him. Crowds of Members flocked into the House from libraries and smoking-rooms when it was known that this ne’er-do-well was on his legs. The Strangers’ Gallery was filled to overflowing. The reporters turned their rapid pages, working their fingers wearily till the sweat drops stood upon their brows. And as the Premier was attacked with some special impetus of redoubled irony, men declared that he would be driven to enrol the speaker among his colleagues, in spite of dishonoured bills and evil reports. A man who could shake the thunderbolts like that must be paid to shake them on the right side. It was of this man, and of his success, that Lord Middlesex was envious, as he sat, wretched and respectable, in his solitary study! ~ Anthony Trollope
493:But on another, more potent level, the work of horror really is a dance—a moving, rhythmic search. And what it’s looking for is the place where you, the viewer or the reader, live at your most primitive level. The work of horror is not interested in the civilized furniture of our lives. Such a work dances through these rooms which we have fitted out one piece at a time, each piece expressing—we hope!—our socially acceptable and pleasantly enlightened character. It is in search of another place, a room which may sometimes resemble the secret den of a Victorian gentleman, sometimes the torture chamber of the Spanish Inquisition . . . but perhaps most frequently and most successfully, the simple and brutally plain hole of a Stone Age cave-dweller. Is horror art? On this second level, the work of horror can be nothing else; it achieves the level of art simply because it is looking for something beyond art, something that predates art: it is looking for what I would call phobic pressure points. The good horror tale will dance its way to the center of your life and find the secret door to the room you believed no one but you knew of—as both Albert Camus and Billy Joel have pointed out. The Stranger makes us nervous . . . but we love to try on his face in secret. ~ Stephen King
494:Ours is a society so immersed in the sea of video reactions that there are little old ladies out there who know Hoss Cartwright is more real than their next door neighbors. Everyone of value to them is an image. A totem. A phosphor-dot wraith whose hurts and triumphs are created from the magic of a scenarist’s need to make the next payment on his Porsche. (I recommend a book titled Bug Jack Barron by Norman Spinrad, for a more complete, and horrifying analysis of this phenomenon. It’s an Avon paperback, so it shouldn’t trouble you too much to pick it up.) But because of this acceptance of the strangers who appear on the home screen, ours has become a society where shadow and reality intermix to the final elimination of any degree of rational selectivity on the part of those whose lives are manipulated: by the carnivores who flummox them, and the idols they choose to worship. I don’t know that there’s any answer to this. If we luck out and we get a John Kennedy or a Leonard Nimoy (who, strangely enough, tie in to one another by the common denominator of being humane), then we can’t call it a bad thing. But if we wind up with a public image that governs us as Ronald Reagan and Joe Pyne govern us, then we are in such deep trouble the mind turns to aluminum thinking of it. ~ Harlan Ellison
495:Nostalgia
THE WANING MOON looks upward; this grey night
Slopes round the heavens in one smooth curve
Of easy sailing; odd red wicks serve
To show where the ships at sea move out of sight.
The place is palpable me, for here I was born
Of this self-same darkness. Yet the shadowy house below
Is out of bounds, and only the old ghosts know
I have come, I feel them whimper in welcome, and mourn.
My father suddenly died in the harvesting corn
And the place is no longer ours. Watching, I hear
No sound from the strangers, the place is dark, and fear
Opens my eyes till the roots of my vision seems torn.
Can I go no nearer, never towards the door?
The ghosts and I we mourn together, and shrink
In the shadow of the cart-shed. Must we hover on the brink
Forever, and never enter the homestead any more?
Is it irrevocable? Can I really not go
Through the open yard-way? Can I not go past the sheds
And through to the mowie?- Only the dead in their beds
Can know the fearful anguish that this is so.
I kiss the stones, I kiss the moss on the wall,
And wish I could pass impregnate into the place.
I wish I could take it all in a last embrace.
I wish with my breast I here could annihilate it all.
~ David Herbert Lawrence
496:To Charles Lloyd: An Unexpected Visitor
Alone, obscure, without a friend,
A cheerless, solitary thing,
Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger out?
What offering can the stranger bring
Of social scenes, home-bred delights,
That him in aught compensate may
For Stowey's pleasant winter nights,
For loves and friendships far away?
In brief oblivion to forego
Friends, such as thine, so justly dear,
And be awhile with me content
To stay, a kindly loiterer, here:
For this a gleam of random joy
Hath flush'd my unaccustom'd cheek;
And, with an o'er-charg'd bursting heart,
I feel the thanks I cannot speak.
Oh! sweet are all the Muses' lays,
And sweet the charm of matin bird;
'Twas long since these estranged ears
The sweeter voice of friend had heard.
The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds
In memory's ear in after time
Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear,
And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme.
For, when the transient charm is fled,
And when the little week is o'er,
To cheerless, friendless, solitude
201
When I return, as heretofore,
Long, long, within my aching heart
The grateful sense shall cherish'd be;
I'll think less meanly of myself,
That Lloyd will sometimes think on me.
~ Charles Lamb
497:I was told that the disorder was not really in my eyes, but in my central nervous system. I might or might not experience symptoms of neural damage all my life. These symptoms, which might or might not appear, might or might not involve my eyes. They might or might not involve my arms or legs, they might or might not be disabling. Their effects might be lessened by cortisone injections, or they might not. It could not be predicted. The condition had a name, the kind of name usually associated with telethons, but the name meant nothing and the neurologist did not like to use it. The name was multiple sclerosis, but the name had no meaning. This was, the neurologist said, an exclusionary diagnosis, and meant nothing.

I had, at this time, a sharp apprehension not of what it was like to be old but of what it was like to open the door to the stranger and find that the stranger did indeed have the knife. In a few lines of dialogue in a neurologist’s office in Beverly Hills, the improbable had become the probable, the norm: things which happened only to other people could in fact happen to me. I could be struck by lightning, could dare to eat a peach and be poisoned by the cyanide in the stone. The startling fact was this: my body was offering a precise physiological equivalent to what had been going on in my mind. ~ Joan Didion
498:With hardly a pause she moved on again, questing. Next it was a small fish . . . then another frog . . . and then a real prize: a water-rat that squeaked and writhed and tried to bite. She crushed the life out of it and stuffed it into her mouth, paws and all. A moment later she bent her head down and regurgitated the waste – a twisted mass of fur and splintered bones. Show him this, then – always assuming that he and Jake get back from whatever adventure they’re on, that is. And say, ‘I know that women are supposed to have strange cravings when they carry a child, Eddie, but doesn’t this seem a little too strange? Look at her, questing through the reeds and ooze like some sort of human alligator. Look at her and tell me she’s doing that in order to feed your child. Any human child.’ Still he would argue. Roland knew it. What he didn’t know was what Susannah herself might do when Roland told her she was growing something that craved raw meat in the middle of the night. And as if this business wasn’t worrisome enough, now there was todash. And strangers who had come looking for them. Yet the strangers were the least of his problems. In fact, he found their presence almost comforting. He didn’t know what they wanted, and yet he did know. He had met them before, many times. At bottom, they always wanted the same thing. ~ Stephen King
499:(Background: Morgan is a female warrior looking for a fight. Adhémar is your garden variety male.)

A man near the door leered at her. Adhémar immediately stepped in front of her, but Morgan pushed him aside. She looked at the man and smiled pleasantly. Ah, something to take her mind off her coming journey.
"Did you say something?" she asked.
"Aye," he said, "I asked it you were occupied tonight, but I can see you have a collection of lads here to keep you busy—"
Adhémar apparently couldn't control his chivalry. He took the man by the front of the shirt and threw him out the door. The man crawled to his feet and started bellowing. Adhémar planted his fist into the man's face.
The stranger slumped to the ground, senseless. Morgan glared at Adhémar.
"You owe me a brawl," she said.
"What?" he asked incredulously.
"A brawl," Morgan said. "And it had best be a good one."
"With me?" he asked, blinking in surprise.
"I'd prefer someone with more skill, that I might not sleep through it, but you'll do."
Paien laughed out loud and pulled him away.
"Adhémar, my friend, you cannot win this one. Next time, allow Morgan her little pleasures. She cannot help the attention her face attracts, and thus she has opportunities to teach ignorant men manners. In truth, it is a service she offers, bettering our kind wherever she goes. ~ Lynn Kurland
500:Lots of talk lately about the GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL that seems to be exclusively masculine. And how many of the characters in the GENIUS BOOKS are likable? Is Holden Caulfield likable? Is Meursault in The Stranger? Is Henry Miller? Is any character in any of these system novels particularly likable? Aren’t they usually loathsome but human, etc., loathsome and neurotic and obsessed? In my memory, all the characters in Jonathan Franzen are total douchebags (I know, I know, I’m not supposed to use that, feminine imagery, whatever, but it is SO satisfying to say and think). How about female characters in the genius books? Was Madame Bovary likable? Was Anna Karenina? Is Daisy Buchanan likable? Is Daisy Miller? Is it the specific way in which supposed readers HATE unlikable female characters (who are too depressed, too crazy, too vain, too self-involved, too bored, too boring), that mirrors the specific way in which people HATE unlikable girls and women for the same qualities? We do not allow, really, the notion of the antiheroine, as penned by women, because we confuse the autobiographical, and we pass judgment on the female author for her terrible self-involved and indulgent life. We do not hate Scott Fitzgerald in “The Crack-Up” or Georges Bataille in Guilty for being drunken and totally wading in their own pathos, but Jean Rhys is too much of a victim. ~ Kate Zambreno

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



0

   37 Poetry
   15 Fiction
   6 Psychology
   6 Occultism
   6 Integral Yoga
   5 Philosophy
   4 Mysticism
   4 Christianity
   3 Mythology


   11 H P Lovecraft
   7 William Wordsworth
   5 Jordan Peterson
   5 James George Frazer
   4 Saint Augustine of Hippo
   4 Rabindranath Tagore
   4 Percy Bysshe Shelley
   4 John Keats
   3 Sri Aurobindo
   3 Robert Browning
   3 Ovid
   3 Jorge Luis Borges
   2 Walt Whitman
   2 The Mother
   2 Sri Ramana Maharshi
   2 Friedrich Schiller


   7 Wordsworth - Poems
   5 The Golden Bough
   5 Maps of Meaning
   4 Tagore - Poems
   4 Shelley - Poems
   4 Keats - Poems
   4 City of God
   3 Words Of Long Ago
   3 Talks
   3 Metamorphoses
   3 Labyrinths
   3 Collected Poems
   3 Browning - Poems
   3 5.1.01 - Ilion
   2 Whitman - Poems
   2 The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna
   2 The Bible
   2 Schiller - Poems


--- WEBGEN

https://myanimelist.net/anime/6438/Detective_Conan_OVA_09__The_Stranger_in_10_Years
https://thoughtsandvisions-searle88.blogspot.com/2014/09/the-strangers.html
https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/The_Strangerhood
The Dark Valley (2014) ::: 7.1/10 -- Das finstere Tal (original title) -- (Germany) The Dark Valley Poster -- Through a hidden path a lone rider reaches a little town high up in the Alps. Nobody knows where the stranger comes from, nor what he wants there. But everyone knows that they don't want him to stay. Director: Andreas Prochaska
The Stranger (1946) ::: 7.4/10 -- Passed | 1h 35min | Crime, Drama, Film-Noir | August 1946 (USA) -- An investigator from the War Crimes Commission travels to Connecticut to find an infamous Nazi. Director: Orson Welles Writers: Anthony Veiller (screenplay), Victor Trivas (adaptation) | 2 more
Wikipedia - The Stranger (Camus novel)
Wikipedia - The Strangers (2008 film)
Wikipedia - The Strangers: Prey at Night
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