anime ::: a. --> Of a different tincture from the animal itself; -- said of the eyes of a rapacious animal. ::: n. --> A resin exuding from a tropical American tree (Hymenaea courbaril), and much used by varnish makers.
anime ::: a. --> Of a different tincture from the animal itself; -- said of the eyes of a rapacious animal. ::: n. --> A resin exuding from a tropical American tree (Hymenaea courbaril), and much used by varnish makers.
NEW FULL DB (2.4M)
13 Andre Marie de Chenier
10 Cassandra Clare
6 Victor Hugo
4 Henry David Thoreau
4 Charles Baudelaire
3 Richelle Mead
3 Italo Calvino
3 Friedrich Nietzsche
3 Emmuska Orczy
2 Upton Sinclair
2 Terry Pratchett
2 Takashi Murakami
2 Steven Blum
2 Satoshi Tajiri
2 Paulo Coelho
2 Osamu Dazai
2 M R James
2 Michel Foucault
2 Marcel Proust
2 Lewis Mumford
2 Kelley Armstrong
2 Joseph Conrad
2 Joanne Fluke
2 Haruki Murakami
2 George MacDonald
2 Edgar Allan Poe
2 E B White
2 D H Lawrence
2 Dan Harris
2 Arthur Conan Doyle
2 Ana s Nin
*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***
1:I love comic books and I love anime. ~ Samuel L Jackson,
2:Anime is not the end. Don't stop believing. ~ Hiro Mashima,
3:Red wine is a great accompaniment to meat. ~ Mario Lemieux,
4:Like many other kids, I liked watching anime. ~ Takashi Murakami,
5:Je me fais une destinée en rapport avec le feu qui m’anime ~ Stendhal,
6:Rain, rain, go away, come back when I am marathoning anime. ~ Holly Black,
7:Viaggiamo per cercare altri luoghi, altre vite,m altre anime. ~ Ana s Nin,
8:We are living an entr’acte with orchestral accompaniment. ~ Fernando Pessoa,
9:Le anime gemelle hanno un'abilità particolare nel ritrovarsi. ~ Cecelia Ahern,
10:My kids love anime, but I don't show them the really graphic stuff ~ Brad Bird,
11:This mournful and restless sound was a fit accompaniment to my meditations. ~ Joseph Conrad,
12:Jazz is a very accurate, curiously accurate accompaniment to 20th century America. ~ Ken Burns,
13:La vie? Un rien l'amène, un rien l'anime, un rien la mine, un rien l'emmène. ~ Raymond Queneau,
14:E' nel sogno che le anime respirano, che s'intrufola la grandezza dell'uomo. ~ Katherine Pancol,
15:The new fans of Japan won’t be Orientalists, but they will be anime-savvy. ~ Morinosuke Kawaguchi,
16:I'll take a potato chip...AND EAT IT!!
-For le famous anime/manga "Death Note ~ Tsugumi Ohba,
17:Generosity is the accompaniment of high birth; pity and gratitude are its attendants. ~ Pierre Corneille,
18:Maybe your true self only thrives in the accompaniment of the one made to bring it out in you. ~ S E Hall,
19:I'm totally addicted to Japanese anime, and spend way, way, way too much time watching it. ~ Connor Jessup,
20:One of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy is political corruption. ~ Upton Sinclair,
21:Celui qui te raconte qu'il existe symphonie plus grande que le soufle qui t'anime te ment. ~ Yasmina Khadra,
22:In going to America one learns that poverty is not a necessary accompaniment to civilization. ~ Oscar Wilde,
23:I could not believe this. I was going to be hacked to shreds to the accompaniment of applause. ~ Kim Harrison,
24:The technology in making games and in making anime is really similar. There are common concepts. ~ Satoshi Tajiri,
25:Universale preventivo proteggere le anime dei bambini! individuo può fare qualcosa di questo piccolo! ~ Anonymous,
26:You’ve gone off the deep end. Time to cut back on the anime Rob. There’s no
such thing as faeries. ~ Julie Kagawa,
27:If you wish, gentle reader, you may augment your mental tableau with dramatic orchestral accompaniment. ~ Marie Brennan,
28:I liked to watch anime in the original Japanese even though I couldn’t speak a single word of the language. ~ S M Reine,
29:I do enjoy animated movies. I really love anime and movies like 'Spirited Away' and 'Howl's Moving Castle.' ~ Nicolas Cage,
30:Seni kayıtlı şartlı sevdiğimi söylüyorsun. Hanımefendi, türk dilinde iddianızın cevabı, 'halt ediyorsunuz'dur. ~ Cemil Meri,
31:Sam stop yelling at her!" her mother yelled.
"If this were in Japsnese," said Danny, "it could be an anime. ~ Kelly Creagh,
32:It was the talk that mattered supremely: the impassioned exchange of talk. Love was only a minor accompaniment. ~ D H Lawrence,
33:I have never been able to
meet anyone without an accompaniment of painful
smiles, the buffoonery of defeat. ~ Osamu Dazai,
34:Anime fans in Japan have been petitioning the government for the right to legally marry a two-dimensional character. ~ Anonymous,
35:Basta guardare certe persone per diffidarne; si intuisce che sono anime nere, inquieti dietro, minacciosi davanti. ~ Victor Hugo,
36:It was the talk that mattered supremely: the impassioned interchange of talk. Love was only a minor accompaniment. ~ D H Lawrence,
37:Anime has sent me all over the world, introducing me to people who have touched my life in indescribably profound ways. ~ Steven Blum,
38:If you want to know whether you have written anything worth preserving, sing it to yourself without any accompaniment. ~ Joseph Haydn,
39:She grinned. "Sexy anime."
Luc flicked away a fake tear.
"Our baby girl is growing up... and she's growing up weird. ~ Chloe Neill,
40:Du reste je déteste tout ce qui ne fait que m’instruire, sans augmenter mon activité ou l’animer directement. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
41:It's an accompaniment to life. It's not something that I do to rap; I smoke when I open my eyes...I don't know any other feeling. ~ Action Bronson,
42:Sometimes when I run, I listen to jazz, but usually it's rock, since its beat is the best accompaniment to the rhythm of running. ~ Haruki Murakami,
43:Among writers, if you don't have a therapist, it's like saying you don't keep a journal or use the thesaurus. It's a natural accompaniment. ~ Amy Tan,
44:Bueno, tengo que animarme a mí mismo antes de que los demás me animen a mí”. Y pensé: “Es una lógica fantástica. Buena respuesta”.» ~ Timothy Ferriss,
45:I want you to picture me as a cute little anime character that popped out from behind a mushroom or something and landed in Hollywood. ~ Mindy Kaling,
46:Le stazioni sono una specie di antinferno, dove le anime che si sono perse si ammassano nell'attesa che qualcuno vada e riprenderle. ~ Donato Carrisi,
47:To talk over a quarrel, with its inevitable accompaniment of self-justification, is too much like handling cobwebs to be very successful. ~ Margaret Deland,
48:-Avete paura che le nostre anime caschino in mano al Diavolo?
Avrebbero chiesto quelli della città
-No: che non abbiate anima da dargli. ~ Italo Calvino,
49:The city is like poetry; it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. ~ E B White,
50:When I was starting as an anime director I wanted to be known for great things. I never wanted to be known for some overblown toy commercial. ~ Yoshiyuki Tomino,
51:But sometimes, to enable her to bear her life, she needed the accompaniment of an inward music and she could not always compose it for herself. ~ Boris Pasternak,
52:- Hai paura che le nostre anime caschino nelle mani del Diavolo? - avrebbero chiesto quelli della Città.
- No: che non abbiate anima da dargli. ~ Italo Calvino,
53:Meditation suffers from a towering PR problem, largely because its most prominent proponents talk as if they have a perpetual pan flute accompaniment. ~ Dan Harris,
54:Quelli con le anime più pure sono capaci delle cattiverie peggiori. Nessuno è perfetto, a prescindere da cosa sia o da quale parte combatta. ~ Jennifer L Armentrout,
55:I'm such a fan of anime and manga to this day, but I never really like got to know all the characters and everything, so I don't think I'd be able to pick one. ~ Lights,
56:I want to have the fun of doing anime and I love anime, but I can't do storyboards because I can't really draw and that's what they live and die on. ~ Quentin Tarantino,
57:Ci sono cose che vogliamo, celate sotto ciò che sappiamo e perfino sotto ciò che sentiamo. Ci sono cose che le nostre anime vogliono, e la mia vuole te. ~ Cassandra Clare,
58:The viola and the clarinet made for an interesting pairing: we had to imagine the accompaniment of other instruments, ideally a violin and a cello. ~ Nicholas Christopher,
59:Ma il buon vescovo, non senza un certo risentimento, rispose: - sono mie anime, e forse non vedramo mai più la mia faccia; e non volete che gli abbracci? ~ Alessandro Manzoni,
60:Soon the earth will tilt on its axis and begin to dance to the reggae beat to the accompaniment of earthquake. And who can resist the dance of the earthquake, mon? ~ Peter Tosh,
61:Alain Veynerdi zafer kazanmış bir komutan edasıyla Anna'ya baktı. O an hayatının en mutlu anı olmalıydı: –Hanımefendi, bundan önceki hayatınızda siz bir Türk'tünüz. ~ Jean Christophe Grang,
62:Pious people in general seem to regard religion as a necessary accompaniment of life; to Wingfold it was life itself; with him religion must be all, or could be nothing. ~ George MacDonald,
63:The hymn being sung had been ‘Morning Has Broken’, with a discarded ambulant unit of Lobsang’s playing the Rick Wakeman piano accompaniment, and pretty soulfully too. And ~ Terry Pratchett,
64:Anime-isms” like tsunderes, wind blowing up skirts to expose panties, POWER OF FRIENDSHIP, dedicating your life to someone you met 3mins ago, etc aren’t funny or cute to me at all. ~ Anonymous,
65:Esistono anime gamberi, che rinculano continuamente verso le tenebre, e impiegano l'esperienza per aumentare la deformità, peggiorando sempre e impregnandosi ognor più d'infamia. ~ Victor Hugo,
66:In poetic language, in which the sign as such takes on an autonomous value, this sound symbolism becomes an actual factor and creates a sort of accompaniment to the signified. ~ Roman Jakobson,
67:Az önce başım şu mübarek kapıdan uzatan, belli ki bir şemsiyeye gereksinim duyan genç hanımefendi hakkında bir şey biliyor musunuz? Onu arıyoruz da, ben ve şemsiyem.” -Gülüyorsunuz- ~ Anonymous,
68:I know nothing of music,’ Barnby had, in turn, once remarked, ‘but Hugh Moreland’s accompaniment to that film sounded to me like a lot of owls quarrelling in a bicycle factory. ~ Anthony Powell,
69:The so-called miraculous powers of a great master are a natural accompaniment to his exact understanding of subtle laws that operate in the inner cosmos of consciousness. ~ Paramahansa Yogananda,
70:If you can imagine a man having a vasectomy without anaesthetic to a background accompaniment of frantic sitar-playing, you will have some idea of what popular Turkish music is like. ~ Bill Bryson,
71:i filosofi sono specializzati nel formulare domande di cui non conoscono le risposte, mentre un pastore d’anime è per definizione colui che ha sempre la risposta giusta. Fortunatamente ~ Umberto Eco,
72:Better a dish of husks to the accompaniment of a muted lute than to be satiated with stewed shark's fin and rich spiced wine of which the cost is frequently mentioned by the provider. ~ Ernest Bramah,
73:One of the things I've always loved about anime is that, even though it comes from Japan, it's so international - so much of the big anime I love takes place in Italy or France or New York. ~ Ezra Koenig,
74:Ro, he's human and he cares about you. He has no way of knowing you're like this super-human, Goddess-channelling Vessel of death and destruction worthy of one very cool Japanese anime series ~ Lauren Dane,
75:My aesthetic sense was formed at a young age by what surrounded me: the narrow residential spaces of Japan and the mental escapes from those spaces that took the forms of manga and anime. ~ Takashi Murakami,
76:What do takumis (artisans), engineers, inventors, and otakus (fans of anime and manga) have in common? They all understand the importance of flowing with their ikigai at all times. ~ Hector Garcia Puigcerver,
77:Il vento, venendo in città da lontano, le porta doni inconsueti, di cui s'accorgono solo poche anime sensibili, come i raffreddati del fieno, che starnutano per pollini di fiori d'altre terre. ~ Italo Calvino,
78:This looks interesting," I say, but what I'm really thinking is, Wow, Aimee, science fiction? Really, could you try any harder to brand yourself with the mark of the nerd herd? What's next, anime? ~ Tim Tharp,
79:The rise of anime had to happen. If the Japanese could tell better American stories, it would go through the roof. They still tell stories which are very much oriental. I take my hat off to them. ~ Ralph Bakshi,
80:They act like any book would sell if it just said 'Now an Anime' on the cover, and I, for one, abhor the trend. Living in such an age, I'd love to see an original anime that's not based on anything! ~ NisiOisiN,
81:Think, bud. Fierce immortal who likes to gamble in Sin’s casino, wear tacky shirts, and watch anime.” – Zarek
“Old Bear?” – Sundown
“Give that boy a biscuit. He finally got it.” – Zarek ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon,
82:Wikipedia is so dangerous. You go online to look up the definition of eclampsia, and three hours later you find yourself reading this earnest explanation of tentacle porn in [Japanese] anime. ~ Lois McMaster Bujold,
83:Once, he’d dreamed of experimental fusions, that he would be the one to merge folk harps with anime. Now he saw the incommensurability. In his own words: matter and antimatter. The end of the world. ~ Karen Joy Fowler,
84:I love this medieval stuff,” Archie announced to whatever assembly was there, “don’t you?” And with that, he slapped her happily on the rump—to the accompaniment of more horrified gasps—and continued on his way. ~ Lynn Kurland,
85:Gli incontri più importanti sono già combinati dalle anime prima ancora che i corpi si vedano. Generalmente essi avvengono quando arriviamo ad un limite. Quando abbiamo bisogno di morire e rinascere emotivamente. ~ Paulo Coelho,
86:Ten paciencia con todas las cosas, pero sobre todo contigo mismo. No te desanimes por tus imperfecciones, más bien piensa cómo puedes remediarlas, todos los días con renovada intención. FRANCISCO DE SALES ~ Arianna Huffington,
87:Siz siz olun, sakın ola ki intikam peşinde koşan bir reisin gemisine yazılmayın. Çünkü böyle biri, ele geçirmek değil, gemiyi batırmak ister. Kendi şahsi öfkesi uğruna ganimetin canına okur. Denizcinin ekmeğiyle oynar. ~ Anonymous,
88:I'm not saying we agree on everything. Morgan likes dubbed anime, which is basically blasphemy, and Anna once described Chiba Mamoru as "barely attractive." But other times, it's as if we read each other's minds. ~ Becky Albertalli,
89:I was an avid anime watcher until I was about 10, when I moved to manga. I think I am influenced by Osamu Tezuka's and Walt Disney's works which I watched during that time, such as Tetsuwan Atom and 101 Dalmatians. ~ Akira Toriyama,
90:You’re not a true fan if you only like the Marvel movies; you can’t be in the anime community unless you speak fluent Japanese; you’re not allowed to dress up as Ms. Marvel unless you’ve read every Ms. Marvel comic, ever. ~ Sam Maggs,
91:Geek cred points for trying to stump me, but sorry, you'll have to do better than that. Would you like to try anime for a hundred?" When she looked blank, he sighed. "What took it down, anime, or the Jeopardy reference? ~ Rachel Caine,
92:Anche le anime, come i fiumi e le piante, avevano bisogno di un altro tipo di pioggia: la speranza, la fede, la ragione per vivere. Quando ciò non accadeva, in quell'anima moriva tutto, anche se il corpo continuava a vivere. ~ Paulo Coelho,
93:Every inch of skin removed to the accompaniment of exquisite pain,” added the prisoner, helpfully. Rincewind paused. He thought he knew the meaning of the word “exquisite,” and it didn’t seem to belong anywhere near “pain. ~ Terry Pratchett,
94:De improviso, la luna se abrió paso entre las nubes y lo llenó todo de luz, como una cara luminosa y benigna que parecía susurrar en el silencio: No te desanimes, querida, recuerda que tras las nubes siempre llega la luz. ~ Louisa May Alcott,
95:While the accompanimental [sic] figures come from Prelude, the melody is wholly original to this theme. First stated on a lonely duduk, and then in octaves by the violins and violas, it is a melancholy and contemplative tune. ~ Bear McCreary,
96:Le persone che aveva consultato gli avevano unanimemente risposto che la matematica, come il restauro degli organi a canne, era sì una bella cosa, ma che a un certo punto bisognava pur trovare un lavoro che desse da mangiare. ~ Neal Stephenson,
97:—Sabía que había algo diferente en ti desde el principio. Incluso si yo no hubiera salido para llegar a ti ese primer día, tú lo habrías logrado. Admiro eso, ¿sabes? Que no dejas que nada te desanime. Que sigues luchando. Como yo. ~ Nyrae Dawn,
98:scruff of the neck and seat of the pants, and ran him out the door to the accompaniment of appropriate old-time remarks about seedy little army types who failed to acknowledge the natural superiority of their overlords, the Marines. ~ Glen Cook,
99:Executives are afraid of losing control if subordinates try to roam too far. Conversely, hierarchy squelches talent by forcing rote standardization through the punishment of failure, a necessary accompaniment to experimentation. ~ Stewart D Friedman,
100:It is only when we are very happy, that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. ~ Emmuska Orczy,
101:At any age we must cherish illusions, consolatory or merely pleasant; in youth, they are omnipresent; in old age we must search for them, or even invent them. But with all that, boredom is their natural and inevitable accompaniment. ~ Lord Chesterfield,
102:[Warfare is] maleness in its absurdest extremes. Here is to be studied the whole gamut of basic masculinity, from the initial instinct of combat, through every form of glorious ostentation, with the loudest accompaniment of noise. ~ Charlotte Perkins Gilman,
103:Whenever I am feeling blue, I like to go to the Balzar and watch a waiter gravely transfer a steak au poivre and its accompaniments from an oval platter to a plate, item by item. It reaffirms my faith in the sanity of superfluous civilization. ~ Adam Gopnik,
104:He felt he was about to experience again some ancient, delicious childhood moment that the steam calliope's sour hollowness, the stitching hurdy-gurdy accompaniment, and the drum-and-cymbal crash brought almost to the margin of his grasp. ~ Patricia Highsmith,
105:Now they are playing.” (He heard through the door the distant sound of a song and its accompaniment.) “It’s all the same to them, but they will die too! Fools! I first, and they later, but it will be the same for them. And now they are merry... the beasts! ~ Leo Tolstoy,
106:Il y a pas une grande sagesse a dire un mot de reproche ; mais il y a une plus grande sagesse a dire un mot qui, sans se moquer du malheur de l'homme, le ranime, lui rende du courage, comme les éperons rendent du courage à un cheval que l'abreuvoir a rafraîchi. ~ Nikolai Gogol,
107:The feeling of not being understood and of not understanding the world is no mere accompaniment of first passion, but its sole non-accidental cause. And the passion itself is a panic-stricken flight in which being together with the other means only a doubled solitude. ~ Robert Musil,
108:Anime has been good to me. I made and continue to make very little money at it, but the undying, feverish loyalty of the fans of the genre has been such a life-changing influence for me that I wanted to do everything I possibly could to help give something back to them. ~ Steven Blum,
109:Meditation suffers from a towering PR problem, largely because its most prominent proponents talk as if they have a perpetual pan flute accompaniment. If you can get past the cultural baggage, though, what you’ll find is that meditation is simply exercise for your brain. ~ Dan Harris,
110:behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such as it can make a man with its black arts, a mere shadow and reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and standing, and already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniments, ~ Henry David Thoreau,
111:I'm part of the first generation who grew up with manga [comics] and anime [animation], you know, after 'Godzilla.' I was absorbed with Ultraman on TV and in manga. The profession of game designer was created really recently. If it didn't exist, I'd probably be making anime. ~ Satoshi Tajiri,
112:To trust so much in our devices and sync everyone's device up - we tell people where we are, what we buy and where we shop, who we talk to - and that goes somewhere. The ghost of information technology out there, and one of the points... of the manga and anime was trusting in technology. ~ Rupert Sanders,
113:A typical vice of American politics the avoidance of saying anything real on real issues, and the announcement of radical policies with much sound and fury, and at the same time with a cautious accompaniment of weasel phrases each of which sucks the meat out of the preceding statement. ~ Theodore Roosevelt,
114:Of course it's a trap
With her, it always is one
Britomartis jumped from the ledge and landed in a kneeling position, her skirts spread around her in a pool of netting.
(She loves those dramatic entrances. She is such an anime-character wannabe.) ~ Rick Riordan,
115:People will be surprised at the eagerness with which we went aboutpretending to rouse from its slumber a sexuality which everything-our discourses, our customs, our institutions, our regulations, our knowledges-was busy producing in the light of day and broadcasting to noisy accompaniment. ~ Michel Foucault,
116:Since the gap between the rich countries and the poor can be removed, it will be. If we are shortsighted, inept, incapable either of good-will or enlightened self-interest, then it may be removed to the accompaniment of war and starvation: but removed it will be. The questions are, how, and by whom. ~ C P Snow,
117:Do you know anything about silent films?" "Sure," I said. "The first ones were developed in the late nineteenth century and sometimes had live musical accompaniment, though it wasn't until the 1920s that sound became truly incorporated into films, eventually making silent ones obsolete in cinema. ~ Richelle Mead,
118:People will be surprised at the eagerness with which we went about
pretending to rouse from its slumber a sexuality which everything-our discourses, our customs, our institutions, our regulations, our knowledges-was busy producing in the light of day and broadcasting to noisy accompaniment. ~ Michel Foucault,
119:Money is misunderstood. The fact is if you want to be successful - the money will follow you. If you are a doctor, something else will follow you. If you are successful there is an accompaniment. If your goal is just to make money you won't succeed. Money is a commodity to use, not to be dictated by. ~ Frank Lowy,
120:Who when examining in the cabinet of the entomologist the gay and exotic butterflies, and singular cicadas, will associate with these lifeless objects, the ceaseless harsh music of the latter, and the lazy flight of the former - the sure accompaniments of the still, glowing noonday of the tropics. ~ Charles Darwin,
121:Visit the Navy-Yard, and behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such as it can make a man with its black arts - a mere shadow and reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and standing, and already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniments. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
122:years an anomaly. Not only is the terrain of Buck more suited to hound-hunting, but also hounds are more suited to the larger game that is usually the prey of mounted hunters. A lively pack of hounds, boiling and baying, is a fine accompaniment for a royal hunt. The cat, when it is employed, is usually ~ Robin Hobb,
123:Do you know anything about silent films?"
"Sure," I said. "The first ones were developed in the late nineteenth century and sometimes had live musical accompaniment, though it wasn't until the 1920s that sound became truly incorporated into films, eventually making silent ones obsolete in cinema. ~ Richelle Mead,
124:I had learned bit by bit the art of meeting people with a straight face—no, that’s not true: I have never been able to meet anyone without an accompaniment of painful smiles, the buffoonery of defeat. What I had acquired was the technique of stammering somehow, almost in a daze, the necessary small talk. ~ Osamu Dazai,
125:In the case of a fair which was not instituted as the accompaniment of a Feis, a Feis usually developed as an accompaniment of the fair. For at all such fairs the chiefs, the judges, the scholars, and other leading ones held deliberative assemblies, on a certain day or days, during the fair’s progress. ~ Seumas MacManus,
126:It is important for knitters to know two things about frogging: that cats are capable of this knitting action, and even seem to enjoy it and seek opportunities to do it; and that foul language is a normal, healthy accompaniment to frogging, whether it is you or the cat that accomplished the task. ~ Stephanie Pearl McPhee,
127:I always had a sense that I would fall in love with Tokyo. In retrospect I guess it's not that surprising. I was of the generation that had grown up in the '80s when Japan was ascendant (born aloft by a bubble whose burst crippled its economy for decades), and I'd fed on a steady diet of anime and samurai films. ~ Junot Diaz,
128:I heard the military bands playing with false and terrible cheer in the streets as the recruits went off to war [WW1]. I had beat the bed with my fists then, and cried tears of rage that young men must march off to this artful ad calculated accompaniment to places where wagon roads would be laid across their bones. ~ Kay Boyle,
129:Rule number one of anime," Simon said. He sat propped up against a pile of pillows at the foot of his bed, a bag of potato chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said I BLOGGED YOUR MOM and a pair of jeans that were ripped in one knee. "Never screw with a blind monk. ~ Cassandra Clare,
130:There was lots of noise and action, but if you listened carefully, you could tell that the kids in the bushes were actually playing in other universes, all choreographed so neither players nor equipment would get in each other's way. She had picked the right cover; classical anime was just too highbrow for these dorks. ~ Vernor Vinge,
131:he had been playing golf (for I believe the authorities of the University I write of indulge in that pursuit by way of relaxation); and tea was taken to the accompaniment of a discussion which golfing persons can imagine for themselves, but which the conscientious writer has no right to inflict upon any non-golfing persons. ~ M R James,
132:Nothing is arbitrary, nothing is insulated in beauty. It depends forever on the necessary and the useful. The plumage of the bird, the mimic plumage of the insect, has a reason for its rich colors in the constitution of the animal. Fitness is so inseparable an accompaniment of beauty, that it, has been taken for it. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
133:L'istinto di Cosette cercava un padre, come quello di Valjean cercava un figlio, e incontrarsi, per essi, significò trovarsi; nel momento misterioso in cui le loro mani s'incontrarono, si saldarono. Quando quelle due anime si scorsero, riconobbero di essere ciascuna quel che abbisognava all'altra e s'abbracciarono strettamente. ~ Victor Hugo,
134:La monotonia, un lavoro fisso che non portava a niente, anime che cercavano altre anime per sfuggire ad imbarazzanti silenzi ed una città senza stimoli che cercava di camuffare la noia dietro falsi sorrisi, musica assordante e belle gambe inavvicinabili. Niente di buono. Ma era incredibile come la gente riusciva ad adattarsi ~ Charles Bukowski,
135:There is hardly an American male of my generation who has not at one time or another tried to master the victory cry of the great ape as it issued from the androgynous chest of Johnny Weissmuller, to the accompaniment of thousands of arms and legs snapping during attempts to swing from tree to tree in the backyards of the Republic. ~ Gore Vidal,
136:All sorts of pieces of music are constantly being described as ‘sexy’, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that you’d want them to accompany lovemaking. Most of them, in fact, are sexual substitutes, rather than sexual accompaniments – music for people who aren’t getting any (or won’t be until they get home) rather than people who are. ~ Nick Hornby,
137:Pacuvius, who by long occupancy made Syria his own,8 used to hold a regular burial sacrifice in his own honour, with wine and the usual funeral feasting, and then would have himself carried from the dining-room to his chamber, while eunuchs applauded and sang in Greek to a musical accompaniment: "He has lived his life, he has lived his life! ~ Seneca,
138:If an instrument similar to a geiger-counter could be invented that counted moral judgements instead, we would learn to duck as people became increasingly 'moral', since lethal force is usually imminent. So far from moral fervour being an alternative to force, it is frequently the overture, the accompaniment and the memorial to it. ~ Charles Hampden Turner,
139: Small Prayers In every request, heart and soul and mind ought to supply the low accompaniment, “Thy will be done”; but the making of any request brings us near to Him…. Anything large enough for a wish to light upon, is large enough to hang a prayer upon: the thought of Him to whom that prayer goes will purify and correct the desire. ~ George MacDonald,
140:Remember that [scientific thought] is the guide of action; that the truth which it arrives at is not that which we can ideally contemplate without error, but that which we may act upon without fear; and you cannot fail to see that scientific thought is not an accompaniment or condition of human progress, but human progress itself. ~ William Kingdon Clifford,
141:What a wonderful work Wagner has done for humanity in translating the toil of life into the readable script of music! For those who seek the tale of other worlds his magic is silent; but earth-travail under his wand becomes instinct with rhythmic song to an accompaniment of the elements, and the blare and crash of the bottomless pit itself. ~ Richard Wagner,
142:Ehi, Clark" disse. "Raccontami qualcosa di bello." Guardai fuori dalla finestra l’azzurro terso del cielo svizzero e gli raccontai la storia di due persone. Due persone che non avrebbero dovuto incontrarsi e che non si erano piaciute molto quando si erano conosciute, ma che presto scoprirono di essere le sole due anime al mondo in grado di capirsi. ~ Jojo Moyes,
143:In quest'epoca in cui tutto è ritenuto lecito purché sia fatto in piena libertà, e in cui il corpo è considerato un semplice strumento della volontà razionale e autonoma, la repulsione potrebbe essere l'unica voce rimasta in difesa del nucleo centrale della nostra umanità. Le anime che hanno dimenticato come si fa a rabbrividire sono superficiali. ~ Leon R Kass,
144:Marriage, for instance, will never be given new life except by that out of which true marriage always arises, the revealing by two people of the Thou to one another. Out of this a marriage is built up by the Thou that is neither of the I’s. This is the metaphysical and metapsychical factor of love to which feelings of love are mere accompaniments. ~ Martin Buber,
145:Most of the people in the upper income brackets are not rich and do not have wealth sheltered offshore. They are typically working people who have finally reached their peak earning years after many years of far more modest incomes-and now see much of what they have worked for siphoned off by politicians, to the accompaniment of lofty rhetoric. ~ Thomas Sowell,
146:Kendrick fumed. "Between video games and anime, any teenager can learn the sacred arts; it isn't right."
"What video game? If it teaches magic, I'm so in." Meryn declared.
"It's an RPG; I can show you later," Anne promised.
Aiden, looking a bit pale, turned to Kendrick. "It's just a game right? They can't really learn magic, can they? ~ Alanea Alder,
147:Zavallı hanımefendi, ah zavallı hanımefendi!’’ diye ızhar ettiler. Seslerindeki bu acıma bana biraz fena geldi, çünkü benim Anadolu’ya gelişim ve bu harekete katılışım, mukaddes bir gaye için ateşte yanmaya razı olanların zihniyetine uyuyordu. Benim için, içinde bulunduğumuz tehlikeler ve çektiğimiz zahmetler acınacak değil, şeref verecek bir vaziyetti. ~ Halide Edib Ad var,
148:Non sono orribili'' affermò Tessa.
Will la guardò, stupito. ''Come dici?''
''Gideon e Gabriel sono piuttosto attraenti. Per niente orribili.''
''Parlavo dei recessi delle loro anime, neri come la pece'' ribatté Will, in tono sepolcrale.
Tessa sbuffò. ''E di che colore presumi che siano i recessi della tua anima, Will Herondale?''
''Color malva. ~ Cassandra Clare,
149:When my hoe tinkled against the stones, that music echoed to the woods and the sky, and was an accompaniment to my labor which yielded an instant and immeasurable crop. It was no longer beans that I hoed, nor I that hoed beans; and I remembered with as much pity as pride, if I remembered at all, my acquaintances who had gone to the city to attend the oratorios. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
150:On March 29, 1795, Beethoven made his first appearance at a public concert in Vienna. The concert, organized by Antonio Salieri for the benefit of widows and orphans, featured only two musicians. Antonio Cartellieri, the first young musician, performed an oratorio. Beethoven composed an original concerto and played it on the pianoforte along with orchestral accompaniment. ~ Hourly History,
151:One of the more problematic aspects of the current state of cinema in Japan is that the movies playing in the theaters are by and large made not by film studios but by broadcasting companies. They're either extensions of popular television dramas or adaptations of manga or anime. Younger Japanese are simply not being exposed to good films. That situation needs to change. ~ Hirokazu Koreeda,
152:A może będziesz grzała swe ciało liliowe
Przy księżyca promieniach; zaś gdy głód złowrogi
Zajrzy - czy z pustą kiesą na gwiaździste drogi
Zbierać złoto podążysz w sfery lazurowe?
Ranimeras-tu donc tes épaules marbrées
Aux nocturnes rayons qui percent les volets?
Sentant ta bourse à sec autant que ton palais
Récolteras-tu l'or des voûtes azurées? ~ Charles Baudelaire,
153:Only a Chinaman or a retarded child can imagine being met, in that Next-Installment World, to the accompaniment of all sorts of tail-wagging and groveling of welcome, by the mosquito executed eighty years ago upon one’s bare leg, which has been amputated since then and now, in the wake of the gesticulating mosquito, comes back, stomp, stomp, stomp, here I am, stick me on. ~ Vladimir Nabokov,
154:O viaggio implacabile della società umana! O perdite di uomini e di anime lungo il cammino! Oceano nel quale cade tutto ciò che la legge lascia cadere! Funesto allontanarsi di ogni soccorso! O morte mortale! Il mare è l'inesorabile notte sociale dove la pena getta i suoi dannati. Il mare è l'immensa miseria. L'anima, alla deriva tra quei gorghi, può divenire cadavere. Chi la resusciterà? ~ Victor Hugo,
155:...and the sound of her low voice seemed to have the accompaniment of all the other sounds, full of mystery, desolation, and sorrow, I had ever heard - the ripple of the river, the soughing of the trees swayed by the wind, the murmurs of the crowds, the faint ring of incomprehensible words cried from afar, the whisper of a voice speaking from beyond the threshhold of an eternal darkness. ~ Joseph Conrad,
156:I was sure the old man knew nothing about the beatitudes, ecstasies, dazzling reverberations of sexual encounters. Cut out the poetry was his message. Clinical sex, deprived of all the warmth of love—the orchestration of all the senses, touch, hearing, sight, palate; all the euphoric accompaniments, back-ground music, moods, atmosphere, variations—forced him to resort to literary aphrodisiacs. ~ Ana s Nin,
157:Having survived her 10th London winter (she got through January by assigning it "international month," and amusing Moses and his big sister, Apple, 9, with a visiting Italian chef, Japanese anime screenings, and hand-rolled-sushi lessons, no less), Paltrow admits that her dreams of relocating the family to their recently acquired residence in Brentwood, California, are becoming ever more urgent. ~ Gwyneth Paltrow,
158:In your working conditions avoid everyday mediocrity. Semi-relaxation, to a background of insipid sounds, is degrading. On the other hand, accompaniment by an etude or a cacophony of voices can become as significant for work as the perceptible silence of the night. If the latter sharpens the inner ear, the former acts as a touchstone for a diction ample enough to bury even the most wayward sounds. ~ Walter Benjamin,
159:The very first thing I saw at this year's Telluride Film Festival was sheer bliss. "Lava," a musical romance from Pixar Animation, was one of the shorts that traditionally precede almost every festival screening; the director was James Ford Murphy. The story, spanning millions of years in 7 minutes, starts with a lonely Hawaiian volcano who, crooning to ukulele accompaniment, yearns for "someone to lava. ~ Anonymous,
160:And what we have seen is that this embracing of suffering is not just an accompaniment of our witness to Christ; it is the visible expression of it. Our sufferings make Christ’s sufferings known so that people can see the kind of love Christ offers. We complete Christ’s afflictions by providing what they do not have, namely, a personal, vivid presentation to those who do not see Christ suffer in person. The ~ John Piper,
161:[My muse] likes to inhabit tea leaves, sunlight filtered through bamboo, melancholy clouds over the Devon coastline, a weedy railroad crossing in the Southern States, bubblegum pop from the sixties, torch songs from the forties, undersea caves where B-movie octopi grapple with men in loincloths, sacred groves of pink anime dryads, Victorian fairy paintings executed by gentlemen in lunatic asylums and so on. ~ Quentin S Crisp,
162:Ma quando di un lontano passato non rimane più nulla, dopo la morte delle creature, dopo la distruzione delle cose, soli e più fragili ma più vivaci, più immateriali, più persistenti, più fedeli, l'odore e il sapore permangono ancora a lungo, come anime, a ricordare, ad attendere, a sperare, sulla rovina di tutto, a sorreggere senza tremare - loro, goccioline quasi impalpabili - l'immenso edificio del ricordo. ~ Marcel Proust,
163:He lighted the candles, for it was now dark, made the tea, and supplied the friend with whom he had been playing golf (for I believe the authorities of the University I write of indulge in that pursuit by way of relaxation); and tea was taken to the accompaniment of a discussion which golfing persons can imagine for themselves, but which the conscientious writer has no right to inflict upon any non-golfing persons. ~ M R James,
164:And then he hits me. I duck my chin, and his fist smacks into the top of my head. The snap of his hand breaking rattles all the way down my spine. I stagger a half step back from the counter and look up. He’s holding his right hand up in front of his face. The index and middle fingers have an extra bend between the knuckles and the wrist. His eyes are anime-wide, and a high-pitched whistle is coming from his nose. ~ Edward Ashton,
165:Il vampiro era perfettamente candido e levigato, come scolpito nell'avorio, e il suo viso appariva esanime come una statua, a eccezione di quegli occhi verdi, ardenti come fiamme in un teschio, che scrutavano intensamente il ragazzo. Ma poi il vampiro sorrise con un velo di malinconia e la liscia massa bianca del suo volto si mosse ridisegnandosi con i tratti infinitamente flessibili e essenziali di un cartone animato. ~ Anne Rice,
166:Venti e nubi, turbini e folate, inutili stelle! Che fare? Disperato s'abbandona, poiché chi è stanco decide di morire e lascia fare, si lascia andare, cede, ed eccolo rotolato per sempre nelle mortali profondità dell'abisso vorace. Oh, implacabile cammino delle società umane! Perdita di uomini e d'anime per strada! Oceano in cui cade tutto ciò che la legge lascia cadere! Sinistra scomparsa del soccorso, morte morale! ~ Victor Hugo,
167:They sang without instrumental accompaniment--or, more accurately in their case, without any interference. Their voices were melodious and unsentimental, almost to the point where a somewhat more denominational man than myself might, without straining, have experienced levitation. A couple of the very youngest children dragged the tempo a trifle, but in a way that only the composer's mother could have found fault with. ~ J D Salinger,
168:A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning. The city is like poetry: it compresses all life, all races and breeds, into a small island and adds music and the accompaniment of internal engines. The island of Manhattan is without any doubt the greatest human concentrate on earth, the poem whose magic is comprehensible to millions of permanent residents but whose full meaning will always remain elusive. ~ E B White,
169:No one, especially not Birkhoff himself, would claim that the intricacies of aesthetic pleasure could be reduced entirely to a mere formula. However, in Birkhoff's words, "In the inevitable analytic accompaniment of the creative process, the theory of aesthetic measure is capable of performing a double service: it gives a simple, unified account of the aesthetic experience, and it provides means for the systematic analysis of typical aesthetic fields. ~ Mario Livio,
170:It is only when we are very happy, that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony, to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness, and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys. CHAPTER ~ Emmuska Orczy,
171:Mediocre people have an answer for everything and are astonished at nothing. They always want to have the air of knowing better than you what you are going to tell them; when, in their turn, they begin to speak, they repeat to you with the greatest confidence, as if dealing with their own property, the things that they have heard you say yourself at some other place. A capable and superior look is the natural accompaniment of this type of character. ~ Eugene Delacroix,
172:It took place to the accompaniment of such hideous swearing as caused his withered leg to blush beneath the sacking. It must have been hardened by many years of oaths, but this morning an awakened sense of shame at what the upper part of the body could descend to, raddled it from hip to toe. Its only consolation was that the contaminating influence had not descended lower than the lungs, and what diseases the withered leg experienced were entirely physical. ~ Mervyn Peake,
173:L'amour est quelque chose de trop abstrait et d'indiscernable. Il est dépendant de nous perçu et vécu par nous. Si nous n'existions pas, il n'existerait pas. Et nous sommes tellement changeants... Alors l'amour ne peut que l'être aussi. L'amour s'enflamme, trépasse, se brise, nous brise, se ranime...: nous ranime. L'amour n'est peut-être pas éternel mais nous, il nous rend éternels... Par-delà notre mort, l'amour que nous avons éveillé continue d’accomplir son chemin. ~ Julie Maroh,
174:You know, it isn't the best time to be in the Keys. Not as a tourist, anyway. We natives like it 'cause it makes us feel so superior. We don't mind the humidity and the insects and the hurricanes. We got starch in us; not just in our backbones, but in our whole skeletons." She laughs, the church-bell accompaniment to Nathan's pipe-organ guffaw.
"Miss Tia," Nathan says, "you could put some of that starch in your backbone. Looks like you're about to go under the table. ~ Jean Ferris,
175:Un tel aveuglement n'avait rien d'historiquement inédit : on aurait pu retrouver le même chez les intellectuels, politiciens et journalistes des années 1930, unanimement persuadés qu'Hitler « finirait par revenir à la raison ». Il est probablement impossible, pour des gens ayant vécu et prospéré dans un système social donné, d'imaginer le point de vue de ceux qui, n'ayant jamais rien eu à attendre de ce système, envisagent sa destruction sans frayeur particulière. ~ Michel Houellebecq,
176:Belki de dikkat çekmemeye çalışmak üzerine konuşsak iyi olacak."
"Elimde değil," dedi Mark hafifçe gülümseyerek.
"Daha ziyade normal bir insan gibi davranman gerek," dedi Jules. "İnsanların arasındayız."
"Normal davranmasına gerek yok," dedi Ty sertçe.
"Buraya gelirken ankesörlü telefona çarpıp afedersiniz hanımefendi, dedi," dedi Julian.
"Özür dilemek nazik bir harekettir," dedi Mark, aynı hafif gülümsemeyle.
"Cansız nesnelerden özür dilemek değil. ~ Cassandra Clare,
177:Era andata via, esasperata. Ora lo detestava. Quella mancanza di puntualità al convegno le pareva un oltraggio, e cercava anche altre ragioni per staccarsi da lui; era incapace di eroismo, debole, banale, più molle di una donna, e anche avaro, e pusillanime.
Poi, calmandosi, finì per scoprire che lo aveva calunniato, certo. Ma la denigrazione delle persone amate contribuisce pur sempre a staccarci un poco da loro. Non bisogna toccare gli idoli: la doratura resta sulle dita. ~ Gustave Flaubert,
178:Signore, tu non esisti! Avevo chiesto la tua protezione per lui. Che lo proteggessi. Questo ti chiesi. Ma tu ti occupi solo delle anime. E quello che io voglio di lui è il suo corpo. Nudo e caldo d'amore; ardente di desiderio; mentre stringe il tremito dei miei seni e delle mie braccia. Il mio corpo trasparente sospeso sul suo. Il mio corpo leggero sostenuto e abbandonato alla sua forza. Che farò adesso delle mie labbra, senza la sua bocca che le riempie? Che farò delle mie labbra indolenzite? ~ Juan Rulfo,
179:Visit the Navy-Yard, and behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such as it can make a man with its black arts, -a mere shadow and reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and standing, and already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniments, though it may be, -
"Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart were hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot,
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. ~ Henry David Thoreau,
180:Printed prose is historically a most peculiar, almost an aberrant way of telling stories, and by far the most inherently anesthetic: It is the only medium of art I can think of which appeals directly to none of our five senses. The oral and folk tradition in narrative made use of verse or live-voice dynamics, embellished by gesture and expression--a kind of rudimentary theater--as do the best raconteurs of all times. Commonly there was musical accompaniment as well: a kind of one-man theater-of-mixed-means. ~ John Barth,
181:she scored the fish’s spine with the tip of the knife and made diagonal cuts at its head and tail. Then slipping the serving fork between the fish’s spine and its flesh, she deftly liberated the filet. In a few succinct movements, she had served portions of the fennel and olives, and topped the filet with the charred lemon. Handing the Count this perfectly prepared plate, she plucked the spine from the fish and served herself the second filet with accompaniments—an operation that took no more than a minute. ~ Amor Towles,
182:Taste, if it mean anything but a paltry connoisseurship, must mean a general susceptibility to truth and nobleness, a sense to discern, and a heart to love and reverence all beauty, order, goodness, wheresoever, or in whatsoever forms and accompaniments they are to be seen. This surely implies, as its chief condition, not any given external rank or situation, but a finely-gifted mind, purified into harmony with itself, into keenness and justness of vision; above all, kindled into love and generous admiration. ~ Thomas Carlyle,
183:Heaven would be a comfy armchair….You’d get a great, private phonograph, and all of eternity to listen to your life’s melody. You could isolate your one life out of the cacophonous galaxy—the a cappella version—or you could play it back with its accompaniment, embedded in the brass and strings of mothers, fathers, sisters, windfalls and failures, percussion cities of strangers. You could play it forward or backward, back and back, and listen to the future of your past. You could lift the needle at whim, defeating Time. ~ Karen Russell,
184:The commandment to work is imposed on us by our descent from Adam and Eve, but it is a blessing to us. Illness and adversity are not punishments for being alive; they are natural accompaniments of life. Our bodies are not vile and loathsome snares for our spirits, but the temples of our spirits. The daily activities of mixing orange juice, making telephone calls, supervising homework, and scrubbing the bathtub are not distractions from our spiritual lives. They are the vehicles through which we live our spiritual lives. ~ Chieko N Okazaki,
185:I'm changing the channel," Simon announced, seizing the remote. "I'm tired of this anime. I cant tell what the plot is and no one ever has sex."
"Of course they dont," Clary said, taking another chip. "Anime is wholesome family entertainment."
"If you're in the mood for less wholesome entertainment we could try the porn channels," Simon observed. "Would you rather watch The Witches of Breastwick or As I Lay Dianne?"
"Give me that!" Clary grabbed for the remote...
-Simon & Clary, pg.16 & 17- ~ Cassandra Clare,
186:It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious because it presents no new or special features from which deductions may be drawn. This murder would have been infinitely more difficult to unravel had the body of the victim been simply found lying in the roadway without any of those outré and sensational accompaniments which have rendered it remarkable. These strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
187:In that sense, “otaku” referred to a sudden, spontaneous, and, to most Japanese, inexplicable eruption of extreme obsessiveness among the country’s youth. One day, Japanese in their teens and twenties were normal, well-adjusted young people. The next day, or so it seemed, they were hopeless geeks who had forsaken all social skills in favor of a deep dive into—whatever. Manga (comics). Anime. Super-hard-core deviant anime porn in which tender young schoolgirls are violated by multi-tentacled octopi. Trains. It could be anything really. ~ Frank Rose,
188:favorite recipe is Carrie Brown’s Fig and Olive Tapenade, which she serves up at the Jimtown Store in Healdsburg, California. Her recipe uses dried figs, which means less pitting and cuts the saltiness of the tapenade. I like tapenade with pita bread points that have been brushed with spiced oil, then toasted until crisp (This Page). Ice-cold rosé or vin d’orange are lovely accompaniments, too. ½ cup (85 g) stemmed and quartered dried Black Mission figs 1 cup (250 ml) water 1 cup (170 g) black olives, rinsed and pitted 1 garlic clove, ~ David Lebovitz,
189:I have a wedge of Brie and some crackers in the pantry, and I could slice a pear or an apple and drizzle the fruit with some orange blossom honey. That always makes a nice accompaniment for cheese. I've got some olives, too, Lucques. I wonder if I have time to make cheese sticks. I use store-bought puff pastry, roll it out, sprinkle it with salt and red pepper flakes and grated Parmesan, then cut the dough into strips, twist them, and bake. They are particularly delicious with a glass of Champagne, especially when you serve the cheese sticks warm. ~ Susan Rebecca White,
190:Life noise has become an atmospheric accompaniment that we have grown inured to, resulting in the outcome that all too often we are poor listeners, to speech or music. There are constant reminders in the workplace as to just how often most people are not paying particular attention to what is being said. People frequently simply don’t listen. They have lost the art of concentrated hearing—so fundamental to real human connection. Music alone restores the capacity to concentrate and liberate your brain to really listen and enjoy the process of engaged hearing. ~ Anonymous,
191: On Himself
On this verdant lotus laid,
Underneath the myrtle's shade,
Let us drink our sorrows dead,
Whilst Love plays the Ganimed.
Life like to a wheel runs round,
And ere long, we underground
(Ta'en by death asunder) must
Moulder in forgotten dust.
Why then graves should we bedew?
Why the ground with odours strew?
Better whilst alive, prepare
Flowers and unguents for our hair.
Come, my fair one! come away;
All our cares behind us lay,
That these pleasures we may know,
Ere we come to those below.
192:Do you like manga?" she asked after a minute. "Anime?" "Anime's cool. I'm not really into it, but 1 like Japanese movies, animated or not." "Well, I'm into it. I watch the shows, read the books, chat on the boards, and all that. But this girl I know, she's completely into it. She spends most of her allowance on the books and DVDs. She can recite dialogue from them." She caught my gaze. "So would you say she belongs here?" "No. Most kids are that way about something, right? With me, it's movies. Like knowing who directed a sci-fi movie made before I was born. ~ Kelley Armstrong,
193:— Perché mi dici che mi ami solo quando sei ubriaco o sogni? — chiese lei. — Ho un tempismo terribile — ammise Simon — ma ciò non significa che non lo pensi sul serio. Ci sono cose che vogliamo, celate sotto ciò che sappiamo e perfino sotto ciò che sentiamo. Ci sono cose che le nostre anime vogliono, e la mia vuole te. La sentì buttare fuori l’aria. — Dillo. Dillo da sobrio. — Ti amo — disse Simon. — Non voglio che lo dica anche tu a meno che non lo pensi davvero, ma ti amo. Isabelle si chinò su di lui e premette i polpastrelli contro i suoi. — Lo penso davvero. ~ Cassandra Clare,
194:Yüzük ve küpe Kuyumcuya giren kadın; “Şu nikah yüzüğünü kesip bana bir çift küpe yapar mısınız?” diye sormuş. Kuyumcu yüzüğü eline alıp bakmış yüzüğün üstünde “Seni seviyorum” yazıyormuş. Kuyumcu; “Hanımefendi neden bu yüzüğü kestirmek istiyorsunuz? Belli ki bir hatırası var..” diye sormuş. Kadın; “Bu benim nikah yüzüğüm, kocamdan ayrıldım, şimdi küpe istiyorum. ‘Seni' kelimesi küpenin bir tanesinde, ‘seviyorum' kelimesi de diğerinde olsun.” Kuyumcu yine sormuş; “Neden acaba?” Kadın; “İleride böyle cümlelerin bir kulağımdan girip diğerinden çıkacağını unutmamam için.. ~ Anonymous,
195:The Violins waltzed. The Cellos and Basses provided accompaniment. The Violas mourned their fate, while the Concertmaster showed off. The Flutes did bird imitations…repeatedly, and the reed instruments had the good taste to admire my jacket. The Trumpets held a parade in honor of our great nation, while the French Horns waxed nostalgic about something or other. The Trombones had too much to drink. The Percussion beat the band, and the Tuba stayed home playing cards with his landlady, the Harp, taking sips of warm milk a blue little cup. “But the Composer is still dead. ~ Daniel Handler,
196:The sound of distant breakers made her heart ache with melancholy. She was in the mood when the sea has a saddening effect upon the nerves. It is only when we are very happy that we can bear to gaze merrily upon the vast and limitless expanse of water, rolling on and on with such persistent, irritating monotony to the accompaniment of our thoughts, whether grave or gay. When they are gay, the waves echo their gaiety; but when they are sad, then every breaker, as it rolls, seems to bring additional sadness and to speak to us of hopelessness and of the pettiness of all our joys. ~ Emmuska Orczy,
197:Do you like manga?" she asked after a minute. "Anime?"
"Anime's cool. I'm not really into it, but 1 like Japanese movies,
animated or not."
"Well, I'm into it. I watch the shows, read the books, chat on the boards, and all that. But this girl I know, she's
completely into it. She spends most of her allowance on the books and DVDs. She can recite dialogue from
them." She caught my gaze. "So would you say she belongs here?"
"No. Most kids are that way about something, right? With me, it's
movies. Like knowing who directed a sci-fi movie made before I was born. ~ Kelley Armstrong,
198:but she could let her know that she understood, that she was sorry, that she knew what it felt like to worry about your Mom. One thing Liz could do uniquely and with pride was play her saxophone. Liz had been thinking about a musical accompaniment for Life in a Jar and had come upon the perfect song – Eugene Bozza’s Aria, a saxophone solo in a minor key that gave dignity to suffering. After all was said and done, after all the raging, all the sorrow, all the counseling, the one thing Liz wanted for Megan, for herself – maybe what everyone wanted and needed – was dignity in their suffering. To ~ Jack Mayer,
199:More chibis,” said Simon gloomily. All the characters on-screen had turned into inch-high baby versions of themselves and were chasing each other around waving pots and pans. “I’m changing the channel,” Simon announced, seizing the remote. “I’m tired of this anime. I can’t tell what the plot is and no one ever has sex.” “Of course they don’t,” Clary said, taking another chip. “Anime is wholesome family entertainment.” “If you’re in the mood for less wholesome entertainment, we could try the porn channels,” Simon observed. “Would you rather watch The Witches of Breastwick or As I Lay Dianne? ~ Cassandra Clare,
200:More chibis," said Simon gloomily. All the characters on-screen had turned into inch-high baby versions of themselves and were chasing each other around waving pots and pans. "I'm changing the channel," Simon announced, seizing the remote. "I'm tired of this anime. I can't tell what the plot is and no one ever has sex."
"Of course they don't," Clary said, taking another chip. "Anime is wholesome family entertainment."
"If you're in the mood for less wholesome entertainment, we could try the porn channels," Simon observed. "Would you rather watch The Witches of Breastwick or As I Lay Dianne? ~ Cassandra Clare,
201:the club had provided for music was a lone pianist who had no idea what kind of piece might accompany such an exotic dance. Bloom thought a moment, hummed a tune, then plinked it out on the keyboard one note at a time: Over the next century this tune and its variations would be deployed in a succession of mostly cheesy movies, typically as an accompaniment to the sinuous emergence of a cobra from a basket. It would also drive the schoolyard lyric, “And they wear no pants in the southern part of France.” Bloom regretted his failure to copyright the tune. The royalties would have run into the millions. ~ Erik Larson,
202:I often paint a detailed picture in my mind of what I would like the end of my life to look like. I think of saying goodbye to Clara and other people I love, then I picture an empty house, perhaps a large, rambling rural mansion somewhere near the marshes where I grew up; I imagine a bath upstairs, which I can fill with warm water; and I think of music playing all through this big house, Crescent, maybe, or Ascension, filling the spaces not taken up by my solitude, reaching me in the bath, so that when I slip across the one-way border, I do so to the accompaniment of modal harmonies heard from far away. ~ Teju Cole,
203:First, liberals discover social and economic problems. Not a difficult task: the human race has always had such problems and will continue to, short of the Garden of Eden. Liberals, however, usually need scores of millions in foundation grants and taxpayer-financed commissions to come up with the startling revelations of disease, poverty, ignorance, homelessness, et al. Having identified “problems” to the accompaniment of much coordinated fanfare, the liberals proceed to invoke “solutions,” to be supplied, of course, by the federal government, which we all know and love as the Great Problem-Solving Machine. ~ Anonymous,
204:YENİ sosyetelerden birinin evinde seçkin bir davetli topluluğuna verilen ziyafette, kuş sütünden başka her şey varmış. Yemeğe katılan ünlü bir fotoğrafçı da ev sahibi ve misafirlerin poz poz fotoğraflarını çekmiş. Hemen ardından ziyafete katılanlara jest olsun diye tab ettirdiği fotoğrafları gururla ev sahibine göstermiş. Fotoğrafları çok beğenen ev sahibi hanım: - Fotoğraflar ne kadar iyi çıkmış! Çok beğendim. Herhalde fotoğraf makineniz çok güzel olmalı. Fotoğrafçı bozulduğunu belirtmeden yanıtlamış: - Teşekkür ederim hanımefendi, sizin de yemekleriniz çok güzel olmuş, herhalde tencereleriniz çok güzel olmalı!... ~ Anonymous,
205:All that is left in the world is an enormous machine, made of white steel. It has innumerable flexible arms, made of steel. Long, thin arms. At the end of each arm is an eye, the eyelashes stiff with mascara. When I look more closely I see that only some of the arms have these eyes–others have lights. The arms that carry the eyes and the arms that carry the lights are all extraordinarily flexible and very beautiful. But they grey sky, which is the background, terrifies me. . . . And the arms wave to an accompaniment of music and of song. Like this: 'Hotcha–hotcha–hotcha. . . .' And I know the music; I can sing the song. . . . ~ Jean Rhys,
206:The final product of the camps, one which the Nazis carefully shaped, was death. What the SS shaped was mass death without a murmur of protest; death accepted placidly by victims and killers alike; death carried out not as any kind of exception, not as an act of purposeful vengeance or hatred, but as casual, smiling, even homey routine, often against a background of colorful flower beds and to the accompaniment of lilting operetta music. It was to be death as a confirmation of all that had preceded it, death as a last demonstration of absolute power and absolute unreason, death as the final triumph of Nazism over man and over the human spirit. ~ Leonard Peikoff,
207:Mira, I'm about to be naked," Blue said as he whipped off his belt and tossed it on the floor. "So watch out. Well, in my underwear."
"I've seen you in your bathing suit," Mira said. "It's the same thing."
"It is not the same thing," Blue said. "When it's accompanied by seventies porn music, it's an X-rated strip show." Blue yanked off his shirt. "Freddie, you're kind of slow on the uptake. Eine kleine porn music, please."
Freddie scrunched his forehead in distaste. "I don't want to plug my guitar in just so I can play some bow-chicka-wow-wow accompaniment to your strip show.
Mira laughed. "Bow-chicka-what was that, Freddie? ~ Sarah Cross,
208:The erasure of the personality is the fatal accompaniment to an existence which is concretely submissive to the spectacle’s rules, ever more removed from the possibility of authentic experience and thus from the discovery of individual preferences. Paradoxically, permanent self-denial is the price the
individual pays for the tiniest bit of social status. Such an existence demands a fluid fidelity, a succession of continually disappointing commitments to false products. It is a matter of running hard to keep up with the inflation of devalued signs of life. Drugs help one to come to terms with this state of affairs, while madness allows one to escape from it. ~ Guy Debord,
209:Y Sofía no puede evitar que le pasen dos cosas juntas. La primera es sentir, otra vez, que lo quiere mucho. No se lo dijo nunca. Ni cree que se anime a decírselo jamás. Le asombra pensar que hace cinco meses no lo conocía. Y ahora no puede pensar en vivir lejos de él. Y lo segundo que le pasa, y tiene que ver con lo primero, es que le da miedo perderlo. Lo acaba de encontrar, y le da angustia y algo que no sabe cómo llamar. Nostalgia, o algo así, por habérselo perdido hasta ahora. Es eso. Una mezcla de alegría y bronca. Alegría porque haya resultado así. Bronca por no haberlo conocido antes. Lo bien que le hubiera venido toda la vida. Y ella sin saber que existía. ~ Eduardo Sacheri,
210:Verrai a visitarmi in sogno ed io sarò felice: è dolce vedere i propri cari anche di notte, per il tempo che ci è concesso. Magari avessi la voce e il canto di Orfeo, per ammaliare la figlia di Demetra o il suo sposo e così portarti via dall'Ade. Scenderei tra le ombre, e né il cane di Plutone né Caronte, il nocchiero delle anime potrebbero impedirmi di restituirti alla luce. Ma così come stanno le cose, aspettami, finchè non giunga il mio ultimo giorno: prepara la dimora, dove tu ed io abiteremo insieme. Ordinerò ai miei figli di depormi nella tua stessa bara di cedro, giaceremo fianco a fianco: neanche da morto voglio restar separato da te, l'unica persona a me fedele. ~ Euripides,
211:Girişim sermayederi bir kadın, bir akşam babasını otopark servisi olan şık bir restorana yemeğe götürüyor. Yolda giderlerken, babası, gösterişli bir BMW aldığı için kızını azarlıyor. Kadın, restoranın önünde duruyor ve inip içeri giriyorlar.
Birkaç saat sonra baba kız restorandan çıktıklarında, otomobilin hâlâ park ettikleri yerde durduğunu görüyorlar. Fırsatı kaçırmayan kadın, babasına dönüp şöyle diyor: "Şimdi anladın mı? Restoranlar, gösterişli otomobilleri kapının önüne bırakırlar, çıkınca getirilmesini beklemek zorunda kalmazsın!"
O anda otoparkçı kadının yanına yaklaşıp "Hanımefendi," diyor, "anahtarları vermemişsiniz. Otomobilinizi parka çekemedik. ~ Guy Kawasaki,
212:Eravamo state meravigliose compagne di viaggio, ma in fondo non eravamo che solitari aggregati metallici che disegnavano ognuno la propria orbita. In lontananza potremmo anche essere belle a vedersi, come stelle cadenti. Ma in realtà non siamo che prigioniere, ognuna confinata nel proprio spazio, senza la possibilità di andare da nessun’altra parte. Quando le orbite dei nostri satelliti per caso si incrociano, le nostre facce si incontrano. E forse, chissà, anche le nostre anime vengono a contatto. Ma questo non dura che un attimo. Un istante dopo, ci ritroviamo ognuna nella propria assoluta solitudine. Fino al giorno in cui bruceremo e saremo completamente azzerate. ~ Haruki Murakami,
213:[Voltaire] theoretically prefers a republic, but he knows its flaws: it permits factions which, if they do not bring on civil war, at least destroy national unity; it is suited only to small states protected by geographic situation, and as yet unspoiled and untorn with wealth; in general "men are rarely worthy to govern themselves." Republics are transient at best; they are the first form of society, arising from the union of families; the American Indians lived in tribal republics, and Africa is full of such democracies. but differentiation of economic status puts an end to these egalitarian governments; and differentiation is the inevitable accompaniment of development. ~ Will Durant,
214:Country music was the most segregated kind of music in America, where even whites played jazz and even blacks sang in the opera. Something like country music was what lynch mobs must have enjoyed while stringing up their black victims. Country music was not necessarily lynching music, but no other music could be imagined as lynching’s accompaniment. Beethoven’s Ninth was the opus for Nazis, concentration camp commanders, and possibly President Truman as he contemplated atomizing Hiroshima, classical music the refined score for the high-minded extermination of brutish hordes. Country music was set to the more humble beat of the red-blooded, bloodthirsty American heartland. ~ Viet Thanh Nguyen,
215:Rape was not the only crime that Soviet soldiers would commit on their sweep through Prussia. Towns were burned, officials murdered, and columns of refugees were strafed and shelled as they fled west towards Berlin. But of the violent crimes, rape was the most prevalent. One reason was that women far outnumbered men among German civilians, and probably in the entire surviving population, since so few soldiers were left. However, other pressures were at work as well. Rape is a common instrument of war, a chillingly familiar accompaniment to conquest and military occupation. The atrocities in East Prussia could be compared to others, such as those in Bosnia or Bangladesh. ~ Catherine Merridale,
216:L'invidia è la religione dei mediocri. Li consola, risponde alle inquietudini che li divorano e, in ultima istanza, imputridisce le loro anime e consente di giustificare la loro grettezza e la loro avidità fino a credere che siano virtù e che le porte del cielo si spalancheranno solo per gli infelici come loro, che attraversano la vita senza lasciare altra traccia se non i loro sleali tentativi di sminuire gli altri e di escludere, e se possibile distruggere, chi, per il semplice fatto di esistere e di essere ciò che è, mette in risalto la loro povertà di spirito, di mente e di fegato. Fortunato colui al quale latrano i cretini, perché la sua anima non apparterrà mai a loro. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n,
217: Terre, Terre,Cherie
...Terre, terre chérie
Que la liberté sainte appelle sa patrie;
Père du grand sénat, ô sénat de Romans,
Qui de la liberté jetas les fondements;
Romans, berceau des lois, vous, Grenoble et Valence,
Vienne; toutes enfin! monts sacrés d'où la France
Vit naître le soleil avec la liberté!
Un jour le voyageur par le Rhône emporté,
Arrêtant l'aviron dans la main de son guide,
En silence, debout sur sa barque rapide,
Fixant vers l'Orient un oeil religieux,
Contemplera longtemps ces sommets glorieux;
Car son vieux père, ému de transports magnanimes,
Lui dira: 'Vois, mon fils, vois ces augustes cimes.'
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
218:Quando furono inventati, i libri - benché fabbricati con materiali scarsamente lavorati, reperiti nei boschi, nei campi e dagli animali - erano arnesi con un'enorme praticità di stivaggio e una grande potenzialità per la trasmissione di informazioni: tali caratteristiche erano assai vicine a quelle dei più recenti miracoli di Silicon Valley. Ma per accidente, e non per astuto calcolo, i libri, a causa del loro peso e della loro consistenza, e per via della loro dolce e figurata resistenza alla manipolazione, coinvolgono le nostre mani e i nostri occhi, e poi i nostri cervelli e le nostre anime, in un avventura spirituale che mi dispiacerebbe molto che i miei nipoti non potessero assaporare. ~ Kurt Vonnegut,
219:Condemnation is the board in our eye. He knows that the mere fact that we are condemning someone shows our heart does not have the kingdom rightness he has been talking about. Condemnation, especially with its usual accompaniments of anger and contempt and self-righteousness, blinds us to the reality of the other person. We cannot “see clearly” how to assist our brother, because we cannot see our brother. And we will never know how to truly help him until we have grown into the kind of person who does not condemn. Period. “Getting the board out” is not a matter of correcting something that is wrong in our life so that we will be able to condemn our dear ones better—more effectively, so to speak. ~ Dallas Willard,
220:Orada ya da öteki tatil köylerinde kalanların çevreleriyle ilişkileri tamamıyla kesilir. Orada yemeye içmeye, çarşısı dükkânı olduğu için orada alışveriş yapmaya, ancak orada oturanlarla görüşmeye, -bu ne biçim eğlenceyse- ancak orada eğlenmeye mahkûmdurlar. Animer canlandırmak anlamına geldiğine göre, "animator" denilen acayip yaratıklar, konukları bir çeşit ölü sayıp, onlara sözde can verir. "Şimdi jimnastik yapacaksınız, şimdi dinleneceksiniz, şimdi güleceksiniz, şimdi yiye- 40 çeksiniz, şimdi uyuyacaksınız" derler. İki adım ötede pırıl pırıl güzel bir deniz olduğu halde, onlar herkesin yaptığını yapmak, sularının temizliği bir hayli kuşkulu bir yüzme havuzuna girmek zorunda hissederler kendilerini. ~ Anonymous,
221:In the progress of science from its easiest to its more difficult problems, each great step in advance has usually had either as its precursor, or as its accompaniment and necessary condition, a corresponding improvement in the notions and principles of logic received among the most advanced thinkers. And if several of the more difficult sciences are still in so defective a state; if not only so little is proved, but disputation has not terminated even about the little which seemed to be so; the reason perhaps is, that men's logical notions have not yet acquired the degree of extension, or of accuracy, requisite for the estimation of the evidence proper to those particular departments of knowledge. ~ John Stuart Mill,
222:From the daily battles against the employers and their allies, the workers gradually learn the deeper meaning of this struggle. At first they pursue only the immediate purpose of improving the status of the producers within the existing social order, but gradually they lay bare the root of the evil—monopoly economy and its political and social accompaniments. For the attainment of such an understanding the everyday struggles are better educative material than the finest theoretical discussions. Nothing can so impress the mind and soul of the worker as this enduring battle for daily bread, nothing makes him so receptive to the teachings of Socialism as the incessant struggle for the necessities of life. ~ Rudolf Rocker,
223:The Greatest Generation?
They tell me I am a member of the greatest generation. That's because I saw combat duty as a bombardier in World War 11. But I refuse to celebrate "the greatest generation" because in so doing we are celebrating courage and sacrifice in the cause of war. And we are miseducating the young to believe that military heroism is the noblest form of heroism, when it should be remembered only as the tragic accompaniment of horrendous policies driven by power and profit. The current infatuation with World War 11 prepares us--innocently on the part of some, deliberately on the part of others--for more war, more military adventures, more attempts to emulate the military heroes of the past. ~ Howard Zinn,
224:Mama, I said, and then the crying came. I had not cried since I was sentenced and I had humiliated myself before a judge who didn't care. On that horrible day, my snotty sobbing had merged with Celestial and Olive's morning accompaniment. Now I suffered a cappella; the weeping burned my throat like when you vomit strong liquor. That one word, Mama, was my only prayer as I phrased on the ground like I was feeling the Holy Ghost, only what I was going through wasn't rapture. I spasmed on that cold black earth in pain, physical pain. My joints hurt; I experienced what felt like a baton against the back of my head. It was like I relived every injury of my life.. The pain went on until it didn't. and I say up, dirty and spent. ~ Tayari Jones,
225:Tony and Peg have two kids, Terry-Lynn and Harvey, both of whom are enrolled in so many extracurricular and afterschool clubs that they hardly ever see their parents. If Terry-Lynn is in Girl Guides, she doesn’t have to see Peg inviting the Purolator man in for “a cup of coffee”. If Harvey is in the anime drawing club, he doesn’t have to see Peg kissing Mr. Cooper from across the street, even if all the other neighbours secretly know what’s going on. Tony has no idea, all he knows is that Peg isn’t the same Peg he married back in 2003. All he knows is that she’s changed a great deal, and not for the better, like a beautiful butterfly regressing back into a devouring, ugly caterpillar in the span of only a couple of months. ~ Rebecca McNutt,
226:Rule number one of anime," Simon said. He sat propped up against a pile of pillows at the foot of his bed, a bag of potato chips in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said I BLOGGED YOUR MOM and a pair of jeans with a hole ripped in one knee. "Never screw with a blind monk."
"I know," Clary said, taking a potato chip and dunking it into the can of dip balanced on the TV tray between them. "For some reason they're always way better fighters than monks who can see." She peered at the screen. "Are those guys dancing?"
"That's not dancing. They're trying to kill each other. This is the guy who's the mortal enemy of the other guy, remember? He killed his dad. Why would they be dancing? ~ Cassandra Clare,
227:Le antiche leggende sanscrite narrano di amori predestinati, di connessioni karmiche fra anime destinate a incontrarsi, urtarsi e incastrarsi a vicenda. Le leggende dicono che l'amata si riconosce all'istante perchè si ama ogni suo gesto, ogni suo pensiero, ogni movimento, ogni suono e ogni stato d'animo che balena nei suoi occhi. La riconosciamo dalle sue ali - ali che solo no possiamo vedere - e dal fatto che lo struggimento per lei annienta ogni altro desiderio d'amore. Queste leggende avvertono anche che simili amori predestinati, possono possedere una e una sola, delle due anime che il destino ha fatto incontrare. Ma in un certo senso la saggezza è l'opposto dell'amore. L'amore sopravvive in noi proprio perchè non è saggio. ~ Gregory David Roberts,
228:«Perché quella piccola voce ostinata nella nostra testa ci tormenta così?» disse , guardandoci. «Forse perché ci ricorda che siamo vivi, che siamo mortali, che abbiamo anime autonome - che, dopotutto, siamo troppo pavidi per cedere, ma che pure ci procurano un grave malessere? È una cosa terribile imparare da bambini che si è un essere separato dal resto del mondo, che niente e nessuno soffre i nostri medesimi solori di scottature alla lingua o di sbucciature alle ginocchia: che ognuno è solo con i propri acciacchi e le proprie pene, Ancor più terribile, invecchiando, scoprire che nessuna persona - non importa quanto vicina - potrà mai capirci davvero. I nostri io sono ciò che ci rende più infelici, ed è per questo che bramiamo perderli, non credere?» ~ Donna Tartt,
229:The least step forward in the domain of free thought and individual life has been achieved in all ages to the accompaniment of physical and intellectual tortures: and not only the mere step forward, no! but every form of movement and change has rendered necessary innumerable martyrs, throughout the entire course of thousands of years which sought their paths and laid down their foundation-stones, years, however, which we do not think of when we speak about “world-history,” that ridiculously small division of mankind's existence. And even in this so-called world-history, which in the main is merely a great deal of noise about the latest novelties, there is no more important theme than the old, old tragedy of the martyrs who tried to move the mire. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
230:She was capable of crossing her own backyard without accompaniment, but she nodded, and he gently cupped her elbow as they moved over the brittle grass together. He tempered his stride to match hers, and a spiral of loneliness rose from her center. Walking with Arthur, shielded from the wind by his larger frame, his hand warm and protective on her arm, made her long for a partner with whom to share her life.
Warren's schedule of coming, and going had built within her an independent spirit, but if also left a part of her empty and wanting. Would she someday marry again, this time to a man who would walk beside her daily, bolster her, protect her, provide for her, and be honest with her?
Please, God. The prayer formed without effort and brought a desire to cry. ~ Kim Vogel Sawyer,
231:Then they had gone abroad, taking with them their three children. The eldest, Lord Silverbridge, had been at Oxford, but had had his career there cut short by some more than ordinary youthful folly, which had induced his father to agree with the college authorities that his name had better be taken off the college books, — all which had been cause of very great sorrow to the Duke. The other boy was to go to Cambridge; but his father had thought it well to give him a twelvemonth’s run on the Continent, under his own inspection. Lady Mary, the only daughter, was the youngest of the family, and she also had been with them on the Continent. They remained the full year abroad, travelling with a large accompaniment of tutors, lady’s-maids, couriers, and sometimes friends. ~ Anthony Trollope,
232:Le anime hanno un loro particolar modo d'intendersi, d'entrare in intimità, fino a darsi del tu, mentre le nostre persone sono tuttavia impacciate nel commercio delle parole comuni, nella schiavitù delle esigenze sociali. Han bisogni lor proprii e le loro proprie aspirazioni le anime, di cui il corpo non si dà per inteso, quando veda l'impossibilità di soddisfarli e di tradurle in atto. E ogni qualvolta due che comunichino fra loro così, con le anime soltanto, si trovano soli in qualche luogo, provano un turbamento angoscioso e quasi una repulsione violenta d'ogni minimo contatto materiale, una sofferenza che li allontana, e che cessa subito, non appena un terzo intervenga. Allora, passata l'angoscia, le due anime sollevate si ricercano e tornano a sorridersi da lontano. ~ Luigi Pirandello,
233:A person is not religious solely when he worships a divinity, but when he puts all the resources of his mind, the complete submission of his will, and the whole-souled ardour of fanaticism at the service of a cause or an individual who becomes the goal and guide of his thoughts and actions. Intolerance and fanaticism are the necessary accompaniments of the religious sentiment. They are inevitably displayed by those who believe themselves in the possession of the secret of earthly or eternal happiness. These two characteristics are to be found in all men grouped together when they are inspired by a conviction of any kind. The Jacobins of the Reign of Terror were at bottom as religious as the Catholics of the Inquisition, and their cruel ardour proceeded from the same source. ~ Gustave Le Bon,
234:Kostantiniye'nin kibar insanları kanla beslenir, ama siz değil! Bu yüzden siz onlardan temizsiniz! Ancak kan görünce bayılan ve vahşetten nefret eden bu beyzâdeler, sizleri daima ayaktakımı olarak gördüler ve göreceklerdir. Onların ruhlarının ve vicdanlarının temiz olması için, bizzat sizler, ellerinizi çamura sokacaksınız. Getirdiğiniz ganimetin neredeyse hepsi, bu kibar efendilerin kesesine girecektir. Ocağımızın kanunu odur ki, onların içmesi için sadece kan dökmeyecek, ayrıca şu koca Kostantiniye'nin sokaklarında dönüp sizin suratınıza bile bakmadıkları zaman onlara tahammül de edeceksiniz! Şairler mersiye, destan, gazel yazacak. Ne ile mi? Mürekkeple değil elbette! Kanla yazacaklar ve ünlerini ebediyete kadar sürdürecekler! Sizden istenen de bu: Kostantiniye'ye kan getirin! ~ Anonymous,
235: Mes Chants Savent Tout Peindre
Mes chants savent tout peindre; accours, viens les entendre.
Ma voix plaît, Astérie, elle est flexible et tendre.
Philomèle, les bois, les eaux, les pampres verts,
Les muses, le printemps, habitent dans mes vers.
Le baiser dans mes vers étincelle et respire.
La source aux pieds d'argent qui m'arrête et m'inspire
Y roule en murmurant son flot léger et pur.
Souvent avec les cieux il se pare d'azur.
Le souffle insinuant, qui frémit sous l'ombrage,
Voltige dans mes vers comme dans le feuillage.
Mes vers sont parfumés et de myrte et de fleurs,
Soit les fleurs dont l'été ranime les couleurs,
Soit celles que seize ans, été plus doux encore,
Sur une belle joue ont l'art de faire éclore.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
236:Mi manera de definir el amor entre dos amigos, el amor entre dos hermanos, el amor entre padres e hijos, el amor en una pareja, el amor:
Quiero que me oigas sin juzgarme.
Quiero que opines sin aconsejarme.
Quiero que confíes en mí sin exigirme.
Quiero que me ayudes sin intentar decidir por mí.
Quiero que me cuides sin anularme.
Quiero que me mires sin proyectar tus cosas en mí.
Quiero que me abraces sin asfixiarme.
Quiero que me animes sin empujarme.
Quiero que me sostengas sin hacerte cargo de mí.
Quiero que me protejas sin mentiras.
Quiero que te acerques sin invadirme.
Quiero que conozcas las cosas mías que más te disgusten.
Quiero que las aceptes y no pretendas cambiarlas.
Quiero que sepas que hoy contás conmigo...
Sin condiciones. ~ Jorge Bucay,
237:Mavi Gözlü Dev, Minnacık Kadın ve Hanımelleri
O mavi gözlü bir devdi.
Minnacık bir kadın sevdi.
Kadının hayali minnacık bir evdi,
açan bir ev.
Bir dev gibi seviyordu dev.
Ve elleri öyle büyük işler için
hazırlanmıştı ki devin,
O mavi gözlü bir devdi.
Minnacık bir kadın sevdi.
Mini minnacıktı kadın.
Rahata acıktı kadın
yoruldu devin büyük yolunda.
Ve elveda! deyip mavi gözlü deve,
girdi zengin bir cücenin kolunda
Şimdi anlıyor ki mavi gözlü dev,
dev gibi sevgilere mezar bile olamaz:
açan ev.. ~ N z m Hikmet Ran,
238:After the humiliation of a public head-shaving, the tondues - the shorn women - were often paraded through the streets on the back of a lorry, occasionally to the sound of a drum as if it were a tumbril and France was reliving the revolution of 1789. Some were daubed with tar, some stripped half naked, some marked with swastikas in paint or lipstick. In Bayeux, Churchill's private secretary Jock Colville recorded his reactions to one such scene. "I watched an open lorry drive past, to the accompaniment of boos and catcalls from the French populace, with a dozen miserable women in the back, every hair on their heads shaved off. They were in tears, hanging their heads in shame. While disgusted by this cruelty, I reflected that we British had known no invasion or occupation for some 900 years. So we were not the best judges. ~ Antony Beevor,
239: Elogio Al Aprendizaje
¡Aprende las cosas elementarias!
¡Para aquellos a quienes les ha llegado la hora nunca es demasadio tarde!
Aprende el abecedario. No bastará,
¡pero apréndolo! ¡No dejes que te desanimen!
¡Comienza! Debes saber todo.
Tienes que ser dirigente.
¡Aprende, hombre en el asilo!
¡Aprende, hombre en la prisión!
¡Aprende, mujer en la cocina!
¡Aprende, tú que tienes 60 años!
Tienes que ser dirigente.
¡Busca la esquela, tú que no tienes casa!
¡No tengas miedo de preguntar, camarada!
No dejes que te induzcan a nada.
¡Investiga por ti mismo!
Lo que no sepas tú mismo no lo conoces.
Examina los detalles a fondo;
eres tú él que paga las consequencias.
Pon tu dedo en cada detalle, pregunta: ¿Cómo llegó esto aqui?
Tienes que ser dirigente.
~ Bertolt Brecht,
240:Dilly Onion Rings This is Ellie Kuehn’s recipe. She tried serving it on a sausage pizza out at Bertanelli’s and it was really good! One large mild or sweet onion (a red onion is nice—more colorful) 1/3 cup white (granulated) sugar 2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon fresh baby dill (it’s not as good with dried dill weed) ½ cup white vinegar ¼ cup water 4 large ripe tomatoes as an accompaniment (optional) Cut the onion in thin slices. Separate the slices into rings and put them in a bowl. Combine the sugar, salt, dill, white vinegar, and water. Pour the liquid over the onion rings. Cover the bowl and refrigerate for at least 5 hours, stirring every hour or so. Serving suggestions: Slice large ripe tomatoes and arrange on a platter. Lift the onion rings out of the brine and sprinkle them on top of the tomato slices. Garnish with fresh, chopped ~ Joanne Fluke,
241:Man,” amended Karou, rising and
bending again in mock prayer. “Thank
you, gods, for this man—” She interrupted herself to ask Zuzana, in her normal voice, “Wait. Does that make you a woman?”
She only meant that it was strange to
go from thinking of Zuzana—and herself, too—as a girl to a woman. It just sounded weirdly old. But Zuzana’s response, employing full eyebrow power in the service of lechery, was, “Why, yes, since you ask. This man did make me a woman. It hurt like holy hell at first, but it’s gotten better.” She grinned like an anime character. “So. Much. Better.”
Poor Mik blushed like sunburn, and
Karou clamped her hands over her ears.
“La la la!” she sang, and when Ziri asked her what they were saying, she blushed, too, and did not explain—which only made him blush in turn, when he grasped the probable subject matter. ~ Laini Taylor,
242:Up again to the crest, and still no sight of land. Something that looked like clouds—or could it be ships?—far away on his left. Then, down, down, down—he thought he would never reach the end of it . . . this time he noticed how dim the light was. Such tepid revelry in water—such glorious bathing, as one would have called it on earth, suggested as its natural accompaniment a blazing sun. But here there was no such thing. The water gleamed, the sky burned with gold, but all was rich and dim, and his eyes fed upon it undazzled and unaching. The very names of green and gold, which he used perforce in describing the scene, are too harsh for the tenderness, the muted iridescence, of that warm, maternal, delicately gorgeous world. It was mild to look upon as evening, warm like summer noon, gentle and winning like early dawn. It was altogether pleasurable. He sighed. ~ C S Lewis,
243:She was said to have been tenderly attached to a youth of remarkable beauty, named Atys, who, to her grief and indignation, proved faithless to her. He was about to unite himself to a nymph called Sagaris, when, in the midst of the wedding feast, the rage of the incensed goddess suddenly burst forth upon all present. A panic seized the assembled guests, and Atys, becoming afflicted with temporary madness, fled to the mountains and destroyed himself. Cybele, moved with sorrow and regret, instituted a yearly mourning for his loss, when her priests, the Corybantes, with their usual noisy accompaniments, marched into the mountains to seek the lost youth. Having discovered him they gave full vent to their ecstatic delight by indulging in the most violent gesticulations, dancing, shouting, and, at the same time, wounding and gashing themselves in a frightful manner. ~ Anonymous,
244:Realist olmak hiç de hakikati olduğu gibi görmek değildir. Belki onunla en faydalı şekilde münasebetimizi tâyin etmektir. Hakikati görmüşsün ne çıkar? Kendi başına hiçbir mânası ve kıymeti olmayan bir yığın hüküm vermekten başka neye yarar? İstediğin kadar uzatabileceğin bir eksikler ve ihtiyaçlar listesinden başka ne yapabilirsin? Bir şey değiştirir mi bu? Bilâkis yolundan alıkor seni. Kötümser olursun, apışır kalırsın, ezilirsin. Hakikati olduğu gibi görmek… Yani bozguncu olmak… Evet bozgunculuk denen şey budur, bundan doğar. Siz kelimelerle zehirlenen adamsınız, onun için size eskisiniz, dedim. Yeni adamın realizmi başkadır. Elinde bulunan bu mal, bu nesne ile, onun bu vasıflarıyla ben ne yapabilirim? İşte sorulacak sual. Meselâ bu bahiste en büyük hatanız musikîden, yani mücerret bir fikirden hareket ederek baldızınız hanımefendiyi mütalâa etmenizdir. ~ Ahmet Hamdi Tanp nar,
245:Dunque, pare che alle anime viventi possano toccare due sorti: c'è chi nasce ape, e chi nasce rosa...
Che fa lo sciame delle api, con la sua regina? Va, e ruba a tutte le rose un poco di miele, per portarselo nell'arnia, nelle sue stanzette. E la rosa? La rosa l'ha in se stessa, il proprio miele: miele di rose, il più adorato, il più prezioso! La cosa più dolce che innamora essa l'ha già in se stessa: non le serve cercarla altrove. Ma qualche volta sospirano di solitudine, le rose, questi esseri divini! Le rose ignoranti non capiscono i propri misteri.
La prima di tutte le rose è Dio.
Fra le due: la rosa e l'ape, secondo me, la più fortunata è l'ape. E l'Ape Regina, poi, ha una fortuna sovrana! Io, per esempio, sono nato Ape Regina. E tu, Wilhelm? Secondo me, tu, Wilhelm mio, sei nato col destino più dolce e col destino più amaro:
tu sei l'ape e sei la rosa. ~ Elsa Morante,
246:image and the concept, but merely endures them as accompaniments. The poems of the lyrist can express nothing that did not already lie hidden in that vast universality and absoluteness in the music that compelled him to figurative speech. Language can never adequately render the cosmic symbolism of music, because music stands in symbolic relation to the primordial contradiction and primordial pain in the heart of the primal unity, and therefore symbolizes a sphere which is beyond and prior to all phenomena. Rather, all phenomena, compared with it, are merely symbols: hence language, as the organ and symbol of phenomena, can never by any means disclose the innermost heart of music; language, in its attempt to imitate it, can only be in superficial contact with music; while all the eloquence of lyric poetry cannot bring the deepest significance of the latter one step nearer to us. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
247:Marjan Aminpour slowly sipped at her hot tea and studied the changing horizon. Mornings in Ireland were so different from those of her Persian childhood, she thought, not for the first time. Were she still in the land of her birth, Marjan mused, daybreak would be marked by the crisp sounds of a 'sofreh', the embroidered cloth upon which all meals were enjoyed, flapping over a richly carpeted floor. Once spread, the 'sofreh' would be covered by jars of homemade preserves- rose petal, quince-lime, and sour cherry- as well as pots of orange blossom honey and creamy butter. The jams and honey would sit alongside freshly baked rounds of 'sangak' bread, golden and redolent with crunchy sesame seeds. Piled and teetering like a tower, the 'sangak' was a perfect accompaniment to the platters of garden mint, sweet basil, and feta cheese placed on the 'sofreh', bought fresh from the local bazaar. ~ Marsha Mehran,
248:Gli dobbiamo [a Marx] quest'idea che fa la disperazione del nostro tempo – ma qui la disperazione vale più di qualsiasi speranza – che quando il lavoro è avvilimento, non è vita, sebbene occupi tutto il tempo della vita. Chi, nonostante le pretese di questa società, può dormirvi in pace, sapendo ormai che essa trae i suoi mediocri piaceri dal lavoro di milioni d'anime morte? Esigendo per il lavoratore la vera ricchezza, che non è quella del denaro, ma quella degli svaghi o della creazione, egli ha rivendicato, nonostante le apparenze, la qualità dell'uomo. Facendo questo, lo possiamo affermare con forza, non ha voluto la degradazione supplementare che è stata, in suo nome, imposta all'uomo. Una frase, per una volta chiara e tagliente, rifiuta per sempre ai suoi discepoli trionfanti la grandezza e l'umanità che gli erano proprie. “Un fine che ha bisogno di mezzi ingiusti, non è un fine giusto”. ~ Albert Camus,
249:Biliyorum ki, döktüğünüz kanı siz değil, yalılarda yaşayan ve şiir yazıp sizi hakir gören nazik adamlar içecektir. Kostantiniye'nin kibar insanları kanla beslenir, ama siz değil! Bu yüzden siz onlardan temizsiniz! Ancak kan görünce bayılan ve vahşetten nefret eden bu beyzadeler, sizleri daima ayak takımı olarak gördüler ve göreceklerdir. Onların ruhlarının ve vicdanlarının temiz olması için, bizzat sizler, ellerinizi çamura sokacaksınız. getirdiğiniz ganimetin neredeyse hepsi, bu kibar efendilerin kesesine girecektir. Ocağımızın kanunu odur ki, onların içmesi için sadece kan dökmeyecek, ayrıca şu koca Kostantiniye'nin sokaklarında dönüp sizin suratınıza bile bakmadıkları zaman onlara tahammül de edeceksiniz! Şairler mersiye, destan, gazel yazacak. Ne ile mi? Mürekkeple değil elbette! Kanla yazacaklar ve ünlerini ebediyete kadar sürdürecekler! Sizden istenen de bu: Kostantiniye'ye kan getirin! ~ hsan Oktay Anar,
250:L’harmonie, me disait-il, n’est qu’un accessoire éloigné dans la musique imitative; il n’y a dans l’harmonie proprement dite aucun principe d’imitation. Elle assure, il est vrai, les intonations; elle porte témoignage de leur justesse; et, rendant les modulations plus sensibles, elle ajoute de l’énergie à l’expresson, et de la grâce au chant. Mais c’est de la seule mélodie que sort cette puissance invincible des accents passionés; c’est d’elle que dérive tout le pouvoir de la musique sur l’âme. Formez les plus savantes successions d’accords sans mélange de mélodie, vous serez ennuyés au bout d’un quart d’heure. De beaux chants sans aucune harmonie sont longtemps à l’épreuve de l’ennui. Que l’accent du sentiment anime les chants les plus simples, ils seront intéressants. Au contraire, une mélodie qui ne parle point chante toujours mal, et la seule harmonie n’a jamais rien su dire au coeur. ~ Jean Jacques Rousseau,
251:Adesea, în timpul dezvoltării animei, probabil că tinerii au, în perioada școlară, o prietenă pe care o admiră, însă din cauza vârstei nu se pot căsători cu ea. Se căsătoresc apoi cu un alt tip, pentru ca mai târziu în viață - să zicem între patruzeci și cincizeci de ani - această imagine-anima admirată să revină, jucând, de obicei, rolul interior al celei care conduce la Sine. Acest aspect al animei preia rolul lui Beatrice a lui Dante, și anume cel al călăuzitorului spre secretul interior. Cealaltă parte a animei, proiectată asupra unei femei reale, este cea care îl atrage pe bărbat în căsătorie și viață. Așadar, se poate spune că există un aspect al imaginii-mamă a animei care conduce la căsătoria exogamă și, odată cu asta, de regulă, la angajarea în viața exterioară, și un aspect endogam al aceleiași imagini, care rămâne în interior, devenind mai târziu ghidul spre realizarea vieții interioare. ~ Marie Louise von Franz,
252:Un motto, in sintesi, domina e illumina i nostri studi: <>. Non diciamo che il bravo storico è estraneo alle passioni; ha per lo meno quella. Motto, non nascondiamocelo, carico di difficoltà, ma anche di speranze. Soprattutto, motto carico di amicizia. Persino nell'azione, noi giudichiamo troppo. E' comodo gridare <> Non comprendiamo mai abbastanza. Chi è diverso da noi - straniero, avversario politico - passa, quasi necessariamente, per un cattivo. Anche per condurre le lotte che non si possono evitare, un po' più di intelligenza delle anime sarebbe necessaria; a maggior ragione, per evitarle, quando si è ancora in tempo. La storia, purché rinunci alle sue false arie da arcangelo, deve aiutarci a guarire a questo difetto. Essa è una vasta esperienza delle varietà umane, un luogo di incontro fra gli uomini. La vita, come la scienza, ha tutto da guadagnare dal fatto che questo incontro sia fraterno. ~ Marc Bloch,
253:Personally, I was never more passionate about manga than when preparing for my college entrance exams. It's a period of life when young people appear to have a great deal of freedom, but are in many ways actually opressed. Just when they find themselves powerfully attracted to members of opposite sex, they have to really crack the books. To escape from this depressing situation, they often find themselves wishing they could live in a world of their own - a world they can say is truly theirs, a world unknown even to their parents. To young people, anime is something they incorporate into this private world.
I often refer to this feeling as one yearning for a lost world. It's a sense that although you may currently be living in a world of constraints, if you were free from those constraints, you would be able to do all sorts of things. And it's that feeling, I believe, that makes mid-teens so passionate about anime. ~ Hayao Miyazaki,
254:And the more I thought of what had happened, the wilder and darker it grew. I reviewed the whole extraordinary sequence of events as I rattled on through the silent gas-lit streets. There was the original problem: that at least was pretty clear now. The death of Captain Morstan, the sending of the pearls, the advertisement, the letter,—we had had light upon all those events. They had only led us, however, to a deeper and far more tragic mystery. The Indian treasure, the curious plan found among Morstan's baggage, the strange scene at Major Sholto's death, the rediscovery of the treasure immediately followed by the murder of the discoverer, the very singular accompaniments to the crime, the footsteps, the remarkable weapons, the words upon the card, corresponding with those upon Captain Morstan's chart,—here was indeed a labyrinth in which a man less singularly endowed than my fellow-lodger might well despair of ever finding the clue. ~ Arthur Conan Doyle,
255:Les orientalistes qui soutiennent l’hypothèse d’une origine non musulmane du Soufisme soulignent généralement le fait que la doctrine soufique n’apparaît pas, dans les premiers siècles de l’Islam, avec tous les développements métaphysiques qu’elle comportera par la suite. Mais cette remarque, pour autant qu’elle est valable à l’égard d’une tradition ésotérique – donc se transmettant surtout par un enseignement oral –, prouve le contraire de ce qu’ils prétendent, car les premiers Soufis s’expriment dans un langage très proche du Coran, et leurs expressions concises et synthétiques impliquent déjà tout l’essentiel de la doctrine. Si celle-ci devient, par la suite, plus explicite et plus élaborée, il n’y a là qu’un fait normal et propre à toute tradition spirituelle : la littérature doctrinale augmente, non pas tant par l’apport de nouvelles connaissances que par la nécessité d’endiguer les erreurs et de ranimer une intuition faiblissante. ~ Titus Burckhardt,
256:Finiscila, Jane! Dai troppo peso all'amore degli esseri umani. Sei troppo impulsiva, troppo irruenta. La mano divina che ha creato il tuo corpo, e poi vi ha soffiato dentro la vita, ti ha dotato di risorse che vanno ben oltre la tua fragilità dei tuoi simili. Al di là di questa terra e al di là del genere umano, c'è un mondo invisibile e un regno di anime. Quel mondo è tutto intorno a noi, perché è ovunque, e quelle anime vegliano su di noi, perché hanno il compito di proteggerci. E se stiamo morendo nel dolore e nella vergogna, se il disprezzo ci colpisce da ogni parte e l'odio ci schiaccia, gli angeli vedono i nostri tormenti, riconoscono la nostra innocenza e Dio, per incoronarci della meritata ricompensa, aspetta solo che il nostro spirito si separi dalla carne. E allora perché dobbiamo lasciarci sempre sopraffare dall'angoscia, quando la vita finisce in un attimo e la morte non è altro che un passaggio per la felicità, per la gloria? ~ Charlotte Bront,
257:[Hmmm…Do you know who I was named after?]
I’d say Eva Perón.
—Eva’s from Puerto Rico, Vincent, not Argentina.
[I was named after a robot.]
—That is interesting.
—Oh yeah. You have his attention now.
[I was born on the day of the parade when the EDC was created. My parents were the biggest geeks ever, huge science-fiction fans. Themis was the greatest thing they’d ever seen. They wanted to name me after her, but they somehow thought everyone would start naming their kid Themis, so they named me after another big robot.]
[Yes. Eva’s a common name in Spanish, but apparently, it’s also the name of a giant robot, from a Japanese anime they really liked. It’s old. I never saw it.]
—Eva is for Evangelion? That is so cool!
—Of course, Vincent knows all about it.
—Yeah! It’s awesome! But ours is bigger.
—Eva, I think you have a fan now.
—I…We have it on DVD, you know. ~ Sylvain Neuvel,
258:Is the beauty of the Whole really enhanced by our agony? And is the Whole really beautiful? And what is beauty? Throughout all his existence man has been striving to hear the music of the spheres, and has seemed to himself once and again to catch some phrase of it, or even a hint of the whole form of it. Yet he can never be sure that he has truly heard it, nor even that there is any such perfect music at all to be heard. Inevitably so, for if it exists, it is not for him in his littleness. But one thing is certain. Man himself, at the very least, is music, a brave theme that makes music also of its vast accompaniment, its matrix of storms and stars. Man himself in his degree is eternally a beauty in the eternal form of things. It is very good to have been man. And so we may go forward together with laughter in our hearts, and peace, thankful for the past, and for our own courage. For we shall make after all a fair conclusion to this brief music that is man. ~ Olaf Stapledon,
259:Nowhere can I think so happily as in a train. I am not inspired; nothing so uncomfortable as that. I am never seized with a sudden idea for a masterpiece, nor form a sudden plan for some new enterprise. My thoughts are just pleasantly reflective. I think of all the good deeds I have done, and (when these give out) of all the good deeds I am going to do. I look out of the window and say lazily to myself, “How jolly to live there”; and a little farther on, “How jolly not to live there.” I see a cow, and I wonder what it is like to be a cow, and I wonder whether the cow wonders what it is to be like me; and perhaps, by this time, we have passed on to a sheep, and I wonder if it is more fun being a sheep. My mind wanders on in a way which would annoy Pelman a good deal, but it wanders on quite happily, and the “clankety-clank” of the train adds a very soothing accompaniment. So soothing, indeed, that at any moment I can close my eyes and pass into a pleasant state of sleep. ~ A A Milne,
260: Stages (Scenes)
Ancient Comedy pursues its harmonies and divides its Idylls:
Raised platforms along the boulevards.
A long wooden pier the length of a rocky field in which
the barbarous crowd moves about under the denuded trees.
In corridors of black gauze, following the promenades
with their lanterns and their leaves.
Birds of the mysteries swoop down onto a masonry pontoon,
swayed by the sheltered archipelago of spectators' boats.
Operatic scenes with accompaniment of flute and drum
look down from slanting recesses contrived below
the ceilings around modern club rooms and halls of ancient Orient.
The fairy spectacle maneuvers at the top of an amphitheater
crowned with thickets,-- or moves and modulates for the Boeotians
in the shade of waving forest trees, on the edge of the cultivated fields.
The opera-comique is divided on a stage at the line of intersection
of ten partitions set up between the gallery and the footlights.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
261: La Frivolite
Mère du vain caprice et du léger prestige,
La fantaisie ailée autour d'elle voltige,
Nymphe au corps ondoyant, né de lumière et d'air,
Qui, mieux que l'onde agile ou le rapide éclair,
Ou la glace inquiète au soleil présentée,
S'allume en un instant, purpurine, argentée,
Ou s'enflamme de rose, ou pétille d'azur.
Un vol la précipite, inégal et peu sûr.
La déesse jamais ne connut d'autre guide.
Les Rêves transparents, troupe vaine et fluide,
D'un vol étincelant caressent ses lambris.
Auprès d'elle à toute heure elle occupe les Ris.
L'un pétrit les baisers des bouches embaumées;
L'autre, le jeune éclat des lèvres enflammées;
L'autre, inutile et seul, au bout d'un chalumeau
En globe aérien souffle une goutte d'eau.
La reine, en cette cour qu'anime la folie,
Va, vient, chante, se tait, regarde, écoute, oublie,
Et, dans mille cristaux qui portent son palais,
Rit de voir mille fois étinceler ses traits.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
262:Now the leaders of the Nazi Third Reich regarded war as the natural state of human society and extermination as a desirable way of establishing the dominance of their national organization and their ideology over rival systems. The enslavement or extermination of inferior groups or nations thus became the appointed duty of those who accepted their doctrine of 'Aryan' superiority. Only in the atmosphere of constant war could totalitarian leaders command the absolute obedience and unqualified loyalty necessary for the smooth operation of such a megamachine.
In conformity with these aberrations, systematic violence, brutality, torture, and sexual corruption were treated as normal, even desirable accompaniments of the 'new order.' And though all these features were openly present from the beginning, many otherwise decent people, in other countries besides Germany, openly hailed this regime as 'The Wave of the Future,' though when one examines either its doctrines or its acts, one can find in Nazism only the sewage-laden backwash of the past. ~ Lewis Mumford,
263:While the Gregorian chant in its afterlife has flourished as the authentic music of the Roman Church, its original character still remains in doubt. Not until the twentieth century did the Gregorian chant come back into its own. The old melodies had been mutilated into a monotonous plainchant to facilitate organ accompaniment. In 1889 the scholarly Benedictine monks of Solesmes in France undertook to rediscover the medieval practice. Their product was numerous volumes of “Gregorian chants” in a free-flowing nonrhythmic style. By 1903 they had recaptured the Gregorian chant to the satisfaction of Pope Pius X, himself a scholar of musical history, who established their versions of the Gregorian melodies by his encyclical motu proprio. But the rhythms still remain a puzzle. Pius X’s purified Gregorian chant banned the “theatrical style” of recitation, forbade the use of instruments, replaced women by boys in the church choir, and restricted the use of the organ. A Vatican Edition provided an authorized corpus of plainchant, which would prevail in the modern Catholic world. ~ Daniel J Boorstin,
264:And yet here they were. He looked at Aurora’s assistants, hovering over the bank of machines against the wall. He hoped the treatment would work, that it would not kill or derange him. They slipped their preparation into his blood using a hollow needle that they inserted painlessly into his skin—an ugly little experience. He held his breath as they did this, and when he finally exhaled and inhaled, the world ballooned. He saw immediately that he was thinking several trains of thought at once, and they all meshed in a contrapuntal fugue that his father would have very much enjoyed hearing, if it were music, which in a sense it seemed to be: a polyphonic singing of his ideas, each strand taking its part in the larger music. To a certain extent his thinking had always felt that way, with any number of accompaniments running under the aria of the voice of thought. Now these descants were choral, and loud, while at the same time architectonically fitted to the melody. He could think six or ten thoughts at once, and at the same time think about his thinking, and contemplate the whole score. ~ Kim Stanley Robinson,
265:The oldest of the three Abrahamic religions, and the clear ancestor of the other two, is Judaism: originally a tribal cult of a single fiercely unpleasant God, morbidly obsessed with sexual restrictions, with the smell of charred flesh, with his own superiority over rival gods and with the exclusiveness of his chosen desert tribe. During the Roman occupation of Palestine, Christianity was founded by Paul of Tarsus as a less ruthlessly monotheistic sect of Judaism and a less exclusive one, which looked outwards from the Jews to the rest of the world. Several centuries later, Muhammad and his followers reverted to the uncompromising monotheism of the Jewish original, but not its exclusiveness, and founded Islam upon a new holy book, the Koran or Qur’an, adding a powerful ideology of military conquest to spread the faith. Christianity, too, was spread by the sword, wielded first by Roman hands after the Emperor Constantine raised it from eccentric cult to official religion, then by the Crusaders, and later by the conquistadors and other European invaders and colonists, with missionary accompaniment. ~ Richard Dawkins,
266:Per alcuni, l'autunno viene presto, e permane per tutta la vita, quando ottobre segue settembre, e novembre tocca ottobre, e poi, invece di dicembre e del natale, non c'è la stella di Betlemme, non c'è letizia, ma ritorna settembre e il vecchio ottobre, e così via, per tutti gli anni, senza inverno, senza primavera, senza estate vivificatrice. Per questi esseri, l'autunno è la stagione normale, l'unica stagione, e non c'è per loro altra scelta. Da dove vengono? Dalla polvere. Dove vanno? Verso la tomba. È sangue che scorre nelle loro vene? No: è il vento della notte. Che cosa pulsa nella loro testa? Il verme. Che cosa parla attraverso le loro bocche? Il rospo. Che cosa guarda attraverso i loro occhi? Il serpente. Che cosa ode attraverso le loro orecchie? L'abisso tra le stelle. Scatenano il temporale umano per le anime, divorano la carne della ragione, riempiono le tombe di peccatori. Si agitano freneticamente. Corrono come scarafaggi, strisciano, tessono, filtrano, si agitano, fanno oscurare tutte le lune, e rannuvolano le acque chiare. La ragnatela li ode, trema.. si spezza. Questo è il popolo dell'autunno. Guardatevi da loro. ~ Ray Bradbury,
267:Entro Kriztina y aquel salon oscuro se inundo de luz. No solamente irradiaba juventud, no. Irradiaba pasion y orgullo, la conciencia soberana de unos sentimientos incondicionales. No he conocido a ninguna otra persona que fuera capaz de responder asi, de una manera tan plena, a todo lo que el mundo y la vida le daban: a la musica, a un paseo matutino por el bosque, al color y al perfume de una flor, a la palabra justa y sabia de otra persona. Nadie sabia tocar como ella una tela exquisita o un animal, de esa manera suya que lo abarcaba todo. No he conocido a nadie que fuera capaz de alegrarse como ella de las cosas sencillas de la vida: personas y animales, estrellas y libros, todo le interesaba, y su interes no se basaba en la altivez, en la pretension de convertirse en experta, sino que se aproximaba a todo lo que la vida le daba con la alegria incondicional de una criatura que ha nacido al mundo para disfrutarlo todo. Como si estuviera en conexion intima con cada criatura, con cada fenomenos del universo... comprendes lo que quiero decir? Claro, seguramente lo comprendes. Era directa, espontanea y ecuanime, y tambien habia en ella humildad, como si sintiera constantemente que la vida es un regalo lleno de gracia. ~ S ndor M rai,
268:In short, from its earliest point of development on, under the myth of divine kingship, the demoralizing accompaniments of unlimited power were revealed in both legend and recorded history. But these defects were for long overlaid by the exorbitant hopes the 'invisible machine' awakened. Though a multitude of single inventions for long lay beyond the scope of the collective machine, which could provide only partial and clumsy substitutes, the fundamental animus behind these inventions-the effort to conquer space and time, to speed transportation and communication, to expand human energy through the use of cosmic forces, to vastly increase industrial productivity, to over-stimulate consumption, and to establish a system of absolute centralized control over both nature and man-all had been planted and richly nurtured in the soil of fantasy during the first end of the megamachine.
Some of the seeds shot up at once in riotous growth: others required five thousand years before they were ready to sprout. When that happened, the divine king would appear again in a new form. And the same infantile ambitions would accompany him, inflated beyond any previous dimension different only because they were at last realizable. ~ Lewis Mumford,
269:It was G. K. Chesterton who kept alive the spirit of Kierkegaard and naïve Christianity in modern thought, as when he showed with such style that the characteristics the modern mind prides itself on are precisely those of madness.46 There is no one more logical than the lunatic, more concerned with the minutiae of cause and effect. Madmen are the greatest reasoners we know, and that trait is one of the accompaniments of their undoing. All their vital processes are shrunken into the mind. What is the one thing they lack that sane men possess? The ability to be careless, to disregard appearances, to relax and laugh at the world. They can’t unbend, can’t gamble their whole existence, as did Pascal, on a fanciful wager. They can’t do what religion has always asked: to believe in a justification of their lives that seems absurd. The neurotic knows better: he is the absurd, but nothing else is absurd; it is “only too true.” But faith asks that man expand himself trustingly into the nonlogical, into the truly fantastic. This spiritual expansion is the one thing that modern man finds most difficult, precisely because he is constricted into himself and has nothing to lean on, no collective drama that makes fantasy seem real because it is lived and shared. ~ Ernest Becker,
270:C'est-à-dire que vous ne soupçonniez pas qu'il y eût d'autre nourriture que le lait qui est cependant une nourriture aussi substantielle que les autres. Car le Verbe est tour à tour doux et fluide comme le lait, tour à tour 33 compacte et resserré comme les autres aliments. En y réfléchissant bien, nous comparerons le lait à la prédication de la parole divine qui coule et se répand de tous côtés, et la nourriture solide à la foi qui, aidée de l'instruction, devient le fondement inébranlable de toutes nos actions. Par cette nourriture, notre âme se change pour ainsi dire en un corps ferme et solide. Telle est la nourriture dont le Seigneur nous parle dans l'évangile selon saint Jean, lorsqu'il nous dit :
« Mangez ma chair et buvez mon sang. »
Cette nourriture est l'image évidente de la foi et de la promesse. Par ce breuvage et cet aliment, l'Église, semblable à un homme formé de plusieurs membres, est arrosée et solidifiée. Elle nourrit son corps et son âme : son corps, de foi; son âme, d'espérance. Elle devient comme le Seigneur, qui est un composé de chair et de sang. L'espérance est le sang de la foi, c'est elle qui l'anime et la fait vivre dans notre âme. Détruisez l'espérance, la vie de la foi s'éteint comme celle d'un homme qui perd son sang. ~ Clement of Alexandria,
271: Jeune Fille, Ton Coeur Avec Nous
Jeune fille, ton coeur avec nous veut se taire.
Tu fuis, tu ne ris plus; rien ne saurait te plaire.
La soie à tes travaux offre en vain des couleurs;
L'aiguille sous tes doigts n'anime plus des fleurs.
Tu n'aimes qu'à rêver, muette, seule, errante,
Et la rose pâlit sur ta bouche expirante.
Ah! mon oeil est savant et depuis plus d'un jour;
Et ce n'est pas à moi qu'on peut cacher l'amour.
Les belles font aimer; elles aiment. Les belles
Nous charment tous. Heureux qui peut être aimé d'elles!
Sois tendre, même faible; on doit l'être un moment;
Fidèle, si tu peux. Mais conte-moi comment,
Quel jeune homme aux yeux bleus, empressé, sans audace,
Aux cheveux noirs, au front plein de charme et de grâce...
Tu rougis? On dirait que je t'ai dit son nom.
Je le connais pourtant. Autour de ta maison
C'est lui qui va, qui vient; et, laissant ton ouvrage,
Tu vas, sans te montrer, épier son passage.
Il fuit vite; et ton oeil, sur sa trace accouru,
Le suit encor longtemps quand il a disparu.
Certe, en ce bois voisin où trois fêtes brillantes
Font courir au printemps nos nymphes triomphantes,
Nul n'a sa noble aisance et son habile main
A soumettre un coursier aux volontés du frein.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
272:How shall the burial rite be read? The solemn song be sung? The requiem for the loveliest dead, That ever died so young? Her friends are gazing on her, And on her gaudy bier, And weep! — oh! to dishonor Dead beauty with a tear! They loved her for her wealth — And they hated her for her pride — But she grew in feeble health, And they love her — that she died. They tell me (while they speak Of her “costly broider’d pall”) That my voice is growing weak — That I should not sing at all — Or that my tone should be Tun’d to such solemn song So mournfully — so mournfully, That the dead may feel no wrong. But she is gone above, With young Hope at her side, And I am drunk with love Of the dead, who is my bride. — Of the dead — dead who lies All perfum’d there, With the death upon her eyes, And the life upon her hair. Thus on the coffin loud and long I strike — the murmur sent Through the grey chambers to my song, Shall be the accompaniment. Thou died’st in thy life’s June — But thou did’st not die too fair: Thou did’st not die too soon, Nor with too calm an air. From more than fiends on earth, Thy life and love are riven, To join the untainted mirth Of more than thrones in heaven — Therefore, to thee this night I will no requiem raise, But waft thee on thy flight, With a Pæan of old days. ~ Edgar Allan Poe,
273:Se amava quel viso non indulgente, era perché era netto, espressivo e risoluto.
Vedeva, o gli sembrava di vedere, come tali qualità fossero state mascherate o soffocate da atteggiamenti più convenzionali: una modestia simulata, un'appropriata pazienza, un disprezzo che si spacciava per calma. Al suo peggio - oh, lui la vedeva chiaramente, malgrado la possessione che esercitava su di lui - al suo peggio guardava in basso e di traverso e sorrideva timidamente, e questo sorriso era quasi una smorfia meccanica, perché era una bugia, una convenzione, un breve forzato riconoscimento delle aspettative del mondo. Lu aveva visto subito, così gli pareva, ciò che lei era in essenza, seduta alla tavola di Crabb Robinson ad ascoltare dispute maschili, credendosi osservatrice inosservata. Se, rifletté, la maggior parte degli uomini avesse visto la durezza e la fierezza e la tirannia, sì, la tirannia di quel volto, se ne sarebbe ritratta. Il suo destino sarebbe stato di essere amata solo da timidi inetti, segretamente desiderosi che lei li punisse o li comandasse, o da anime candide, convinte che la fredda aria di delicato riserbo esprimesse una sorta di purezza femminile che tutti a quei tempi facevano mostra di desiderare. Ma lui aveva capito immediatamente che lei era per lui, che lei aveva qualcosa in comune con lui, lei com'era veramente o avrebbe potuto essere, se fosse stata libera. ~ A S Byatt,
274: A Paean
How shall the burial rite be read?
The solemn song be sung?
The requiem for the loveliest dead,
That ever died so young?
Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep! - oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!
They loved her for her wealth And they hated her for her pride But she grew in feeble health,
And they love her - that she died.
They tell me (while they speak
Of her 'costly broider'd pall')
That my voice is growing weak That I should not sing at all V.
Or that my tone should be
Tun'd to such solemn song
So mournfully - so mournfully,
That the dead may feel no wrong.
But she is gone above,
With young Hope at her side,
And I am drunk with love
Of the dead, who is my bride. -
Of the dead - dead who lies
All perfum'd there,
With the death upon her eyes,
And the life upon her hair.
Thus on the coffin loud and long
I strike - the murmur sent
Through the grey chambers to my song,
Shall be the accompaniment.
Thou died'st in thy life's June But thou did'st not die too fair:
Thou did'st not die too soon,
Nor with too calm an air.
From more than fiends on earth,
Thy life and love are riven,
To join the untainted mirth
Of more than thrones in heaven XII.
Therefore, to thee this night
I will no requiem raise,
But waft thee on thy flight,
With a Pæan of old days.
~ Edgar Allan Poe,
275:Per capire una città bisogna conoscerne l'anima. Imbevuta del passato e in costante trasformazione, l'anima di una città rimane strettamente legata alla sua fisicità e alle azioni di quanti la amministrano. A volte ci si innamora o si ha disgusto di un posto dal primo momento : in un caso come nell'altro, è raro che questa prima impressione porti alla scoperta dell'anima. Le anime sono pudiche, rifuggono la ribalta e perfino la conversazione. Bisogna scovarle. Comunicano attraverso uno sguardo, un gesto, una parola. Quelle delle città comunicano attraverso le pietre, le piante, le strutture urbane, la folla e i singoli abitanti. La conoscenza di una città può avvenire per mezzo di libri, giornali, televisione, oltre che con l'osservazione diretta. Raramente, comunque, l'anima di una città si rivela per caso. Le città che si presentano al visitatore frontalmente, nella propria nudità, sono spesso false : costituiscono la difesa della città che sta sotto. Ciò non toglie che in certi casi la loro anima possa essere talmente forte e imperiosa da manifestarsi come tale al primo impatto.
In una città nuova, mi lascio andare ai sensi e al caso. Senza pensare a niente, cammino, mi guardo intorno, mi unisco a una piccola folla curiosa, prendo i mezzi pubblici, compro il cibo di strada e mangio nei posti meno frequentati. Faccio una sosta, seduta su una panchina in un parco, bevendo una bibita in un caffè o appoggiata alla facciata di un edificio, come una mosca su un muro : e da lì osservo, odoro, ascolto. Se sono fortunata, piano piano l'anima del luogo mi si rivela. ~ Simonetta Agnello Hornby,
276:In Middlemarch a wife could not long remain ignorant that the town held a bad opinion of her husband. No feminine intimate might carry her friendship so far as to make a plain statement to the wife of the unpleasant fact known or believed about her husband; but when a woman with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly employed on something grievously disadvantageous to her neighbors, various moral impulses were called into play which tended to stimulate utterance. Candor was one. To be candid, in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to use an early opportunity of letting your friends know that you did not take a cheerful view of their capacity, their conduct, or their position; and a robust candor never waited to be asked for its opinion. Then, again, there was the love of truth--a wide phrase, but meaning in this relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier than her husband's character warranted, or manifest too much satisfaction in her lot--the poor thing should have some hint given her that if she knew the truth she would have less complacency in her bonnet, and in light dishes for a supper-party. Stronger than all, there was the regard for a friend's moral improvement, sometimes called her soul, which was likely to be benefited by remarks tending to gloom, uttered with the accompaniment of pensive staring at the furniture and a manner implying that the speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from regard to the feelings of her hearer. On the whole, one might say that an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous mind to make a neighbor unhappy for her good. ~ George Eliot,
277:Je me suis figuré qu’une femme devait faire plus de cas de son âme que de son corps, contre l’usage général qui veut qu’elle permette qu’on l’aime avant d’avouer qu’elle aime, et qu’elle abandonne ainsi le trésor de son coeur avant de consentir à la plus légère prise sur celui de sa beauté. J’ai voulu, oui, voulu absolument tenter de renverser cette marche uniforme ; la nouveauté est ma rage. Ma fantaisie et ma paresse, les seuls dieux dont j’aie jamais encensé les autels, m’ont vainement laissé parcourir le monde, poursuivi par ce bizarre dessein ; rien ne s’offrait à moi. Peut-être je m’explique mal. J’ai eu la singulière idée d’être l’époux d’une femme avant d’être son amant. J’ai voulu voir si réellement il existait une âme assez orgueilleuse pour demeurer fermée lorsque les bras sont ouverts, et livrer la bouche à des baisers muets ; vous concevez que je ne craignais que de trouver cette force à la froideur. Dans toutes les contrées qu’aime le soleil, j’ai cherché les traits les plus capables de révéler qu’une âme ardente y était enfermée : j’ai cherché la beauté dans tout son éclat, cet amour qu’un regard fait naître ; j’ai désiré un visage assez beau pour me faire oublier qu’il était moins beau que l’être invisible qui l’anime ; insensible à tout, j’ai résisté à tout,... excepté à une femme, – à vous, Laurette, qui m’apprenez que je me suis un peu mépris dans mes idées orgueilleuses ; à vous, devant qui je ne voulais soulever le masque qui couvre ici-bas les hommes qu’après être devenu votre époux. – Vous me l’avez arraché, je vous supplie de me pardonner, si j’ai pu vous offenser.
( Le prince ) ~ Alfred de Musset,
278:At length, giving it up as hopeless, by hanging up the receiver once and for all, I stifled the convulsions of this vociferous stump which kept up its chatter until the last moment, and went in search of the operator, who told me to wait a little; then I spoke, and, after a few seconds of silence, suddenly I heard that voice which I supposed myself, mistakenly, to know so well; for always until then, every time that my grandmother had talked to me, I had been accustomed to follow what she was saying on the open score of her face, in which the eyes figured so largely; but her voice itself I was hearing this afternoon for the first time. And because that voice appeared to me to have altered in its proportions from the moment that it was a whole, and reached me in this way alone and without the accompaniment of her face and features, I discovered for the first time how sweet that voice was; perhaps, too, it had never been so sweet, for my grandmother, knowing me to be alone and unhappy, felt that she might let herself go in the outpouring of an affection which, on her principle of education, she usually restrained and kept hidden. It was sweet, but also how sad it was, first of all on account of its very sweetness, a sweetness drained almost—more than any but a few human voices can ever have been—of every element of resistance to others, of all selfishness; fragile by reason of its delicacy it seemed at every moment ready to break, to expire in a pure flow of tears; then, too, having it alone beside me, seen, without the mask of her face, I noticed for the first time the sorrows that had scarred it in the course of a lifetime. ~ Marcel Proust,
279:There is humility in confession. A recognition of flaws. To hear myself say out loud these shameful secrets meant I acknowledged my flaws. I also for the first time was given the opportunity to contextualize anew the catalogue of beliefs and prejudices, simply by exposing them to another, for the first time hearing the words ‘Yes, but have you looked at it this way?’ This was a helpful step in gaining a new perspective on my past, and my past was a significant proportion of who I believed myself to be. It felt like I had hacked into my own past. Unravelled all the erroneous and poisonous information I had unconsciously lived with and lived by and with necessary witness, the accompaniment of another man, reset the beliefs I had formed as a child and left unamended through unnecessary fear. Suddenly my fraught and freighted childhood became reasonable and soothed. ‘My mum was doing her best, so was my dad.’ Yes, people made mistakes but that’s what humans do, and I am under no obligation to hoard these errors and allow them to clutter my perception of the present. Yes, it is wrong that I was abused as a child but there is no reason for me to relive it, consciously or unconsciously, in the way I conduct my adult relationships. My perceptions of reality, even my own memories, are not objective or absolute, they are a biased account and they can be altered. It is possible to reprogram your mind. Not alone, because a tendency, a habit, an addiction will always reassert by its own invisible momentum, like a tide. With this program, with the support of others, and with this mysterious power, this new ability to change, we achieve a new perspective, and a new life. ~ Russell Brand,
280:No obstante, todas se centran en algunos elementos importantes: Acuerdo: Crea seguridad desde la primera frase. Se consigue mediante oraciones genéricas reconocidas por la mayoría. Son ideas en las que puede comentar algo como: "Todos estamos de acuerdo en que el precio del gas no para de subir". Contexto: Traslada los puntos acordados a un lugar específico. Proporciona a la audiencia una base para la explicación y les permite saber por qué debería importarles. Por ejemplo, podría decir: "Cada vez destina al transporte una cantidad mayor del dinero que gana con tanto esfuerzo". Historia: Aplica las ideas generales a una narración que cuenta la experiencia de una persona que haya cambiado de parecer y las emociones que la han acompañado. "Les presento a Sally. Está cansada de pagar tanto por el gas y quiere alternativas. Esto es lo que ha encontrado". Conexiones: Suelen acompañar a una historia. Son analogías y metáforas que relacionan nuevas ideas con algo que ya se entiende. "Sally podría pensar que coger el autobús era como una multitarea porque podía trabajar y desplazarse al mismo tiempo". Descripciones: Son comunicaciones directas que se centran más en el cómo que en el porqué. "Sally descubrió que podía ahorrar más de 20 euros semanales cogiendo el bus tres veces a la semana". Conclusión: Envuelve el paquete con un resumen de lo aprendido y ofrece el siguiente paso centrándose en la audiencia. "La próxima vez que el precio del gas le desanime, recuerde...". Los ejemplos anteriores son una guía de nivel avanzado que analizaremos con más detenimiento en los siguientes capítulos. De momento, es importante considerar estos elementos como los peldaños de una explicación, en los que cada paso traslada a la audiencia de la "A" a la "Z", pero siempre con seguridad. 6. ~ Lee LeFever,
281:So long as we have wage slavery," answered Schliemann, "it matters not in the least how debasing and repulsive a task may be, it is easy to find people to perform it. But just as soon as labor is set free, then the price of such work will begin to rise. So one by one the old, dingy, and unsanitary factories will come down— it will be cheaper to build new; and so the steamships will be provided with stoking machinery , and so the dangerous trades will be made safe, or substitutes will be found for their products. In exactly the same way, as the citizens of our Industrial Republic become refined, year by year the cost of slaughterhouse products will increase; until eventually those who want to eat meat will have to do their own killing— and how long do you think the custom would survive then?— To go on to another item— one of the necessary accompaniments of capitalism in a democracy is political corruption; and one of the consequences of civic administration by ignorant and vicious politicians, is that preventable diseases kill off half our population. And even if science were allowed to try, it could do little, because the majority of human beings are not yet human beings at all, but simply machines for the creating of wealth for others. They are penned up in filthy houses and left to rot and stew in misery, and the conditions of their life make them ill faster than all the doctors in the world could heal them; and so, of course, they remain as centers of contagion , poisoning the lives of all of us, and making happiness impossible for even the most selfish. For this reason I would seriously maintain that all the medical and surgical discoveries that science can make in the future will be of less importance than the application of the knowledge we already possess, when the disinherited of the earth have established their right to a human existence. ~ Upton Sinclair,
282:Do you know anything
about silent films?”
“Sure,” I said. “The first ones were developed in the late
nineteenth century and sometimes had live musical
accompaniment, though it wasn’t until the 1920s that sound
become truly incorporated into films, eventually making
silent ones obsolete in cinema.”
Bryan gaped, as though that was more than he’d been
expecting. “Oh. Okay. Well, um, there’s a silent film festival
downtown next week. Do you think you’d want to go?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I respect it as an
art form but really don’t get much out of watching them.”
“Huh. Okay.” He smoothed his hair back again, and I
could almost see him groping for thoughts. Why on earth
was he asking me about silent films? “What about Starship
30? It opens Friday. Do you want to see that?”
“I don’t really like sci-fi either,” I said. It was true, I found it
Bryan looked ready to rip that shaggy hair out. “Is there
any movie out there you want to see?”
I ran through a mental list of current entertainment. “No.
Not really.” The bell rang, and with a shake of his head,
Bryan slunk back to his desk. “That was weird,” I muttered.
“He has bad taste in movies.” Glancing beside me, I was
startled to see Julia with her head down on her desk while
she shook with silent laughter. “What?”
“That,” she gasped. “That was hilarious.”
“What?” I said again. “Why?”
“Sydney, he was asking you out!”
I replayed the conversation. “No, he wasn’t. He was
asking me about cinema.”
She was laughing so hard that she had to wipe away a
tear. “So he could find out what you wanted to see and take
“Well, why didn’t he just say that?”
“You are so adorably oblivious,” she said. “I hope I’m
around the day you actually notice someone is interested in
you.” I continued to be mystified, and she spent the rest of
class bursting out with spontaneous giggles. ~ Richelle Mead,
283:Later on, towards the middle of my life, I grew more and more opposed to alcoholic drinks: I, an opponent of vegetarianism, who have experienced what vegetarianism is, — just as Wagner, who converted me back to meat, experienced it, — cannot with sufficient earnestness advise all more spiritual natures to abstain absolutely from alcohol. Water answers the purpose. . . . I have a predilection in favour of those places where in all directions one has opportunities of drinking from running brooks. In vino Veritas: it seems that here once more I am at variance with the rest of the world about the concept 'Truth' — with me spirit moves on the face of the waters. . . . Here are a few more indications as to my morality. A heavy meal is digested more easily than an inadequate one. The first principle of a good digestion is that the stomach should become active as a whole. A man ought, therefore, to know the size of his stomach. For the same reasons all those interminable meals, which I call interrupted sacrificial feasts, and which are to be had at any table d'hôte, are strongly to be deprecated. Nothing should be eaten between meals, coffee should be given up — coffee makes one gloomy. Tea is beneficial only in the morning. It should be taken in small quantities, but very strong. It may be very harmful, and indispose you for the whole day, if it be taken the least bit too weak. Everybody has his own standard in this matter, often between the narrowest and most delicate limits. In an enervating climate tea is not a good beverage with which to start the day: an hour before taking it an excellent thing is to drink a cup of thick cocoa, feed from oil. Remain seated as little as possible, put no trust in any thought that is not born in the open, to the accompaniment of free bodily motion — nor in one in which even the muscles do not celebrate a feast. All prejudices take their origin in the intestines. A sedentary life, as I have already said elsewhere, is the real sin against the Holy Spirit. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
284:You have no idea where Anne’s office is?” I asked, grouchy and beyond footsore, seriously envying Jack’s completely healed feet. We’d already been here for an hour and had nothing to show for it other than a few close calls with security patrols. I’d figured since I couldn’t check every room for Raquel, searching Anne-Whatever Whatever’s office for records was my next best bet.
“Surprisingly enough, I do not make a habit of concerning myself with the locations of offices of people I neither know nor care anything for.”
“I thought you had some big vendetta against IPCA for controlling you.”
“Have you seen anyone who ever once used my name against me? Present company excepted.”
I frowned, checking around a corner to a hall that was, as usual, empty. This was so much less exciting than I had been afraid it would be. Reth walked calmly forward, never pausing, never frantically checking over his shoulder.
I wondered what he did to those poor suckers who had trapped him with his true name. I almost asked, but honestly, I didn’t really want to know. “Wait—you didn’t do anything to Raquel.” I inwardly cringed. Raquel had used his name against him, and there I went reminding him.
“Hmm. An uncharacteristic oversight.”
I snorted. “Yeah, mister always has a plan, you’re constantly missing details.” I shouldn’t push the issue lest I convince him that he still had some vengeance waiting, but I couldn’t help it. It was so unlike him.
He waved an elegant hand through the air as though brushing off my observation. “Some things are beneath my attention.”
He stopped short, and I walked a few paces before realizing he wasn’t beside me anymore. I turned and found myself sucked into his golden gaze.
“You are quite blind sometimes, my love.”
“What do you mean by that?” I snapped. Then my jaw dropped as he actually rolled his perfect, gigantic-bordering-on-anime golden eyes. That was so not a faerie gesture. “You just rolled your eyes!”
“It would appear you are a negative influence after all. ~ Kiersten White,
285:The remaining chain swung down, he wrenched the door out and he was free. The last thing he heard behind him was the oncoming stomp of running feet.
Now began flight, that excruciating accompaniment to both the sleep-dream and the drug-dream as well. Down endless flights of stairs that seemed to have increased decimally since he had come up them so many days before. Four, fourteen, forty - there seemed no end to them, no bottom. Round and round he went, hand slapping at the worn guard-rail only at the turns to keep from bulleting head-on into the wall each time. The clamor had come out onto a landing high above him now, endless miles above him; a thin voice came shouting down the stair-well, "There he is! See him down there?" raising the hue and cry to the rest of the pack. Footsteps started cannonading down after him, like avenging thunder from on high. They only added wings to his effortless, almost cascading waterlike flight.
Like a drunk, he was incapable of hurting himself. At one turning he went off his feet and rippled down the whole succeeding flight of stair-ribs like a wriggling snake. Then he got up again and plunged ahead, without consciousness of pain or smart. The whole staircase-structure seemed to hitch crazily from side to side with the velocity of his descent, but it was really he that was hitching. But behind him the oncoming thunder kept gaining.
Then suddenly, after they'd kept on for hours, the stairs suddenly ended, he'd reached bottom at last. He tore out through a square of blackness at the end of the entrance-hall, and the kindly night received him, took him to itself - along with countless other things that stalk and kill and are dangerous if crossed.
He had no knowledge of where he was; if he'd ever had, he'd lost it long ago. The drums of pursuit were still beating a rolling tattoo inside the tenement. He chose a direction at random, fled down the deserted street, the wand of light from a wan street-lamp flicking him in passing, so fast did he scurry by beneath it. ~ Cornell Woolrich,
286:early years at Time, I was assigned to work under the national affairs editor, Otto Friedrich, a wry man with a bushy red mustache who seemed perpetually amused by himself. He taught me a wonderful insight about journalism and later biography: Obscure facts and pieces of colorful detail, even though they may seem trivial, provide the texture and verisimilitude that make for a great narrative. It was something that Plutarch noted at the beginning of his Lives: “Sometimes a matter of lesser moment, an expression or a jest, informs us better of their character and inclinations, than the most famous sieges.” Friedrich had expanded on the notion in a piece he titled “There Are 00 Trees in Russia.” The “00” referred to the way a newsmagazine writer sticks in “00” or “TK” as a placeholder for a fact and then lets a researcher fill it in. From Friedrich, who wrote books on the side, I learned that writing biographies and histories could be a satisfying accompaniment to a day job in journalism. When covering the 1980 Reagan campaign, I was struck by the bug-eyed bevy of people who showed up on the fringes of rallies and handed out leaflets purporting to expose the insidious nature of the East Coast foreign policy establishment. The leaflets were filled with charts and arrows about the Trilateral Commission, the Council on Foreign Relations, the Rockefellers, the Bilderberg Group, Skull and Bones, and various banking cabals. I asked my Time colleague Evan Thomas about it, under the theory that as an East Coast preppy he could decode it. Eventually we began to talk about writing a book that would explore the reality and myths about “the establishment.” We sketched it out in a summer cottage in Sag Harbor on Long Island. I’m a night person, and would try to stay up until 5 a.m., at which point I would hand over my notes to Evan, who got up around then. We’d go to the beach in the afternoon. We came around to the dual approaches that were at the core of our work at Time: Tell the tale through people, and make it a chronological narrative. ~ Walter Isaacson,
287:During the boisterous years of my youth nothing used to damp my wild spirits so much as to think that I was born at a time when the world had manifestly decided not to erect any more temples of fame except in honour of business people and State officials. The tempest of historical achievements
seemed to have permanently subsided, so much so that the future appeared to be irrevocably delivered over to what was called peaceful competition between the nations. This simply meant a system of mutual exploitation by fraudulent means, the principle of resorting to the use of force in self-defence being formally excluded. Individual countries increasingly assumed the appearance of commercial undertakings, grabbing territory and clients and concessions from each other under any and every kind of pretext. And it was all staged to an accompaniment of loud but innocuous shouting. This trend of affairs seemed destined to develop steadily and permanently. Having the support of public approbation, it seemed bound eventually to transform the world into a mammoth department store. In the vestibule of this emporium there would be rows of monumental busts which would confer immortality on those profiteers who had proved themselves the shrewdest at their trade and those administrative officials who had shown themselves the most innocuous. The salesmen could be represented by the English and the administrative functionaries by the Germans; whereas the Jews would be sacrificed to the unprofitable calling of proprietorship, for they are constantly avowing that they make no profits and are always being called upon to 'pay out'. Moreover they have the advantage of being versed in the foreign languages.
Why could I not have been born a hundred years ago? I used to ask myself. Somewhere about the time of the Wars of Liberation, when a man was still of some value even though he had no 'business'.
Thus I used to think it an ill-deserved stroke of bad luck that I had arrived too late on this terrestrial globe, and I felt chagrined at the idea that my life would have to run its course along peaceful and orderly lines. As a boy I was anything but a pacifist and all attempts to make me so turned out futile. ~ Adolf Hitler,
288: Le Tonneau De La Haine (The Cask Of Hate)
La Haine est le tonneau des pâles Danaïdes;
La Vengeance éperdue aux bras rouges et forts
À beau précipiter dans ses ténèbres vides
De grands seaux pleins du sang et des larmes des morts,
Le Démon fait des trous secrets à ces abîmes,
Par où fuiraient mille ans de sueurs et d'efforts,
Quand même elle saurait ranimer ses victimes,
Et pour les pressurer ressusciter leurs corps.
La Haine est un ivrogne au fond d'une taverne,
Qui sent toujours la soif naître de la liqueur
Et se multiplier comme l'hydre de Lerne.
— Mais les buveurs heureux connaissent leur vainqueur,
Et la Haine est vouée à ce sort lamentable
De ne pouvoir jamais s'endormir sous la table.
Hatred is the cask of the pale Danaides;
Bewildered Vengeance with arms red and strong
Vainly pours into its empty darkness
Great pailfuls of the blood and the tears of the dead;
The Demon makes secret holes in this abyss,
Whence would escape a thousand years of sweat and strain,
Even if she could revive her victims,
Could restore their bodies, to squeeze them dry once more.
Hatred is a drunkard in a tavern,
Who feels his thirst grow greater with each drink
And multiply itself like the Lernaean hydra.
— While fortunate drinkers know they can be conquered,
Hatred is condemned to this lamentable fate,
That she can never fall asleep beneath the table.
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Cask of Hate
The Cask of the pale Danaids is Hate.
Vainly Revenge, with red strong arms employed,
Precipitates her buckets, in a spate
Of blood and tears, to feed the empty void.
The Fiend bores secret holes to these abysms
By which a thousand years of sweat and strain
Escape, though she'd revive their organisms
In order just to bleed them once again.
Hate is a drunkard in a tavern staying,
Who feels his thirst born of its very cure,
Like Lerna's hydra, multiplied by slaying.
Gay drinkers of their conqueror are sure,
And Hate is doomed to a sad fate, unable
Ever to fall and snore beneath the table.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
~ Charles Baudelaire,
289:Alì dagli Occhi Azzurri
uno dei tanti figli di figli,
scenderà da Algeri, su navi
a vela e a remi. Saranno
con lui migliaia di uomini
coi corpicini e gli occhi
di poveri cani dei padri
sulle barche varate nei Regni della Fame. Porteranno con sè i bambini,
e il pane e il formaggio, nelle carte gialle del Lunedì di Pasqua.
Porteranno le nonne e gli asini, sulle triremi rubate ai porti coloniali.
Sbarcheranno a Crotone o a Palmi,
a milioni, vestiti di stracci
asiatici, e di camicie americane.
Subito i Calabresi diranno,
come da malandrini a malandrini:
«Ecco i vecchi fratelli,
coi figli e il pane e formaggio!»
Da Crotone o Palmi saliranno
a Napoli, e da lì a Barcellona,
a Salonicco e a Marsiglia,
nelle Città della Malavita.
Anime e angeli, topi e pidocchi,
col germe della Storia Antica
voleranno davanti alle willaye.
Essi sempre umili
Essi sempre deboli
essi sempre timidi
essi sempre infimi
essi sempre colpevoli
essi sempre sudditi
essi sempre piccoli,
essi che non vollero mai sapere, essi che ebbero occhi solo per implorare,
essi che vissero come assassini sotto terra, essi che vissero come banditi
in fondo al mare, essi che vissero come pazzi in mezzo al cielo,
essi che si costruirono
leggi fuori dalla legge,
essi che si adattarono
a un mondo sotto il mondo
essi che credettero
in un Dio servo di Dio,
essi che cantavano
ai massacri dei re,
essi che ballavano
alle guerre borghesi,
essi che pregavano
alle lotte operaie...
... deponendo l’onestà
delle religioni contadine,
tradendo il candore
dei popoli barbari,
dietro ai loro Alì
dagli Occhi Azzurri - usciranno da sotto la terra per uccidere –
usciranno dal fondo del mare per aggredire - scenderanno
dall’alto del cielo per derubare - e prima di giungere a Parigi
per insegnare la gioia di vivere,
prima di giungere a Londra
per insegnare a essere liberi,
prima di giungere a New York,
per insegnare come si è fratelli
- distruggeranno Roma
e sulle sue rovine
deporranno il germe
della Storia Antica.
Poi col Papa e ogni sacramento
andranno su come zingari
con le bandiere rosse
di Trotzky al vento... ~ Pier Paolo Pasolini,
290: A Versailles
O Versaille, ô bois, ô portiques,
Marbres vivants, berceaux antiques,
Par les dieux et les rois Élysée embelli,
A ton aspect, dans ma pensée,
Comme sur l'herbe aride une fraîche rosée,
Coule un peu de calme et d'oubli.
Paris me semble un autre empire,
Dès que chez toi je vois sourire
Mes pénates secrets couronnés de rameaux,
D'où souvent les monts et les plaines
Vont dirigeant mes pas aux campagnes prochaines,
Sous de triples cintres d'ormeaux.
Les chars, les royales merveilles,
Des gardes les nocturnes veilles,
Tout a fui; des grandeurs tu n'es plus le séjour:
Mais le sommeil, la solitude,
Dieux jadis inconnus, et les arts, et l'étude,
Composent aujourd'hui ta cour.
Ah! malheureux! à ma jeunesse
Une oisive et morne paresse
Ne laisse plus goûter les studieux loisirs.
Mon âme, d'ennui consumée,
S'endort dans les langueurs. Louange et renommée
N'inquiètent plus mes désirs.
L'abandon, l'obscurité, l'ombre,
Une paix taciturne et sombre,
Voilà tous mes souhaits: cache mes tristes jours,
Et nourris, s'il faut que je vive,
De mon pâle flambeau la clarté fugitive
Aux douces chimères d'amours.
L'âme n'est point encor flétrie,
La vie encor n'est point tarie,
Quand un regard nous trouble et le coeur et la voix
Qui cherche les pas d'une belle,
Qui peut ou s'égayer ou gémir auprès d'elle,
De ses jours peut porter le poids.
J'aime; je vis. Heureux rivage!
Tu conserves sa noble image,
Son nom, qu'à tes forêts j'ose apprendre le soir,
Quand, l'âme doucement émue,
J'y reviens méditer l'instant où je l'ai vue,
Et l'instant où je dois la voir.
Pour elle seule encore abonde
Cette source, jadis féconde,
Qui coulait de ma bouche en sons harmonieux.
Sur mes lèvres tes bosquets sombres
Forment pour elle encor ces poétiques nombres,
Langage d'amour et des dieux.
Ah! témoin des succès du crime,
Si l'homme juste et magnanime
Pouvait ouvrir son coeur à la félicité,
Versailles, tes routes fleuries,
Ton silence, fertile en belles rêveries,
N'auraient que joie et volupté.
Mais souvent tes vallons tranquilles,
Tes sommets verts, tes frais asiles,
Tout à coup à mes yeux s'enveloppent de deuil.
J'y vois errer l'ombre livide
D'un peuple d'innocents qu'un tribunal perfide
Précipite dans le cercueil.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
291: La Jeune Captive
'L'épi naissant mûrit de la faux respecté;
Sans crainte du pressoir, le pampre tout l'été
Boit les doux présents de l'aurore;
Et moi, comme lui belle, et jeune comme lui,
Quoi que l'heure présente ait de trouble et d'ennui,
Je ne veux point mourir encore.
'Qu'un stoïque aux yeux secs vole embrasser la mort,
Moi je pleure et j'espère; au noir souffle du nord
Je plie et relève ma tête.
S'il est des jours amers, il en est de si doux!
Hélas! quel miel jamais n'a laissé de dégoûts?
Quelle mer n'a point de tempête?
'L'illusion féconde habite dans mon sein.
D'une prison sur moi les murs pèsent en vain,
J'ai les ailes de l'espérance;
Échappée aux réseaux de l'oiseleur cruel,
Plus vive, plus heureuse, aux campagnes du ciel
Philomèle chante et s'élance.
'Est-ce à moi de mourir? Tranquille je m'endors,
Et tranquille je veille, et ma veille aux remords
Ni mon sommeil ne sont en proie.
Ma bienvenue au jour me rit dans tous les yeux;
Sur des fronts abattus mon aspect dans ces lieux
Ranime presque de la joie.
'Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa fin!
Je pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin
J'ai passé les premiers à peine.
Au banquet de la vie à peine commencé,
Un instant seulement mes lèvres ont pressé
La coupe en mes mains encor pleine.
'Je ne suis qu'au printemps, je veux voir la moisson;
Et comme le soleil, de saison en saison,
Je veux achever mon année.
Brillante sur ma tige et l'honneur du jardin,
Je n'ai vu luire encor que les feux du matin:
Je veux achever ma journée.
'O mort! tu peux attendre; éloigne, éloigne-toi;
Va consoler les coeurs que la honte, l'effroi,
Le pâle désespoir dévore.
Pour moi Palès encore a des asiles verts,
Les Amours des baisers, les Muses des concerts;
Je ne veux point mourir encore!'
Ainsi, triste et captif, ma lyre toutefois
S'éveillait, écoutant ces plaintes, cette voix,
Ces voeux d'une jeune captive;
Et secouant le faix de mes jours languissants,
Aux douces lois des vers je pliai les accents
De sa bouche aimable et naïve.
Ces chants, de ma prison témoins harmonieux,
Feront à quelque amant des loisirs studieux
Chercher quelle fut cette belle:
La grâce décorait son front et ses discours,
Et, comme elle, craindront de voir finir leurs jours
Ceux qui les passeront près d'elle.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
292:FAUST: Ah, Faust, hai solo un'ora di vita, poi sarai dannato per sempre.
Fermatevi sfere del cielo che eternamente ruotate, che il tempo finisca e mezzanotte non venga mai.
Occhio lieto della natura, sorgi, sorgi di nuovo e fai un giorno eterno, o fai che un'ora duri un anno, un mese, una settimana, un giorno, che Faust possa pentirsi e salvare l'anima.
"O lente lente currite noctis equi".
Le stelle ruotano, il tempo corre, l'orologio suonerà, verrà il demonio e Faust sarà dannato.
Salirò fino a Dio! Chi mi trascina in basso?
Guarda, il sangue di Cristo allaga il firmamento e una sola goccia mi salverebbe, metà d'una goccia. Ah, mio Cristo, non uncinarmi il cuore se nomino Cristo.
Lo dirò di nuovo. Risparmiami, Lucifero.
Dov'è? E' scomparso. Vedo Dio che stende il braccio e china la fronte minacciosa Montagne e colline, venite, franatemi addosso, nascondetemi all'ira terribile di Dio.
Allora mi getto a capofitto nella terra:
apriti, terra. No, non mi dà riparo.
Stelle che regnavate alla mia nascita e che mi avete dato morte e inferno, risucchiatevi Faust come una nebbia nelle viscere di quelle nubi incinte, affinché, quando vomitate in aria, il corpo cada dalle bocche fumose ma l'anima salga al cielo.
Ah, mezz'ora è passata. Presto passerà tutta.
Dio, se non vuoi avere pietà di quest'anima almeno per amore di Cristo il cui sangue mi ha riscattato, assegna un termine alla mia pena incessante:
che Faust resti all'inferno mille anni, centomila, e alla fine sia salvato.
Ma non c'è fine alle anime dannate.
Perché non sei una creatura senz'anima?
Perché la tua dev'essere immortale?
Metempsicosi di Pitagora, fossi vera, l'anima mi lascerebbe, sarei mutato in una bestia bruta.
Felici le bestie che morendo cedono l'anima agli elementi, ma la mia vivrà torturata in eterno.
Maledetti i genitori che mi fecero!
No, Faust, maledici te stesso, maledici Lucifero che ti ha privato del cielo.
(L'orologio suona mezzanotte).
Suona, suona! Corpo, trasformati in aria, o Lucifero ti porterà all'inferno.
Anima, mùtati in piccole gocce d'acqua e cadi nell'oceano, nessuno ti trovi.
(Tuono, ed entrano i diavoli)
Mio Dio, mio Dio, non guardarmi così feroce!
Serpi e vipere, lasciatemi vivere ancora un poco.
Inferno orribile, non aprirti. Non venire, Lucifero.
Brucerò i miei libri. Ah, Mefistofele.
(Escono con Faust. [Escono in alto Lucifero e i diavoli])
Christopher Marlowe, La tragica storia del Dottor Faust [Atto V, Scena II] ~ Christopher Marlowe,
293:Zhi yin. Una volta Jem aveva detto a Tessa che significava capire la musica, nonché un legame che era più profondo dell’amicizia. Jem aveva suonato, e aveva suonato gli anni della vita di Will così come li aveva visti. Aveva suonato due ragazzi in una sala delle esercitazioni, uno dei quali mostrava all’altro come lanciare i coltelli, e aveva suonato il rituale dei parabatai: il fuoco e i voti e le rune ardenti. Aveva suonato due ragazzi che correvano per le strade di Londra al buio, fermandosi per appoggiarsi al muro e ridere insieme. Aveva suonato il giorno in cui, nella biblioteca, lui e Will avevano scherzato con Tessa a proposito delle anatre, e aveva suonato il treno diretto nello Yorkshire, dove lui aveva detto che i parabatai erano destinati ad amarsi a vicenda come amavano le proprie anime. Aveva suonato quell’amore, e aveva suonato il loro amore per Tessa, e il suo per loro, e aveva sentito Will che diceva: Soltanto nei tuoi occhi trovavo la grazia. Aveva suonato le volte – troppo poche – in cui li aveva visti da quando era entrato nella fratellanza, i brevi incontri all’Istituto; la volta in cui Will era stato morso da un demone Shax ed era stato per morire, e lui era accorso dalla Città Silente ed era stato tutta la notte al suo fianco, rischiando di essere scoperto e punito. E aveva suonato la nascita del loro primo figlio, e la cerimonia di protezione che era stata eseguita sul piccolo nella Città Silente. Will non aveva voluto altro Fratello Silente che Jem per compierla. E aveva suonato il modo in cui aveva nascosto il viso pieno di cicatrici tra le mani e si era girato, quando aveva scoperto che il nome del bambino era James. Aveva suonato l’amore e la perdita e gli anni di silenzio, le parole non dette e i voti non espressi, e tutti gli spazi tra il suo cuore e il loro; e quando ebbe finito ed ebbe riposto di nuovo il violino nell’astuccio, gli occhi di Will erano chiusi, ma quelli di Tessa erano pieni di lacrime. Jem aveva posato l’archetto e si era avvicinato al letto, tirando indietro il cappuccio, in modo che lei vedesse i suoi occhi chiusi e il suo viso deturpato. E si era seduto accanto a loro sul letto e aveva preso la mano di Will, quella che Tessa non teneva, e sia Will sia Tessa avevano sentito la voce nelle loro menti. Ti prendo la mano, fratello, così che tu possa andare in pace. Will aveva aperto gli occhi azzurri, che col passare degli anni non avevano mai perso il loro colore, e aveva guardato Jem e Tessa, e aveva sorriso, ed era morto, con la testa di Tessa sulla spalla e la mano in quella di Jem. ~ Cassandra Clare,
294:STUFFIN’ MUFFINS Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. 4 ounces salted butter (1 stick, 8 Tablespoons, ¼ pound) ½ cup finely chopped onion (you can buy this chopped or chop it yourself) ½ cup finely chopped celery ½ cup chopped apple (core, but do not peel before chopping) 1 teaspoon powdered sage 1 teaspoon powdered thyme 1 teaspoon ground oregano 8 cups herb stuffing (the kind in cubes that you buy in the grocery store—you can also use plain bread cubes and add a quarter-teaspoon more of ground sage, thyme, and oregano) 3 eggs, beaten (just whip them up in a glass with a fork) 1 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon black pepper (freshly ground is best) 2 ounces (½ stick, 4 Tablespoons, pound) melted butter ¼ to ½ cup chicken broth (I used Swanson’s) Hannah’s 1st Note: I used a Fuji apple this time. I’ve also used Granny Smith apples, or Gala apples. Before you start, find a 12-cup muffin pan. Spray the inside of the cups with Pam or another nonstick cooking spray OR line them with cupcake papers. Get out a 10-inch or larger frying pan. Cut the stick of butter in 4 to 8 pieces and drop them inside. Put the pan over MEDIUM heat on the stovetop to melt the butter. Once the butter has melted, add the chopped onions. Give them a stir. Add the chopped celery. Stir it in. Add the chopped apple and stir that in. Sprinkle in the ground sage, thyme, and oregano. Sauté this mixture for 5 minutes. Then pull the frying pan off the heat and onto a cold burner. In a large mixing bowl, combine the 8 cups of herb stuffing. (If the boxed stuffing you bought has a separate herb packet, just sprinkle it over the top of the mixture in your frying pan. That way you’ll be sure to put it in!) Pour the beaten eggs over the top of the herb stuffing and mix them in. Sprinkle on the salt and the pepper. Mix them in. Pour the melted butter over the top and mix it in. Add the mixture from your frying pan on top of that. Stir it all up together. Measure out ¼ cup of chicken broth. Wash your hands. (Mixing the stuffing is going to be a lot easier if you use your impeccably clean hands to mix it.) Pour the ¼ cup of chicken broth over the top of your bowl. Mix everything with your hands. Feel the resulting mixture. It should be softened, but not wet. If you think it’s so dry that your muffins might fall apart after you bake them, mix in another ¼ cup of chicken broth. Once your Stuffin’ Muffin mixture is thoroughly combined, move the bowl close to the muffin pan you’ve prepared, and go wash your hands again. Use an ice cream scoop to fill your muffin cups. If you don’t have an ice cream scoop, use a large spoon. Mound the tops of the muffins by hand. (Your hands are still impeccably clean, aren’t they?) Bake the Stuffin’ Muffins at 350 degrees F. for 25 minutes. Yield: One dozen standard-sized muffins that can be served hot, warm, or at room temperature. Hannah’s 2nd Note: These muffins are a great accompaniment to pork, ham, chicken, turkey, duck, beef, or . . . well . . . practically anything! If there are any left over, you can reheat them in the microwave to serve the next day. Hannah’s 3rd Note: I’m beginning to think that Andrea can actually make Stuffin’ Muffins. It’s only April now, so she’s got seven months to practice. ~ Joanne Fluke,
_Il faut mettre ceci dans la bouche du poète (qui n'est pas moi)_:
Le poète divin, tout esprit, tout pensée,
Ne sent point dans un corps son âme embarrassée;
Il va percer le ciel aux murailles d'azur;
De la terre, des mers, le labyrinthe obscur.
Ses vars ont revêtu, prompts et légers Protées,
Les formes tour à tour à ses yeux présentées.
Les torrents, dans ses vers, du droit sommet des monts
Tonnent précipités en des gouffres profonds.
Là, des flancs sulfureux d'une ardente montagne,
Ses vers cherchent les cieux et brûlent les campagnes;
Et là, dans la mêlée aux reflux meurtriers,
Leur clameur sanguinaire échauffe les guerriers,
Puis, d'une aile glacée assemblant les nuages,
Ils volent, troublent l'onde et soufflent les naufrages,
Et répètent au loin et les longs sifflements,
Et la tempête sombre aux noirs mugissements,
Et le feu des éclairs et les cris du tonnerre.
Puis, d'un oeil doux et pur souriant à la terre,
Ils la couvrent de fleurs; ils rassérènent l'air.
Le calme suit leurs pas et s'étend sur la mer.
_Le poète Alonzo d'Ercilla, à la fin d'un repas nocturne en plein air,
prié de chanter, chantera un morceau, astronomique._
'Salut, ô belle nuit, étincelante et sombre,
Consacrée au repos. O silence de l'ombre,
Qui n'entends que la voix de mes vers, et les cris
De la rive aréneuse où se brise Téthys.
Muse, muse nocturne, apporte-moi ma lyre.
Lance-toi dans l'espace; et, pour franchir les airs,
Prends les ailes des vents, les ailes des éclairs,
Les bonds de la comète aux longs cheveux de flamme.
Mes vers impatients, élancés de mon âme,
Veulent parler aux dieux, et volent où reluit
L'enthousiasme errant, fils de la belle nuit.
Accours, grande nature, ô mère du génie;
Accours, reine du monde, éternelle Uranie.
Soit que tes pas divins sur l'astre du Lion
Ou sur les triples feux du superbe Orion
Marchent, ou soit qu'au loin, fugitive, emportée,
Tu suives les détours de la voie argentée,
Soleils amoncelés dans le céleste azur,
Où le peuple a cru voir les traces d'un lait pur,
Descends; non, porte-moi sur ta route brûlante,
Que je m'élève au ciel comme une flamme ardente.
Déjà ce corps pesant se détache de moi.
Adieu, tombeau de chair, je ne suis plus à toi.
Terre, fuis sous mes pas. L'éther où le ciel nage
M'aspire. Je parcours l'océan sans rivage.
Plus de nuit. Je n'ai plus d'un globe opaque et dur
Entre le jour et moi l'impénétrable mur.
Plus de nuit, et mon oeil et se perd et se mêle
Dans les torrents profonds de lumière éternelle.
Me voici sur les feux que le langage humain
Nomme Cassiopée et l'Ourse et le Dauphin.
Maintenant la Couronne autour de moi s'embrase.
Ici l'Aigle et le Cygne et la Lyre et Pégase.
Et voici que plus loin le Serpent tortueux
Noue autour de mes pas ses anneaux lumineux.
Féconde immensité, les esprits magnanimes
Aiment à se plonger dans tes vivants abîmes,
Abîmes de clartés, où, libre de ses fers,
L'homme siège au conseil qui créa l'univers;
Où l'âme, remontant à sa grande origine,
Sent qu'elle est une part de l'essence divine...'
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
296:«Non dico che Hitler non sia un acerrimo nemico» spiegò Peter. «Ma è un nemico ridicolo. Ridicolo d'aspetto; sbagliati sono sia lo sguardo studiato per affascinare, sia il suo modo ampolloso di parlare, sia il suo passo marziale. Ha scelto un baffetto ridicolo, probabilmente senza sapere che è identico a quello di un comico ebreo del cinema. Evita ogni parola straniera, e quando le pronuncia commette inevitabilmente un errore. A tutt'oggi è incapace di pronunciare il nome del partito da lui fondato. Gli abiti gli pendono di dosso come se li avesse presi in prestito. Quando riceve i diplomatici osserva quello che fanno per poi imitarli. Quando cena in compagnia guarda come mangiano gli altri per copiarli. In uniforme ha l'aspetto di un capostazione. Tutto questo è ridicolo. E comunque miserabile». Il caposezione era soddisfatto della sua introduzione. Gli altri gli prestavano attenzione. «Quell'uomo è l'esempio di una persona consapevole della propria ridicolezza, che quando il mondo lo prende sul serio si stupisce più del mondo stesso!» proseguì. «Quando quest'uomo cominciò, signori miei, non si peritò di ricorrere alla massima vigliaccheria alla quale possa giungere un uomo: è noto che quando la polizia reagì sparando al suo Putsch di Monaco, si riparò dietro ai bambini per non essere ferito! Dico bambini! In quattro anni di Guerra mondiale non è riuscito a superare il grado di caporale. Soltanto perché qualcuno l'ha preso sul serio, quest'uomo ridicolo, codardo, si è sentito incoraggiato a divenire sempre più imponente e marziale. Essendo lui un isterico schizofrenico e un giocatore d'azzardo, ciò è stato possibile. Per queste due ragioni tocca e si lancia nelle posizioni estreme. Poiché in campo intellettuale è al livello di un politicante da caffé, non desume la propria concezione del mondo dalla conoscenza ma dalla vendetta personale. Dato che un ebreo lo ha maltrattato al suo esame all'accademia, ora odia gli ebrei. Dato che Trotzkij ha detto di lui “Nessun bolscevico si lascerebbe neppure pulire le scarpe da lui”, è ostile al bolscevismo. Un uomo primitivo, questo dobbiamo ammetterlo. Questo primitivo è partito dall'infantile idea che dopo una guerra durata quattro anni nessuno voglia più combatterne altre. Da buon giocatore ha puntato tutto su quest'idea e ha avuto la fortuna di riuscire a bluffare il mondo, che ha preso sul serio le sue minacce. Ora viene il bello! Dopo che lui o il signor Röhm o chi altro ha appiccato il fuoco al Reichstag di Berlino e il mondo, invece di dire unanimemente “Hitler ha appicato l'incendio!” ha parlato e scritto, con la massima serietà, di “processo per l'incendio del Reichstag”; dopo che è stato accettato il voto della Saar non come una manovra di un certo signor Bürckel ma come un'elezione regolare, è accaduto un fatto mai avvenuto nella storia: una nullità che sapeva benissimo di essere - per citare il nostro festival - un Ognuno, un uomo qualunque, si è autovalutato un bilione. Anzi! Cifre astronomiche, più lo si prendeva sul serio. Signori miei! Ho udito parlare quest'uomo a Monaco. A me dà l'impressione di un clown. Tuttavia, invece di dargli l'unica risposta che si merita: una bella risata in faccia che riduca quella montatura alla nullità che è, continuiamo noi stessi a pomparla e mobilitiamo contro essa addirittura le cancellerie e la polizia!» ~ Ernst Lothar,
297: Songs For A Colored Singer
A washing hangs upon the line,
but it's not mine.
None of the things that I can see
belong to me.
The neighbors got a radio with an aerial;
we got a little portable.
They got a lot of closet space;
we got a suitcase.
I say, "Le Roy, just how much are we owing?
Something I can't comprehend,
the more we got the more we spend...."
He only answers, "Let's get going."
Le Roy, you're earning too much money now.
I sit and look at our backyard
and find it very hard.
What have we got for all his dollars and cents?
--A pile of bottles by the fence.
He's faithful and he's kind
but he sure has an inquiring mind.
He's seen a lot; he's bound to see the rest,
and if I protest
Le Roy answers with a frown,
"Darling, when I earns I spends.
The world is wide; it still extends....
I'm going to get a job in the next town."
Le Roy, you're earning too much money now.
The time has come to call a halt;
and so it ends.
He's gone off with his other friends.
He needn't try to make amends,
this occasion's all his fault.
Through rain and dark I see his face
across the street at Flossie's place.
He's drinking in the warm pink glow
to th' accompaniment of the piccolo.
The time has come to call a halt.
I met him walking with Varella
and hit him twice with my umbrella.
Perhaps that occasion was my fault,
but the time has come to call a halt.
Go drink your wine and go get tight.
Let the piccolo play.
I'm sick of all your fussing anyway.
Now I'm pursuing my own way.
I'm leaving on the bus tonight.
Far down the highway wet and black
I'll ride and ride and not come back.
I'm going to go and take the bus
and find someone monogamous.
The time has come to call a halt.
I've borrowed fifteen dollars fare
and it will take me anywhere.
For this occasion's all his fault.
The time has come to call a halt.
Adult and child
sink to their rest.
At sea the big ship sinks and dies,
lead in its breast.
Let mations rage,
let nations fall.
The shadow of the crib makes an enormous cage
upon the wall.
Sleep on and on,
war's over soon.
Drop the silly, harmless toy,
pick up the moon.
If they should say
you have no sense,
don't you mind them; it won't make
Adult and child
sink to their rest.
At sea the big ship sinks and dies,
lead in its breast.
What's that shining in the leaves,
the shadowy leaves,
like tears when somebody grieves,
shining, shining in the leaves?
Is it dew or is it tears,
dew or tears,
hanging there for years and years
like a heavy dew of tears?
Then that dew begins to fall,
roll down and fall,
Maybe it's not tears at all.
See it, see it roll and fall.
Hear it falling on the ground,
hear, all around.
That is not a tearful sound,
beating, beating on the ground.
See it lying there like seeds,
like black seeds.
see it taking root like weeds,
faster, faster than the weeds,
all the shining seeds take root,
and what curious flower or fruit
will grow from that conspiring root?
fruit or flower? It is a face.
Yes, a face.
In that dark and dreary place
each seed grows into a face.
Like an army in a dream
the faces seem,
darker, darker, like a dream.
They're too real to be a dream.
~ Elizabeth Bishop,
298:Nessun limite a Parigi. Nessuna città ha avuto questa dominazione che dileggiava talvolta coloro ch'essa soggioga: Piacervi o ateniesi! esclamava Alessandro. Parigi fa più che la legge, fa la moda; e più che la moda, l'abitudine. Se le piace, può esser stupida, e talvolta si concede questo lusso, allora l'universo è stupido con lei. Poi Parigi si sveglia, si frega gli occhi e dice: «Come sono sciocca!» e sbotta a ridere in faccia al genere umano. Quale meraviglia, una simile città! Quanto è strano che questo grandioso e questo burlesco si faccian buona compagnia, che tutta questa maestà non sia turbata da tutta questa parodia e che la stessa bocca possa oggi soffiare nella tromba del giudizio finale e domani nello zufolo campestre! Parigi ha una giocondità suprema: la sua allegrezza folgora e la sua farsa regge uno scettro. Il suo uragano esce talvolta da una smorfia; le sue esplosioni, le sue giornate, i suoi capolavori, i suoi prodigi e le sue epopee giungono fino in capo al mondo, e i suoi spropositi anche. La sua risata è una bocca di vulcano che inzacchera tutta la terra, i suoi lazzi sono faville; essa impone ai popoli le sue caricature, così come il suo ideale, ed i più alti monumenti della civiltà umana ne accettano le ironie e prestano la loro eternità alle sue monellerie. È superba: ha un 14 luglio prodigioso, che libera l'universo; fa fare il giuramento della palla corda a tutte le nazioni; la sua notte del 4 agosto dissolve in tre ore mille anni di feudalismo; fa della sua logica il muscolo della volontà unanime; si moltiplica sotto tutte le forme del sublime; riempie del suo bagliore Washington, Kosciusko, Bolivar, Botzaris, Riego, Bem, Manin, Lopez, John Brown, Garibaldi; è dappertutto dove s'accende l'avvenire, a Boston nel 1779, all'isola di Leon nel 1820, a Budapest nel 1848, a Palermo nel 1860; sussurra la possente parola d'ordine: Libertà, all'orecchio degli abolizionisti americani radunati al traghetto di Harper's Ferry ed all'orecchio dei patrioti d'Ancona, riuniti nell'ombra degli Archi, davanti all'albergo Gozzi, in riva al mare; crea Canaris, Quiroga, Pisacane; irraggia la grandezza sulla terra; e Byron muore a Missolungi e Mazet muore a Barcellona, andando là dove il suo alito li spinge; è tribuna sotto i piedi di Mirabeau, cratere sotto i piedi di Robespierre; i suoi libri, il suo teatro, la sua arte, la sua scienza, la sua letteratura, la sua filosofia sono i manuali del genere umano; vi sono Pascal, Régnier, Corneille, Descartes, Gian Giacomo; Voltaire per tutti i minuti, Molière per tutti i secoli; fa parlar la sua lingua alla bocca universale e questa lingua diventa il Verbo; costruisce in tutte le menti l'idea del progresso; i dogmi liberatori da lei formulati sono per le generazioni altrettanti cavalli di battaglia, e appunto coll'anima dei suoi pensatori e dei suoi poeti si sono fatti dal 1789 in poi gli eroi di tutti i popoli. Il che non le impedisce d'esser birichina; e quel genio enorme che si chiama Parigi, mentre trasfigura il mondo colla sua luce, disegna col carboncino il naso di Bourginier sul muro del tempio di Teseo e scrive Crédeville, ladro, sulle piramidi.
Parigi mostra sempre i denti; quando non brontola, ride.
Siffatta è questa Parigi. I fumacchi dei suoi tetti sono le idee dell'universo. Mucchio di fango e di pietre, se si vuole; ma, soprattutto, essere morale: è più che grande, è immensa. Perché? Perché osa.
Osare: il più progresso si ottiene a questo prezzo. Tutte le conquiste sublimi sono, più o meno, premî al coraggio, perché la rivoluzione sia, non basta che Montesquieu la presagisca, che Diderot la predichi, che Beaumarchais l'annunci, che Condorcet la calcoli, che Arouet la prepari e che Rousseau la premediti: bisogna che Danton l'osi. ~ Victor Hugo,
299: Comme Un Dernier Rayon
Comme un dernier rayon, comme un dernier zéphyre
Animent la fin d'un beau jour,
Au pied de l'échafaud j'essaye encor ma lyre.
Peut-être est-ce bientôt mon tour;
Peut-être avant que l'heure en cercle promenée
Ait posé sur l'émail brillant,
Dans les soixante pas où sa route est bornée,
Son pied sonore et vigilant,
Le sommeil du tombeau pressera ma paupière.
Avant que de ses deux moitiés
Ce vers que je commence ait atteint la dernière,
Peut-être en ces murs effrayés
Le messager de mort, noir recruteur des ombres,
Escorté d'infâmes soldats,
Ébranlant de mon nom ces longs corridors sombres,
Où seul, dans la foule à grands pas
J'erre, aiguisant ces dards persécuteurs du crime,
Du juste trop faibles soutiens,
Sur mes lèvres soudain va suspendre la rime;
Et chargeant mes bras de liens,
Me traîner, amassant en foule à mon passage
Mes tristes compagnons reclus,
Qui me connaissaient tous avant l'affreux message,
Mais qui ne me connaissent plus.
Eh bien! j'ai trop vécu. Quelle franchise auguste,
De mâle constance et d'honneur
Quels exemples sacrés doux à l'âme du juste,
Pour lui quelle ombre de bonheur,
Quelle Thémis terrible aux têtes criminelles,
Quels pleurs d'une noble pitié,
Des antiques bienfaits quels souvenirs fidèles,
Quels beaux échanges d'amitié,
Font digne de regrets l'habitacle des hommes?
La peur blême et louche est leur Dieu,
La bassesse, la honte. Ah! lâches que nous sommes!
Tous, oui, tous. Adieu, terre, adieu.
Vienne, vienne la mort! que la mort me délivre!...
Ainsi donc, mon coeur abattu
Cède au poids de ses maux!--Non, non, puisse-je vivre!
Ma vie importe à la vertu.
Car l'honnête homme enfin, victime de l'outrage,
Dans les cachots, près du cercueil,
Relève plus altiers son front et son langage,
Brillant d'un généreux orgueil.
S'il est écrit aux cieux que jamais une épée
N'étincellera dans mes mains,
Dans l'encre et l'amertume une autre arme trempée
Peut encor servir les humains.
Justice, vérité, si ma main, si ma bouche,
Si mes pensers les plus secrets
Ne froncèrent jamais votre sourcil farouche,
Et si les infâmes progrès,
Si la risée atroce, ou plus atroce injure,
L'encens de hideux scélérats,
Ont pénétré vos coeurs d'une large blessure,
Sauvez-moi. Conservez un bras
Qui lance votre foudre, un amant qui vous venge.
Mourir sans vider mon carquois!
Sans percer, sans fouler, sans pétrir dans leur fange
Ces bourreaux barbouilleurs de lois!
Ces vers cadavéreux de la France asservie,
Égorgée! ô mon cher trésor,
O ma plume, fiel, bile, horreur, dieux de ma vie!
Par vous seuls je respire encor:
Comme la poix brûlante agitée en ses veines
Ressuscite un flambeau mourant.
Je souffre; mais je vis. Par vous, loin de mes peines,
D'espérance un vaste torrent
Me transporte. Sans vous, comme un poison livide,
L'invisible dent du chagrin,
Mes amis opprimés, du menteur homicide
Les succès, le sceptre d'airain,
Des bons proscrits par lui la mort ou la ruine,
L'opprobre de subir sa loi,
Tout eût tari ma vie, ou contre ma poitrine
Dirigé mon poignard. Mais quoi!
Nul ne resterait donc pour attendrir l'histoire
Sur tant de justes massacrés!
Pour consoler leurs fils, leurs veuves, leur mémoire!
Pour que des brigands abhorrés
Frémissent aux portraits noirs de leur ressemblance!
Pour descendre jusqu'aux enfers
Nouer le triple fouet, le fouet de la vengeance
Déjà levé sur ces pervers!
Pour cracher sur leurs noms, pour chanter leur supplice!
Allons, étouffe tes clameurs;
Souffre, ô coeur gros de haine, affamé de justice.
Toi, vertu, pleure si je meurs.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
300:Long black hair and deep clean blue eyes and skin pale white and lips blood red she's small and thin and worn and damaged. She is standing there.
What are you doing here?
I was taking a walk and I saw you and I followed you.
What do you want.
I want you to stop.
I breathe hard, stare hard, tense and coiled. There is still more tree for me to destroy I want that fucking tree. She smiles and she steps towards me, toward toward toward me, and she opens he r arms and I'm breathing hard staring hard tense and coiled she puts her arms around me with one hand not he back of my head and she pulls me into her arms and she holds me and she speaks.
I breathe hard, close my eyes, let myself be held.
Her voice calms me and her arms warm me and her smell lightens me and I can feel her heart beat and my heart slows and I stop shaking an the Fury melts into her safety an she holds me and she says.
Something else comes and it makes me feel weak and scared and fragile and I don't want to be hurt and this feeling is the feeling I have when I know I can be hurt and hurt deeper and more terribly than anything physical and I always fight it and control it and stop it but her voice calms me and her arms warm me and her smell lightens me and I can feel her heart beat and if she let me go right now I would fall and the need and confusion and fear and regret and horror and shame and weakness and fragility are exposed to the soft strength of her open arms and her simple word okay and I start to cry. I start to cry. I want to cry.
It comes in waves. THe waves roll deep and from deep the deep within me and I hold her and she holds me tighter and i let her and I let it and I let this and I have not felt this way this vulnerability or allowed myself to feel this way this vulnerability since I was ten years old and I don't know why I haven't and I don't know why I am now and I only know that I am and that it is scary terrifying frightening worse and better than anything I've ever felt crying in her arms just crying in her ams just crying.
She guides me to the ground, but she doesn't let me go. THe Gates are open and thirteen years of addiction, violence, hell and their accompaniments are manifesting themselves in dense tears and heavy sobs and a shortness of breath and a profound sense of loss. THe loss inhabits, fills and overwhelms me. It is the loss of a childhood of being a Teeenager of normalcy of happiness of love of trust anon reason of God of Family of friends of future of potential of dignity of humanity of sanity f myself of everything everything everything. I lost everything and I am lost reduced to a mass of mourning, sadness, grief, anguish and heartache. I am lost. I have lost. Everything. Everything.
It's wet and Lilly cradles me like a broken Child. My face and her shoulder and her shirt and her hair are wet with my tears. I slow down and I start to breathe slowly and deeply and her hair smells clean and I open my eyes because I want to see it an it is all that I can see. It is jet black almost blue and radiant with moisture. I want to touch it and I reach with one of my hands and I run my hand from the crown along her neck and her back to the base of her rib and it is a thin perfect sheer and I let it slowly drop from the tips of my fingers and when it is gone I miss it. I do it again and again and she lets me do it and she doesn't speak she just cradles me because I am broken. I am broken. Broken.
THere is noise and voices and Lilly pulls me in tighter and tighter and I know I pull her in tighter and tighter and I can feel her heart beating and I know she can feel my heart beating and they are speaking our hearts are speaking a language wordless old unknowable and true and we're pulling and holding and the noise is closer and the voices louder and Lilly whispers.
You're okay. ~ James Frey,
301: A Marie-Anne-Charlotte Corday
Quoi! tandis que partout, ou sincères ou feintes,
Des lâches, des pervers, les larmes et les plaintes
Consacrent leur Marat parmi les immortels,
Et que, prêtre orgueilleux de cette idole vile,
Des fanges du Parnasse un impudent reptile
Vomit un hymne infâme au pied de ses autels.
La vérité se tait! dans sa bouche glacée,
Des liens de la peur sa langue embarrassée
Dérobe un juste hommage aux exploits glorieux!
Vivre est-il donc si doux? De quel prix est la vie,
Quand, sous un joug honteux, la pensée asservie,
Tremblante, au fond du coeur, se cache à tous les yeux?
Non, non, je ne veux point t'honorer en silence,
Toi qui crus par ta mort ressusciter la France
Et dévouas tes jours à punir des forfaits.
Le glaive arma ton bras, fille grande et sublime,
Pour faire honte aux dieux, pour réparer leur crime,
Quand d'un homme à ce monstre ils donnèrent les traits.
Le noir serpent, sorti de sa caverne impure,
A donc vu rompre enfin sous ta main ferme et sûre
Le venimeux tissu de ses jours abhorrés!
Aux entrailles du tigre, à ses dents homicides,
Tu vins redemander et les membres livides
Et le sang des humains qu'il avait dévorés!
Son oeil mourant t'a vue, en ta superbe joie,
Féliciter ton bras et contempler ta proie.
Ton regard lui disait: 'Va, tyran furieux,
Va, cours frayer la route aux tyrans tes complices.
Te baigner dans le sang fut tes seules délices,
Baigne-toi dans le tien et reconnais des dieux.'
La Grèce, ô fille illustre! admirant ton courage,
Épuiserait Paros pour placer ton image
Auprès d'Harmodius, auprès de son ami;
Et des choeurs sur ta tombe, en une sainte ivresse,
Chanteraient Némésis, la tardive déesse,
Qui frappe le méchant sur son trône endormi.
Mais la France à la hache abandonne ta tête.
C'est au monstre égorgé qu'on prépare une fête
Parmi ses compagnons, tous dignes de son sort.
Oh! quel noble dédain fit sourire ta bouche,
Quand un brigand, vengeur de ce brigand farouche,
Crut te faire pâlir aux menaces de mort!
C'est lui qui dut pâlir, et tes juges sinistres,
Et notre affreux sénat et ses affreux ministres,
Quand, à leur tribunal, sans crainte et sans appui,
Ta douceur, ton langage et simple et magnanime
Leur apprit qu'en effet, tout puissant qu'est le crime,
Qui renonce à la vie est plus puissant que lui.
Longtemps, sous les dehors d'une allégresse aimable,
Dans ses détours profonds ton âme impénétrable
Avait tenu cachés les destins du pervers.
Ainsi, dans le secret amassant la tempête,
Rit un beau ciel d'azur, qui cependant s'apprête
A foudroyer les monts et soulever les mers.
Belle, jeune, brillante, aux bourreaux amenée,
Tu semblais t'avancer sur le char d'hyménée;
Ton front resta paisible et ton regard serein.
Calme sur l'échafaud, tu méprisas la rage
D'un peuple abject, servile, et fécond en outrage,
Et qui se croit alors et libre et souverain.
La vertu seule est libre. Honneur de notre histoire,
Notre immortel opprobre y vit avec ta gloire;
Seule, tu fus un homme, et vengeas les humains!
Et nous, eunuques vils, troupeau lâche et sans âme,
Nous savons répéter quelques plaintes de femme;
Mais le fer pèserait à nos débiles mains.
Non, tu ne pensais pas qu'aux mânes de la France
Un seul traître immolé suffît à sa vengeance,
Ou tirât du chaos ses débris dispersés.
Tu voulais, enflammant les courages timides,
Réveiller les poignards sur tous ces parricides,
De rapine, de sang, d'infamie engraissés.
Un scélérat de moins rampe dans cette fange.
La Vertu t'applaudit; de sa mâle louange
Entends, belle héroïne, entends l'auguste voix.
O Vertu, le poignard, seul espoir de la terre,
Est ton arme sacrée, alors que le tonnerre
Laisse régner le crime et te vend à ses lois.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
302: Au Chevalier De Pange
Quand la feuille en festons a couronné les bois,
L'amoureux rossignol n'étouffe point sa voix.
Il serait criminel aux yeux de la nature
Si, de ses dons heureux négligeant la culture,
Sur son triste rameau, muet dans ses amours,
Il laissait sans chanter expirer les beaux jours.
Et toi, rebelle aux dons d'une si tendre mère,
Dégoûté de poursuivre une muse étrangère
Dont tu choisis la cour trop bruyante pour toi,
Tu t'es fait du silence une coupable loi!
Tu naquis rossignol. Pourquoi, loin du bocage
Où des jeunes rosiers le balsamique ombrage
Eût redit tes doux sons sans murmure écoutés,
T'en allais-tu chercher la muse des cités,
Cette muse, d'éclat, de pourpre environnée,
Qui, le glaive à la main, du diadème ornée,
Vient au peuple assemblé, d'une dolente voix,
Pleurer les grands malheurs, les empires, les rois?
Que n'étais-tu fidèle à ces muses tranquilles
Qui cherchent la fraîcheur des rustiques asiles,
Le front ceint de lilas et de jasmins nouveaux,
Et vont sur leurs attraits consulter les ruisseaux?
Viens dire à leurs concerts la beauté qui te brûle.
Amoureux, avec l'âme et la voix de Tibulle
Fuirais-tu les hameaux, ce séjour enchanté
Qui rend plus séduisant l'éclat de la beauté?
L'amour aime les champs, et les champs l'ont vu naître.
La fille d'un pasteur, une vierge champêtre,
Dans le fond d'une rose, un matin du printemps,
Le trouva nouveau-né....
Le sommeil entr'ouvrait ses lèvres colorées.
Elle saisit le bout de ses ailes dorées,
L'ôta de son berceau d'une timide main,
Tout trempé de rosée, et le mit dans son sein.
Tout, mais surtout les champs sont restés son empire.
Là tout aime, tout plaît, tout jouit, tout soupire;
Là de plus beaux soleils dorent l'azur des cieux;
Là les prés, les gazons, les bois harmonieux,
De mobiles ruisseaux la colline animée,
L'âme de mille fleurs dans les zéphyrs semée;
Là parmi les oiseaux l'amour vient se poser;
Là sous les antres frais habite le baiser.
Les muses et l'amour ont les mêmes retraites.
L'astre qui fait aimer est l'astre des poètes.
Bois, écho, frais zéphyrs, dieux champêtres et doux,
Le génie et les vers se plaisent parmi vous.
J'ai choisi parmi vous ma muse jeune et chère;
Et, bien qu'entre ses soeurs elle soit la dernière,
Elle plaît. Mes amis, vos yeux en sont témoins.
Et puis une plus belle eût voulu plus de soins;
Délicate et craintive, un rien la décourage,
Un rien sait l'animer. Curieuse et volage,
Elle va parcourant tous les objets flatteurs
Sans se fixer jamais, non plus que sur les fleurs
Les zéphyrs vagabonds, doux rivaux des abeilles,
Ou le baiser ravi sur des lèvres vermeilles.
Une source brillante, un buisson qui fleurit,
Tout amuse ses yeux; elle pleure, elle rit.
Tantôt à pas rêveurs, mélancolique et lente,
Elle erre avec une onde et pure et languissante;
Tantôt elle va, vient, d'un pas léger et sûr
Poursuit le papillon brillant d'or et d'azur,
Ou l'agile écureuil, ou dans un nid timide
Sur un oiseau surpris pose une main rapide.
Quelquefois, gravissant la mousse du rocher,
Dans une touffe épaisse elle va se cacher,
Et sans bruit épier, sur la grotte pendante,
Ce que dira le faune à la nymphe imprudente
Qui, dans cet antre sourd et des faunes ami,
Refusait de le suivre, et pourtant l'a suivi.
Souvent même, écoutant de plus hardis caprices,
Elle ose regarder au fond des précipices,
Où sur le roc mugit le torrent effréné
Du droit sommet d'un mont tout à coup déchaîné.
Elle aime aussi chanter à la moisson nouvelle,
Suivre les moissonneurs et lier la javelle.
L'Automne au front vermeil, ceint de pampres nouveaux,
Parmi les vendangeurs l'égaré en des coteaux;
Elle cueille la grappe, ou blanche, ou purpurine;
Le doux jus des raisins teint sa bouche enfantine;
Ou, s'ils pressent leurs vins, elle accourt pour les voir,
Et son bras avec eux fait crier le pressoir.
Viens, viens, mon jeune ami; viens, nos muses t'attendent;
Nos fêtes, nos banquets, nos courses te demandent;
Viens voir ensemble et l'antre et l'onde et les forêts.
Chaque soir une table aux suaves apprêts
Assoira près de nous nos belles adorées,
Ou, cherchant dans le bois des nymphes égarées,
Nous entendrons les ris, les chansons, les festins;
Et les verres emplis sous les bosquets lointains
Viendront animer l'air, et, du sein d'une treille,
De leur voix argentine égayer notre oreille.
Mais si, toujours ingrat à ces charmantes soeurs,
Ton front rejette encore leurs couronnes de fleurs;
Si de leurs soins pressants la douce impatience
N'obtient que d'un refus la dédaigneuse offense;
Qu'à ton tour la beauté dont les yeux t'ont soumis
Refuse à tes soupirs ce qu'elle t'a promis;
Qu'un rival loin de toi de ses charmes dispose;
Et, quand tu lui viendras présenter une rose,
Que l'ingrate étonnée, en recevant ce don,
Ne t'ait vu de sa vie et demande ton nom.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
303: La Muse Vénale (The Venal Muse)
Ô muse de mon coeur, amante des palais,
Auras-tu, quand Janvier lâchera ses Borées,
Durant les noirs ennuis des neigeuses soirées,
Un tison pour chauffer tes deux pieds violets?
Ranimeras-tu donc tes épaules marbrées
Aux nocturnes rayons qui percent les volets?
Sentant ta bourse à sec autant que ton palais
Récolteras-tu l'or des voûtes azurées?
II te faut, pour gagner ton pain de chaque soir,
Comme un enfant de choeur, jouer de l'encensoir,
Chanter des Te Deum auxquels tu ne crois guère,
Ou, saltimbanque à jeun, étaler tes appas
Et ton rire trempé de pleurs qu'on ne voit pas,
Pour faire épanouir la rate du vulgaire.
The Venal Muse
Muse of my heart, you who love palaces,
When January frees his north winds, will you have,
During the black ennui of snowy evenings,
An ember to warm your two feet blue with cold?
Will you bring the warmth back to your mottled shoulders,
With the nocturnal beams that pass through the shutters?
Knowing that your purse is as dry as your palate,
Will you harvest the gold of the blue, vaulted sky?
To earn your daily bread you are obliged
To swing the censer like an altar boy,
And to sing Te Deums in which you don't believe,
Or, hungry mountebank, to put up for sale your charm,
Your laughter wet with tears which people do not see,
To make the vulgar herd shake with laughter.
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Venal Muse
Muse of my heart, of palaces the lover,
Where will you, when the blast of winter blows
In the black boredom of snowed lights, discover
A glowing brand to warm your violet toes?
How will you there revive your marbled skin
At the chill rays your shutters then disperse?
The gold of azure heavens will you win
When empty are your palate and your purse?
You'll need each evening, then, to earn your bread,
As choirboys swinging censers that are dead
Who sing Te Deums which they disbelieve:
Or, fasting pierrette, trade your loveliness
And laughter, soaked in tears that none can guess,
The boredom of the vulgar to relieve.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
The Venal Muse
Lover of palaces, Muse of my heart, O sweet,
When hailstones fly from January's frosty sling,
On snowy nights amid black ennui, who shall bring
A cheery log to thaw your violet chill feet?
Shall you warm your wan mottled shoulder with the wing
Of bleak nocturnal beams that soar from the dank street?
Knowing you have no coin in purse nor bread to eat,
Shall you rake gold from blue arched skies for harvesting?
To earn your daily bread as the dense nights grow denser,
Shall you play acolyte and blithely swing your censer,
Chanting faithless Te Deums; or a moment after,
A famished mountebank, sell the charmed mysteries
Of laughter bathed in tears that no man ever sees
To rouse the rabble herd to fits of obscene laughter?
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
The Mercenary Muse
Muse of my heart, so fond of palaces, reply:
When January sends those blizzards wild and white,
Shall you have any fire at all to huddle by,
Chafing your violet feet in the black snowy night?
Think: when the moon shines through the window, shall you try
To thaw your marble shoulders in her square of light?
Think: when your purse is empty and your palate dry,
Can you from the starred heaven snatch all the gold in sight?
No, no; if you would earn your bread, you have no choice
But to become a choir-boy, and chant in a loud voice
Te Deums you have no faith in, and swing your censer high;
Or be a mountebank, employing all your art —
Yes, on an empty stomach and with an anguished heart —
To chase the boredom of the liverish gallery.
— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay
La Muse vénale
o Muse I love, whom palaces delight,
when 'round thy door the blasts of winter cry,
wilt have, while snowy eves in boredom die,
one ember left for feet all freezing white?
wilt warm thy cold blue shoulders in the light
the stars impart through shutters left awry?
— or climb, with hungry mouth and purse, the sky
to glean the gold from azure vaults of night?
thou must, to earn thy daily bread, employ
a well-swung censer, like a choir-boy,
and chant Te Deum from a heart unstirred,
or, starving clown, lay bare thy loveliness
and laugh through tears thou darest not confess,
to rouse the bilious humour of the herd.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
The Venal Muse
O muse of my heart, lover of palaces,
Will you bring, when January lets loose its sleet
And its black evenings without solace,
An ember to warm my violet feet?
What will revive your bruised shoulders,
The nocturnal rays that pierce the shutters?
When you cannot feel your palace, just your empty billfold,
How will you harvest the gold of azure vaults and gutters?
You should, to earn your bread today
Like a choir boy with a censer to wave,
Sings hymns with feeling but without belief.
Or, a starving rip-off artist, selling your charm
And your laughter shades the tears so no one sees the harm
In bringing to bloom an ordinary rat, a vulgar thief.
Translated by William A. Sigler
The Mercenary Muse
O Muse of my heart, votary of palaces,
Shall you, when January looses its boreal winds,
Have any firebrand to warm your violet feet
In the black boredoms of snowy evenings?
Shall you revive your marble shoulders
By the gleams of night that stab the shutters?
And, feeling your purse as empty as your palace,
Will you reap the gold of azure skies?
To win your evening bread you need,
Like a choir-boy, to play with the censer,
To chant the Te Deums you scarcely believe in,
Or, famished vagabond, expose your charms
And your laughter soaked in crying that is not seen,
In order to dispel the spleen of the people.
— Translated by Geoffrey Wagner
~ Charles Baudelaire,
304: The Paper Windmill
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out
at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of the square
glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and pranced,
and shook drops of sunlight like falling golden coins into the brown water
of the canal. Down stream slowly drifted a long string of galliots
piled with crimson cheeses. The little boy thought they looked as if
they were roc's eggs, blocks of big ruby eggs. He said, 'Oh!' with delight,
and pressed against the window with all his might.
The golden cock on the top of the `Stadhuis' gleamed. His beak was open
like a pair of scissors and a narrow piece of blue sky was wedged in it.
'Cock-a-doodle-do,' cried the little boy. 'Can't you hear me
through the window, Gold Cocky? Cock-a-doodle-do! You should crow
when you see the eggs of your cousin, the great roc.' But the golden cock
stood stock still, with his fine tail blowing in the wind.
He could not understand the little boy, for he said 'Cocorico'
when he said anything. But he was hung in the air to swing, not to sing.
His eyes glittered to the bright West wind, and the crimson cheeses
drifted away down the canal.
It was very dull there in the big room. Outside in the square, the wind
was playing tag with some fallen leaves. A man passed, with a dogcart
beside him full of smart, new milkcans. They rattled out a gay tune:
'Tiddity-tum-ti-ti. Have some milk for your tea. Cream for your coffee
to drink to-night, thick, and smooth, and sweet, and white,'
and the man's sabots beat an accompaniment: 'Plop! trop! milk for your tea.
Plop! trop! drink it to-night.' It was very pleasant out there,
but it was lonely here in the big room. The little boy gulped at a tear.
It was queer how dull all his toys were. They were so still.
Nothing was still in the square. If he took his eyes away a moment
it had changed. The milkman had disappeared round the corner,
there was only an old woman with a basket of green stuff on her head,
picking her way over the shiny stones. But the wind pulled the leaves
in the basket this way and that, and displayed them to beautiful advantage.
The sun patted them condescendingly on their flat surfaces, and they seemed
sprinkled with silver. The little boy sighed as he looked at his disordered
toys on the floor. They were motionless, and their colours were dull.
The dark wainscoting absorbed the sun. There was none left for toys.
The square was quite empty now. Only the wind ran round and round it,
spinning. Away over in the corner where a street opened into the square,
the wind had stopped. Stopped running, that is, for it never
stopped spinning. It whirred, and whirled, and gyrated, and turned.
It burned like a great coloured sun. It hummed, and buzzed, and sparked,
and darted. There were flashes of blue, and long smearing lines of saffron,
and quick jabs of green. And over it all was a sheen like a myriad
cut diamonds. Round and round it went, the huge wind-wheel,
and the little boy's head reeled with watching it. The whole square
was filled with its rays, blazing and leaping round after one another,
faster and faster. The little boy could not speak, he could only gaze,
staring in amaze.
The wind-wheel was coming down the square. Nearer and nearer it came,
a great disk of spinning flame. It was opposite the window now,
and the little boy could see it plainly, but it was something more
than the wind which he saw. A man was carrying a huge fan-shaped frame
on his shoulder, and stuck in it were many little painted paper windmills,
each one scurrying round in the breeze. They were bright and beautiful,
and the sight was one to please anybody, and how much more a little boy
who had only stupid, motionless toys to enjoy.
The little boy clapped his hands, and his eyes danced and whizzed,
for the circling windmills made him dizzy. Closer and closer
came the windmill man, and held up his big fan to the little boy
in the window of the Ambassador's house. Only a pane of glass
between the boy and the windmills. They slid round before his eyes
in rapidly revolving splendour. There were wheels and wheels of colours big, little, thick, thin - all one clear, perfect spin. The windmill vendor
dipped and raised them again, and the little boy's face was glued
to the window-pane. Oh! What a glorious, wonderful plaything!
Rings and rings of windy colour always moving! How had any one ever preferred
those other toys which never stirred. 'Nursie, come quickly. Look!
I want a windmill. See! It is never still. You will buy me one, won't you?
I want that silver one, with the big ring of blue.'
So a servant was sent to buy that one: silver, ringed with blue,
and smartly it twirled about in the servant's hands as he stood a moment
to pay the vendor. Then he entered the house, and in another minute
he was standing in the nursery door, with some crumpled paper on the end
of a stick which he held out to the little boy. 'But I wanted a windmill
which went round,' cried the little boy. 'That is the one you asked for,
Master Charles,' Nursie was a bit impatient, she had mending to do.
'See, it is silver, and here is the blue.' 'But it is only a blue streak,'
sobbed the little boy. 'I wanted a blue ring, and this silver
doesn't sparkle.' 'Well, Master Charles, that is what you wanted,
now run away and play with it, for I am very busy.'
The little boy hid his tears against the friendly window-pane. On the floor
lay the motionless, crumpled bit of paper on the end of its stick.
But far away across the square was the windmill vendor, with his big wheel
of whirring splendour. It spun round in a blaze like a whirling rainbow,
and the sun gleamed upon it, and the wind whipped it, until it seemed
a maze of spattering diamonds. 'Cocorico!' crowed the golden cock
on the top of the `Stadhuis'. 'That is something worth crowing for.'
But the little boy did not hear him, he was sobbing over the crumpled
bit of paper on the floor.
~ Amy Lowell,
305: Ami, Chez Nos Francois
Ami, chez nos Français ma muse voudrait plaire;
Mais j'ai fui la satire à leurs regards si chère.
Le superbe lecteur, toujours content de lui,
Et toujours plus content s'il peut rire d'autrui,
Veut qu'un nom imprévu, dont l'aspect le déride,
Égayé au bout du vers une rime perfide;
Il s'endort si quelqu'un ne pleure quand il rit.
Mais qu'Horace et sa troupe irascible d'esprit
Daignent me pardonner, si jamais ils pardonnent:
J'estime peu cet art, ces leçons qu'ils nous donnent
D'immoler bien un sot qui jure en son chagrin,
Au rire âcre et perçant d'un caprice malin.
Le malheureux déjà me semble assez à plaindre
D'avoir, même avant lui, vu sa gloire s'éteindre
Et son livre au tombeau lui montrer le chemin,
Sans aller, sous la terre au trop fertile sein,
Semant sa renommée et ses tristes merveilles,
Faire à tous les roseaux chanter quelles oreilles
Sur sa tête ont dressé leurs sommets et leurs poids.
Autres sont mes plaisirs. Soit, comme je le crois,
Que d'une débonnaire et généreuse argile
On ait pétri mon âme innocente et facile;
Soit, comme ici, d'un oeil caustique et médisant,
En secouant le front, dira quelque plaisant,
Que le ciel, moins propice, enviât à ma plume
D'un sel ingénieux la piquante amertume,
J'en profite à ma gloire, et je viens devant toi
Mépriser les raisins qui sont trop hauts pour moi.
Aux reproches sanglants d'un vers noble et sévère
Ce pays toutefois offre une ample matière:
Soldats tyrans du peuple obscur et gémissant,
Et juges endormis aux cris de l'innocent;
Ministres oppresseurs, dont la main détestable
Plonge au fond des cachots la vertu redoutable.
Mais, loin qu'ils aient senti la fureur de nos vers,
Nos vers rampent en foule aux pieds de ces pervers,
Qui savent bien payer d'un mépris légitime
Le lâche qui pour eux feint d'avoir quelque estime.
Certe, un courage ardent qui s'armerait contre eux
Serait utile au moins s'il était dangereux;
Non d'aller, aiguisant une vaine satire,
Chercher sur quel poète on a droit de médire;
Si tel livre deux fois ne s'est pas imprimé,
Si tel est mal écrit, tel autre mal rimé.
Ainsi donc, sans coûter de larmes à personne,
A mes goûts innocents, ami, je m'abandonne.
Mes regards vont errant sur mille et mille objets.
Sans renoncer aux vieux, plein de nouveaux projets,
Je les tiens; dans mon camp partout je les rassemble,
Les enrôle, les suis, les pousse tous ensemble.
S'égarant à son gré, mon ciseau vagabond
Achève à ce poème ou les pieds ou le front,
Creuse à l'autre les flancs, puis l'abandonne et vole
Travailler à cet autre ou la jambe ou l'épaule.
Tous, boiteux, suspendus, traînent; mais je les vois
Tous bientôt sur leurs pieds se tenir à la fois.
Ensemble lentement tous couvés sous mes ailes,
Tous ensemble quittant leurs coques maternelles,
Sauront d'un beau plumage ensemble se couvrir,
Ensemble sous le bois voltiger et courir.
Peut-être il vaudrait mieux, plus constant et plus sage,
Commencer, travailler, finir un seul ouvrage.
Mais quoi! cette constance est un pénible ennui.
'Eh bien! nous lirez-vous quelque chose aujourd'hui?
Me dit un curieux qui s'est toujours fait gloire
D'honorer les neuf Soeurs, et toujours, après boire,
Étendu dans sa chaise et se chauffant les piés,
Aime à dormir au bruit des vers psalmodiés.
--Qui, moi? Non, je n'ai rien. D'ailleurs je ne lis guère.
--Certe, un tel nous lut hier une épître!... et son frère
Termina par une ode où j'ai trouvé des traits!...
--Ces messieurs plus féconds, dis-je, sont toujours prêts.
Mais moi, que le caprice et le hasard inspire,
Je n'ai jamais sur moi rien qu'on puisse vous lire.
--Bon! bon! Et cet HERMÈS, dont vous ne parlez pas,
Que devient-il?--Il marche, il arrive à grands pas.
--Oh! je m'en fie à vous.--Hélas! trop, je vous jure.
--Combien de chants de faits?--Pas un, je vous assure.
--Comment?--Vous avez vu sous la main d'un fondeur
Ensemble se former, diverses en grandeur,
Trente cloches d'airain, rivales du tonnerre?
Il achève leur moule enseveli sous terre;
Puis, par un long canal en rameaux divisé,
Y fait couler les flots de l'airain embrasé;
Si bien qu'au même instant, cloches, petite et grande,
Sont prêtes, et chacune attend et ne demande
Qu'à sonner quelque mort, et du haut d'une tour
Réveiller la paroisse à la pointe du jour.
Moi, je suis ce fondeur: de mes écrits en foule
Je prépare longtemps et la forme et le moule;
Puis, sur tous à la fois je fais couler l'airain:
Rien n'est fait aujourd'hui, tout sera fait demain.'
Ami, Phoebus ainsi me verse ses largesses.
Souvent des vieux auteurs j'envahis les richesses.
Plus souvent leurs écrits, aiguillons généreux,
M'embrasent de leur flamme, et je crée avec eux.
Un juge sourcilleux, épiant mes ouvrages,
Tout à coup à grands cris dénonce vingt passages
Traduits de tel auteur qu'il nomme; et, les trouvant,
Il s'admire et se plaît de se voir si savant.
Que ne vient-il vers moi? je lui ferai connaître
Mille de mes larcins qu'il ignore peut-être.
Mon doigt sur mon manteau lui dévoile à l'instant
La couture invisible et qui va serpentant
Pour joindre à mon étoffe une pourpre étrangère.
Je lui montrerai l'art, ignoré du vulgaire,
De séparer aux yeux, en suivant leur lien,
Tous ces métaux unis dont j'ai formé le mien.
Tout ce que des Anglais la muse inculte et brave,
Tout ce que des Toscans la voix fière et suave,
Tout ce que les Romains, ces rois de l'univers,
M'offraient d'or et de soie, est passé dans mes vers.
Je m'abreuve surtout des flots que le Permesse
Plus féconds et plus purs fit couler dans la Grèce;
Là, Prométhée ardent, je dérobe les feux
Dont j'anime l'argile et dont je fais des dieux.
Tantôt chez un auteur j'adopte une pensée,
Mais qui revêt, chez moi, souvent entrelacée,
Mes images, mes tours, jeune et frais ornement;
Tantôt je ne retiens que les mots seulement:
J'en détourne le sens, et l'art sait les contraindre
Vers des objets nouveaux qu'ils s'étonnent de peindre.
La prose plus souvent vient subir d'autres lois,
Et se transforme, et fuît mes poétiques doigts;
De rimes couronnée, et légère et dansante,
En nombres mesurés elle s'agite et chante.
Des antiques vergers ces rameaux empruntés
Croissent sur mon terrain mollement transplantés;
Aux troncs de mon verger ma main avec adresse
Les attache, et bientôt même écorce les presse.
De ce mélange heureux l'insensible douceur
Donne à mes fruits nouveaux une antique saveur.
Dévot adorateur de ces maîtres antiques,
Je veux m'envelopper de leurs saintes reliques.
Dans leur triomphe admis, je veux le partager,
Ou bien de ma défense eux-mêmes les charger.
Le critique imprudent, qui se croit bien habile,
Donnera sur ma joue un soufflet à Virgile.
Et ceci (tu peux voir si j'observe ma loi),
Montaigne, il t'en souvient, l'avait dit avant moi.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
306: Moesta Et Errabunda (Grieving And Wandering)
Dis-moi ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe,
Loin du noir océan de l'immonde cité
Vers un autre océan où la splendeur éclate,
Bleu, clair, profond, ainsi que la virginité?
Dis-moi, ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe?
La mer la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!
Quel démon a doté la mer, rauque chanteuse
Qu'accompagne l'immense orgue des vents grondeurs,
De cette fonction sublime de berceuse?
La mer, la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!
Emporte-moi wagon! enlève-moi, frégate!
Loin! loin! ici la boue est faite de nos pleurs!
— Est-il vrai que parfois le triste coeur d'Agathe
Dise: Loin des remords, des crimes, des douleurs,
Emporte-moi, wagon, enlève-moi, frégate?
Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé,
Où sous un clair azur tout n'est qu'amour et joie,
Où tout ce que l'on aime est digne d'être aimé,
Où dans la volupté pure le coeur se noie!
Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé!
Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,
Les courses, les chansons, les baisers, les bouquets,
Les violons vibrant derrière les collines,
Avec les brocs de vin, le soir, dans les bosquets,
— Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,
L'innocent paradis, plein de plaisirs furtifs,
Est-il déjà plus loin que l'Inde et que la Chine?
Peut-on le rappeler avec des cris plaintifs,
Et l'animer encor d'une voix argentine,
L'innocent paradis plein de plaisirs furtifs?
Grieving and Wandering
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor glitters,
Blue, clear, profound, as is virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
What demon endowed the sea, that raucous singer,
Whose accompanist is the roaring wind,
With the sublime function of cradle-rocker?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
Take me away, carriage! Carry me off, frigate!
Far, far away! Here the mud is made with our tears!
— Is it true that sometimes the sad heart of Agatha
Says: Far from crimes, from remorse, from sorrow,
Take me away, carriage, carry me off, frigate?
How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise,
Where under clear blue sky there's only love and joy,
Where all that one loves is worthy of love,
Where the heart is drowned in sheer enjoyment!
How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise!
But the green Paradise of childhood loves
The outings, the singing, the kisses, the bouquets,
The violins vibrating behind the hills,
And the evenings in the woods, with jugs of wine
— But the green Paradise of childhood loves,
That sinless Paradise, full of furtive pleasures,
Is it farther off now than India and China?
Can one call it back with plaintive cries,
And animate it still with a silvery voice,
That sinless Paradise full of furtive pleasures?
— Translated by William Aggeler
Moesta et Errabunda
Agatha, does your heart rise up and fly,
Far from the city's black and sordid sea
Towards a sea that's blue as any sky,
And clear and deep as pure virginity?
Agatha, does your heart rise up and fly?
The sea, the mighty sea, consoles our labour.
What demon taught the sea with raucous verse
To choir the organ which the winds belabour
And lullaby our sorrows like a nurse?
The sea, the mighty sea, consoles our labour.
Train, bear me; take me, ship, to other climes!
Far, far! For here the mud is made of tears.
— Does Agatha's sad heart not say, at times,
'Far from remorses, sorrows, crimes, and fears,
Train, bear me; take me, ship, to other climes'?
How distant is that perfumed paradise!
Where all is joy and love with azure crowned,
Where all one loves is truly worth the price,
And hearts in pure voluptuousness are drowned.
How distant is that perfumed paradise!
But the green paradise of childish love,
Of races, songs, and kisses, and bouquets,
Of fiddles shrilling in the hills above,
And jars of wine, and woods, and dying rays —
But the green paradise of childish love,
innocent paradise of furtive joys,
Is it far off as India or Hong Kong?
Could it be conjured by a plaintive voice
Or animated by a silver song —
That far off paradise of furtive joys?
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Moesta Et Errabunda
Agatha, tell me, thy heart — does it sometimes fly away,
Far from the vast dark ocean of the mournful town,
Toward one still vaster, mirroring the blue, blue day,
Mindless and deep: a flood wherein all sorrows drown?
Agatha, tell me, thy heart — does it sometimes fly away?
The sea, the enormous sea has rest for our desires:
By what demoniac irony can that fierce thing,
That raucous howler to the winds' untuneful choirs,
Assuage our deepest woe with its wild clarnouring?
The sea, the enormous sea has rest for our desires.
Carry me off, loud trains! Abstract me, silent ships,
Far, far! Here even the earth is miry with our tears!
Is it not true that sometimes Agatha's sweet lips
Murmur: 'Far from regrets, from griefs, from cruel fears,
Carry me off, loud trains! Abstract me, silent ships!'
How far, how far away, that paradise above,
Wbere all our ills supposedly are put to rest,
Where everything we love is worthy of our love,
And the unburdened heart lies weightless in the breast
How far, how far away, that paradise above!
But the green, earthly paradise of childhood, even,
The songs, the furtive kisses, the dances, the bouquets,
The picnics on the hillside — that unpretentious heaven
Of summer twilights where a distant music plays:
But the green, earthly paradise of childhood, even,
Where all our cares are mended in small secret joys —
Is it already farther than Shanghai or Ceylon?
Or has the heart some kingdom no suffering destroys,
Where those young voices laugh, where those old tunes play on
Where all our cares are mended in small secret joys?
— Translated by George Dillon
Moesta et errabunda
say, Agatha, dost thou in dreams delight
— far, far from Paris, black and miry sea —
to rove where other oceans burst in light,
blue, deep, and crystal-clear as chastity?
say, Agatha, dost thou in dreams delight?
the vast, vast ocean is our comforter!
what demon gave the hoarse resounding sea
— and the gruff winds' great organ made for her —
that siren voice to soothe our misery?
the vast, vast ocean is our comforter!
bear me away, swift car and frigate smart!
afar! — afar! this mire is made of tears!
— Agatha, truly does thy mournful heart
cry out: afar from sin, remorse and fears,
bear me away, swift car and frigate smart!
how far from us that fragrant Eden lies,
where all is azure clear and love and joy,
where all we loved was worthy in love's eyes,
where hearts were drowned in bliss without alloy!
how far from us that fragrant Eden lies!
but the green Eden of our earliest loves
— songs, roses, races, with a kiss to win,
the jugs of wine at dusk in shadowy groves
where died, afar, a quivering violin,
— but the green Eden of our earliest loves,
our Eden of pure tremulous joy and bliss
— is it now farther than the Asian shore?
can tears or cries recall each magic kiss,
or prayers or silvery words some eve restore
our Eden of pure tremulous joy and bliss?
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
~ Charles Baudelaire,
307: A Le Brun Et Au Marquis De Brazais
Le Brun, qui nous attends aux rives de la Seine,
Quand un destin jaloux loin de toi nous enchaîne;
Toi, Brazais, comme moi sur ces bords appelé,
Sans qui de l'univers je vivrais exilé;
Depuis que de Pandore un regard téméraire
Versa sur les humains un trésor de misère,
Pensez-vous que du ciel l'indulgente pitié
Leur ait fait un présent plus beau que l'amitié?
Ah! si quelque mortel est né pour la connaître.
C'est nous, âmes de feu, dont l'Amour est le maître.
Le cruel trop souvent empoisonne ses coups;
Elle garde à nos coeurs ses baumes les plus doux.
Malheur au jeune enfant seul, sans ami, sans guide,
Qui près de la beauté rougit et s'intimide,
Et, d'un pouvoir nouveau lentement dominé,
Par l'appât du plaisir doucement entraîné,
Crédule, et sur la foi d'un sourire volage,
A cette mer trompeuse et se livre et s'engage!
Combien de fois, tremblant et les larmes aux yeux,
Ses cris accuseront l'inconstance des dieux!
Combien il frémira d'entendre sur sa tête
Gronder les aquilons et la noire tempête,
Et d'écueils en écueils portera ses douleurs
Sans trouver une main pour essuyer ses pleurs!
Mais heureux dont le zèle, au milieu du naufrage,
Viendra le recueillir, le pousser au rivage;
Endormir dans ses flancs le poison ennemi;
Réchauffer dans son sein le sein de son ami,
Et de son fol amour étouffer la semence,
Ou du moins dans son coeur ranimer l'espérance!
Qu'il est beau de savoir, digne d'un tel lien,
Au repos d'un ami sacrifier le sien!
Plaindre de s'immoler l'occasion ravie,
Être heureux de sa joie et vivre de sa vie!
Si le ciel a daigné d'un regard amoureux
Accueillir ma prière et sourire à mes voeux,
Je ne demande point que mes sillons avides
Boivent l'or du Pactole et ses trésors liquides;
Ni que le diamant, sur la pourpre enchaîné,
Pare mon coeur esclave au Louvre prosterné;
Ni même, voeu plus doux! que la main d'Uranie
Embellisse mon front des palmes du génie;
Mais que beaucoup d'amis, accueillis dans mes bras,
Se partagent ma vie et pleurent mon trépas;
Que ces doctes héros, dont la main de la Gloire
A consacré les noms au temple de Mémoire,
Plutôt que leurs talents, inspirent à mon coeur
Les aimables vertus qui firent leur bonheur;
Et que de l'amitié ces antiques modèles
Reconnaissent mes pas sur leurs traces fidèles.
Si le feu qui respire en leurs divins écrits
D'une vive étincelle échauffa nos esprits;
Si leur gloire en nos coeurs souffle une noble envie,
Oh! suivons donc aussi l'exemple de leur vie:
Gardons d'en négliger la plus belle moitié;
Soyons heureux comme eux au sein de l'amitié.
Horace, loin des flots qui tourmentent Cythère,
Y retrouvait d'un port l'asile salutaire;
Lui-même au doux Tibulle, à ses tristes amours,
Prêta de l'amitié les utiles secours.
L'amitié rendit vains tous les traits de Lesbie;
Elle essuya les yeux que fit pleurer Cynthie.
Virgile n'a-t-il pas, d'un vers doux et flatteur,
De Gallus expirant consolé le malheur?
Voilà l'exemple saint que mon coeur leur demande.
Ovide, ah! qu'à mes yeux ton infortune est grande!
Non pour n'avoir pu faire aux tyrans irrités
Agréer de tes vers les lâches faussetés;
Je plains ton abandon, ta douleur solitaire.
Pas un coeur qui, du tien zélé dépositaire,
Vienne adoucir ta plaie, apaiser ton effroi,
Et consoler tes pleurs, et pleurer avec toi!
Ce n'est pas nous, amis, qu'un tel foudre menace.
Que des dieux et des rois l'éclatante disgrâce
Nous frappe: leur tonnerre aura trompé leurs mains;
Nous resterons unis en dépit des destins.
Qu'ils excitent sur nous la fortune cruelle;
Qu'elle arme tous ses traits: nous sommes trois contre elle.
Nos coeurs peuvent l'attendre, et, dans tous ses combats,
L'un sur l'autre appuyés, ne chancelleront pas.
Oui, mes amis, voilà le bonheur, la sagesse.
Que nous importe alors si le dieu du Permesse
Dédaigne de nous voir, entre ses favoris,
Charmer de l'Hélicon les bocages fleuris?
Aux sentiers où leur vie offre un plus doux exemple,
Où la félicité les reçut dans son temple,
Nous les aurons suivis, et, jusques au tombeau,
De leur double laurier su ravir le plus beau.
Mais nous pouvons, comme eux, les cueillir l'un et l'autre.
Ils reçurent du ciel un coeur tel que le nôtre;
Ce coeur fut leur génie; il fut leur Apollon,
Et leur docte fontaine, et leur sacré vallon.
Castor charme les dieux, et son frère l'inspire.
Loin de Patrocle, Achille aurait brisé sa lyre.
C'est près de Pollion, dans les bras de Varus,
Que Virgile envia le destin de Nisus.
Que dis-je? ils t'ont transmis ce feu qui les domine.
N'ai-je pas vu ta muse au tombeau de Racine,
Le Brun, faire gémir la lyre de douleurs
Que jadis Simonide anima de ses pleurs?
Et toi, dont le génie, amant de la retraite,
Et des leçons d'Ascra studieux interprète,
Accompagnant l'année en ses douze palais,
Étale sa richesse et ses vastes bienfaits;
Brazais, que de tes chants mon âme est pénétrée,
Quand ils vont couronner cette vierge adorée
Dont par la main du temps l'empire est respecté,
Et de qui la vieillesse augmente la beauté!
L'homme insensible et froid en vain s'attache à peindre
Ces sentiments du coeur que l'esprit ne peut feindre;
De ses tableaux fardés les frivoles appas
N'iront jamais au coeur dont ils ne viennent pas.
Eh! comment me tracer une image fidèle
Des traits dont votre main ignore le modèle?
Mais celui qui, dans soi descendant en secret,
Le contemple vivant, ce modèle parfait,
C'est lui qui nous enflamme au feu qui le dévore;
Lui qui fait adorer la vertu qu'il adore;
Lui qui trace, en un vers des Muses agréé,
Un sentiment profond que son coeur a créé.
Aimer, sentir, c'est là cette ivresse vantée
Qu'aux célestes foyers déroba Prométhée.
Calliope jamais daigna-t-elle enflammer
Un coeur inaccessible à la douceur d'aimer?
Non: l'amour, l'amitié, la sublime harmonie,
Tous ces dons précieux n'ont qu'un même génie;
Même souffle anima le poète charmant,
L'ami religieux et le parfait amant;
Ce sont toutes vertus d'une âme grande et fière.
Bavius et Zoïle, et Gacon et Linière,
Aux concerts d'Apollon ne furent point admis,
Vécurent sans maîtresse, et n'eurent point d'amis.
Et ceux qui, par leurs moeurs dignes de plus d'estime,
Ne sont point nés pourtant sous cet astre sublime,
Voyez-les, dans des vers divins, délicieux,
Vous habiller l'amour d'un clinquant précieux;
Badinage insipide où leur ennui se joue,
Et qu'autant que l'amour le bon sens désavoue.
Voyez si d'une belle un jeune amant épris
A tressailli jamais en lisant leurs écrits;
Si leurs lyres jamais, froides comme leurs âmes,
De la sainte amitié respirèrent les flammes.
O peuples de héros, exemples des mortels!
C'est chez vous que l'encens fuma sur ses autels;
C'est aux temps glorieux des triomphes d'Athène,
Aux temps sanctifiés par la vertu romaine;
Quand l'âme de Lélie animait Scipion,
Quand Nicoclès mourait au sein de Phocion;
C'est aux murs où Lycurgue a consacré sa vie,
Où les vertus étaient les lois de la patrie.
O demi-dieux amis! Atticus, Cicéron,
Caton, Brutus, Pompée, et Sulpice, et Varron!
Ces héros, dans le sein de leur ville perdue,
S'assemblaient pour pleurer la liberté vaincue.
Unis par la vertu, la gloire, le malheur,
Les arts et l'amitié consolaient leur douleur.
Sans l'amitié, quel antre ou quel sable infertile
N'eût été pour le sage un désirable asile,
Quand du Tibre avili le spectre ensanglanté
Armait la main du vice et la férocité;
Quand d'un vrai citoyen l'éclat et le courage
Réveillaient du tyran la soupçonneuse rage;
Quand l'exil, la prison, le vol, l'assassinat,
Étaient pour l'apaiser l'offrande du Sénat!
Thraséas, Soranus, Sénécion, Rustique,
Vous tous, dignes enfants de la patrie antique,
Je vous vois tous amis, entourés de bourreaux,
Braver du scélérat les indignes faisceaux,
Du lâche délateur l'impudente richesse,
Et du vil affranchi l'orgueilleuse bassesse.
Je vous vois, au milieu des crimes, des noirceurs,
Garder une patrie, et des lois, et des moeurs;
Traverser d'un pied sûr, sans tache, sans souillure,
Les flots contagieux de cette mer impure;
Vous créer, au flambeau de vos mâles aïeux,
Sur ce monde profane un monde vertueux.
Oh! viens rendre à leurs noms nos âmes attentives,
Amitié! de leur gloire ennoblis nos archives.
Viens, viens: que nos climats, par ton souffle épurés,
Enfantent des rivaux à ces hommes sacrés.
Rends-nous hommes comme eux. Fais sur la France heureuse
Descendre des Vertus la troupe radieuse,
De ces filles du ciel qui naissent dans ton sein,
Et toutes sur tes pas se tiennent par la main.
Ranime les beaux-arts, éveille leur génie,
Chasse de leur empire et la haine et l'envie:
Loin de toi dans l'opprobre ils meurent avilis;
Pour conserver leur trône ils doivent être unis.
Alors de l'univers ils forcent les hommages:
Tout, jusqu'à Plutus même, encense leurs images;
Tout devient juste alors; et le peuple et les grands,
Quand l'homme est respectable, honorent les talents.
Ainsi l'on vit les Grecs prôner d'un même zèle
La gloire d'Alexandre et la gloire d'Apelle;
La main de Phidias créa des immortels,
Et Smyrne à son Homère éleva des autels.
Nous, amis, cependant, de qui la noble audace
Veut atteindre aux lauriers de l'antique Parnasse,
Au rang de ces grands noms nous pouvons être admis;
Soyons cités comme eux entre les vrais amis.
Qu'au-delà du trépas notre âme mutuelle
Vive et respire encor sur la lyre immortelle.
Que nos noms soient sacrés, que nos chants glorieux
Soient pour tous les amis un code précieux.
Qu'ils trouvent dans nos vers leur âme et leurs pensées;
Qu'ils raniment encor nos muses éclipsées,
Et qu'en nous imitant ils s'attendent un jour
D'être chez leurs neveux imités à leur tour.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
Dans nos vastes cités, par le sort partagés,
Sous deux injustes lois les hommes sont rangés:
Les uns, princes et grands, d'une avide opulence
Étalent sans pudeur la barbare insolence;
Les autres, sans pudeur, vils clients de ces grands,
Vont ramper sous les murs qui cachent leurs tyrans.
Admirer ces palais aux colonnes hautaines
Dont eux-mêmes ont payé les splendeurs inhumaines,
Qu'eux-mêmes ont arrachés aux entrailles des monts,
Et tout trempés encor des sueurs de leurs fronts.
Moi, je me plus toujours, client de la nature,
A voir son opulence et bienfaisante et pure,
Cherchant loin de nos murs les temples, les palais
Où la Divinité me révèle ses traits,
Ces monts, vainqueurs sacrés des fureurs du tonnerre,
Ces chênes, ces sapins, premiers-nés de la terre.
Les pleurs des malheureux n'ont point teint ces lambris.
D'un feu religieux le saint poète épris
Cherche leur pur éther et plane sur leur cime.
Mer bruyante, la voix du poète sublime
Lutte contre les vents; et tes flots agités
Sont moins forts, moins puissants que ses vers indomptés.
A l'aspect du volcan, aux astres élancée,
Luit, vole avec l'Etna, la bouillante pensée.
Heureux qui sait aimer ce trouble auguste et grand!
Seul, il rêve en silence à la voix du torrent
Qui le long des rochers se précipite et tonne;
Son esprit en torrent et s'élance et bouillonne.
Là, je vais dans mon sein méditant à loisir
Des chants à faire entendre aux siècles à venir;
Là, dans la nuit des coeurs qu'osa sonder Homère,
Cet aveugle divin et me guide et m'éclaire.
Souvent mon vol, armé des ailes de Buffon,
Franchit avec Lucrèce, au flambeau de Newton,
La ceinture d'azur sur le globe étendue.
Je vois l'être et la vie et leur source inconnue,
Dans les fleuves d'éther tous les mondes roulants.
Je poursuis la comète aux crins étincelants,
Les astres et leurs poids, leurs formes, leurs distances;
Je voyage avec eux dans leurs cercles immenses.
Comme eux, astre, soudain je m'entoure de feux;
Dans l'éternel concert je me place avec eux:
En moi leurs doubles lois agissent et respirent:
Je sens tendre vers eux mon globe qu'ils attirent;
Sur moi qui les attire ils pèsent à leur tour.
Les éléments divers, leur haine, leur amour,
Les causes, l'infini s'ouvre à mon oeil avide.
Bientôt redescendu sur notre fange humide,
J'y rapporte des vers de nature enflammés,
Aux purs rayons des dieux dans ma course allumés.
Écoutez donc ces chants d'Hermès dépositaires,
Où l'homme antique, errant dans ses routes premières,
Fait revivre à vos yeux l'empreinte de ses pas.
Mais dans peu, m'élançant aux armes, aux combats,
Je dirai l'Amérique à l'Europe montrée;
J'irai dans cette riche et sauvage contrée
Soumettre au Mançanar le vaste Maragnon.
Plus loin dans l'avenir je porterai mon nom,
Celui de cette Europe en grands exploits féconde,
Que nos jours ne sont loin des premiers jours du monde.
Chassez de vos autels, juges vains et frivoles,
Ces héros conquérants, meurtrières idoles;
Tous ces grands noms, enfants des crimes, des malheurs,
De massacres fumants, teints de sang et de pleurs.
Venez tomber aux pieds de plus nobles images:
Voyez ces hommes saints, ces sublimes courages,
Héros dont les vertus, les travaux bienfaisants,
Ont éclairé la terre et mérité l'encens;
Qui, dépouillés d'eux-mêmes et vivant pour leurs frères,
Les ont soumis au frein des règles salutaires,
Au joug de leur bonheur; les ont faits citoyens;
En leur donnant des lois leur ont donné des biens,
Des forces, des parents, la liberté, la vie;
Enfin qui d'un pays ont fait une patrie.
Et que de fois pourtant leurs frères envieux
Ont d'affronts insensés, de mépris odieux,
Accueilli les bienfaits de ces illustres guides,
Comme dans leurs maisons ces animaux stupides
Dont la dent méfiante ose outrager la main
Qui se tendait vers eux pour apaiser leur faim!
Mais n'importe; un grand homme au milieu des supplices
Goûte de la vertu les augustes délices.
Il le sait: les humains sont injustes, ingrats.
Que leurs yeux un moment ne le connaissent pas;
Qu'un jour entre eux et lui s'élève avec murmure
D'insectes ennemis une nuée obscure;
N'importe, il les instruit, il les aime pour eux.
Même ingrats, il est doux d'avoir fait des heureux.
Il sait que leur vertu, leur bonté, leur prudence,
Doit être son ouvrage et non sa récompense,
Et que leur repentir, pleurant sur son tombeau,
De ses soins, de sa vie, est un prix assez beau,
An loin dans l'avenir sa grande âme contemple
Les sages opprimés que soutient son exemple;
Des méchants dans soi-même il brave la noirceur:
C'est là qu'il sait les fuir; son asile est son coeur.
De ce faîte serein, son Olympe sublime,
Il voit, juge, connaît. Un démon magnanime
Agite ses pensers, vit dans son coeur brûlant,
Travaille son sommeil actif et vigilant,
Arrache au long repos sa nuit laborieuse,
Allume avant le jour sa lampe studieuse,
Lui montre un peuple entier, par ses nobles bienfaits,
Indompté dans la guerre, opulent dans la paix,
Son beau nom remplissant leur coeur et leur histoire,
Les siècles prosternés au pied de sa mémoire.
Par ses sueurs bientôt l'édifice s'accroît.
En vain l'esprit du peuple est rampant, est étroit,
En vain le seul présent les frappe et les entraîne,
En vain leur raison faible et leur vue incertaine
Ne peut de ses regards suivre les profondeurs,
De sa raison céleste atteindre les hauteurs;
Il appelle les dieux à son conseil suprême.
Ses décrets, confiés à la voix des dieux même,
Entraînent sans convaincre, et le monde ébloui
Pense adorer les dieux en n'adorant que lui.
Il fait honneur aux dieux de son divin ouvrage.
C'est alors qu'il a vu tantôt à son passage
Un buisson enflammé recéler l'Éternel;
C'est alors qu'il rapporte, en un jour solennel,
De la montagne ardente et du sein du tonnerre,
La voix de Dieu lui-même écrite sur la pierre;
Ou c'est alors qu'au fond de ses augustes bois
Une nymphe l'appelle et lui trace des lois,
Et qu'un oiseau divin, messager de miracles,
A son oreille vient lui dicter des oracles.
Tout agit pour lui seul, et la tempête et l'air,
Et le cri des forêts, et la foudre et l'éclair;
Tout. Il prend à témoin le monde et la nature.
Mensonge grand et saint! glorieuse imposture,
Quand au peuple trompé ce piège généreux
Lui rend sacré le joug qui doit le rendre heureux!
Du temps et du besoin l'inévitable empire
Dut avoir aux humains enseigné l'art d'écrire.
D'autres arts l'ont poli; mais aux arts, le premier,
Lui seul des vrais succès put ouvrir le sentier,
Sur la feuille d'Égypte ou sur la peau ductile,
Même un jour sur le dos d'un albâtre docile,
Au fond des eaux formé des dépouilles du lin,
Une main éloquente, avec cet art divin,
Tient, fait voir l'invisible et rapide pensée,
L'abstraite intelligence et palpable et tracée;
Peint des sons à nos yeux, et transmet à la fois
Une voix aux couleurs, des couleurs à la voix.
Quand des premiers traités la fraternelle chaîne
Commença d'approcher, d'unir la race humaine,
La terre et de hauts monts, des fleuves, des forêts,
Des contrats attestés garants sûrs et muets,
Furent le livre auguste et les lettres sacrées
Qui faisaient lire aux yeux les promesses jurées.
Dans la suite peut-être ils voulurent sur soi
L'un de l'autre emporter la parole et la foi;
Ils surent donc, broyant de liquides matières,
L'un sur l'autre imprimer leurs images grossières,
Ou celle du témoin, homme, plante ou rocher,
Qui vit jurer leur bouche et leurs mains se toucher.
De là dans l'Orient ces colonnes savantes,
Rois, prêtres, animaux peints en scènes vivantes,
De la religion ténébreux monuments,
Pour les sages futurs laborieux tourments,
Archives de l'État, où les mains politiques
Traçaient en longs tableaux les annales publiques.
De là, dans un amas d'emblèmes captieux,
Pour le peuple ignorant monstre religieux,
Des membres ennemis vont composer ensemble
Un seul tout, étonné du noeud qui les rassemble:
Un corps de femme au front d'un aigle enfant des airs
Joint l'écaille et les flancs d'un habitant des mers.
Cet art simple et grossier nous a suffi peut-être
Tant que tous nos discours n'ont su voir ni connaître
Que les objets présents dans la nature épars,
Et que tout notre esprit était dans nos regards.
Mais on vit, quand vers l'homme on apprit à descendre,
Quand il fallut fixer, nommer, écrire, entendre,
Du coeur, des passions les plus secrets détours,
Les espaces du temps ou plus longs ou plus courts,
Quel cercle étroit bornait cette antique écriture.
Plus on y mit de soins, plus incertaine, obscure,
Du sens confus et vague elle épaissit la nuit.
Quelque peuple à la fin, par le travail instruit,
Compte combien de mots l'héréditaire usage
A transmis jusqu'à lui pour former un langage.
Pour chacun de ces mots un signe est inventé,
Et la main qui l'entend des lèvres répété
Se souvient d'en tracer cette image fidèle;
Et sitôt qu'une idée inconnue et nouvelle
Grossit d'un mot nouveau ces mots déjà nombreux,
Un nouveau signe accourt s'enrôler avec eux.
C'est alors, sur des pas si faciles à suivre,
Que l'esprit des humains est assuré de vivre.
C'est alors que le fer à la pierre, aux métaux,
Livre, en dépôt sacré pour les âges nouveaux,
Nos âmes et nos moeurs fidèlement gardées;
Et l'oeil sait reconnaître une forme aux idées.
Dès lors des grands aïeux les travaux, les vertus
Ne sont point pour leurs fils des exemples perdus.
Le passé du présent est l'arbitre et le père,
Le conduit par la main, l'encourage, l'éclaire.
Les aïeux, les enfants, les arrière-neveux,
Tous sont du même temps, ils ont les mêmes voeux,
La patrie, au milieu des embûches, des traîtres,
Remonte en sa mémoire, a recours aux ancêtres,
Cherche ce qu'ils feraient en un danger pareil,
Et des siècles vieillis assemble le conseil.
~ Andre Marie de Chenier,
1 Integral Yoga
8 Sri Aurobindo
7 Sri Ramakrishna
4 The Mother
3 Aldous Huxley
9 The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna
6 The Life Divine
4 The Mothers Agenda
3 The Synthesis Of Yoga
3 The Perennial Philosophy
1.04_-_GOD_IN_THE_WORLD, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
The means whereby mans final end is to be attained will be described and illustrated at length in the section on Mortification and Non-attachment. This section, however, is mainly concerned with the disciplining of the will. But the disciplining of the will must have as its accompaniment a no less thorough disciplining of the consciousness. There has to be a conversion, sudden or otherwise, not merely of the heart, but also of the senses and of the perceiving mind. What follows is a brief account of this metanoia, as the Greeks called it, this total and radical change of mind.
1.06_-_Man_in_the_Universe, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
14:Perhaps they are unfathomable, perhaps they also are really unknowable in their essence? Or, it may be, they have no essential reality, - are an illusion, Asat, non-being. The superior Negation appears to us sometimes as a Nihil, a Non-Existence; this inferior negation may also be, in its essence, a Nihil, a nonexistence. But as we have already put away from us this evasion of the difficulty with regard to that higher, so also we discard it for this inferior Asat. To deny entirely its reality or to seek an escape from it as a mere disastrous illusion is to put away from us the problem and to shun our work. For Life, these things that seem to deny God, to be the opposites of Sachchidananda, are real, even if they turn out to be temporary. They and their opposites, good, knowledge, joy, pleasure, life, survival, strength, power, increase, are the very material of her workings.
15:It is probable indeed that they are the result or rather the inseparable accompaniments, not of an illusion, but of a wrong relation, wrong because it is founded on a false view of what the individual is in the universe and therefore a false attitude both towards God and Nature, towards self and environment. Because that which he has become is out of harmony both with what the world of his habitation is and what he himself should be and is to be, therefore man is subject to these contradictions of the secret Truth of things. In that case they are not the punishment of a fall, but the conditions of a progress. They are the first elements of the work he has to fulfil, the price he has to pay for the crown which he hopes to win, the narrow way by which Nature escapes out of Matter into consciousness; they are at once her ransom and her stock.
16:For out of these false relations and by their aid the true have to be found. By the Ignorance we have to cross over death. So too the Veda speaks cryptically of energies that are like women evil in impulse, wandering from the path, doing hurt to their Lord, which yet, though themselves false and unhappy, build up in the end "this vast Truth", the Truth that is the Bliss. It would be, then, not when he has excised the evil in Nature out of himself by an act of moral surgery or parted with life by an abhorrent recoil, but when he has turned Death into a more perfect life, lifted the small things of the human limitation into the great things of the divine vastness, transformed suffering into beatitude, converted evil into its proper good, translated error and falsehood into their secret truth that the sacrifice will be accomplished, the journey done and Heaven and Earth equalised join hands in the bliss of the Supreme.
1.08_-_RELIGION_AND_TEMPERAMENT, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
The path of works is for those whose extraversion is of the somatotonic kind, those who in all circumstances feel the need to do something. In the unregenerate somatotonic this craving for action is always associated with aggressiveness, self-assertion and the lust for power. For the born Kshatriya, or warrior-ruler, the task, as Krishna explains to Arjuna, is to get rid of those fatal accompaniments to the love of action and to work without regard to the fruits of work, in a state of complete non-attachment to self. Which is, of course, like everything else, a good deal easier said than done.
1.08_-_The_Methods_of_Vedantic_Knowledge, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
8:None of them, however, leads to the aim we have in view, the psychological experience of those truths that are "beyond perception by the sense but seizable by the perceptions of the reason", buddhigrahyam atndriyam.2 They give us only a larger field of phenomena and more effective means for the observation of phenomena. The truth of things always escapes beyond the sense. Yet is it a sound rule inherent in the very constitution of universal existence that where there are truths attainable by the reason, there must be somewhere in the organism possessed of that reason a means of arriving at or verifying them by experience. The one means we have left in our mentality is an extension of that form of knowledge by identity which gives us the awareness of our own existence. It is really upon a selfawareness more or less conscient, more or less present to our conception that the knowledge of the contents of our self is based. Or to put it in a more general formula, the knowledge of the contents is contained in the knowledge of the continent. If then we can extend our faculty of mental self-awareness to awareness of the Self beyond and outside us, Atman or Brahman of the Upanishads, we may become possessors in experience of the truths which form the contents of the Atman or Brahman in the universe. It is on this possibility that Indian Vedanta has based itself. It has sought through knowledge of the Self the knowledge of the universe.
9:But always mental experience and the concepts of the reason have been held by it to be even at their highest a reflection in mental identifications and not the supreme self-existent identity. We have to go beyond the mind and the reason. The reason active in our waking consciousness is only a mediator between the subconscient All that we come from in our evolution upwards and the superconscient All towards which we are impelled by that evolution. The subconscient and the superconscient are two different formulations of the same All. The master-word of the subconscient is Life, the master-word of the superconscient is Light. In the subconscient knowledge or consciousness is involved in action, for action is the essence of Life. In the superconscient action re-enters into Light and no longer contains involved knowledge but is itself contained in a supreme consciousness. Intuitional knowledge is that which is common between them and the foundation of intuitional knowledge is conscious or effective identity between that which knows and that which is known; it is that state of common self-existence in which the knower and the known are one through knowledge. But in the subconscient the intuition manifests itself in the action, in effectivity, and the knowledge or conscious identity is either entirely or more or less concealed in the action. In the superconscient, on the contrary, Light being the law and the principle, the intuition manifests itself in its true nature as knowledge emerging out of conscious identity, and effectivity of action is rather the accompaniment or necessary consequent and no longer masks as the primary fact. Between these two states reason and mind act as intermediaries which enable the being to liberate knowledge out of its imprisonment in the act and prepare it to resume its essential primacy. When the selfawareness in the mind applied both to continent and content, to own-self and other-self, exalts itself into the luminous selfmanifest identity, the reason also converts itself into the form of the self-luminous intuitional3 knowledge. This is the highest possible state of our knowledge when mind fulfils itself in the supramental.
10:Such is the scheme of the human understanding upon which the conclusions of the most ancient Vedanta were built. To develop the results arrived at on this foundation by the ancient sages is not my object, but it is necessary to pass briefly in review some of their principal conclusions so far as they affect the problem of the divine Life with which alone we are at present concerned. For it is in those ideas that we shall find the best previous foundation of that which we seek now to rebuild and although, as with all knowledge, old expression has to be replaced to a certain extent by new expression suited to a later mentality and old light has to merge itself into new light as dawn succeeds dawn, yet it is with the old treasure as our initial capital or so much of it as we can recover that we shall most advantageously proceed to accumulate the largest gains in our new commerce with the ever-changeless and ever-changing Infinite.
1.099_-_The_Entry_of_the_Eternal_into_the_Individual, #The Study and Practice of Yoga, #Swami Krishnananda, #Yoga
Janma auadhi mantra tapa samdhij siddhaya (IV.1). Siddhis are perfections or attainments achievements of powers. It is seen that certain created beings are born with certain perfections. This accompaniment of a perfection, or a siddhi, with ones birth is due to previous practice. Many a time it so happens that the result of even a protracted practice cannot be seen or visualised in ones life due to various obstacles in the form of impeding prarabdhas. This has been the case with many seekers. But, when they give up their body without apparently having achieved any perfection or having had no achievement at all, they are reborn with the manifestation of the results of their earlier practice.
The powers, or the siddhis, which the Vibhuti Pada speaks about are not creations, inventions, etc., but are only spontaneous actions of prakriti just as there is a spontaneous movement of water in the fields. What does yoga practice do? It does exactly what the farmer does in the fields. Instead of blocking the passage of water and not allowing it to flow into the field for the purpose of irrigation, the farmer opens up a stream, creates a channel, and allows the water to flow. This is what yoga does. At present the movement of energies, which flow of their own accord, are blocked. The movements are blocked due to there being no passage for the entry of the forces of nature. What is it that blocks the entry of these forces? There is only one thing which is the principal obstruction of the operation of natural forces in us. That is the I-principle, the ego, the asmita, which has various other accompaniments raga, dvesa, etc. Raga, dvesa, abhinivesa all these things mentioned earlier are accompanying features of the single impediment which is asmita. We are so powerful in our ego that nothing from outside can enter it. It is hard like flint, and it is, therefore, incapable of allowing the entry of any force into itself, just as any amount of water poured on hard rock will not enter the rock.
1.1.04_-_Philosophy, #Essays Divine And Human, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
As for the pramanas, their manipulation is the instrument of all difference of opinion and the accompaniment to an unending jangle of debate.
1.10_-_GRACE_AND_FREE_WILL, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
Defined in psychological terms, grace is something other than our self-conscious personal self, by which we are helped. We have experience of three kinds of such helpsanimal grace, human grace and spiritual grace. Animal grace comes when we are living in full accord with our own nature on the biological levelnot abusing our bodies by excess, not interfering with the workings of our indwelling animal intelligence by conscious cravings and aversions, but living wholesomely and laying ourselves open to the virtue of the sun and the spirit of the air. The reward of being thus in harmony with Tao or the Logos in its physical and physiological aspects is a sense of well-being, an awareness of life as good, not for any reason, but just because it is life. There is no question, when we are in a condition of animal grace, of propter vitam vivendi perdere causas; for in this state there is no distinction between the reasons for living and life itself. Life, like virtue, is then its own reward. But, of course, the fulness of animal grace is reserved for animals. Mans nature is such that he must live a self-conscious life in time, not in a blissful sub-rational eternity on the hither side of good and evil. Consequently animal grace is something that he knows only spasmodically in an occasional holiday from self-consciousness, or as an accompaniment to other states, in which life is not its own reward but has to be lived for a reason outside itself.
1.16_-_The_Triple_Status_of_Supermind, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
9:In the second poise of the Supermind the Divine Consciousness stands back in the idea from the movement which it contains, realising it by a sort of apprehending consciousness, following it, occupying and inhabiting its works, seeming to distribute itself in its forms. In each name and form it would realise itself as the stable Conscious-Self, the same in all; but also it would realise itself as a concentration of ConsciousSelf following and supporting the individual play of movement and upholding its differentiation from other play of movement, - the same everywhere in soul-essence, but varying in soulform. This concentration supporting the soul-form would be the individual Divine or Jivatman as distinguished from the universal Divine or one all-constituting self. There would be no essential difference, but only a practical differentiation for the play which would not abrogate the real unity. The universal Divine would know all soul-forms as itself and yet establish a different relation with each separately and in each with all the others. The individual Divine would envisage its existence as a soul-form and soul-movement of the One and, while by the comprehending action of consciousness it would enjoy its unity with the One and with all soul-forms, it would also by a forward or frontal apprehending action support and enjoy its individual movement and its relations of a free difference in unity both with the One and with all its forms. If our purified mind were to reflect this secondary poise of Supermind, our soul could support and occupy its individual existence and yet even there realise itself as the One that has become all, inhabits all, contains all, enjoying even in its particular modification its unity with God and its fellows. In no other circumstance of the supramental existence would there be any characteristic change; the only change would be this play of the One that has manifested its multiplicity and of the Many that are still one, with all that is necessary to maintain and conduct the play.
10:A third poise of the Supermind would be attained if the supporting concentration were no longer to stand at the back, as it were, of the movement, inhabiting it with a certain superiority to it and so following and enjoying, but were to project itself into the movement and to be in a way involved in it. Here, the character of the play would be altered, but only in so far as the individual Divine would so predominantly make the play of relations with the universal and with its other forms the practical field of its conscious experience that the realisation of utter unity with them would be only a supreme accompaniment and constant culmination of all experience; but in the higher poise unity would be the dominant and fundamental experience and variation would be only a play of the unity. This tertiary poise would be therefore that of a sort of fundamental blissful dualism in unity - no longer unity qualified by a subordinate dualism - between the individual Divine and its universal source, with all the consequences that would accrue from the maintenance and operation of such a dualism.
11:It may be said that the first consequence would be a lapse into the ignorance of Avidya which takes the Many for the real fact of existence and views the One only as a cosmic sum of the Many. But there would not necessarily be any such lapse. For the individual Divine would still be conscious of itself as the result of the One and of its power of conscious self-creation, that is to say, of its multiple self-concentration conceived so as to govern and enjoy manifoldly its manifold existence in the extension of Time and Space; this true spiritual Individual would not arrogate to itself an independent or separate existence. It would only affirm the truth of the differentiating movement along with the truth of the stable unity, regarding them as the upper and lower poles of the same truth, the foundation and culmination of the same divine play; and it would insist on the joy of the differentiation as necessary to the fullness of the joy of the unity.
2.04_-_ADVICE_TO_HOUSEHOLDERS, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
"At Kamarpukur they sing kirtan very well. The devotional music is sung to the accompaniment of drums.
2.06_-_THE_MASTER_WITH_THE_BRAHMO_DEVOTEES, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
It was about half past eight when the evening worship began in the prayer hall. Soon the moon rose in the autumn sky and flooded the trees and creepers of the garden with its light. After prayer the devotees began to sing. Sri Ramakrishna was dancing, intoxicated with love of God. The Brahmo devotees danced around him to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals. All appeared to be in a very joyous mood. The place echoed and reechoed with God's holy name. When the music had stopped, Sri Ramakrishna prostrated himself on the ground and, making salutations to the Divine Mother again and again, said: "Bhagavata-Bhakta-Bhagavan! My salutations at the feet of the jnanis! My salutations at the feet of the bhaktas! I salute the bhaktas who believe in God with form, and I salute the bhaktas who believe in God without form. I salute the knowers of Brahman of olden times. And my salutations at the feet of the modern knowers of Brahman of the Brahmo Samaj!"
2.07_-_THE_MASTER_AND_VIJAY_GOSWAMI, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
About half past nine in the morning Prankrishna took leave of the Master. Soon afterwards a minstrel sang some devotional songs to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. The Master was listening to the songs when Kedr Chatterji, a householder devotee, entered the room clad in his office clothes. He was a man of devotional temperament and cherished the attitude of the gopis of Vrindvan. Words about God would make him weep.
2.08_-_THE_MASTERS_BIRTHDAY_CELEBRATION_AT_DAKSHINESWAR, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
Presently some devotees from Konnagar arrived, singing kirtan to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals. As they reached the northeast verandah of Sri Ramakrishna's room, the Master joined in the music, dancing with them intoxicated with divine joy.
2.09_-_ADVICE_TO_THE_BRAHMOS, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
The Master wanted to hear Narendra sing. The young disciple was not feeling well, but at the Master's earnest request he sang to the accompaniment of the Tnpura:
2.10_-_THE_MASTER_WITH_THE_BRAHMO_DEVOTEES_(II), #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
Some of the Brahmo ladies sat on chairs, with music books in their hands. The songs of the Brahmo Samaj were sung to the accompaniment of harmonium and piano. Sri Ramakrishna's joy was unbounded. The invocation was followed by a prayer, and then the worship began. The acharyas, seated on the platform, recited from the Vedas: Om. Thou art our Father. Give us right knowledge; do not destroy us! We bow to Thee.
2.14_-_The_Origin_and_Remedy_of_Falsehood,_Error,_Wrong_and_Evil, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
in it; if it were intrinsically an entire absence of consciousness, the change would be impossible: but still it works as an inconscience trying to be conscious; it is at first a nescience compelled by need and outer impact to feeling and response and then an ignorance labouring to know. The means used is a contact with the world and its forces and objects which, like the rubbing of tinders, creates a spark of awareness; the response from within is that spark leaping out into manifestation. But the surface nescience in receiving the response from an underlying source of knowledge subdues and changes it into something obscure and incomplete; there is an imperfect seizure or a misprision of the intuition that answers to the contact: still by this process an initiation of responsive consciousness, a first accumulation of ingrained or habitual instinctive knowledge begins, and there follows upon it first a primitive and then a developed capacity of receptive awareness, understanding, reply of action, previsional initiation of action, - an evolving consciousness which is halfknowledge, half-ignorance. All that is unknown is met on the basis of what is known; but as this knowledge is imperfect, as it receives imperfectly and responds imperfectly to the contacts of things, there can be a misprision of the new contact as well as a misprision or deformation of the intuitive response, a double source of error.
It is evident, in these conditions, that Error is a necessary accompaniment, almost a necessary condition and instrumentation, an indispensable step or stage in the slow evolution towards knowledge in a consciousness that begins from nescience and works in the stuff of a general nescience. The evolving consciousness has to acquire knowledge by an indirect means which does not give even a fragmentary certitude; for there is at first only a figure or a sign, an image or a vibration physical in character created by contact with the object and a resulting vital sensation which have to be interpreted by mind and sense and turned into a corresponding mental idea or figure. Things thus experienced and mentally known have to be related together; things unknown have to be observed, discovered, fitted into the already acquired sum of experience and knowledge. At each
2.20_-_2.29_-_RULES_FOR_HOUSEHOLDERS_AND_MONKS, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
As the music came to a close the Master led the chorus. All chanted together, to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals: "Victory to Radha and Krishna! Hallowed be the names of Radha and Krishna!" The devotees felt a surge of divine emotion and danced around the Master. He too danced in an ecstasy of joy. The names of God echoed and reechoed in the house and garden.
The Bauls from Shibpur began to sing to the accompaniment of a stringed instrument. A line in the first song was:
2.20_-_The_Philosophy_of_Rebirth, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
Our explanation of the evolution in Matter is that the universe is a self-creative process of a supreme Reality whose presence makes spirit the substance of things, - all things are there as the spirit's powers and means and forms of manifestation. An infinite existence, an infinite consciousness, an infinite force and will, an infinite delight of being is the Reality secret behind the appearances of the universe; its divine Supermind or Gnosis has arranged the cosmic order, but arranged it indirectly through the three subordinate and limiting terms of which we are conscious here, Mind, Life and Matter. The material universe is the lowest stage of a downward plunge of the manifestation, an involution of the manifested being of this triune Reality into an apparent nescience of itself, that which we now call the Inconscient; but out of this nescience the evolution of that manifested being into a recovered self-awareness was from the very first inevitable. It was inevitable because that which is involved, must evolve; for it is not only there as an existence, a force hidden in its apparent opposite, and every such force must in its inmost nature be moved to find itself, to realise itself, to release itself into play, but it is the reality of that which conceals it, it is the self which the Nescience has lost and which therefore it must be the whole secret meaning, the constant drift of its action to seek for and recover. It is through the conscious individual being that this recovery is possible; it is in him that the evolving consciousness becomes organised and capable of awaking to its own Reality. The immense importance of the individual being, which increases as he rises in the scale, is the most remarkable and significant fact of a universe which started without consciousness and without individuality in an undifferentiated Nescience. This importance can only be justified if the Self as individual is no less real than the Self as cosmic Being or Spirit and both are powers of the Eternal. It is only so that can be explained the necessity for the growth of the individual and his discovery of himself as a condition for the discovery of the cosmic Self and Consciousness and of the supreme Reality. If we adopt this solution, this is the first result, the reality of the persistent individual; but from that first consequence the other result follows, that rebirth of some kind is no longer a possible machinery which may or may not be accepted, it becomes a necessity, an inevitable outcome of the root nature of our existence.
For it is no longer sufficient to suppose an illusory or temporary individual, created in each form by the play of consciousness; individuality can no longer be conceived as an accompaniment of play of consciousness in figure of body which may or may not survive the form, may or may not prolong its false continuity of self from form to form, from life to life, but which certainly need not do it. In this world what we seem at first to see is individual replacing individual without any continuity, the form dissolving, the false or transient individuality dissolving with it, while the universal Energy or some universal Being alone remains for ever; that might very well be the whole principle of cosmic manifestation. But if the individual is a persistent reality, an eternal portion or power of the Eternal, if his growth of consciousness is the means by which the Spirit in things discloses its being, the cosmos reveals itself as a conditioned manifestation of the play of the eternal One in the being of Sachchidananda with the eternal Many. Then, secure behind all the changings of our personality, upholding the stream of its mutations, there must be a true Person, a real spiritual Individual, a true Purusha. The One extended in universality exists in each being and affirms himself in this individuality of himself. In the individual he discloses his total existence by oneness with all in the universality. In the individual he discloses too his transcendence as the Eternal in whom all the universal unity is founded. This trinity of self-manifestation, this prodigious Lila of the manifold Identity, this magic of Maya or protean miracle of the conscious truth of being of the Infinite, is the luminous revelation which emerges by a slow evolution from the original Inconscience.
If there were no need of self-finding but only an eternal enjoyment of this play of the being of Sachchidananda, - and such an eternal enjoyment is the nature of certain supreme states of conscious existence, - then evolution and rebirth need not have come into operation. But there has been an involution of this unity into the dividing Mind, a plunge into self-oblivion by which the ever-present sense of the complete oneness is lost, and the play of separative difference - phenomenal, because the real unity in difference remains unabridged behind, - comes into the forefront as a dominant reality. This play of difference has found its utmost term of the sense of division by the precipitation of the dividing Mind into a form of body in which it becomes conscious of itself as a separate ego. A dense and solid basis has been laid for this play of division in a world of separative forms of Matter by an involution of the active self-conscience of Sachchidananda into a phenomenal Nescience. It is this foundation in Nescience that makes the division secure because it imperatively opposes a return to the consciousness of unity; but still, though effectively obstructive, it is phenomenal and terminable because within it, above it, supporting it is the all-conscient Spirit and the apparent Nescience turns out to be only a concentration, an exclusive action of consciousness tranced into self-forgetfulness by an abysmal plunge into the absorption of the formative and creative material process. In a phenomenal universe so created, the separative form becomes the foundation and the startingpoint of all its life action; therefore the individual Purusha in working out its cosmic relations with the One has in this physical world to base himself upon the form, to assume a body; it is the body that he must make his own foundation and the startingpoint for his development of the life and mind and spirit in the physical existence. That assumption of body we call birth, and in it only can take place here the development of self and the play of relations between the individual and the universal and all other individuals; in it only can there be the growth by a progressive development of our conscious being towards a supreme recovery of unity with God and with all in God: all the sum of what we call Life in the physical world is a progress of the soul and proceeds by birth into the body and has that for its fulcrum, its condition of action and its condition of evolutionary persistence.
2.24_-_Gnosis_and_Ananda, #The Synthesis Of Yoga, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
And what then is the necessity of a still higher step and what difference is there between the soul in gnosis and the soul in the Bliss? There is no essential difference, but yet a difference, because there is a transfer to another consciousness and a certain reversal in position, -- for each step of the ascent from Matter to the highest Existence there is a reversal of consciousness. The soul no longer looks up to something beyond it, but is in it and from it looks down on all that it was before. On all planes indeed the Ananda can be discovered because everywhere it exists and is the same. Even there is a repetition of the Ananda plane on each lower world of consciousness. But in the lower planes not only is it reached by a sort of dissolution into it of the pure mind or the life-sense or the physical awareness, but it is, as it were, itself diluted by the dissolved form of mind, life or matter held in the dilution and turned into a poor thinness wonderful to the lower consciousness but not comparable to its true intensities. The gnosis has on the contrary a dense light of essential consciousness483a in which the intense fullness of the Ananda can be. And when the form of gnosis is dissolved into the Ananda, it is not annulled altogether, but undergoes a natural change by which the soul is carried up into its last and absolute freedom; for it casts itself into the absolute existence of the spirit and is enlarged into its own entirely self-existent bliss infinitudes. The gnosis has the infinite and absolute as the conscious source, accompaniment, condition, standard, field and atmosphere of all its activities, it possesses it as its base, fount, constituent material, indwelling and inspiring Presence; but in its action it seems to stand out from it as its operation, as the rhythmical working of its activities, as a divine Maya483b or Wisdom-Formation of the Eternal. Gnosis is the divine Knowledge-Will of the divine Consciousness-Force; it is harmonic consciousness and action of prakriti-Purusha -- full of the delight of the divine existence. In the Ananda the knowledge goes back from these willed harmonies into pure self-consciousness, the will dissolves into pure transcendent force and both are taken up into the pure delight of the Infinite. The basis of the gnostic existence is the self-stuff and self-form of the Ananda.
2.26_-_The_Ascent_towards_Supermind, #The Life Divine, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
An increasing control of the individual over his own action of nature, a more and more conscious participation in the action of universal Nature, is a marked character, it is indeed a logical consequence, of the evolutionary principle and process. All action, all mental, vital, physical activities in the world are the operation of a universal Energy, a Consciousness-Force which is the power of the Cosmic Spirit working out the cosmic and individual truth of things. But since this creative Consciousness assumes in Matter a mask of inconscience and puts on the surface appearance of a blind universal Force executing a plan or organisation of things without seeming to know what it is doing, the first result is kin to this appearance; it is the phenomenon of an inconscient physical individualisation, a creation not of beings but of objects. These are formed existences with their own qualities, properties, power of being, character of being; but Nature's plan in them and organisation of them have to be worked out mechanically without any beginning of participation, initiation or conscious awareness in the individual object which emerges as the first dumb result and inanimate field of her action and creation. In animal life the Force begins to become slowly conscious on the surface and puts forth the form, no longer of an object, but of an individual being; but this imperfectly conscious individual, although it participates, senses, feels, yet only works out what the Force does in it without any clear intelligence or observation of what is being done; it seems to have no other choice or will than that which is imposed on it by its formed nature. In human mind there is the first appearance of an observing intelligence that regards what is being done and of a will and choice that have become conscious; but the consciousness is still limited and superficial: the knowledge also is limited and imperfect, it is a partial intelligence, a half understanding, groping and empirical in great part or, if rational, then rational by constructions, theories, formulas. There is not as yet a luminous seeing which knows things by a direct grasp and arranges them with a spontaneous precision according to the seeing, according to the scheme of their inherent truth; although there is a certain element of instinct and intuition and insight which has some beginning of this power, the normal character of human intelligence is an inquiring reason or reflective thought which observes, supposes, infers, concludes, arrives by labour at a constructed truth, a constructed scheme of knowledge, a deliberately arranged action of its own making. Or rather this is what it strives to be and partly is; for its knowledge and will are constantly invaded, darkened or frustrated by forces of the being which are half-blind instruments of the mechanism of Nature.
This is evidently not the utmost of which consciousness is capable, not its last evolution and highest summit. A greater and more intimate intuition must be possible which would enter into the heart of things, be in luminous identity with the movements of Nature, assure to the being a clear control of his life or at least a harmony with his universe. It is only a free and entire intuitive consciousness which would be able to see and to grasp things by direct contact and penetrating vision or a spontaneous truthsense born of an underlying unity or identity and arrange an action of Nature according to the truth of Nature. This would be a real participation by the individual in the working of the universal Consciousness-Force; the individual Purusha would become the master of his own executive energy and at the same time a conscious partner, agent, instrument of the Cosmic Spirit in the working of the universal Energy: the universal Energy would work through him, but he also would work through her and the harmony of the intuitive truth would make this double working a single action. A growing conscious participation of this higher and more intimate kind must be one accompaniment of the transition from our present state of being to a state of supernature.
A harmonious other-world in which an intuitive mental intelligence of this kind and its control would be the rule, is conceivable; but in our plane of being, owing to the original intention and past history of the evolutionary plan, such a rule and control could with difficulty be stabilised and it is not likely that it could be complete, final and definitive. For an intuitive mentality intervening in a mixed mental, vital, physical consciousness would normally be forced to undergo a mixture with the inferior stuff of consciousness already evolved; in order to act on it, it would have to enter into it and, entering in it, would get entangled in it, penetrated by it, affected by the separative and partial character of our mind's action and the limitation and restricted force of the Ignorance. The action of intuitive intelligence is keen and luminous enough to penetrate and modify, but not large and whole enough to swallow up into itself and abolish the mass of the Ignorance and Inconscience; it could not effect an entire transformation of the whole consciousness into its own stuff and power. Still, even in our present state, a participation of a kind is there and our normal intelligence is sufficiently awake for the universal Conscious-Force to work through it and allow the intelligence and will to exercise a certain amount of direction of inner and outer circumstance, fumbling enough and at every moment dogged by error, capable only of a limited effect and power, not commensurate with the larger totality of her vast operations. In the evolution towards Supernature, this initial power of conscious participation in the universal working would enlarge in the individual into a more and more intimate and extended vision of her workings in himself, a sensitive perception of the course she was taking, a growing understanding or intuitive idea of the methods that had to be followed for a more rapid and more conscious self-evolution. As his inner psychic or occult inner mental being came more to the front, there would be a strengthened power of choice, of sanction, a beginning of authentic free will which would grow more and more effective. But this free will would be mostly in relation to his own workings of Nature; it would mean only a freer, fuller and more immediately perceptive control of the motions of his own being: even there it could not be at first completely free, so long as it was imprisoned in the limits created by its own formations or combated by imperfection due to a mixture of the old and the new consciousness.
2.3.01_-_Aspiration_and_Surrender_to_the_Mother, #The Mother With Letters On The Mother, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
conscious mind, more even than by the thinking part) and rejection are necessary accompaniments and helps to consecration and surrender.
2.30_-_2.39_-_THE_MASTER_IN_VARIOUS_MOODS, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
The Brahmo devotees also sang to theaccompaniment of cymbals and drums:
Presently Trailokya began to sing to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals. Sri Ramakrishna danced, intoxicated with divine love. Many times he went into samdhi. He stood still, his eyes fixed, his face beaming, with one hand on the shoulder of a beloved disciple. Coming down a little from the state of ecstasy, he danced again like a mad elephant. Regaining consciousness of the outer world, he improvised lines to the music: O Mother, dance about Thy devotees!
Nrada saw him seated like an inert thing, absolutely unconscious of the world around him. Thereupon Nrada sang four couplets on the beauty of Hari, to the accompaniment of the vina. While the first couplet was being sung the hair on Suka's body stood on end.
"One day a Nepalese girl came here. She sang devotional songs to the accompaniment of the esraj. When someone asked her if she was married, she said sharply: 'What? I am the handmaid of God! Whom else could I serve?'
The kirtan began to the accompaniment of drums and cymbals. The singer was a professional. He sang about Sri Gaurnga's initiation as a monk by Keshab Bharati: Oh, what a vision I have beheld in Keshab Bharati's hut!
MASTER (to Ram): "There were no instruments to accompany the songs. The singing creates an atmosphere when there is proper accompaniment. (Smiling) Do you know how Balarm manages a festival? He is like a miserly brahmin raising a cow. The cow must eat very little but give milk in torrents. (All laugh.) Sing your own songs and beat your own drums: that's Balarm's idea!" (All laugh.) Discussion with Trailokya
2.40_-_2.49_-_THE_MASTER_AT_THE_HOUSES_OF_BALARM_AND_GIRISH, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
Trailokya sang to the accompaniment of a Tnpura: I have joined my heart to Thee: all that exists art Thou; Thee only have I found, for Thou art all that exists.
Filled with divine fervour, Narendra sang to the accompaniment of the Tnpura: Come! Come, Mother! Doll of my soul! My heart's' Delight!
MASTER: "Ah, how sweet the music is! How melodious the violin is! How good the accompaniments are! (Pointing to a boy) He and the flutist seem to be a nice pair."
Narendra sang to the accompaniment of the Tnpura and other instruments:
Dr. Sarkar took his seat once more, and Narendra began to sing in his sweet voice, to the accompaniment of the Tnpura and Mridanga:
3.01_-_Towards_the_Future, #On Education, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
No, but I often hear her singing from here. She has a superb voice, a voice that stirs all the fibres of my being. The very first time it struck my ears, it sounded familiar to me, like an echo from very ancient times. For nearly six months I have been hearing this voice, which forms a kind of pleasant accompaniment to my work. I have very often wished to become acquainted with the owner of such a beautiful voice.
No, no, do not thank me. (He sits by her side.) If you knew all the joy you have given me... If you knew what a pleasant accompaniment the harmony of your rich voice has been to my daily work. I owe you many good and happy hours; yes, it is I who should be grateful to you.
3.03_-_The_Godward_Emotions, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
All the feelings with which religion approaches the worship, service and love of God, the Yoga admits, if not as its final accompaniments, yet as preparatory movements of the emotional nature. But there is one feeling with which the Yoga, at least as practised in India, has very little dealing. In certain religions, in most perhaps, the idea of the fear of God plays a very large part, sometimes the largest, and the God-fearing man is the typical worshipper of these religions. The sentiment of fear is indeed perfectly consistent with devotion of a certain kind and up to a certain point; at its highest it rises into a worship of the divine Power, the divine Justice, divine Law, divine Righteousness, and ethical obedience, an awed reverence for the almighty Creator and Judge. Its motive is therefore ethico-religious and it belongs not so strictly to the devotee, but to the man of works moved by a devotion to the divine ordainer and judge of his works. It regards God as the King and does not approach too near the glory of his throne unless justified by righteousness or led there by a mediator who will turn away the divine wrath for sin. Even when it draws nearest, it keeps an awed distance between itself and the high object of its worship. It cannot embrace the Divine with all the fearless confidence of the child in his mother or of the lover in his beloved or with that intimate sense of oneness which perfect love brings with it.
3_-_Commentaries_and_Annotated_Translations, #Hymns to the Mystic Fire, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
appropriate energy; for the energy is the essential reality and the
light only a characteristic accompaniment of the energy. Of all
these Agni is the greatest in this world, greater even than Vidyut
preposition has no relation to the instrumental
itself implies union or accompaniment; divus cum divis, a god
with the gods. The form aAgmt^ does not convey the idea of past
EB,. The third case used not to indicate the instrument,
but the accompaniment.
4.06_-_Purification-the_Lower_Mentality, #The Synthesis Of Yoga, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
The receptive sensational mind is the nervous mental basis of the affections; it receives mentally the impacts of things and gives to them the responses of mental pleasure and pain which are the starting-point of the duality of emotional liking and disliking. All the heart's emotions have a corresponding nervous-mental accompaniment, and we often find that when the heart is freed of any will to the dualities, there still survives a root of disturbance of nervous mind, or a memory in physical mind which falls more and more away to a quite physical character, the more it is repelled by the will in the Buddhi. It becomes finally a mere suggestion from outside to which the nervous chords of the mind still occasionally respond until a complete purity liberates them into the same luminous universality of delight which the pure heart already possesses. The active dynamic mind of impulse is the lower organ or channel of responsive action; its deformation is a subjection to the suggestion of the impure emotional and sensational mentality and the desire of the Prana, to impulses to action dictated by grief, fear, hatred, desire, lust, craving, and the rest of the unquiet brood. Its right form of action is a pure dynamic force of strength, courage, temperamental power, not acting for itself or in obedience to the lower members, but as an impartial channel for the dictates of the pure intelligence and will or the supramental Purusha. When we have got rid of these deformations and cleared the mentality for these truer forms of action, the lower mentality is purified and ready for perfection. But that perfection depends on the possession of a purified and enlightened Buddhi; for the Buddhi is the chief power in the mental being and the chief mental instrument of the Purusha.
4.20_-_The_Intuitive_Mind, #The Synthesis Of Yoga, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
A second movement is one which comes naturally to those who commence the Yoga with the initiative that is proper to the way of Bhakti. It is natural to them to reject the intellect and its action and to listen for the voice, wait for the impulsion or the command, the adesa, obey only the idea and will and power of the Lord within them, the divine Self and Purusha in the heart of'lle creature, isvarah sarvabhutanam hrddese. This is a movement which must tend more and more to intuitivise the whole nature, for the ideas, the will, the impulsions, the feelings which come from the secret Purusha in the heart are of the direct intuitive character. This method is consonant with a certain truth of our nature. The secret Self within us is an intuitive self and this intuitive self is seated in every centre of our being, the physical, the nervous, the emotional, the volitional, the conceptual or cognitive and the higher more directly spiritual centres. And in each part of our being it exercises a secret intuitive initiation of our activities which is received and represented imperfectly by our outer mind and converted into the movements of the ignorance in the external action of these parts of our nature. The heart or emotional centre of the thinking desire-mind is the strongest in the ordinary man, gathers up or at least affects the presentation of things to the consciousness and is the capital of the system. It is from there that the Lord seated in the heart of all creatures turns them mounted on the machine of Nature by the Maya of the mental ignorance. It is possible then by referring back all the initiation of our action to this secret intuitive Self and Spirit, the ever-present Godhead within us, and replacing by its influences the initiations of our personal and mental nature to get back from the inferior external thought and action to another, internal and intuitive, of a highly spiritualised character. Nevertheless the result of this movement cannot be complete, because the heart is not the highest centre of our being, is not supramental nor directly moved from the supramental sources. An intuitive thought and action directed from it may be very luminous and intense but is likely to be limited, even narrow in its intensity, mixed with a lower emotional action and at the best excited and troubled, rendered unbalanced or exaggerated by a miraculous or abnormal character in its action or at least in many of its accompaniments which is injurious to the harmonised perfection of the being. The aim of our effort at perfection must be to make the spiritual and supramental action no longer a miracle, even if a frequent or constant miracle, or only a luminous intervention of a greater than our natural power, but normal to the being and the very nature and law of all its process. The highest organised centre of our embodied being and of its action in the body is the supreme mental centre figured by the yogic symbol of the thousand-petalled lotus, sahasradala, and it is at its top and summit that there is the direct communication with the supramental levels. It is then possible to adopt a different and a more direct method, not to refer all our thought and action to the Lord secret in the heart-lotus but to the veiled truth of the Divinity above the mind and to receive all by a sort of descent from above, a descent of which we become not only spiritually but physically conscious. The siddhi or full accomplishment of this movement can only come when we are able to lift the centre of thought and conscious action above the physical brain and feel it going on in the subtle body. If we can feel ourselves thinking no longer with the brain but from above and outside the head in the subtle body, that is a sure physical sign of a release from the limitations of the physical mind, and though this will not be complete at once nor of itself bring the supramental action, for the subtle body is mental and not supramental, still it is a subtle and pure mentality and makes an easier communication with the supramental centres. The lower movements must still come, but it is then found easier to arrive at a swift and subtle discrimination telling us at once the difference, distinguishing the intuitional thought from the lower intellectual mixture, separating it from its mental coatings, rejecting the mere rapidities of the mind which imitate the form of the intuition without being of its true substance. It will be easier to discern rapidly the higher planes of the true supramental being and call down their power to effect the desired transformation and to refer all the lower action to the superior power and light that it may reject and eliminate, purify and transform and select among them its right material for the Truth that has to be organised within us. This opening up of a higher level and of higher and higher planes of it and the consequent re-formation of our whole consciousness and its action into their mould and into the substance of their power and luminous capacity is found in practice to be the greater part of the natural method used by the divine shakti.
4.2.4.05_-_Agni, #Letters On Yoga III, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
It may be pressure of the Agni fire that you feel [around the head and shoulders] as the heat - especially if there is something that has to be purified or a difficulty burned away. The cool spray on the other hand comes as an accompaniment of the sense of purification.
7.14_-_Modesty, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
Many years ago a great singer, who had won a world-wide reputation for her wonderful voice and outstanding talent, happened to be at a party. There, a little girl with a beautiful voice was asked to sing. The piece she was ready to sing was a duet, a piece of music for two voices. The child was to sing the main part, but no one wanted to sing the accompaniment. All the grownups thought that it was beneath them to sing the second voice to a child. There was a pause; no one offered to accompany the child.
Agenda_Vol_3, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
something else - it was originally the choice of a higher Intelligence). This has become an automatic
accompaniment. It is not so much the words in themselves as what they will represent and bring with
them in their vibration.... I mean it would be quite inaccurate to say, "Only these Words are helpful,"
no, not that. But they provide an accompaniment, an accompaniment of subtle, physical vibrations,
which has built up a certain state or experience, a sort of association between the presence of those
Agenda_Vol_4, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
already is, that exists, and that will be manifested WITH THE HELP of all those aspirations: all those
aspirations are necessary, or rather, looking at it in a truer way, they are an accompaniment - a pleasant
accompaniment - to the eternal unfolding.
Basically, people with a very strict logic tell you, "Why pray? Why aspire, why ask? The Lord does
Agenda_Vol_5, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
you hear up above. And it isn't too mixed (the fault I find with all classical music is all the
accompaniment which is there to give more "substance," but which spoils the purity of the inspiration:
to me, it's padding), well, with Sunil, the padding isn't there. He doesn't claim to be making music, of
Agenda_Vol_7, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
that produces these sounds, and which is always the same: the sounds reproduce the state of
consciousness. The whole [instrumental] accompaniment is different, and naturally that always, always
spoils it. But these two - two or three - sounds are wonderfully expressive, in a precise, exact way, of
BOOK_I._--_PART_I._COSMIC_EVOLUTION, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
utterly contrasted as such. But that does not affect the position that every thought, in addition to its
physical accompaniment (brain-change), exhibits an objective -- though to us supersensuously
objective -- aspect on the astral plane. (See "The Occult World," pp. 89, 90.)
class, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
14 Bertrand Russell
Maps_of_Meaning_text, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
The object was an image of God, the uroboric serpent, embodied in matter (powerful enough to
require the accompaniment of four hurricanes, as attendants).600 The room was a classification system,
something designed (by the most powerful representatives of the social and scientific worlds), to
Sayings_of_Sri_Ramakrishna_(text), #Sayings of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
607. An Avadhuta (a great Yogi) once saw a bridal procession passing along a meadow with much pomp,
to the accompaniment of drums and trumpets. Hard by the way through which the procession was
passing, he saw a hunter so deeply absorbed in aiming at a bird that he was perfectly inattentive to the
The_Act_of_Creation_text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
In the realm of music the relativity and reversibility of 'figure' and
'background* (accompaniment, counterpoint, fugue) is self-evident. It
is less obvious in modern theoretical physics, although it is implied in
weeping*, because the essence of the performance is the vocal protest
or appeal for help; the shedding of tears is merely an accompaniment.
be 'genuine' weeping longing for affection and tenderness as an
accompaniment to the bawling; it may also be due to physiological
causes. Watering of the eyes can be induced as a purely physiological
mind. The Concise Oxford defines abstraction as 'the process of strip-
ping an idea of its concrete accompaniments'. There are, however,
concepts and perceptual generalization the extraction of invariant
features, stripped of their accidental accompaniments, from varied
situations. It is therefore frequently asserted or implied that abstract
The_Golden_Bough, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
in summer. In some places the cattle are crowned and driven from
their stalls to the accompaniment of a song:
again in their arms. Meanwhile old men beat drums and shook rattles
as a musical accompaniment to the performance of the old women.
Further, young women came and put dried flesh into the mouths of the
we may infer that the descent of the pigs was not so much an
accompaniment of her descent as the descent itself, in short, that
the pigs were Persephone. Afterwards when Persephone or Demeter (for
branch of fir or a kind of wooden castanets. The other women
meanwhile played an accompaniment by drumming on the beams of the
house with clubs. Von Schrenk believed that after the flesh of the