classes ::: verb, noun,
children :::
branches ::: apprentice

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object:apprentice
word class:verb
word class:noun

see also :::

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


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

TOPICS
SEE ALSO


AUTH

BOOKS
Enchiridion_text
Maps_of_Meaning
My_Burning_Heart
Savitri
The_Use_and_Abuse_of_History

IN CHAPTERS TITLE
1.03_-_APPRENTICESHIP_AND_ENCULTURATION_-_ADOPTION_OF_A_SHARED_MAP

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
0.00_-_The_Book_of_Lies_Text
01.03_-_The_Yoga_of_the_King_-_The_Yoga_of_the_Souls_Release
0_1956-10-08
0_1958-05-10
0_1961-04-25
0_1962-07-04
0_1967-05-06
0_1967-08-02
0_1968-03-20
0_1970-01-28
0_1972-11-25
02.10_-_The_Kingdoms_and_Godheads_of_the_Little_Mind
04.02_-_The_Growth_of_the_Flame
1.00_-_PREFACE
1.01_-_Archetypes_of_the_Collective_Unconscious
1.02_-_BEFORE_THE_CITY-GATE
1.02_-_The_Great_Process
1.02_-_The_Three_European_Worlds
1.03_-_APPRENTICESHIP_AND_ENCULTURATION_-_ADOPTION_OF_A_SHARED_MAP
1.04_-_THE_APPEARANCE_OF_ANOMALY_-_CHALLENGE_TO_THE_SHARED_MAP
1.05_-_CHARITY
1.05_-_THE_HOSTILE_BROTHERS_-_ARCHETYPES_OF_RESPONSE_TO_THE_UNKNOWN
1.05_-_The_New_Consciousness
1.06_-_MORTIFICATION,_NON-ATTACHMENT,_RIGHT_LIVELIHOOD
1.08_-_Attendants
1.08_-_The_Change_of_Vision
1.08_-_The_Supreme_Discovery
1.12_-_The_Sociology_of_Superman
1.14_-_The_Secret
1.26_-_On_discernment_of_thoughts,_passions_and_virtues
15.07_-_Souls_Freedom
1958-10-08_-_Stages_between_man_and_superman
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Loved_Dead
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Quest_of_Iranon
1.jlb_-_The_Golem
1.pbs_-_The_Cenci_-_A_Tragedy_In_Five_Acts
1.whitman_-_Carol_Of_Occupations
1.whitman_-_I_Sing_The_Body_Electric
1.whitman_-_Song_Of_The_Broad-Axe
1.whitman_-_Who_Learns_My_Lesson_Complete?
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_II-_Book_First-_The_Wanderer
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_IV-_Book_Third-_Despondency
3.03_-_On_Thought_-_II
3-5_Full_Circle
4.06_-_RETIRED
6.08_-_THE_CONTENT_AND_MEANING_OF_THE_FIRST_TWO_STAGES
Avatars_of_the_Tortoise
BOOK_II._--_PART_II._THE_ARCHAIC_SYMBOLISM_OF_THE_WORLD-RELIGIONS
Deutsches_Requiem
Gorgias
Liber_111_-_The_Book_of_Wisdom_-_LIBER_ALEPH_VEL_CXI
Liber_46_-_The_Key_of_the_Mysteries
Maps_of_Meaning_text
The_Act_of_Creation_text
The_Circular_Ruins
The_Dwellings_of_the_Philosophers

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES
apprentice
apprenticeship in Savitri

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH

Apprentice: A mage who has not been initiated, but who studies the forms of a Tradition.

apprenticeage ::: n. --> Apprenticeship.

apprentice ::: a learner; novice; tyro; one who is learning the rudiments; a trainee. apprenticeship.

apprentice: An aspiring or newly Awakened mage who’s in the early stages of her training. Capitalized, the word becomes a Council title for a low-level Tradition mage.

apprenticed ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Apprentice

apprenticehood ::: n. --> Apprenticeship.

apprentice ::: n. --> One who is bound by indentures or by legal agreement to serve a mechanic, or other person, for a certain time, with a view to learn the art, or trade, in which his master is bound to instruct him.
One not well versed in a subject; a tyro.
A barrister, considered a learner of law till of sixteen years&


apprenticeship ::: n. --> The service or condition of an apprentice; the state in which a person is gaining instruction in a trade or art, under legal agreement.
The time an apprentice is serving (sometimes seven years, as from the age of fourteen to twenty-one).



TERMS ANYWHERE

Apprentice: A mage who has not been initiated, but who studies the forms of a Tradition.

apprenticing ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Apprentice

articled ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Article ::: a. --> Bound by articles; apprenticed; as, an articled clerk.

Automated Retroactive Minimal Moderation ::: (messaging) (ARMM) A Usenet robot created by Dick Depew of Munroe Falls, Ohio. ARMM was intended to automatically cancel posts from anonymous-posting loose on the night of 1993-03-31 and proceeded to spam news.admin.policy with a recursive explosion of over 200 messages.Reactions varied from amusement to outrage. The pathological messages crashed at least one mail system, and upset people paying line charges for their Usenet cautionary example of the havoc the combination of good intentions and incompetence can wreak on a network.Compare Great Worm; sorcerer's apprentice mode. See also software laser, network meltdown. (1996-01-08)

Automated Retroactive Minimal Moderation "messaging" (ARMM) A {Usenet} robot created by Dick Depew of Munroe Falls, Ohio. ARMM was intended to automatically cancel posts from anonymous-posting sites. Unfortunately, the robot's recogniser for anonymous postings triggered on its own automatically-generated control messages! Transformed by this stroke of programming ineptitude into a monster of Frankensteinian proportions, it broke loose on the night of 1993-03-31 and proceeded to {spam} {news:news.admin.policy} with a recursive explosion of over 200 messages. Reactions varied from amusement to outrage. The pathological messages crashed at least one mail system, and upset people paying line charges for their {Usenet} feeds. One poster described the ARMM debacle as "instant {Usenet} history" (also establishing the term {despew}), and it has since been widely cited as a cautionary example of the havoc the combination of good intentions and incompetence can wreak on a network. Compare {Great Worm}; {sorcerer's apprentice mode}. See also {software laser}, {network meltdown}. (1996-01-08)

apprenticeage ::: n. --> Apprenticeship.

apprentice ::: a learner; novice; tyro; one who is learning the rudiments; a trainee. apprenticeship.

apprentice: An aspiring or newly Awakened mage who’s in the early stages of her training. Capitalized, the word becomes a Council title for a low-level Tradition mage.

apprenticed ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Apprentice

apprenticehood ::: n. --> Apprenticeship.

apprentice ::: n. --> One who is bound by indentures or by legal agreement to serve a mechanic, or other person, for a certain time, with a view to learn the art, or trade, in which his master is bound to instruct him.
One not well versed in a subject; a tyro.
A barrister, considered a learner of law till of sixteen years&


apprenticeship ::: n. --> The service or condition of an apprentice; the state in which a person is gaining instruction in a trade or art, under legal agreement.
The time an apprentice is serving (sometimes seven years, as from the age of fourteen to twenty-one).


Body_of_knowledge ::: (BOK:) refers to the core teachings and skills required to work in a particular field or industry. The body of knowledge (BOK) is usually defined by professional associations or societies. Members of the profession outline what is needed to do their jobs and that forms the foundation for the curriculum of most professional programs or designations. People seeking to enter the profession must display their mastery of the body of knowledge in order to receive accreditation that enables them to practice these skills. Candidates usually demonstrate their mastery of the body of knowledge by passing rigorous examinations. These exams can be a single session or the accreditation can be done level by level, requiring a person to practice at a particular level for a set amount of time before challenging the next level.   BREAKING DOWN 'Body of Knowledge - BOK'   Body of knowledge is a more formal way of referring to things we more commonly call core competencies and required skills today. Not unlike a job advertisement, the body of knowledge is a list of things you must know and things you must be able to do before you will be accepted as a professional by the organization doing the accreditation. Universities have a defined body of knowledge that a student must demonstrate their familiarity with before being granted a degree. Trades have a body of knowledge that an apprentice works through in order to become a full journeyman of the trade. The actual contents of the body of knowledge for a particular profession evolves over time. This is one of the reasons that associations are often in charge of accreditation, as it is very difficult for people outside of a particular industry to keep up with new techniques and developments.

bounce message A notification message returned to the sender by a site unable to relay {e-mail} to the intended recipient or the next link in a {bang path}. Reasons might include a nonexistent or misspelled user name or a {down} relay site. Bounce messages can themselves fail, with occasionally ugly results; see {sorcerer's apprentice mode} and {software laser}. The terms "bounce mail" and "barfmail" are also common. [{Jargon File}] (1994-11-29)

bounce message ::: A notification message returned to the sender by a site unable to relay e-mail to the intended recipient or the next link in a bang path. Reasons might include themselves fail, with occasionally ugly results; see sorcerer's apprentice mode and software laser. The terms bounce mail and barfmail are also common.[Jargon File] (1994-11-29)

case based reasoning "artificial intelligence" (CBR) A technique for problem solving which looks for previous examples which are similar to the current problem. This is useful where {heuristic} {knowledge} is not available. There are many situations where experts are not happy to be questioned about their knowledge by people who want to write the knowledge in rules, for use in {expert systems}. In most of these situations, the natural way for an expert to describe his or her knowledge is through examples, stories or cases (which are all basically the same thing). Such an expert will teach trainees about the expertise by apprenticeship, i.e. by giving examples and by asking the trainees to remember them, copy them and adapt them in solving new problems if they describe situations that are similar to the new problems. CBR aims to exploit such knowledge. Some key research areas are efficient indexing, how to define "similarity" between cases and how to use temporal information. (1996-05-28)

cowan ::: n. --> One who works as a mason without having served a regular apprenticeship.

Entered apprentice: In Freemasonry, one who has been given the first degree of initiation.

indenture ::: n. --> The act of indenting, or state of being indented.
A mutual agreement in writing between two or more parties, whereof each party has usually a counterpart or duplicate; sometimes in the pl., a short form for indentures of apprenticeship, the contract by which a youth is bound apprentice to a master. ::: v. t.


indent ::: v. t. --> To notch; to jag; to cut into points like a row of teeth; as, to indent the edge of paper.
To dent; to stamp or to press in; to impress; as, indent a smooth surface with a hammer; to indent wax with a stamp.
To bind out by indenture or contract; to indenture; to apprentice; as, to indent a young man to a shoemaker; to indent a servant.
To begin (a line or lines) at a greater or less distance


Initiation: A test to pass a young mage from the ranks of apprentice to full responsibility within a Tradition.

journeyman ::: n. --> Formerly, a man hired to work by the day; now, commonly, one who has mastered a handicraft or trade; -- distinguished from apprentice and from master workman.

kirigami. (切紙). In Japanese, "secret initiation documents" (lit. "strips of paper"), ; secret instructions or formulas written on individual pieces of paper, which were used in the medieval Japanese traditions, including the SoTOSHu, to transmit esoteric knowledge and monastic routines. Kirigami were a central pedagogical feature in many fields involving apprenticeships in medieval Japan and were used to transmit knowledge about acting, poetic composition, martial arts, and religious practice. Soto Zen kirigami were also elaborations of the broader Chinese monastic codes (shingi; see QINGGUI) and focused on the secret rituals that a Zen abbot would perform in private, including consecration, funerals, and transmission of precepts or a dharma lineage. Many kirigami also provide short, targeted instruction on individual Zen cases (koan; C. GONG'AN), such as the correct sequence of questions and answers, or the appropriate "capping phrase" (JAKUGO), that would prove mastery of a specific koan. Because kirigami were also kept hidden away in Soto monasteries and were known only to the abbots, access to them was a potent symbol of the abbots' enhanced religious authority.

Kubo Kakutaro. (久保角太郎) (1892-1944). Cofounder along with KOTANI KIMI of the REIYuKAI school of modern Japanese Buddhism, which derives from the teachings of the NICHIRENSHu school of Buddhism. Kubo Kakutaro was an orphan who by age thirteen was employed as a carpenter's apprentice in Tokyo. He began to work for the Imperial Household Ministry, where he met Count Sengoku, a bureaucrat who sponsored Kubo's marriage to a woman from the aristocratic Kubo family; he then took the family's surname. His parents-in-law were followers of Nichiren. After learning of the possibility of self-ordination through the teachings of Toki Jonin, he founded Rei No Tomo Kai with Wakatsuki Chise; this group became known as Reiyukai in 1924. Kubo also grew increasingly interested in ancestor veneration, a key component in the practice of the Reiyukai school.

master ::: n. 1. One who has the power, knowledge and ability to control, manage, direct; as a teacher, guru, etc. with the authority and qualifications to teach apprentices. 2. A person eminently skilled in something, as an occupation, art, or science. 3. A person who has general authority over others. master"s, masters. *v. 4. To be or become completely proficient or skilled in; become an adept in. masters, mastered. adj. 5. Being master; exercising mastery; dominant. 6. Dominating or predominant. 7. Chief or principle. *master-clue, master-point.

master ::: n. --> A vessel having (so many) masts; -- used only in compounds; as, a two-master.
A male person having another living being so far subject to his will, that he can, in the main, control his or its actions; -- formerly used with much more extensive application than now. (a) The employer of a servant. (b) The owner of a slave. (c) The person to whom an apprentice is articled. (d) A sovereign, prince, or feudal noble; a chief, or one exercising similar authority. (e) The head of a


Modern Freemasonry includes many Rites and Degrees, all the so-called higher degrees being based upon the three fundamental craft degrees — 1) Entered Apprentice; 2) Fellow Craft; and 3) Master Mason — which degrees alone comprise true Masonic secrets and have any valid claim to descent from ancient Masonry. The lessons or keynotes of these three degrees are respectively 1) ethical, to subdue the passions; 2) intellectual, the training of the mind, the seven liberal arts and sciences, and the mounting of the stairway of wisdom; and 3) spiritual, the conquest of death. The lessons in each degree are enforced and illustrated by appropriate symbols and allegories. The central theme of modern Masonry is the building of King Solomon’s Temple; the death of Hiram Abif and the consequent loss of the Word; the raising of Hiram Abif, and the communication of a Substitute Word.

outing ::: n. --> The act of going out; an airing; an excursion; as, a summer outing.
A feast given by an apprentice when he is out of his time.


prenticehood ::: n. --> Apprenticehood.

prentice ::: n. --> An apprentice.

prenticeship ::: n. --> Apprenticeship.

sārdhavihārin. (P. saddhivihārika [alt. saddhivihārī]; T. lhan cig gnas pa; C. gongxing dizi; J. gugyo deshi; K. konghaeng cheja 共行弟子). In Sanskrit, lit. "one who lives with," or "one who lives in accord with," but often translated as "disciple" or "apprentice" (see ANTEVĀSIKA). Although the term can simply refer to one of the residents of a monastery, as "disciple" it refers to a novice or a monk who dwells with his UPĀDHYĀYA or preceptor for the purpose of receiving instruction in the dharma and training in the VINAYA. A disciple in residence with his preceptor is said to be under "guidance" (NIsRAYA). The relationship of the sārdhavihārin and the upādhyāya is described as being like that of a son and a father. Accordingly, the disciple is required to serve the daily needs of his preceptor, by, for example, providing him with water, washing and preparing his robes and alms bowl, cleaning his residence, accompanying him on journeys, and attending him when he is sick. The sārdhavihārin requires the permission of the upādhyāya to attend others, to accompany others on alms rounds, to seek instruction from others, etc. The sārdhavihārin is required to seek pardon from his upādhyāya for any wrongdoing, and may be expelled for bad behavior. If he loses his upādhyāya while he is still in need of guidance, because the latter dies, goes away, secedes from the order, or changes religions, the disciple is to seek out a competent teacher (ĀCĀRYA) to serve in place of the upādhyāya. A fully ordained monk must remain under the guidance of either an upādhyāya or ācārya for a minimum of five years from the time of his ordination. A monk may be required to live under nisraya for a longer period, or for his whole life, if he is unable to become competent in dharma and vinaya.

schoolship ::: n. --> A vessel employed as a nautical training school, in which naval apprentices receive their education at the expense of the state, and are trained for service as sailors. Also, a vessel used as a reform school to which boys are committed by the courts to be disciplined, and instructed as mariners.

software laser ::: An optical laser works by bouncing photons back and forth between two mirrors, one totally reflective and one partially reflective. If the lasing material in the crystal will excite cascades of more photons, all in lockstep. Eventually the beam will escape through the partially reflective mirror.One kind of sorcerer's apprentice mode involving bounce messages can produce closely analogous results, with a cascade of messages escaping to flood nearby systems. By mid-1993 there had been at least two publicised incidents of this kind.[Jargon File]

software laser An optical laser works by bouncing photons back and forth between two mirrors, one totally reflective and one partially reflective. If the lasing material (usually a crystal) has the right properties, photons scattering off the atoms in the crystal will excite cascades of more photons, all in lockstep. Eventually the beam will escape through the partially reflective mirror. One kind of {sorcerer's apprentice mode} involving {bounce messages} can produce closely analogous results, with a {cascade} of messages escaping to flood nearby systems. By mid-1993 there had been at least two publicised incidents of this kind. [{Jargon File}]

sorcerer's apprentice mode "networking" (From Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's "Der Zauberlehrling", via the Walt Disney film "Fantasia") A {bug} in a {protocol} where, under some circumstances, the receipt of a message causes multiple messages to be sent, each of which, when received, triggers the same bug. Used especially of such behaviour caused by {bounce message} loops in {electronic mail} software. Compare {broadcast storm}, {network meltdown}, {software laser}, {ARMM}. {Der Zauberlehrling (http://unix-ag.uni-kl.de/~conrad/lyrics/zauber.html)}. [{Jargon File}] (1999-10-08)

sorcerer's apprentice mode ::: (networking) (From Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's Der Zauberlehrling, via the Walt Disney film Fantasia) A bug in a protocol where, under some each of which, when received, triggers the same bug. Used especially of such behaviour caused by bounce message loops in electronic mail software.Compare broadcast storm, network meltdown, software laser, ARMM. .[Jargon File] (1999-10-08)

ta'līm ::: information, advice; teaching, instructing, informing, schooling; apprenticeship.

The Platonic theory of education is based on a drawing out (educatio) of what is already dimly known to the learner. (Meno, Repub. II-VII, Theaetetus, Laws.) The training of the philosopher-ruler, outlined in the Republic, requires the selection of the most promising children in their infancy and a rigorous disciplining of them in gymnastic, music (in the Greek sense of literary studies), mathematics and dialectic (the study of the Ideas). This training was to continue until the students were about thirty-five years of age; then fifteen years of practical apprenticeship in the subordinate offices of the state were required; finally, at the age of fifty, the rulers were advised to return to the study of philosophy. It should be noted that this program is intended only for an intellectual elite; the military class was to undergo a shorter period of training suited to its functions, and the masses of people, engaged in production, trading, and like pursuits, were not offered any special educational schedule.

turnover ::: n. --> The act or result of turning over; an upset; as, a bad turnover in a carriage.
A semicircular pie or tart made by turning one half of a circular crust over the other, inclosing the fruit or other materials.
An apprentice, in any trade, who is handed over from one master to another to complete his time. ::: a.


tyrannize ::: v. i. --> To act the tyrant; to exercise arbitrary power; to rule with unjust and oppressive severity; to exercise power others not permitted by law or required by justice, or with a severity not necessary to the ends of justice and government; as, a prince will often tyrannize over his subjects; masters sometimes tyrannize over their servants or apprentices. ::: v. t.

tyrociny ::: n. --> The state of being a tyro, or beginner; apprenticeship.



QUOTES [2 / 2 - 363 / 363]


KEYS (10k)

   1 Simone Weil
   1 M Alan Kazlev

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   26 Erin Hunter
   13 John Flanagan
   8 Ralph Waldo Emerson
   7 Dallas Willard
   6 Robert Greene
   6 Angie Sage
   5 Conan O Brien
   5 Austin Kleon
   4 Michel de Montaigne
   4 James Luceno
   4 Benedict Jacka
   4 Anonymous
   3 T J Klune
   3 Simone Weil
   3 Rick Riordan
   3 Rachel E Carter
   3 Penn Jillette
   3 Joshua Green
   3 Jimmy Fallon
   3 Jim Butcher

1:Trump himself is a nothing, an empty vessel for cosmic forces to work through. Even on The Apprentice (which I used to enjoy) I remember he gave the guy who won a tour of his apartment, it was the tackiest thing you'd ever seen. Cluttered with gold furnishings so there was no space anywhere. The guy, who obviously worshipped Trump, asked who inspired him. So there he was, looking up to wait to hear some pearl of wisdom. And the Orange Clown just made some meaningless narcissistic comment about himself. It actually felt embarrassing (but not to Trump who simply isn't conscious of such things). It proves that even before his dementia he always was empty and vacuous. His ghost writer said Trump was the most evil human being he'd ever met. ~ M Alan Kazlev, FB,
2:A creative illness succeeds a period of intense preoccupation with an idea and search for a certain truth. It is a polymorphous condition that can take the shape of depression, neurosis, psychosomatic ailments, or even psychosis. Whatever the symptoms, they are felt as painful, if not agonizing, by the subject, with alternating periods of alleviation and worsening. Throughout the illness the subject never loses the thread of his dominating preoccupation. It is often compatible with normal, professional activity and family life. But even if he keeps to his social activities, he is almost entirely absorbed with himself. He suffers from feelings of utter isolation, even when he has a mentor who guides him through the ordeal (like the shaman apprentice with his master). The termination is often rapid and marked by a phase of exhilaration. The subject emerges from his ordeal with a permanent transformation in his personality and the conviction that he has discovered a great truth or a new spiritual world.
Many of the nineteenth and twentieth century figures recognized unquestionably as "great" - Nietzsche, Darwin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Freud, Jung, Piaget - were all additionally characterized by lengthy periods of profound psychological unrest and uncertainty. Their "psychopathology" - a term ridiculous in this context - was generated as a consequence of the revolutionary nature of their personal experience (their action, fantasy and thought). It is no great leap of comparative psychology to see their role in our society as analogous to that of the archaic religious leader and healer. ~ Henri Ellenberger,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:You have been an apprentice long enough; it is now time to shed your protective skin. Trust! ~ mooji, @wisdomtrove
2:Search this world and find that being who you feel has the greatest light and become their apprentice. ~ frederick-lenz, @wisdomtrove
3:It is never just disagreement but always intellectual dishonesty that is the apologist's worst enemy. And its apprentice is ignorance. ~ criss-jami, @wisdomtrove
4:Everything you need you already have. You are complete right now, you are a whole, total person, not an apprentice person on the way to someplace else. Your completeness must be understood by you and experienced in your thoughts as your own personal reality. ~ wayne-dyer, @wisdomtrove
5:Read, read, read. Read everything - trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write. If it is good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out the window. ~ william-faulkner, @wisdomtrove
6:Read, read, read. Read everything - trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write. If it's good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out of the window. ~ william-faulkner, @wisdomtrove
7:A young apprentice applied to a master carpenter for a job. The older man asked him, "Do you know your trade?" "Yes, sir!" the young man replied proudly. "Have you ever made a mistake?" the older man inquired. "No, sir!" the young man answered, feeling certain he would get the job. "Then there's no way I'm going to hire you," said the master carpenter, "because when you make one, you won't know how to fix it. ~ fred-rogers, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:A Padawan is a Jedi apprentice. ~ R J Palacio,
2:He was a true ThunderClan apprentice now. ~ Erin Hunter,
3:Ah, a puny apprentice. Easy prey for Yellowfang, ~ Erin Hunter,
4:You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think. ~ John Flanagan,
5:You've been the least useless apprentice I've ever had. ~ Rachel Caine,
6:It turns out you have to be an apprentice in this world. ~ Cheryl Strayed,
7:Being a ThunderClan apprentice was the best feeling in the world. ~ Erin Hunter,
8:Half?” Ceony asked. “How do you have half of an apprentice? ~ Charlie N Holmberg,
9:I wonder," Marcia said. "If you would consider being my apprentice? ~ Angie Sage,
10:I don't pretend to be a digital savant or even a digital apprentice. ~ Dan Rather,
11:Well, future apprentice or not, no one is going to sway me but me. ~ Rachel E Carter,
12:The apprentice and the master love the master in different ways. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
13:As Seth's apprentice, I've learned wisdom of which you've never dreamed. ~ Janet Morris,
14:I remembered something Elluka’s apprentice, Gumilia asked me to do out of town. ~ Anonymous,
15:Got Bin Laden AND interrupted Celebrity Apprentice? Win for Obama all around. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
16:You're an apprentice, you're not ready to think yet.
-Ranger's Apprentice ~ John Flanagan,
17:Behind me, I heard my apprentice growl, “All your base are belong to us, Niko. ~ Kevin Hearne,
18:The modern technologist is less 'sorcerer' and more 'sorcerer's apprentice'. ~ Barry Commoner,
19:One Master and one apprentice; one to embody the power, the other to crave it ~ Drew Karpyshyn,
20:My master—he fell. He died. I’m not an apprentice anymore.” I try to hold in ~ Victoria Aveyard,
21:The apprentice's name was Wolf, because sometimes the universe is an unsubtle place. ~ Anne Ursu,
22:One of the most important skills a mentor must teach an apprentice is how to fight. ~ Erin Hunter,
23:There is no easy way to train an apprentice. My two tools are example and nagging. ~ Daniel Handler,
24:Rose was a sensitive Apprentice who was aware - some said far too aware - of the Darke. ~ Angie Sage,
25:You have been an apprentice long enough; it is now time to shed your protective skin. Trust! ~ Mooji,
26:You're an Apprentice! You're not ready to think!" Gilan and Halt. The Ruins of Gorlan. ~ John Flanagan,
27:Any Master who instructs more than one apprentice in the ways of the dark side is a fool. ~ Drew Karpyshyn,
28:The good thing about dead or remote masters is that they can’t refuse you as an apprentice. ~ Austin Kleon,
29:You're an Apprentice! You're not ready to think!"
Gilan and Halt.
The Ruins of Gorlan. ~ John Flanagan,
30:I don't want to lose my Apprentice. More than that, Septimus, I don't want to lose you. - Marcia ~ Angie Sage,
31:'Celebrity Apprentice' has more integrity and is the most straightforward show I've ever seen. ~ Penn Jillette,
32:The sleek black aircraft reminded her of the fancy one she’d seen on Donald Trump’s Apprentice show. ~ Janet Chapman,
33:The Ninja challenges his apprentice to choose the perfect eye-removing dagger for fighting a kraken. ~ Douglas Sarine,
34:An apprentice was unquestioningly loyal until the moment he wasn't. Both Master and apprentice knew this. ~ Paul S Kemp,
35:Anything for Byron’s least favorite apprentice. It’s the least I can do since you took over my torch. ~ Rachel E Carter,
36:Search this world and find that being who you feel has the greatest light and become their apprentice. ~ Frederick Lenz,
37:All of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me - consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. ~ Donald Trump,
38:The profession of a prostitute is the only career in which the maximum income is paid to the newest apprentice. ~ William Booth,
39:Sometimes I feel like I'm a contestant in a reality show that probably would be called The Apprentice Survivor Millionaire. ~ Bob Iger,
40:That was an interesting night,” Mudfur meowed. “RiverClan now has the youngest deputy and the oldest medicine cat apprentice. ~ Erin Hunter,
41:Firepaw held the menacing amber gaze for few moments. Warrior and apprentice, for a heartbeat their eyes were locked as enemies. ~ Erin Hunter,
42:My Apprentice is a PathFinder," Septimus said. "I am beginning to realise that means she can go pretty much anywhere she wants to. ~ Angie Sage,
43:Me?" Penny's voice, surprised. "Well, I'm Penny Ngwenya, Matthew's butt-kicking, life-saving, totally awesome apprentice. Um. Hi. ~ Kate Griffin,
44:As late as 1742, London hatters beat to death a man who dared shape headgear without having gone through the apprentice system. ~ Thomas Levenson,
45:The idea of having faith in Jesus has come to be totally isolated from being his apprentice and learning how to do what he said. ~ Dallas Willard,
46:Better to be tentative than to be recklessly sure- to be an apprentice at sixty, than to present oneself as a doctor at ten. ~ Michel de Montaigne,
47:She is not a cookie. Neither is she a biscuit, a PopTart, Sweet TART, apple tart, or any other kind of pastry. She is my apprentice. ~ Jim Butcher,
48:It is never just disagreement but always intellectual dishonesty that is the apologist's worst enemy. And its apprentice is ignorance. ~ Criss Jami,
49:Halt and Gilan looked at him, then looked at each other, and said in chorus: “You’re an apprentice. You’re not ready to think.” Then ~ John Flanagan,
50:Jayan found teaching both frustrating and rewarding. It depended on the apprentice. Some were attentive and talented. Some were not. ~ Trudi Canavan,
51:Why the devil are you going again?
To save the doctor.
Save him from what?
Whatever he needs saving from. I'm his apprentice. ~ Rick Yancey,
52:From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat. ~ Erin Hunter,
53:It was very exciting to see Alan Sugar, so I think I've peaked with excitement for the evening, because I'm a massive Apprentice fan. ~ David Walliams,
54:NBC executives say that if Donald Trump does run for president, they will not renew The Apprentice. So some good may come out of this. ~ Conan O Brien,
55:How do you politely explain to someone that you had believed for years he was a moron as well as a Fool?
Fitz in Assassin's Apprentice ~ Robin Hobb,
56:One habit: choosing a book and starting each day with a dedicated time of reading and gazing, becoming an apprentice to a mind I admire. ~ Frances Mayes,
57:Pelapi. It is an old word. There is no single word like it in English. It means 'librarian,' but also 'apprentice,' or perhaps 'student. ~ Scott Hawkins,
58:Oh, man…” Leo shook his head in amazement. “That’s right. You’ve missed the last like, seventy years. Well, my apprentice, a chicken nugget— ~ Rick Riordan,
59:Tiny drops of fresh dung littered the top of the boulders, reminding her of the old apprentice trick of telling kits they were tasty berries. ~ Erin Hunter,
60:Close to the heart of the business of discipling another in the Christian faith is the self-discipline of serving as a model to the apprentice. ~ D A Carson,
61:You went full-on bitchy and made a dramatic exit?” He sounded way too gleeful over my histrionics. “I have taught you well, my young apprentice. ~ T J Klune,
62:[Arnold Schwarzenegger] is funny. Some great one-liners, some great banter between him and the contestants [on "The Apprentice" ]. And he's good! ~ Boy George,
63:Online, everyone—the artist and the curator, the master and the apprentice, the expert and the amateur—has the ability to contribute something. ~ Austin Kleon,
64:Well, you know, I love being an entrepreneur and when I did 'Celebrity Apprentice' with Mr. Trump, he taught us a lot about starting businesses. ~ NeNe Leakes,
65:If the king could make a throne seem like a stool fit for a printer's apprentice, the queen could make a rumpled bedspread into a throne. ~ Megan Whalen Turner,
66:My first published novel, American Rust, took three and a half years of full-time work to write. But I wrote two apprentice novels before that. ~ Philipp Meyer,
67:[Arnold Schwarzenegger] is really good at ['The New Celebrity Apprentice' show]. Totally different energy to our potential president, but he's cool. ~ Boy George,
68:The apprentice avoids all use of Java classes. The journeyman embraces Java classes. The master knows which classes to embrace and which to avoid. ~ Michael Fogus,
69:Everything you need you already have. You are complete right now, you are a whole, total person, not an apprentice person on the way to someplace else. ~ Wayne Dyer,
70:I was involved in school plays, but when I left school I did a couple of odd jobs as a baker's apprentice and then as a fruit market porter in Manchester ~ John Thaw,
71:(...) Within minutes of seeing him I was falling back into my old habits, apprentice to master.
That actually scared me more than seeing him did. ~ Benedict Jacka,
72:Copying is the greatest form of flattery, I guess. I am actually a little surprised that Vincent Lo didn't try and make a deal to be on The Apprentice,. ~ Donald Trump,
73:I had a TV show called 'The Apprentice' and it's one of the most successful reality shows in the history of television. And now I'm doing something else. ~ Donald Trump,
74:Before I was an actor I was an apprentice jockey, and now I'm out there racing against boys, sort of the spokesperson for people over 50 that they can do it. ~ Davy Jones,
75:Cowl's apprentice was tough and competent, but no amount of training or forethought can prepare you for the sight of an angry dinosaur coming to eat your ass. ~ Jim Butcher,
76:If an apprentice does not hear what a master hears, is then that quality not present in the music? Yes and no. In the world in which the apprentice lives no. ~ Robert Fripp,
77:It is the privilege and the labor of the apprentice of creation to come with his imagination into the unimaginable, and with his speech into the unspeakable. ~ Wendell Berry,
78:He worked as one of the two servants allowed Milbourne in his capacity as ship’s carpenter: ‘servant’ in this context meaning an apprentice under training. Both ~ Linda Colley,
79:Trump says NBC paid him $65 million for Celebrity Apprentice in both 2011 and 2012 (NBC, in a written statement, said that figure was wildly inflated). If ~ David Cay Johnston,
80:I’d no idea that you’d prove such an able apprentice. You were sure to be a journalist, in which case the chances were terribly high that you’d also be a prat. ~ Lionel Shriver,
81:In the final analysis, with Rene she had been an apprentice to love, she had loved him only to learn how to give herself, enslaved and surfeited, to Sir Stephen. ~ Pauline R age,
82:But introduce extrinsic motivations, such as the promise of promotion or a raise, and the willingness and ability of the apprentice to learn starts to shut down. In ~ Laszlo Bock,
83:I spotted Littlecloud,” Icepaw broke in. “Birchfall and Whitewing were too busy gossiping.” “That’s enough.” Whitewing scolded her apprentice; she looked flustered. ~ Erin Hunter,
84:Trump said that he hoped bin Laden suffered a lot. It looks like he got his wish, because the CIA said bin Laden spent his last hour watching 'Celebrity Apprentice.' ~ Conan O Brien,
85:[Donald Trump] not going to be sitting in studio acting as the executive producer of The Apprentice. I think that's Mark Burnett and that's the way it's going to be. ~ Reince Priebus,
86:It is hard to be an apprentice to an unfriendly professor, or even one whose warmth or tolerance wears thin when the going gets hard for the student and help is needed. ~ Robert Audi,
87:One day you are an apprentice, and everybody's pet; the next, you are coldly expected to deliver. There is never sufficient warning that the second day is coming. ~ Mignon McLaughlin,
88:Some might have taken him for a mere apprentice enchanter who had run away from his master out of defiance, boredom, fear and a lingering taste for heterosexuality. ~ Terry Pratchett,
89:Boss has bloomin' gone," he said. Then, suddenly noticing Tod, he said, "Begging your pardon, Apprentice. What I mean to say is that unfortunately, Madam Marcia has left. ~ Angie Sage,
90:But now that she was my apprentice, every such thought caused a guilty twitch in my neck, as if someone had dropped a sleek, stinky ferret there. Guilt ferrets are bastards. ~ Kevin Hearne,
91:Elluka, with a girl who seems to be her apprentice, also attended the funeral. I nodded my head to lightly regard a greeting. She went to the tomb and cursed “DIMWIT” then left. ~ Anonymous,
92:The apprentice realist uses line as a net to capture his prey, an imitation of reality. But soon he becomes enchanted with line as a thing. It becomes a servant of his pleasure. ~ Rene Huyghe,
93:All I knew to look for was a redheaded girl with strange magic. And you turned out to be Emery Thane’s apprentice, of all people. How is the bugger? Still kicking, I hear. ~ Charlie N Holmberg,
94:The great thing about dead or remote masters is that they can’t refuse you as an apprentice. You can learn whatever you want from them. They left their lesson plans in their work. ~ Austin Kleon,
95:The great thing about remote or dead masters is that they can't refuse you as an apprentice. You can learn whatever you want from them. They left their lesson plans in their work. ~ Austin Kleon,
96:I don’t have time for all the relations and courting and wooing bullshit,” I said. “I’m a wizard. I have quests.”
“Uh, you’re an apprentice,” Gary said. “And you’re sent on errands. ~ T J Klune,
97:The Path of Thorns bears that name for a reason; it’s a prickly journey from apprentice to archmage, and few sorcerers survive the trip. The rick, however, makes the game worthwhile. ~ Phil Brucato,
98:The time had come to bring his apprentice deeper into the Sith mysteries he had been investigating for most of his life; to introduce him to the miracles he was performing on Aborah. ~ James Luceno,
99:I wanted to apprentice myself to the dailiness of the war's beginning phase. It's truer and more frightening that way - when you're afloat on a little dingy in the midst of it all. ~ Nicholson Baker,
100:Donald Trump insisted yesterday that he is not racist, because one time an African-American won Apprentice. Because nothing says 'not racist' like making a black man run your errands. ~ Conan O Brien,
101:They put me on the shift where they thought I could do the least harm, midnight to eight in the morning. Although the hours were lousy, they were perfect for an apprentice reporter. ~ Andrea Mitchell,
102:Typically is a master-apprentice relationship, all the power lies with the master. But with a life apprentice, every time the master comes within arms reach he places his life in her hands. ~ Benedict Jacka,
103:Trump’s self-conception as the all-powerful Apprentice boss blinded him to a fundamental truth of the modern presidency: that the president needs Congress more than Congress needs the president. ~ Joshua Green,
104:I'm still very much in the apprentice stage of writing. I read somewhere that you need to write a million words before you know what you're doing - so I'm headed that way, but I'm nowhere near there. ~ Tana French,
105:Jessica Simpson is the youth ambassador for Operation Smile, and an episode of The Apprentice featured a team managing a charity concert she put on. Donald Trump came on stage and pledged a donation. ~ Roma Downey,
106:You should enjoy being young. You have people who care for you. Food to eat. All we ask is that you listen and learn. There's time enough of you to become an Apprentice, to take on that responsibility. ~ Antony John,
107:No, my young apprentice. You said the exact right thing. Again. I'm just laughing at life." "Why?" he asked, opening both his eyes. "Because sometimes it's either laugh or cry. I prefer laugh. How about you? ~ P C Cast,
108:My dear dead mother wanted me to go into an honorable trade, like grave robbing. Would I listen? No. Be an assassin, like your uncle Gustav, she said. Would I pay heed? No. Apprentice to the Necromancer― ~ Raymond E Feist,
109:To truly be a medicine cat lies in a cat's heart, and all its five senses. You must be braver than warriors, wiser than a clan leader, humbler than the tiniest kit, more willing to learn than an apprentice... ~ Erin Hunter,
110:The practice of science was not itself a science; it was an art, to be passed from master to apprentice as the art of painting is passed or as the skills and traditions of the law or of medicine are passed. ~ Richard Rhodes,
111:... He told the green woman to open the bad-word door and he would go and get the bad-word Apprentice himself, seeing as everyone else around him was so bad-word useless. Especially bad-word witches ... - Kaznim ~ Angie Sage,
112:No, my young apprentice. You said the exact right thing. Again. I'm just laughing at life."
"Why?" he asked, opening both his eyes.
"Because sometimes it's either laugh or cry. I prefer laugh. How about you? ~ P C Cast,
113:How Plagueis would have mocked him for allowing himself to become personally involved in such a seemingly trivial matter; but then his Master had never foreseen that his onetime apprentice would become Emperor. ~ James Luceno,
114:After Donald Trump's derogatory comments about immigrants, NBC has officially cancelled Celebrity Apprentice. Think about it: Donald Trump isn't even president yet, and he's already made America a better place! ~ Conan O Brien,
115:MSNBC host Lawrence O'Donnell is saying Donald Trump lied when he said he made $20 million a year off his 'Apprentice' series on NBC. NBC also denied Trump's claim, saying, 'We don't have $20 million. We're NBC.' ~ Jimmy Fallon,
116:To truly be a medicine cat lies in a cat’s heart, and all its five senses. You must be braver than warriors, wiser than a Clan leader, humbler than the tiniest kit, more willing to learn than any apprentice. . . . ~ Erin Hunter,
117:I think there's some kids that need to go from being a child to being a grown-up. You get out in the tech communities, the parents just apprentice their kid into the industry and they just skip being a teenager. ~ Temple Grandin,
118:As unlikely as it sounds from the vantage point of today, Trump and The Apprentice, up through the end of the decade, were considered by advertisers and audiences alike to be a triumph of American multiculturalism. ~ Joshua Green,
119:Donald Trump is going to make an announcement about running for President on the season finale of Celebrity Apprentice. Not to be outdone, the same night the Cake Boss will reveal his plan for overhauling Medicare. ~ Conan O Brien,
120:I went to Cal Arts and AFI, and I worked on 'Bonfire Of The Vanities.' I got this grant from the Academy to be Brian De Palma's apprentice director. And it was such a harrowing, disillusioning, awful experience. ~ Douglas Rushkoff,
121:The RiverClan warrior gave a little nod to Stormpaw just like any mentor approving of his apprentice's courage. Then he turned to look up at Tigerstar again.

"You'll have to kill me first, Tigerstat!" he spat. ~ Erin Hunter,
122:I was so fortunate to get the opportunity to be a writers' apprentice on A Different World. It was my favorite show. So to go from watching Dwayne and Whitley to writing for Dwayne and Whitley was incredible. ~ Gina Prince Bythewood,
123:recruited apprentice archers who were being learnt to push arrows out of a longbow, use the bladed pikes our smiths have been making on Cyprus, and march together putting down the same foot to the beat of a rowing drum. ~ Martin Archer,
124:When I was working on my first novel, 'The Quilter's Apprentice,' I knew I wanted to write about friendship, especially women's friendship and how women use friendship to sustain themselves and nurture each other. ~ Jennifer Chiaverini,
125:Music is my life. The last job I had, I was a bricklayer's apprentice. And I was happy with that job, too, because it was something that made me feel good. To build a wall for the side of a building felt really good to me. ~ Mark Wahlberg,
126:In a recent interview, John McCain addressed Trump's campaign rally in Arizona and said that he just quote, 'fired up the crazies.' Not to be confused with Trump's show 'Celebrity Apprentice,' where he just FIRED the crazies. ~ Jimmy Fallon,
127:There are many poets that use as my models. In my first book of poems, I had several for the "Sleepwalkers," I had several poems that were apprentice poems like this in which I take a walk with a poet who is no longer alive. ~ Edward Hirsch,
128:It's not going to be sitting there producing The Apprentice. I can assure you of that. It's something that [Donald Trump] owns. It's a title he owns, but I'm telling you he's going to be 100 percent focused in the White House. ~ Reince Priebus,
129:With that, the hologram did dissolve and PROXY returned to his normal appearance and size.
"Ugh," the droid said with a shudder. "I hate being him."
The apprentice stood, deep in thought and nodded. "I think he does too. ~ Sean Williams,
130:The truth is she was a fearless apprentice but lacked all talent for guided fornication. She never understood the charm of serenity in bed, never had a moment of invention, and her orgasms were inopportune and epidermic. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
131:For me with "The Apprentice," it kind of blew out my business brain. I don't really think of myself as a business person. I think of myself more as a creative-type person, but it's quite nice to be challenged physically and mentally. ~ Boy George,
132:A garden is composed of a variety of clocks, Aritomo had once told me. Some of them run faster than the others, and some of them move slower than wee can ever perceive. I only understood this fully long after I had been his apprentice. ~ Tan Twan Eng,
133:As her newest apprentice, it had been my job to go to the market every morning. I had gotten all the jobs no one else wanted, but I had treated each task as if it had been essential to do well -- a trick I had learned from my father. ~ Maria V Snyder,
134:Did he have to sit here, being solemn and serious with Kestrelflight, Mothwing, and Willowshine, just because he was a medicine-cat apprentice? If he was going to be an apprentice longer than any other cat, couldn’t he at least have fun? ~ Erin Hunter,
135:I have traveled so far and loved so much, and yet I am still following the Sun Trail, heading for my new hunting grounds. EXCERPT FROM WARRIORS: A VISION OF SHADOWS #1: THE APPRENTICE’S QUEST A new adventure begins for the warrior Clans. ~ Erin Hunter,
136:Capitalism is the sorcerer's apprentice: it has summoned up powers which have spun wildly out of control and now threaten to destroy us.The task of socialism is not to spur on those powers but to bring them under rational human control. ~ Terry Eagleton,
137:Thanks, Crowfeather!” he panted. Looking around, Crowfeather spotted Gorsetail in a nearby beech tree, her fur fluffed up as she spat defiance at the foxes below. And where were you when your apprentice was in danger? Crowfeather wondered. ~ Erin Hunter,
138:Apprentice is the beginner - the first years you work in a craft in the European sense you are an apprentice. That takes 3 or 4 years. Then you are a journeyman. You can go from one master to another and learn other tricks and other secrets. ~ Josef Albers,
139:Your brother kills you." Fett hopped tpo his feet as lightly as any unarmoured jedi apprentice, the n added," Some things are worsse thean death. I know that better than anyone, except maybe Sintas-and Han Solo. Send your father my sympathies. ~ Troy Denning,
140:Five standard years have passed since Darth Sidious proclaimed himself galactic Emperor. The brutal Clone Wars are a memory, and the Emperor’s apprentice, Darth Vader, has succeeded in hunting down most of the Jedi who survived dreaded Order 66. ~ James Luceno,
141:No wonder he has no real idea of who he will be; and he must content himself with the mere identity: “apprentice of Jesus.” That is the starting point from which his new identity will emerge, and it is in fact powerful enough to bear the load. ~ Dallas Willard,
142:When the Emperor and his notorious apprentice, Darth Vader, find themselves stranded in the middle of insurgent action on an inhospitable planet, they must rely solely on each other, the Force, and their awesome martial skills to prevail. ~ John Jackson Miller,
143:Yellowfang purred. “I know you’ve been up to something,” she meowed. “But I won’t pry. All I know is that my apprentice seems back to her old self again. Which is good, because she was no use to any cat while she was moping around like a damp mushroom! ~ Erin Hunter,
144:I pictured myself saying in a court of law, "Well, Your Honor, there was
this evil sorcerer's apprentice and a flesh-eating, power-granting demon
he summoned from a primordial dimension . . ."
Even I couldn't see a way to make that script work. ~ Laura Resnick,
145:Yes, I'm sure [the princess] thinks daily of a delinquent midget apprentice growing up to claim her hand ahead of all the nobles and princes of the realm. What could any of them possibly give that you don't have, except titles, land, wealth and all that. ~ Jonathan Renshaw,
146:His fiancé was somewhere in Verania with a sexually aggressive dragon (which I was still offended about, by the way), and Ryan was stuck here with a malfunctioning wizard apprentice who secretly pined after him.
My life was a tragic farce of epic proportions. ~ T J Klune,
147:B looked down the shaft, at a metal ladder and darkness beyond. "Me first?"
Of course. You're the apprentice, so you always go first into the unknown. If anyone's going to be eaten by a grue, it should be you."
Tough job. But at least the hours are terrible. ~ Tim Pratt,
148:No one can tell you the rules of 'Celebrity Apprentice.' No one. Donald Trump just does what he wants, which is mostly pontificating to people who are sucking up to him, while the network people try to manipulate him into making the highest-rated show they can. ~ Penn Jillette,
149:I've always competed in those shows. Like, I won 'Fear Factor', I did 'I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here', I did 'The Mole', 'Celebrity Apprentice' with Donald Trump. I've done a lot of those shows, all in the hope of being a blessing to my mom's organization. ~ Stephen Baldwin,
150:Since there is always another level to learn, mastery actually means you’re a master of what you know and an apprentice of what you don’t. In other words, we become masters of what is behind us and apprentices for what is ahead. This is why mastery is a journey. Alex ~ Gary Keller,
151:Newt Gingrich said that this executive producer is weird and it raises - does raise questions about possible conflicts. The FCC regulates NBC corporations can try to curry favor with the president by placing their products on the show [Celebrity Apprentice]. ~ George Stephanopoulos,
152:Of course some people manage to write books really young and publish really young. But for most writers, it takes several years because you have to apprentice yourself to the craft, and you also have to grow up. I think maturity is connected to one's ability to write well. ~ Cheryl Strayed,
153:Read, read, read. Read everything -- trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write. If it's good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out of the window. ~ William Faulkner,
154:Ivan, task handled, lowered his hand, pausing only to pop his knuckles. He turned to face his apprentice. He cleared his throat, and took one quick glance over his shoulder where the angry giant robot stormed across the desert, before addressing Tory.
“That was satisfactory. ~ Drew Hayes,
155:Read, read, read. Read everything -- trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it.
Then write. If it's good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out of the window. ~ William Faulkner,
156:You could see Newt Gingrich, who`s a member of Donald Trump`s country club, already getting together and talking about the new episode of "The Apprentice," with the poor kids in the city.This was a very smart thing to do. He shows that he is the grown-up in the Republican Party. ~ Chris Matthews,
157:Not yet," Shryne said, as if to himself "Then you're his apprentice?" His eyes darted right and left, searching for some means of escape. "Is Sidious also in league with Emperor Palpatine?" Vader fell silent for a moment, making up his mind about something. "Lord Sidious is the Emperor. ~ James Luceno,
158:Donald Trump said he will not decide about a possible run for the presidency until after the current season of Celebrity Apprentice wraps up. Say what you want about Trump, at least this guy has his priorities in order. He doesn't want to let actual reality get in the way of his reality show. ~ Jay Leno,
159:Snow White glared at his apprentice. His threats were empty; he had no strength to take control of the situation physically, and the boy knew it. The impertinent fool had gotten greedy, couldn’t sate his ridiculous hunger for ending life for just a few days. He knew this was a bad idea. The ~ J T Ellison,
160:I was completely surrounded by religion from a young time. I was taught by my father. I engaged in discussions with him and many of these scholars who visited and came around the dining table, the lunch table, and attended many lectures with my dad. And so I learned the apprentice way. ~ Feisal Abdul Rauf,
161:Anyone can be a film critic. The apprentice supposedly need not possess a tenth of the knowledge that would be demanded of a critic of literature, music or painting. A director must live with the fact that his work will be called to judgment by someone who has never seen a film of Murnau’s. ~ Fran ois Truffaut,
162:We learned that President-elect [Donald] Trump intends to keep his executive producer title on Celebrity Apprentice. We know he's going to come out later this week and talk about how he's going to handle the overall conflicts of interests, perhaps, with his businesses in the White House. ~ George Stephanopoulos,
163:we fail to be disciples only because we do not decide to be. We do not intend to be disciples. It is the power of the decision and the intention over our life that is missing. We should apprentice ourselves to Jesus in a solemn moment, and we should let those around us know that we have done so. ~ Dallas Willard,
164:Halt waved farewell, tilting his chair onto its back legs as he drained his coffee. Will frowned at him. ‘When I was your apprentice, you used to tell me not to do that. Said it’d loosen the chair legs.’ ‘And so it will,’ Halt said, smiling contentedly. ‘But it’s your chair now, so why should I care? ~ John Flanagan,
165:In sport the mind serves as the acolyte and apprentice of the body. Nothing interferes with the flow of the game more than the athlete who obsesses about his every move on the court. You move, you react, you recover, you drive, and the thinking is seamless and invisible in the secret codes of your game. ~ Pat Conroy,
166:You may, or may not, have better child care instincts than your husband; but his can certainly be developed. If you don't respectthe natural parenting talents that each of you has, you may inadvertently cast the two of you into the skewed but complementary roles of the Expert and the Dumb Apprentice. ~ Jean Marzollo,
167:A woman who's given me a home-a purpose.And for the first time in my life,I-"
"A purpose?" Jennika squints, as she cocks her head and steps closer. "And just what exactly might that be? You planning to take over her garden? Apprentice as an herbal healer? I had much higher hopes for you, Daire. ~ Alyson Noel,
168:He knew what had happened, of course. He couldn’t blame the boy. Jackson needed to be silenced. Things were going to come to a head now. It was just a matter of time before his apprentice’s impudence and recklessness flashed back on them all. A systemic cleansing was the only way to assure their safety. Damn ~ J T Ellison,
169:He was training a new generation of Jedi. There was no one else left to do it, so he took the burden on himself. Everything was going good, until one boy, an apprentice, turned against him and destroyed it all. Everything Luke had worked toward: gone. Luke felt responsible. He walked away from everything. ~ Alan Dean Foster,
170:HALT AND WILL HAD BEEN TRAILING THE WARGALS FOR three days. The four heavy-bodied, brutish creatures, foot soldiers of the rebel warlord Morgarath, had been sighted passing through Redmont Fief, heading north. Once word reached the Ranger, he had set out to intercept them, accompanied by his young apprentice. ~ John Flanagan,
171:Horace, when you get older, try to avoid being saddled with an apprentice. Not only are they a damned nuisance, but apparently they constantly feel the need to get the better of their masters. They’re bad enough when they’re learning. But when they graduate, they become unbearable. [The Kings of Clonmel Pg.268] ~ John Flanagan,
172:The secret truth of 'Celebrity Apprentice' is that it isn't very hard... 'Celebrity Apprentice' is easy like junior high is easy. All the arithmetic, the creative writing and the history are super simple, but like junior high, you do that easy work surrounded by people who are full-tilt, hormone-raging bug nutty. ~ Penn Jillette,
173:He was ruthless in his pursuit of his pleasure. He made it an art form, this dissolute living. Almost stylized in its perfection. And so damned tempting she couldn’t turn away. She wanted him to teach her his secrets, like a magician to his apprentice. And above all, she wanted him to remember her when she was gone. ~ Pepper Winters,
174:Without being forgiven, released from the consequences of what we have done, our capacity to act would, as it were, be confined to one single deed from which we could never recover; we would remain the victims of its consequences forever, not unlike the sorcerer's apprentice who lacked the formula to break the spell. ~ Hannah Arendt,
175:When Donald Trump - star of 'Celebrity Apprentice', the man who brought you Trump Vodka, Trump Steaks, and Trump "University" very likely fraud and fail; and Twitter-hands extraordinaire - is setting up his bobblehead on the desk of the Oval Office and shredding through nuclear codes, you only have yourself to blame. ~ Chrissy Teigen,
176:Whenever a tool is handled with ease and with a minimum of false motions, so that it will produce accurate and satisfactory results, it is handled in the right way. The constant aim of every carpenter, especially the apprentice, should be to eliminate false motions in everything he does.” — Carpenter’s Tools, H. H. Seigele ~ Eula Biss,
177:When I first started working, I was very aware of the fact that I'd been to university and studied Russian and French and not acting. So when I started working, I'd started working quite young, I felt like it was important to treat myself kind of like an apprentice and do as many different types of things as I could. ~ Kate Beckinsale,
178:I don`t know what Donal Trump motive is but I know what he`s preaching is a very, very dangerous brew for America. Is this just a guy doing Celebrity Apprentice for himself? Is this just a guy who`s an entertainer? It may have started there but I now think he wants to be president. Also, I don`t think there`s much chance of that. ~ Joe Biden,
179:Today a frightening lack of fear of God prevails in our world. Martin Luther once remarked that those around him spoke to God "as if He were a shoe clerk's apprentice." If that was true in Luther's day, how much more so today? Yet the top priority that Jesus established is that the name of God should be hallowed, honored, and exalted. ~ R C Sproul,
180:We shall miss Leopardstar. I remember her from all the way back when I was an apprentice in ThunderClan. I always respected her, and, though her loyalty to RiverClan never wavered, she was a leader who understood the importance of keeping every Clan strong. She had the heart, courage, and strength of the mighty cat she was named for. ~ Erin Hunter,
181:As he broadcast his birther charge against Obama, Nielsen ratings for The Celebrity Apprentice took a sharp turn for the worse. “Given the downward trend of Trump’s ratings among his current, liberal audience,” joked one Republican media buyer, “maybe he’s running as a Republican to add a little bipartisan diversity to his viewership. ~ Joshua Green,
182:Donald Trump is an entertainer. Okay. He goes on shows like Howard Stern's to get people to watch his program. "The Apprentice" or buy his books or whatever. When he goes in there, he back then when it happened was basically trying to entertain. All right. So he had no public policy on his mind, none of that. All right. He's an entertain. ~ Bill O Reilly,
183:Another guy barked orders to a small army of brooms, mops, and buckets that were scuttling around, cleaning up the city. "Like that cartoon," Sadie said. "Where Mickey Mouse tries to do magic and the brooms keep splitting and toting water." "'The Sorcerer's Apprentice,'" Zia said. "You do know that was based on an Egyptian story, don't you? ~ Rick Riordan,
184:Almost all of the stories in The Matchmaker, the Apprentice, and the Football Fan are told in the first person, yet, depending on the angle and distance of the narrator, they exert different effects. The best are those in which the speaker never poses as an objective outsider. (...) Other stories are damaged by the urge to distance the narrator. ~ Yiyun Li,
185:When an apprentice gets hurt, or complains of being tired, the workmen and peasants have this fine expression: "It is the trade entering his body." Each time that we have some pain to go through, we can say to ourselves quite truly that it is the universe, the order and beauty of the world, and the obedience of God that are entering our body. ~ Simone Weil,
186:Who, among Christians today, is a disciple of Jesus, in any substantive sense of the word “disciple”? A disciple is a learner, a student, an apprentice—a practitioner, even if only a beginner. The New Testament literature, which must be allowed to define our terms if we are ever to get our bearings in the Way with Christ, makes this clear. ~ Dallas Willard,
187:"Nationwide" featured an amazing collection of apprentice impersonators. From all over Britain, schoolchildren materialised via local studios to give us their imitations of the mighty. There were at least three uncannily accurate Margaret Thatchers, their eyelids fatigued with condescension and their voices swooping and whining like dive-bombers. ~ Clive James,
188:Another guy barked orders to a small army of brooms, mops, and buckets that were scuttling around, cleaning up the city.
"Like that cartoon," Sadie said. "Where Mickey Mouse tries to do magic and the brooms keep splitting and toting water."
"'The Sorcerer's Apprentice,'" Zia said. "You do know that was based on an Egyptian story, don't you? ~ Rick Riordan,
189:Reading about Bordertown was the first time I saw people like me in speculative fiction. Messed-up kids, making messsed-up choices. I couldn't be a magician's apprentice or a pig keeper who might or might not be a king's son or a princess with a prophecy hanging over my head. But I could, maybe, somehow, be part of a community of artists who loved magic. ~ Holly Black,
190:There’s no bouncer, no gatekeeper, and no barrier to entering these scenes: You don’t have to be rich, you don’t have to be famous, and you don’t have to have a fancy résumé or a degree from an expensive school. Online, everyone—the artist and the curator, the master and the apprentice, the expert and the amateur—has the ability to contribute something. ~ Austin Kleon,
191:CHAPTER 10 Bright flowers nodded around the apprentice as she weaved, slender as a pine martin, through the grass. She sneezed as pollen dusted her soft muzzle. Then, relishing the sun on her back, she lifted her forepaws and peered over the curving stems. Wide-eyed, she gazed at the broad green pasture and breathed the soft scent of the shimmering grass. ~ Erin Hunter,
192:I really love it, I love working with directors that are very collaborative and allow me input. I've done over 75 films, it's just like you're an apprentice. You learn so much about camerawork, lenses, and I'm always talking about DPs and directors and they always give me lists. I think pretty soon, I'll be ready to move away from being in front of the camera. ~ John Leguizamo,
193:I did apprentice with a Fjerdan shipbuilder. And a Zemeni gunsmith. And a civil engineer from the Han Province of Bolh. Tried my hand at poetry for a while. The results were … unfortunate. These days, being Sturmhond requires most of my attention.”

Bardugo, Leigh (2013-06-04). Siege and Storm (The Grisha Book 2) (p. 132). Henry Holt and Co. (BYR). Kindle Edition. ~ Leigh Bardugo,
194:It’s inevitable-as agents of change, magi transform themselves and their world simply by existing. A callow apprentice becomes a cocky sorcerer in a blink of the Devil’s eye; in time, he might ascent to the Zenith or Fall into the thorns of temptation and sin. The Path he walks will follow him, and the echoes of his passing will linger for years, decades, or centuries to come. ~ Phil Brucato,
195:A wandering carpenter, called Stone, saw on his travels a gigantic old oak tree standing in a field near an earth-altar. The carpenter said to his apprentice, who was admiring the oak: "This is a useless tree. If you wanted to make a ship, it would soon rot; if you wanted to make tools, they would break. You can't do anything useful with this tree, and that's why it has become so old. ~ Zhuangzi,
196:She was not as stupid as some I have had, and better company, but still perhaps her going was for the best. She was not what I needed."

"Because I failed," whispered Alyce in the shadows.

"Because she gave up," continued the midwife. "I need an apprentice who can do what I tell her, take what I give her, who can try and risk and fail and try again and not give up... ~ Karen Cushman,
197:Your fugitive Jedi, my apprentice," Sidious said. "They are traveling to Kashyyyk." He tipped his head to one side. "Perhaps, Lord Vader, they hope to lay a trap for you." Vader clenched his hands. "That would be my most fervent wish, my Master." Sidious clamped his hands on Vader's upper arms. "Then go to them, Lord Vader. Make them sorry they didn't hide while they had the chance! ~ James Luceno,
198:A dour-faced woman was working at a spinning wheel on a doorstep, and she frowned at Logen as he walked past with the unconscious apprentice over his shoulder. Logen smiled back at her. She was no beauty, that was sure, but it had been a very long time. The woman ducked into her house and kicked the door shut, leaving the wheel spinning. Logen sighed. The old magic was still there. ~ Joe Abercrombie,
199:Thanks to NBC News and thanks to the NBC primetime TV network, Donald Trump has been in living rooms for 11 years being who he is. The Donald Trump running for president is not an unknown quantity. The Donald Trump running for president is the Donald Trump everybody's gotten to know, and quite a lot of people watch those Donald Trump TV shows, The Apprentice and whatever else on there. ~ Rush Limbaugh,
200:Throughout our youth, whenever we had a dispute, Li Wei and I would apologize to each other by exchanging gifts. Mine would be in the form of drawings, crudely done with whatever natural supplies I could find. His would always be carvings. There was only one time the exchange didn't happen, the day I told him I was accepting the apprentice position and would never be able to marry him. ~ Richelle Mead,
201:Fire will save the Clan," she murmured, and Fireheart remembered the mysterious prophecy that he had heard from his earliest days in ThunderClan. "You never understood, did you?" Bluestar went on. "Not even when I gave you your apprentice name, Firepaw. And I doubted it myself, when fire raged through our camp. Yet I see the truth now. Fireheart, you are the fire who will save ThunderClan. ~ Erin Hunter,
202:Leo drummed his fingers. “Great. I should have installed a smoke screen that makes the ship smell like a giant chicken nugget. Remind me to invent that, next time.” Hazel frowned. “What is a chicken nugget?” “Oh, man…” Leo shook his head in amazement. “That's right. You’ve missed the last, like, seventy years. Well, my apprentice, a chicken nugget—” “Doesn’t matter,” Annabeth interrupted. ~ Rick Riordan,
203:Trump, in a smart move, picked up his media reputation and relocated it from a hypercritical New York to a more value-free Hollywood, becoming the star of his own reality show, The Apprentice, and embracing a theory that would serve him well during his presidential campaign: in flyover country, there is no greater asset than celebrity. To be famous is to be loved—or at least fawned over. ~ Michael Wolff,
204:The newcomer has lost his Twoleg collar in a battle for his honor. StarClan has spoken its approval - this cat has been released from the hold of his Twoleg owners, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice. You look like a brand of fire in the sunlight. From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat. ~ Erin Hunter,
205:Leo drummed his fingers. “Great. I should have installed a smoke screen that makes the ship smell like a giant chicken nugget. Remind me to invent that, next time.”
Hazel frowned. “What is a chicken nugget?”
“Oh, man…” Leo shook his head in amazement. “That's right. You’ve missed the last, like, seventy years. Well, my apprentice, a chicken nugget—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Annabeth interrupted. ~ Rick Riordan,
206:The Army gives you $100 a month for three months. The men who didn’t go seem to have all the good jobs and you just go back to where you came from and try to pick up where you left off. I went back to live with my parents in West Philly and back to Pearlstein’s to pick up where I left off as an apprentice. But I couldn’t handle being cooped up in a job after living outdoors all that time overseas. ~ Charles Brandt,
207:The apprentice system is a mainstay in the working life of Italians, but this particular movement was as political as it was artistic, born of the need to lift the Italians out of poverty after the war. The movement spread, thus the proliferation of handcrafted Italian goods, some of which still exist today. For the families who trained together, and opened their own businesses, branding was born. ~ Adriana Trigiani,
208:I find it embarrassing when people compare me to Maradona. How can they? There is only one Maradona. People who say this just have no idea, they don't know what they are talking about. Diego was a complete one-off who will never have an equal on the football pitch. No-one, I repeat no-one, could have transformed teams like he did. Maradona was the world's greatest-ever player while I'm just an apprentice. ~ Sergio Aguero,
209:Bear with me on this, Evanlyn. I know you're anxious about Horace." WIll was a little puzzled by Halt's words. "No more anxious than the rest of us, surely," he said. Halt turned away and raised his eyebrows as his gaze met Selethen's. Sometimes, he thought, his former apprentice could be remarkably slow on the uptake. He saw the Arridi's slow nod of understanding. ~Halt & Will about Evanlyn and Horace ~ John Flanagan,
210:I'll think of something," he temporized, and Horace nodded wisely, satisfied that Halt would indeed think of something. In Horace's world, that was what Rangers did best, and the best thing a warrior apprentice could do was let the Ranger get on with thinking while a warrior took care of walloping anyone who needed to be walloped along the way. He settled back in the saddle, contented with his lot in life. ~ John Flanagan,
211:The glass world was unique, a law unto itself. It had its own rules and customs, and a separate language too, handed down not only from father to son but from master to apprentice, instituted heaven knows how many centuries ago wherever the glass-makers settled—in Normandy, in Lorraine, by the Loire—but always, naturally, by forests, for wood was the glass foundry’s food, the mainstay of its existence. ~ Daphne du Maurier,
212:A young apprentice applied to a master carpenter for a job. The older man asked him, "Do you know your trade?" "Yes, sir!" the young man replied proudly. "Have you ever made a mistake?" the older man inquired. "No, sir!" the young man answered, feeling certain he would get the job. "Then there's no way I'm going to hire you," said the master carpenter, "because when you make one, you won't know how to fix it. ~ Fred Rogers,
213:This is my life, I thought...I have exised the cancer from my past, cut it out; I have crossed the high plains, descended into the desert, traversed oceans, and planted my feet in new soil; I have been the apprentice, paid my dues, and have just become master of my ship. But when I look down, why do I see the ancient, tarred, mudstained slippers that I buried at the start of the journey still stuck to my feet? ~ Abraham Verghese,
214:I was the apprentice of Robert James Bakker. I'm sure you've heard of him. I am a sorcerer. I was there when Bakker died. We... made it happen. I too have met death, and did not have to peel the bones away from my chest to survive the encounter. I am also, and incidentally, the Midnight Mayor, the blue electric angels, the fire in the wire, the song in the telephones, and we are having a bad week. Be smart; fear us. ~ Kate Griffin,
215:This is my life, I thought...I have excised the cancer from my past, cut it out; I have crossed the high plains, descended into the desert, traversed oceans, and planted my feet in new soil; I have been the apprentice, paid my dues, and have just become master of my ship. But when I look down, why do I see the ancient, tarred, mud-stained slippers that I buried at the start of the journey still stuck to my feet? ~ Abraham Verghese,
216:You're apprentice Rangers,' he said. 'And the important word there is "Rangers".' He tapped the silver oaklead amulet around his neck. 'As a wearer of the Silver Oakleaf, I might expect obedience and some level of difference from you. But I do not expect you to call me sir. My name is Will and that's what you call me. You'd call my friend Gilan and my former master Halt, if he were here. That's the Ranger's way. ~ John Flanagan,
217:As we apprentice ourselves to the way of nature, we begin to understand that all of life is in a continuous cycle of giving and receiving. It is the honouring of this cycle that makes us feel at home in ourselves and in relation to the rest of nature. In order to experience true belonging, we must not only acknowledge the gifts we are receiving, but also give our beauty away, no matter how it may be received by others. ~ Toko pa Turner,
218:Bear with me on this, Evanlyn. I know you're anxious about Horace."
WIll was a little puzzled by Halt's words. "No more anxious than the rest of us, surely," he said.
Halt turned away and raised his eyebrows as his gaze met Selethen's. Sometimes, he thought, his former apprentice could be remarkably slow on the uptake. He saw the Arridi's slow nod of understanding.
~ John FlanaganHalt & Will about Evanlyn and Horace ~ John Flanagan,
219:He’d said that the relationship between Sith apprentice and Master was symbiotic but in a delicate balance. An apprentice owed his Master loyalty. A Master owed his apprentice knowledge and must show only strength. But the obligations were reciprocal and contingent. Should either fail in his obligation, it was the duty of the other to destroy him. The Force required it. Since before the Clone Wars, Vader’s Master had never shown anything but ~ Paul S Kemp,
220:Incarnation” does not concern just the events of his conception and birth. It was the taking on of “flesh” in all its human meaning. He could live in your circumstances now. He could be you and still live in the kingdom of God. You can be his apprentice no matter who and where you are. It is as his personal friends, living interactively with him, that we know the truth and have the freedom—the power over evil—that comes with such knowledge ~ Dallas Willard,
221:One of the apprentices whispered loudly, “I’m not surprised he wants to hide in a Twoleg nest—once a kittypet, always a kittypet.” Fireheart bristled. He hadn’t heard that insult for several moons. But the story that a kittypet had joined a Clan must have made rich gossip at any Gathering. Of course WindClan would know. He whipped around and glared at the apprentice. “You’ve spent two moons living in a Twoleg tunnel. Does that make you a rat? ~ Erin Hunter,
222:There are many who want me to tell them of secret ways of becoming perfect and I can only tell them that the sole secret is a hearty love of God, and the only way of attaining that love is by loving. You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so you learn to love God and man by loving. Begin as a mere apprentice and the very power of love will lead you on to become a master of the art. ~ Saint Francis de Sales,
223:The organization of lab work was, and still is, entirely feudal. A “lab” was not only a place or a room or series of rooms, it was the fiefdom of a particular scientist. To “go into” a lab as a grad student was to apprentice yourself to this scientist, with the idea that you would, after several years of patient toil, ascend to a similar rank yourself, at which point you would be able to offload the manual labor to people more junior than yourself. ~ Barbara Ehrenreich,
224:For almost all of human history, tools were quite limited. They weren’t everywhere; they were in specific places. Tools were in the field (agricultural tools) or in the kitchen (cooking tools) or in the toolshed (work tools). And while tools helped us do our work, they didn’t work on their own. The dream of a tool that would work by itself was strictly the stuff of magic or fantasy—the sorcerer’s apprentice’s dream of a broom that would clean up by itself. ~ Andy Crouch,
225:I made two rings for myself and when I was in Los Angeles, I walked into a store called Maxfields and they essentially bought them off my hands. Those were originally made in New York. There wasn't craftsmanship, there was just manufacturing, and I wasn't interested in doing that. My first workshop was in Rome, and that was the start of House of Waris. In a little magical atelier, a goldsmith, his apprentice, his stone setter - and that was where it began. ~ Waris Ahluwalia,
226:Hi, Ceony,” he said. He then stiffened like a soldier and added, “Magician Thane, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

Bennet took a few long strides and offered his hand to the paper magician, who stood taller in height by several inches. Emery shook the apprentice’s hand with an amused twinkle in his eye. Bennet continued. “I’ve heard a great many things about you.”

“And you still shook my hand?” Emery asked. “Your mother raised you well. ~ Charlie N Holmberg,
227:It wasn't that Nina didn't make equally tasty buns, but Zod, her rogue apprentice, had refined the dough to a featherlight brioche with a subtle tang. He filled the pockets not just with beef and onions, but peach jam, saffron rice pudding, smoked sturgeon, potatoes and dill, cabbage and caraway apples, duck confit and chopped orange peel, and, once, even a pearl that fell into the lemon custard when Nina's necklace snapped, beads hitting the counter like hailstones. ~ Donia Bijan,
228:Stormfur stopped short when he noticed a glow of admiration in Feathertail’s eyes. Surely his sister couldn’t be interested in Crowpaw? All he ever did was argue and push himself forward as if he were already a warrior. A cat from another Clan—and an apprentice at that!—had no right to start padding after Feathertail. And whatever did Feathertail see in him? Didn’t she know the problems this sort of thing could cause—hadn’t she learned that from their own parents? Then ~ Erin Hunter,
229:You could have let that thing flatten me, but you didn't. Why?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
She was too tired to edit her mouth. “You're my master. I couldn't let that thing kill another trapper, even if I think he's a total asshat.”
Harper looked at her for a long time then cracked a toothy grin. “And you're one mouthy bitch, but you're my apprentice. I don't need the reputation that my people die because I don't protect them.”
That was fair. ~ Jana Oliver,
230:Like the American correspondents, jazz seemed a naturally gregarious force—one that was a little unruly and prone to say the first thing that popped into its head, but generally of good humor and friendly intent. In addition, it seemed decidedly unconcerned with where it had been or where it was going—exhibiting somehow simultaneously the confidence of the master and the inexperience of the apprentice. Was there any wonder that such an art had failed to originate in Europe? ~ Amor Towles,
231:Fire will save the Clan...you never understood, did you? Not even when I gave you your apprentice name, Firepaw. And I doubted it myself, when fire raged through our camp. Yet I see the truth now. Fireheart, you are the fire who will save ThunderClan. You will be a great leader. One of the greatest the forest has ever known. You will have the warmth of fire to protect your Clan and the fierceness of fire to defend it. You will be Firestar, the light of ThunderClan." - Bluestar ~ Erin Hunter,
232:People who work in the news media do not watch The Apprentice because of what’s been happening in the news media for a number of years, causing all of us who work in it to never want to hear the words “You’re fired” again. This was a mistake. Donald Trump, the actor who plays “Donald Trump,” appeared on The Apprentice for eleven years. At its peak, the show had 20 million viewers. And Trump is a good actor. Donald Trump is almost as good as Alec Baldwin at being Donald Trump. ~ P J O Rourke,
233:Like the American correspondents, jazz seemed a naturally gregarious force—one that was a little unruly and prone to say the first thing that popped into its head, but generally of good humor and friendly intent. In addition, it seemed decidedly unconcerned with where it had been or where it was going—exhibiting somehow simultaneously the confidence of the master and the inexperience of the apprentice. Was there any wonder that such an art had failed to originate in Europe? The ~ Amor Towles,
234:targets destroyed, the training, the discipline, the hours of study, all led to this moment. This cold, bright afternoon in January 2061 marked the true beginning. A clear mind and cool blood. The apprentice knew these elements were as vital as skill, as wind direction, humiture, and speed. Under the cool blood lived an eagerness ruthlessly suppressed. The mentor had arranged all. Efficiently, and with an attention to detail that was also vital. The room in the clean, middle-class hotel ~ J D Robb,
235:Dark mages do press-gang apprentices. They won't usually touch one under the protection of another mage but a teenager new to their powers and alone and ignorant of the magical world is easy prey. And once you're in, leaving is not an option.
Under Council law, a light apprentice can't be forced to take the oaths. But Dark mages have no such laws. And once a Dark mage has got their claws into someone, precious few light mages are willing to take the risks involved in rescuing them. ~ Benedict Jacka,
236:Donald Trump runs the country like he ran "The Apprentice." The premise of "The Apprentice" is a crazy rich guy has his daughter and his son oversee celebrities doing tasks. And then they come back to him, and they tell him how they did. So in every episode he's like, how did - how'd Meatloaf do, Ivanka? And then she says, Meatloaf really did a great presentation. And then he makes some impulsive decision about who to fire based on not being there, not really even understanding anything. ~ Judd Apatow,
237:Yin?” The apprentice let him go. “And what is the well-bred heir to the House of Yin doing brawling in a hallway?” “She punched me in the face!” Nezha screeched. A nasty bruise was already blossoming around his left eye, a bright splotch of purple against porcelain skin. The apprentice raised an eyebrow at Rin. “And why would you do that?” “He insulted my teacher,” she said. “Oh? Well, that’s different.” The apprentice looked amused. “Weren’t you taught not to insult teachers? That’s taboo. ~ R F Kuang,
238:His apprentice was just beginning to grapple with this experience, coming face to face with the sombre realities of their ministry, that there was an entire unseen universe not any less real simply because it was invisible to mortal eyes most of the time. An ancient war was yet raging against enemies that never sleep, always plotting, continually ensnaring, sadistically feeding off destruction, despair and death, physical and eternal, glutted and glutting, never filled, never satisfied. ~ E A Bucchianeri,
239:There is a passage in the Buddhist Sutra on Mindfulness called the Nine Cemetery Contemplations. Apprentice monks are instructed to meditate on a series of decomposing bodies in the charnel ground, starting with a body “swollen and blue and festering,” progressing to one “being eaten by…different kinds of worms,” and moving on to a skeleton, “without flesh and blood, held together by the tendons.” The monks were told to keep meditating until they were calm and a smile appeared on their faces. ~ Mary Roach,
240:First, you’re going to tell me what you do for a living.” “I’m an apprentice!” he said. “Scribe’s apprentice!” “You need both hands for that?” He looked at me weird. “Uh, no?” And then he screamed as I brought the heel of my boot down on his hand and heard each finger break under it. I suppose it would have been more poetic to make him swear to give up his life of crime. In truth, I’d tried that before in my more callow days. Enough scars and mistakes later, I learned that experience teaches best. ~ Sam Sykes,
241:The profession of a prostitute is the only career in which the maximum income is paid to the newest apprentice. It is the one calling in which at the beginning the only exertion is that of self-indulgence; all the prizes are at the commencement. It is the ever-new embodiment of the old fable of the sale of the soul to the Devil. The tempter offers wealth, comfort, excitement, but in return the victim must sell her soul, nor does the other party forget to exact his due to the uttermost farthing. ~ William Booth,
242:Besides, you’re an apprentice in a proud trade, learning under the finest and most demanding masters it has to offer. Getting all the shit-work is excellent for your moral education.” “You haven’t given me any bloody moral education.” “Yes. Well, that’s probably because Locke and I have been dodging our own for most of our lives now. As for why we’re going over the plan again, let me remind you that one good screwup will make the fate of those poor bastards look sunny in comparison to what we’ll get. ~ Scott Lynch,
243:This is my life, I thought, as my taxi slogged through heavy traffic and inched through the tunnel to Logan Airport. I have excised the cancer from my past, cut it out; I have crossed the high plains, descended into the desert, traversed oceans, and planted my feet in new soil; I have been the apprentice, paid my dues, and just become the master of my ship. But when I look down, why do I see the ancient, tarred, mud-stained slippers that I buried at the start of the journey still stuck to my feet? ~ Abraham Verghese,
244:As in everything, so in writing I am almost afraid of going too far. What can this be? Why? I restrain myself, as if I were tugging at the reins of a horse which might suddenly bolt and drag me who knows where. I protect myself. Why? For what? For what purpose am I saving myself? I was already aware of this when I once wrote: 'It is important not to be afraid of being creative.' Why fear? Fear of knowing the limits of my ability? Or the fear of the sorcerer's apprentice who did not know how to stop? ~ Clarice Lispector,
245:In the Kingdom of God, we join with God in co-creation, in the work of the new earth. We love and we follow Jesus. We shape our lives into His life, to live here on earth as He would live among us. We weren't called to follow political parties or ideology, nationalism, consumerism, or power. Instead, we were called to apprentice ourselves to Jesus' way of life. We were called to be part of establishing the Kingdom of God here and now in our walking-around lives. Partnering with God to see the Kingdom come. ~ Sarah Bessey,
246:Fireheart tensed, waiting for whatever had hunted down these apprentices to emerge from the trees and attack, but nothing stirred. Feeling as if his legs hardly belonged to him, he sprang down and stumbled across to Swiftpaw.
The apprentice lay on his side, his legs splayed out. His black-and-white fur was torn, and his body was covered with dreadful wounds, ripped by teeth far bigger than any cat's. His jaws still snarled and his eyes glared. He was dead, and Fireheart could see that he had died fighting. ~ Erin Hunter,
247:He heard Tamara scream his name, and Jasper yell, “We’re supposed to stay here,” but Call didn’t slow. He was going to be the apprentice that Aaron thought he was, the one who there was nothing wrong with. He was going to do the kind of things that got you mysterious heroic achievements on your wristband. He was going to throw himself right into the fray.
He tripped over a loose stone, fell, and rolled to the bottom of the hill, banging his elbow hard on a tree root. Okay, he thought, not the best start. ~ Cassandra Clare,
248:And yet, the art form had grown on him. Like the American correspondents, jazz seemed a naturally gregarious force—one that was a little unruly and prone to say the first thing that popped into its head, but generally of good humor and friendly intent. In addition, it seemed decidedly unconcerned with where it had been or where it was going—exhibiting somehow simultaneously the confidence of the master and the inexperience of the apprentice. Was there any wonder that such an art had failed to originate in Europe? ~ Amor Towles,
249:Ah. Medieval-style ransom.” Toot looked confused. “He did run some, but I stopped him, my lord. Like, just now. In front of you. Right over there.” There were several conspicuous sounds behind me, the loudest from my apprentice, and I turned to eye everyone else. They were all either covering smiles or holding them back— poorly. “Hey, peanut gallery,” I said. “This isn’t as easy as I’m making it look.” “You’re doing fine,” Karrin said, her eyes twinkling. I sighed. “Come on, Toot,” I said, and walked over to Hook. ~ Jim Butcher,
250:But despite of everything, I was as focused as I'd ever been. For years I'd been trying to forget my time as Richard's apprentice, locking it up and burying it deep in my memory. The journey through Elsewhere had shattered that, bringing it all back - but now that I'd faced it, I found to my surprise that the fear had been worse than the reality. It had hurt, yes, but it had been like cleaning out an old wound, and as I looked back I realised that it didn't scare me the way it once had. I'd gotten stronger since then. ~ Benedict Jacka,
251:Ah. Medieval-style ransom.”
Toot looked confused. “He did run some, but I stopped him, my lord. Like, just now. In front of you. Right over there.”
There were several conspicuous sounds behind me, the loudest from my apprentice, and I turned to eye everyone else. They were all either covering smiles or holding them back— poorly. “Hey, peanut gallery,” I said. “This isn’t as easy as I’m making it look.”
“You’re doing fine,” Karrin said, her eyes twinkling.
I sighed.
“Come on, Toot,” I said, and walked over to Hook. ~ Jim Butcher,
252:They dislike me, the liberal media dislikes me. I was always the best at what I did, I went to the Wharton School of Finance, did well. I went out, I started in Brooklyn office with my father, I became one of the most successful real estate developers, one of the most successful business people. I created maybe the greatest brand. I then go into, in addition to that, part time, like five percent a week, I open up a television show. The Apprentice on many evenings was the number one show on all of television, a tremendous success. ~ Donald Trump,
253:The apprentice Christian may not rise so high but, once his heart is governed by Faith, it is reasonable for Faith to draw on his other capacities to support him. Sebond’s doctrine of illumination helps us to do so effectively and to draw religious strength from a knowledge of God’s creation: [God] has left within these lofty works the impress of his Godhead: only our weakness stops us from discovering it. He tells us himself that he makes manifest his unseen workings through those things which are seen. (‘Apology’, p. 498) ~ Michel de Montaigne,
254:I looked at Mum and realized -- twang! -- that she was telling an untruth. A big untruth. And I remember thinking in that instant how thrilling and grown-up it must be to say something so completely untrue, as opposed to the little amateur fibs I was already practiced at -- horrid little apprentice sinner that I was --like the ones about you'd already said your prayers or washed under the fingernails. Yes, I was impressed. I too must learn to say these gorgeous untruths. Imaginary kings and queens would be my houseguests when I was older. ~ Christopher Buckley,
255:New kits!” she rasped, eyes shining. Featherwhisker hurried toward the medicine den and nearly ran into Goosefeather, who was wandering out of the fern tunnel. “Watch where you’re going!” Featherwhisker snapped. Then he froze. “Sorry!” But Goosefeather just shambled past his apprentice and stopped at the fresh-kill pile. “Leopardfoot’s kitting!” Featherwhisker called after him. “I know, I know,” Goosefeather muttered distractedly as he began pawing through the pile. Turning each piece of prey with his paw, he leaned down and inspected them closely. ~ Erin Hunter,
256:Next-door a baker's apprentice with his wife, an employee in a printing-shop, she has inflammation of the ovaries. Wonder what those two get out of life? Well, first of all, they get each other, then last Sunday a vaudeville and a film, then this or that club meeting and a visit to his parents. Nothing else? Well now, don't drop dead, sir. Add to that nice weather, bad weather, country picnics, standing in front of the stove, eating breakfast and so on. And what more do you get, you, captain, general, jockey, whoever you are? Don't fool yourself. ~ Alfred Doblin,
257:This act of piss, which can be considered sexual by some, a pleasurable experience, is at the same time total disrespect. I had once asked a friend to do this picture and he totally refused. So I carried the idea around with me for years. When I was invited to do a Honcho shoot, I approached Phillip, who was the barman at The London Apprentice, and fortunately he knew who I was. He had a copy of my first book, and that broke the ice. At the end of the shoot with him, I realized I could ask him to do this picture. I had waited four years to do it. ~ Wolfgang Tillmans,
258:APPRENTICE, SHADEPAW (dark brown she-cat) MINNOWTAIL—dark gray she-cat MALLOWNOSE—light brown tabby tom PETALFUR—gray-and-white she-cat BEETLEWHISKER—brown-and-white tabby tom CURLFEATHER—pale brown she-cat PODLIGHT—gray-and-white tom HERONWING—dark gray-and-black tom SHIMMERPELT—silver she-cat LIZARDTAIL—light brown tom APPRENTICE, FOXPAW (russet tabby tom) HAVENPELT—black-and-white she-cat PERCHWING—gray-and-white she-cat SNEEZECLOUD—gray-and-white tom BRACKENPELT—tortoiseshell she-cat JAYCLAW—gray tom OWLNOSE—brown tabby tom QUEENS LAKEHEART—gray tabby she- ~ Erin Hunter,
259:You survived upon the companionship of your imagination. You survived upon the companionship of Conan of Cimmeria and Arwen Undómiel; you lived in a sea cave with Menolly and her little dragons; you were an apprentice of Polgara of the Belgariad and a friend to Sophie Hatter in her moving castle. You walked through a closet and found Aslan and pulled a sword from a stone, and you brought a legion of rogue princes back to life with a kiss. You had no Chinese heroes in books, but you imagined them there, and your dreams were filled with half-breeds, like you. ~ Hope Nicholson,
260:Purity in Death Portrait in Death Imitation in Death Divided in Death Visions in Death Survivor in Death Origin in Death Memory in Death Born in Death Innocent in Death Creation in Death Strangers in Death Salvation in Death Promises in Death Kindred in Death Fantasy in Death Indulgence in Death Treachery in Death New York to Dallas Celebrity in Death Delusion in Death Calculated in Death Thankless in Death Concealed in Death Festive in Death Obsession in Death Devoted in Death Brotherhood in Death Apprentice in Death Echoes in Death Secrets in Death Dark in Death ~ J D Robb,
261:We are intimately linked in this harvest work. Anyone who accepts what you do, accepts me, the One who sent you. Anyone who accepts what I do accepts my Father, who sent me. Accepting a messenger of God is as good as being God’s messenger. Accepting someone’s help is as good as giving someone help. This is a large work I’ve called you into, but don’t be overwhelmed by it. It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing. ~ Eugene H Peterson,
262:(...) Do you know why (her) hates you so much?
(...) Because you did go back. You stopped being Richard's apprentice and started a new life. Every time (she) looks at you she knows that she could have done it all differently, that she did have a choice. And she hates you for it because deep down there's a bit of her that wishes she'd done the same thing. You're a living reminder of the one thing in her past that she's most ashamed of and that no once could ever forgive, and the worst past is that she knows she didn't have to do it and that was all her own fault. ~ Benedict Jacka,
263:He gives me a quick primer on the basics of the equipment and then shocks
me when he uses some of the rope to tie us together. He grins when he sees my
astonishment.
Nervous about being so close to me? he asks, giving the rope a slight tug.
I cross my arms, refusing to be baited by that dangerous question—even if
there is truth to it. But whatever my feelings for him, I must focus on the larger picture: Zhang Jing and our village’s future.
Don’t get any ideas, I warn.
A small smile tugs at his lips. And what kind of ideas would those be,
apprentice? ~ Richelle Mead,
264:I looked at Mum and realized -- twang! -- that she was telling an untruth. A big untruth. And I remember thinking in that instant how thrilling and grown-up it must be to say something so completely untrue, as opposed to the little amateur fibs I was already practiced at -- horrid little apprentice sinner that I was --like the ones about you'd already said your prayers or washed under the fingernails. Yes, I was impressed. I too must learn to say these gorgeous untruths. Imaginary kings and queens would be my houseguests when I was older. ~ Christopher Buckley,
265:- Yes. The master and apprentice system is important (...) Yes, it goes wrong sometimes and the kind of things Dark mages do with their apprentices are pretty awful. But it's how mages learn not just their magic, everything. It's what everything's built on.
(...) Partly I thought of her as a friend. I lead a fairly lonely life and Luna's one of the few people I like and trust. Partly I thought of her as a sort of protegé. I'd been teaching her for months now and I wanted her to be able to make a life for herself in mage society. And partly I thought of her as something more. ~ Benedict Jacka,
266:Do we now even have any idea of what discipleship evangelism, as we might call it, would look like? What message would we preach that would naturally lead to a decision to become an apprentice to Jesus in The Kingdom Among Us? I hope we can now understand what it might be, having worked our way this far. I hope that our understanding of what it is really to trust Jesus Christ, the whole person, with our whole life, would make the call to become his whole-life apprentice the natural next step. That would be discipleship evangelism. And it would be very different from what is now done. ~ Dallas Willard,
267:Once upon a time, when I was a child reading fairy tales, I'd ached to have my own adventures. Not that I'd wanted to be some dippy heroine languishing in a tower, awaiting rescue. No, I'd wanted to be the knight, charging into battle against overwhelming odds, or the plucky country lass who gets taken on as an apprentice to a great wizard. As I got older, I'd found out the hard way that adventures are rarely anything like the books say. Half the time you are scared out of your mind, and the rest you're bored and your feet hurt. I was beginning to believe that maybe I wasn't the adventurous type. ~ Karen Chance,
268:Why do I have a sense of impending disaster?
(He reflects) Sonders is after my niece and has discovered the secret address where I am sending her to the safe keeping of my sister-in-law Miss Blumenblatt, who has never laid eyes on him, or, for that matter, on Marie either since she was a baby—while I have to leave my business in the charge of my assistant and an apprentice, and follow my new servant, whom I haven't had time to introduce to anyone, to town to join the parade and take my fiancée to dinner in a uniform I can't sit down in.
One false move and we could have a farce on our hands. ~ Tom Stoppard,
269:Sir?"
"Yes"
"Where do you go at night?"
Winter paused and glanced over his shoulder. Joseph was watching him with perceptive eyes for one so young.
In that instant, Winter grew tired of lies. "I right wrongs."
He expect more questions--Joseph was usually full of them and his answer was too obscure--but the boy merely nodded. "Will you teach me how sometime?"
Winter's eyes widened. Teach him to...? His mind instantly balked at the thought of putting Joseph in danger. But were he ever to ask for an apprentice to his Ghost, he knew instinctively that he could find no one with more courage than the lad. ~ Elizabeth Hoyt,
270:His apprentice, David Harry, whom I had instructed while I work'd with him, set up in his place at Philadelphia, having bought his materials. I was at first apprehensive of a powerful rival in Harry, as his friends were very able, and had a good deal of interest. I therefore propos'd a partner-ship to him which he, fortunately for me, rejected with scorn. He was very proud, dress'd like a gentleman, liv'd expensively, took much diversion and pleasure abroad, ran in debt, and neglected his business; upon which, all business left him; and, finding nothing to do, he followed Keimer to Barbadoes, taking the printing-house with him. ~ Benjamin Franklin,
271:Before Gutenberg The Dec. 12 Book World review of the novel “Gutenberg’s Apprentice” [“Capturing a long-past transformative movement,” Style] said that Johannes Gutenberg “is often imagined as a lone Renaissance genius who singlehandedly invented the technology of movable type.” Indeed, that Eurocentric view ignores well-documented Asian history. Bi Sheng invented movable type (first wooden, then ceramic) about 1040 in China. Movable metal type was developed in Korea , where the oldest book printed with metal type was published in 1377. Gutenberg was the first person in Europe to use movable metal type in the 1450s. Daniel Dzurek, Washington ~ Anonymous,
272:Apprentice activists, some of them young students from Europe and America, dressed in loose hippy outfits, composed her convoluted press releases on their laptop computers. Several intellectuals and concerned citizens squatted on the pavement explaining farmer’s rights to farmers who had been fighting for their rights for years. PhD students from foreign universities working on social movements (an extremely sought-after subject) conducted long interviews with the farmers, grateful that their fieldwork had come to the city instead of their having to trek all the way out to the countryside where there were no toilets and filtered water was hard to find. ~ Arundhati Roy,
273:I have always preferred the folly of the passions to the wisdom of indifference. But just because my own passions are not of that sort which burst out with violence to devastate and kill, the common mind is not aware of their existence. Nevertheless, I am greatly moved by them at times, and it has more than once been my fate to lose my sleep for the sake of a few pages written by some forgotten monk or printed by some humble apprentice of Peter Schöffer. And if these fierce enthusiasms are slowly being quenched in me, it is only because I am being slowly quenched myself. Our passions are ourselves. My old books are Me. I am just as old and thumb-worn as they are. ~ Anatole France,
274:Septimus had no need to untie Spit Fyre as the dragon had already chewed his way through the rope. They followed Aunt Zelda and Jenna out the side door at the foot of the turret and down to the Palace Gate. Aunt Zelda kept up a brisk pace. Showing a surprising knowledge of the Castle’s narrow alleyways and sideslips, she hurtled along. Oncoming pedestrians were taken aback at the sight of the large patchwork tent approaching them at full speed. They flattened themselves against the walls, and, as the tent passed by with the Princess, the ExtraOrdinary Apprentice and a feral-looking boy with bandaged hands—not to mention a dragon—in its wake, people rubbed their eyes in disbelief. ~ Angie Sage,
275:The magic flooded us again. This time Derek was ready—his face showed no change. Ghastek, on the other hand, halted in midrise halfway off the ground.
I unsheathed Slayer. Derek backed away, giving himself room for a leap. If the vamp went berserk, we’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble.
“Ghastek?” I murmured.
“Just a second.” His voice sounded muffled.
“Are you losing your grip on him?”
“What?”
The vampire dropped to the floor, regarding me with blood-drenched eyes. “Whatever led you to that conclusion?”
“You froze.”
“If you must know, an apprentice brought me my espresso and I burned my tongue on it.”
Derek grimaced, disgust practically dripping off his face. ~ Ilona Andrews,
276:I believe anyone can teach anyone anything. But I mean this in a specific sense. If you have two dedicated, reasonably intelligent people, one interested in teaching and the other wanting to learn, something great can happen. Think master and apprentice, mentor and protégé. For learning, small numbers win. The success of this one-on-one method is proven throughout history; many so-called prodigies were tutored by a parent or family friend (Einstein, Picasso, and Mozart all qualify). Yes, they had amazing, inherent talent, but they were still privately taught by people invested in their learning. Teaching is intimacy of the mind, and you can’t achieve that if you must work in large numbers. ~ Scott Berkun,
277:That is because you don't yet know how to deal with time," said Wen. "But I will teach you to deal with time as you would deal with a coat, to be worn when necessary and discarded when not."
"Will I have to wash it?" said Clodpool.
Wen gave him a long, slow look.
"That was either a very complex piece of thinking on your part, Clodpool, or you were just trying to overextend a metaphor in a rather stupid way. Which, do you think, it was?"
Clodpool looked at his feet. Then he looked at the sky. Then he looked at Wen.
"I think I am stupid, master."
"Good," said Wen. "It is fortuitous that you are my apprentice at this time, because if I can teach you, Clodpool, I can teach anyone. ~ Terry Pratchett,
278:Where else was I to go? My family had no desire to apprentice me to a physician, for though the admission grieves me, over most of Europe my profession is composed of a poor lot of leeches and knaves. There is a large hospital in Paris, the Hôtel Dieu, that is merely a pesthouse for the poor into which screaming men are dragged to die. There is a medical school in Salerno, a sorry place. Through communication with other Jewish merchants my father was aware that in the countries of the East the Arabs have made a fine art of the science of medicine. In Persia the Muslims have a hospital at Ispahan that is truly a healing center. It is in this hospital and in a small academy there that Avicenna makes his doctors. ~ Noah Gordon,
279:When you're dealing with these forces or powers in a philosophic and scientific way, contemplating them from an armchair, that rationalistic approach is useful. It is quite profitable then to regard the gods and goddesses and demons as projections of the human mind or as unconscious aspects of ourselves. But every truth is a truth only for one place and one time, and that's a truth, as I said, for the armchair. When you're actually dealing with these figures, the only safe, pragmatic and operational approach is to treat them as having a being, a will, and a purpose entirely apart from the humans who evoke them. If the Sorcerer's Apprentice had understood that, he wouldn't have gotten into so much trouble. ~ Robert Anton Wilson,
280:For two hours, Clarke and the other men rowed, until it was clear they could no longer keep up with the wreck due to the wind, sea and their condition. When they stopped rowing, Apprentice Officer Clarke could not remove his hands from the oars. The burnt skin of his hand had adhered to them. Actually, the skin had become separated from the bones of his hands and had essentially just been a surface for the bones to rest on. Clarke had rowed for two hours in this condition in the salt sea. When they tried to separate him from the oars, the other survivors found they could not, and were forced to cut away the skin of Clarke's hands in order to wrap his arms and place him in the bottom of the boat, out of the weather. ~ Ryan Jenkins,
281:Michael Faraday, the son of a Yorkshire blacksmith, was born in south London in 1791. He was self-educated, leaving school at fourteen to become an apprentice bookbinder. He engineered his own lucky break into the world of professional science after attending a lecture in London by the Cornish scientist Sir Humphry Davy in 1811. Faraday sent the notes he had taken at the lecture to Davy, who was so impressed by Faraday’s diligent transcription that he appointed him his scientific assistant. Faraday went on to become a giant of nineteenth-century science, widely acknowledged to have been one of the greatest experimental physicists of all time. Davy is quoted as saying that Faraday was his greatest scientific discovery. ~ Brian Cox,
282:What we recognize and applaud as honesty and transparency in an individual is actually the humble demeanor of the apprentice, someone paying extreme attention, to themselves, to others, to life, to the next step, which they may survive or they may not; someone who does not have all the answers but who is attempting to learn what they can, about themselves and those with whom they share the journey, someone like everyone else, wondering what they and their society are about to turn into. We are neither what we think we are nor entirely what we are about to become, we are neither purely individual nor fully a creature of our community, but an act of becoming that can never be held in place by a false form of nomenclature. ~ David Whyte,
283:Once upon a time there was a young apprentice apothecary who lived on a red-brick farm with a golden thatch roof, surrounded by green fields. She had a father who called her a “clever girl” and gave her a herb garden all of her own, and a mother who was whole and kind. She had a brother who knew how to smile and laugh.
But then one day her father had an accident and, despite her efforts to save him, he died. And so did all of her hopes and dreams. The farm – the family’s home for generations – was sold. Her mother’s brown hair greyed, her spirit dulled as she drifted towards Almwyk like a wraith, uncomplaining, unfeeling. And her brother, once impulsive and joyful, became cold and hard, his eyes turned east with malice. ~ Melinda Salisbury,
284:From the moment an apprentice has discovered his power he is an apprentice no more, but has become a master in his own right worthy of being called a warrior. No longer just an ordinary man at the mercy of the world around him, the warrior steps forward lightly with the full authority and power of a leader. His command is instinctively recognised and obeyed. His vitality engenders in those around him a sense of hope and excitement, whilst his daring moves foster in them an inspiration and a respect which quickly makes of his word the law. At this point the warrior's power is such that it enables him to do whatever he sees fit, but it is also in this moment that he is brought face to face with the challenges of the third natural enemy - power. ~ Th un Mares,
285:Trump himself is a nothing, an empty vessel for cosmic forces to work through. Even on The Apprentice (which I used to enjoy) I remember he gave the guy who won a tour of his apartment, it was the tackiest thing you'd ever seen. Cluttered with gold furnishings so there was no space anywhere. The guy, who obviously worshipped Trump, asked who inspired him. So there he was, looking up to wait to hear some pearl of wisdom. And the Orange Clown just made some meaningless narcissistic comment about himself. It actually felt embarrassing (but not to Trump who simply isn't conscious of such things). It proves that even before his dementia he always was empty and vacuous. His ghost writer said Trump was the most evil human being he'd ever met. ~ M Alan Kazlev, FB,
286:Ryzhkova was accustomed to tarot with its layers of meaning, interpretations, and reversals, and how a picture might look one way but contain a contrary truth. Used to her silent apprentice, she had forgotten that language itself was as subtle and slippery as her cards, and that words contained hidden seeds that blossomed with a speaker’s intent. A wish for safety meant nothing if the force behind it was a desire to kill. Though she spoke of love and protection, dread, grief, and anger bled through. Each word that fell from her tongue bound itself to paper with a small part of her soul, infusing the cards not with love as she thought, but with a hex burned strong and deep by fear. Buried in the heart of the deck, the Fool’s eyes shut. She closed the box. A ~ Erika Swyler,
287:Were our pupil's disposition so bizarre that he would rather hear a tall story than the account of a great voyage or a wise discussion; that at the sound of a drum calling the youthful ardour of his comrades to arms he would turn aside for the drum of a troop of jugglers; that he would actually find it no more delightful and pleasant to return victorious covered in the dust of battle than after winning a prize for tennis or dancing; then I know no remedy except that his tutor should quickly strangle him when nobody is looking or apprentice him to make fairy-cakes in some goodly town - even if he were the heir of a Duke - following Plato's precept that functions should be allocated not according to the endowments of men's fathers but the endowments of their souls. ~ Michel de Montaigne,
288:Oakheart,” Crookedpaw explained. “He’s my littermate.” Bluepaw stretched up on her hind legs to get a better view of the tom, but could see only the reddish-brown tips of his ears. “He’s great,” Crookedpaw purred. “He caught a fish on his first day as an apprentice.” I caught a squirrel. Bluepaw found herself competing. “He says that when he becomes leader, he’ll make me deputy.” How modest! “I have a sister,” Bluepaw announced. She nodded toward Snowpaw, who was sitting beside Sparrowpelt, a tail-length away. “She’s a brilliant hunter, too.” “Maybe if they both became leader we could be deputies together,” Crookedpaw mewed. Deputy? What was the point of being deputy? “I want to be the leader!” Crookedpaw looked at her in surprise, then broke into a purr. “Of course.” Bluepaw ~ Erin Hunter,
289:If a man seeks to change the world, he should first understand it.’ The apprentice trotted the words out as if by rote, evidently relieved to be asked a question he knew the answer to. ‘The smith must learn the ways of metals, the carpenter the ways of wood, or their work will be of but little worth. Base magic is wild and dangerous, for it comes from the Other Side, and to draw from the world below is fraught with peril. The Magus tempers magic with knowledge, and thus produces High Art, but like the smith or the carpenter, he should only seek to change that which he understands. With each thing he learns, his power is increased. So must the Magus strive to learn all, to understand the world entire. The tree is only as strong as its root, and knowledge is the root of power. ~ Joe Abercrombie,
290:but I can say just as surely that this minute, in a northern-California valley, I can taste-smell-hear-see and feel between my teeth the potato chips I ate slowly one November afternoon in 1936, in the bar of the Lausanne Palace. They were uneven in both thickness and color, probably made by a new apprentice in the hotel kitchen, and almost surely they smelled faintly of either chicken or fish, for that was always the case there. They were a little too salty, to encourage me to drink. They were ineffable. I am still nourished by them. That is probably why I can be so firm about not eating my way through barrels, tunnels, mountains more of them here in the land where they hang like square cellophane fruit on wire trees in all grocery stores, to tempt me sharply every time I pass them. ~ M F K Fisher,
291:Around this time, a young man named Samuel Slater slipped through the tight protective net thrown by British authorities around their textile business. As a former apprentice to Sir Richard Arkwright, Slater had sworn that he would never reveal his boss’s trade secrets. Flouting this pledge, he sailed to New York and made contact with Moses Brown, a Rhode Island Quaker. Under Slater’s supervision, Brown financed a spinning mill in Rhode Island that replicated Arkwright’s mill. Hamilton received detailed reports of this triumph, and pretty soon milldams proliferated on New England’s rivers. With patriotic pride, Brown predicted to Hamilton that “mills and machines may be erected in different places, in one year, to make all the cotton yarn that may be wanted in the United States.” 29 Hamilton ~ Ron Chernow,
292:Germans frequently came to work under Father for a while, for his reputation reached even beyond Holland. So when this tall good-looking young man appeared with apprentice papers from a good firm in Berlin, Father hired him without hesitation. Otto told us proudly that he belonged to the Hitler Youth. Indeed it was a puzzle to us why he had come to Holland, for he found nothing but fault with Dutch people and products. "The world will see what Germans can do," he said often. His first morning at work he came upstairs for coffee and Bible reading with the other employees; after that he sat alone down in the shop. When we asked him why, he said that though he had not understood the Dutch words, he had seen that Father was reading from the Old Testament which, he informed us, was the Jews' "Book of Lies. ~ Corrie ten Boom,
293:She has told me everything," Wen went on. "I know that time was made for men, not the other way around. I have learned how to shape it and bend it. I know how to make a moment last forever, because it already has. And I can teach these skills even to you, Clodpool. I have heard the heartbeat of the universe. I know the answers to many questions. Ask me."

The apprentice gave him a bleary look. It was too early in the morning for it to be early int he morning. That was hte only thing that he currently knew for sure.

"Er...what does master want for breakfast?" he said.

Wen looked down from their camp, and across the snowfields and purple mountains to the golden daylight creating the world, and mused upon certain aspects of humanity.

"Ah," he said. "One of the /difficult/ ones. ~ Terry Pratchett,
294:Overhearing these sorts of conversations always gives me a strange feeling, like looking through a window onto a view I don't actually see. My 'adventures' with (her) tend to be so dangerous that I've got my work cut out just to keep us both alive, so it had never really occurred to me to wonder how she felt about it. It's been a long time since I was an apprentice, but I can still remember just how scary it can be to go up against an experienced mage - hell, it still scares me, which is why I do as little as possible. But I had the feeling that trying to make her feel better was the wrong way to handle things. (She) might have to the wrong conclusion - she'd never been useless - but she was right about needing to stand on her own feet. The best thing for her to do would be to learn to face up to mages herself. ~ Benedict Jacka,
295:Those,” he said, slipping the knife into the folds of his coat, “are the sorts of questions you can’t ask.” “You don’t have to teach me how to do what you do. Just teach me—” “How I do what I do, but not how to do what I do? What if what I do has to do with my knowledge of what to do, and doing requires only the knowledge of doing? What would you do then?” I blinked. “I believe you hurt my brain.” “It’s a good brain, all things considered. Listen, my adorable bonfire, I cannot teach you much. Our safety requires it. But I suppose a little magic never did a body a great deal of harm. Unless it was the magical art of rearranging bones. Or turning flesh inside out. Or—never mind. Really, I’d forgotten how much I missed being collegial with my own kind. A magician without an apprentice is like a dog without a bark. ~ Jessica Cluess,
296:Caslon or Garamond or Baskerville is shouted as the compositors search for as many cases of these types as can be found. But never is there enough of those metal letters. The apprentice is charged to clean the ones just used so he can distribute a constant supply, lest a compositor be forced into some fancy spelling for the want of Es. With his uppercase upper and his lowercase lower, the compositor, standing at his frame with his stick held in his hand, like an artist with his palette, looks first to the handwritten copy, before click, click, clicking metal letters into a line. Then, line by line, each page is built up upon a form and the metal words are banged home with a mallet, tightened and spaced with slugs of wood, then locked within this frame by the teeth of quoins. And when the page is set, 'Proof" is yelled at the door. ~ Andrea Levy,
297:But...' Horace looked from one familiar face to another. 'How did you come to..?'
Before he could finish the question, Will interupted, thinking to clarify matters but only making them more puzzling...
'We were all in Toscana for the treaty signing,' he began, then corrected himself. 'Well, Evanlyn wasn't. She came later. But, when she did, she told us you were missing, so we all boarded Gundar's ship-you should see it. It's a new design that can sail into the wind. But anyway, that's not important. And just before we left, Selethen decided to join us-what with you being an old comrade in arms and all-and...'
He got no further. Halt, seeing the confusion growing on Horace's face, held up a hand to stop his babbling former apprentice...
Will stopped, a little embarrassed as he realized that he had been running off at the mouth. ~ John Flanagan,
298:I peer through the spectral, polluted, nicotine-sodden windows of my sock at these old lollopers in their kiddie gear. Go home, I say. Go home, lie down, and eat lots of potatoes. I had three handjobs yesterday. None was easy. Sometimes you really have to buckle down to it, as you do with all forms of exercise. It's simply a question of willpower. Anyone who's got the balls to stand there and tell me that a handjob isn't exercise just doesn't know what he's talking about. I almost had a heart-attack during number three. I take all kinds of other exercise too. I walk up and down the stairs. I climb into cabs and restaurant booths. I hike to the Butcher's Arms and the London Apprentice. I cough a lot. I throw up pretty frequently, which really takes it out of you. I sneeze, and hit the tub and the can. I get in and out of bed, often several times a day. ~ Martin Amis,
299:They say the princess is a stunner,” said Peashot. “They also say she’s eighteen and twice as tall as you,” Vayle replied. “I meant the younger one.” “The younger one is a boy.” “Oh. Well then I meant the older one. Five years is not so much, and anyway, I’ll grow.” “Yes, I’m sure she thinks daily of a delinquent midget apprentice growing up to claim her hand ahead of all the nobles and princes of the realm. What could any of them possibly give that you don’t have, except titles, land, wealth and all that. You don’t have any of those things lying around, do you?” “You’re an idiot, Vayle. What does delinquent mean?” “It means you. If anybody asks you to describe yourself, that’s the word you want.” “Thanks. Idiot.” “My pleasure. Allisian is pretty though, but I’ve heard that the prince chops off the heads of men who stare at his sister.” Peashot snorted. ~ Jonathan Renshaw,
300:an individual undergoing the transformation of his feelings (emotions, sensations, desires) from those he learned in the home, school, and playground as he grew up to those that characterize the inner being of Jesus Christ. He is now not to be one who will spend hours fantasizing sensual indulgence or revenge, or who will try to dominate or injure others in attitude, word, or deed. He will not repay evil for evil—push for push, blow for blow, taunt for taunt, hatred for hatred, contempt for contempt. He will not be always on the hunt to satisfy his lust of the flesh, lust of the eyes, and the pride of life (1 John 2:16). No wonder he has no real idea of who he will be; and he must content himself with the mere identity: “apprentice of Jesus.” That is the starting point from which his new identity will emerge, and it is in fact powerful enough to bear the load. ~ Dallas Willard,
301:TCA pretends to be about raising money for charity. That’s true, but only so far. If I had not taken time off from the Penn & Teller show to do The Celebrity Apprentice—if Teller and I had just done our show, gotten usual pay—I could have donated four times the amount of money that Trump had pledged to give my charity if I won the whole damn shooting match. Opportunity Village, “my” charity that helps intellectually disabled adults to enter society, got a lot of attention because I was on The Celebrity Apprentice, and that does count for something. And when I was “fired,” my real bosses at Caesars, who own the Rio and the Penn & Teller Theater, said, “Oh, you wanted a quarter million for Opportunity Village? We don’t have to do some jive TV show; we’ll just write a check.” They wrote the full winning amount to Opportunity Village and everyone was happy. ~ Penn Jillette,
302:Okay. Apprentice, I command you to…think! Being a man of action is fine, but you need to think before you act.” “That’s.…” Phillip held up a hand. “Stop! Did you think about what you’re about to say?” “No.” “Then take a moment. Think about what you were going to say, what you have riding on my continued good will, and how I’m likely to react to the words you were about to let fall from your mouth like a partially chewed mouthful of spoiled cheese.” They stood in silence for a moment as the pedestrians passed them by. Finally Phillip broke the silence. “Have you thought about it?” “Yes.” “Do you still intend to say whatever it was?” “No.” “Excellent! You have pleased me, my apprentice! Well done! I’m delighted at the prospect of all the marvelous things you’re not going to say in the future! You know, the less you talk, the more people assume that what you’re not saying is important. ~ Scott Meyer,
303:Dark thought started to slip into my mind, despite all my efforts to keep them out. What was the use of anything? We were born, we lived a few years, grew old, and then died. What was the point of it all? All those people in the County and the wide world beyond, living their short little lives before going to the grave. What was it all for? My dad was dead. He'd worked hard all his life, but the journey of his life had had only one destination: the grave. That's where we were all heading. into the grave. Into the soil, to be eaten by worms. Poor Billy Bradley had been the Spook's apprentice before me. He'd had his fingers bitten off by a boggat and had died of shock and loss of blood. And where was he now? In a grave. Not even in a churchyard. He was buried outside because the Church considered him no better than a malevolent witch. That would be my fate too. A grave in unhallowed ground. ~ Joseph Delaney,
304:Chapter 27 “Mapleshade!” Dreaming, Crookedjaw raced through the forest. Dark earth sprayed behind him as he barged through the tangled undergrowth. “Mapleshade?” Where is she? He had so much to ask her. Questions that had been churning in his belly for days, nagging and nagging till he had to have answers. Why had she put Willowbreeze’s life at risk? Why had she clawed him for saving a Clanmate? What about his destiny? When was he going to get his first apprentice? How long till he became deputy? Would he follow Hailstar? Or Shellheart? Shellheart? Crookedjaw stumbled to a halt. Who, if he became leader, would have to die over and over before Crookedjaw took his place? Crookedjaw felt sick. It was bad enough waiting for Hailstar to lose his last life. He didn’t want to count off his own father’s deaths while he waited for his destiny to come true. “Higher!” A sharp growl sliced through the mist. ~ Anonymous,
305:My skin feels too tight, like I might rupture. My mother must have read the end, the cards Enola keeps reading, the same thing Verona Bonn read, all the way back to Ryzhkova. They passed the cards to each other creating history, fingers touching paper, imbuing it with hope and fears, fear like a curse. Of course they wouldn’t clear their cards, they were talking to their mothers, and isn’t that part of why I’ve stayed here? The book noted a falling out between Ryzhkova and her apprentice, a falling out over the mermaid. Enola said that cards build history—what a perfect way to wound someone. The cards were hers, Ryzhkova’s, then Amos and Evangeline’s on down the line, each leaving themselves in the ink, each pulling from the deck, pulling in fears that work like poison. The wind blows a sheet of paper across a split board. The only paper of consequence was never in my possession—it was in Enola’s. ~ Erika Swyler,
306:How come you write the way you do?” an apprentice writer in my Johns Hopkins workshop once disingenuously asked Donald Barthelme, who was visiting. Without missing a beat, Don replied, “Because Samuel Beckett was already writing the way he does.”
Asked another, smiling but serious, “How can we become better writers than we are?”
“Well," DB advised, “for starters, read through the whole history of philosophy, from the pre-Socratics up through last semester. That might help.”
“But Coach Barth has already advised us to read all of literature, from Gilgamesh up through last semester...”
“That, too,” Donald affirmed, and twinkled that shrewd Amish-farmer-from-West-11th-Street twinkle of his. “You’re probably wasting time on things like eating and sleeping. Cease that, and read all of philosophy and all of literature. Also art. Plus politics and a few other things. The history of everything. ~ John Barth,
307:You must’ve left your weak stomach on the shore at Iolkos. Look at you!” I told Milo proudly. “You’re a born sailor. You should become a seagoing merchant’s apprentice when we go home again. You could even have your own ship someday.”
“If I do, will you sail in her?” Milo asked.
“If you set her course, I will.”
He grinned. “You’ll have to run away again. Once you return to Sparta and your parents find out what you’ve been doing, they’ll lock you up.”
“And draw attention to the whole scandalous business?” I responded, pretending to be shocked at the very thought. “How would they manage to find any man willing to marry me then?”
“The man who won’t marry you because you chose this adventure doesn’t deserve you,” Milo said. “A man who truly loves you will understand why you ran away. He’ll know who you really are.” His smile was gone. “And if you can’t love him as much as he loves you, he’ll understand that, too. ~ Esther M Friesner,
308:One more point must be made with regard to the general conditions of learning an art. One does not begin to learn an art directly, but indirectly, as it were. One must learn a great number of other — and often seemingly disconnected things — before one starts with the art itself. An apprentice in carpentry begins by learning how to plane wood; an apprentice in the art of piano playing begins by practicing scales; an apprentice in the Zen art of archery begins by doing breathing exercises. 1 If one wants to become a master in any art, one's whole life must be devoted to it, or at least related to it. One's own person becomes an instrument in the practice of the art, and must be kept fit, according to the specific functions it has to fulfill. With regard to the art of loving, this means that anyone who aspires to become a master in this art must begin by practicing discipline, concentration and patience throughout every phase of his life. ~ Erich Fromm,
309:From a raw political standpoint, Trump’s decision to adopt a set of views that offended and alienated minority voters, ugly though it was, turned out well for him. He would soon go further, broadening his attacks to include illegal immigrants. Trump did so at precisely the moment when Republican leaders, led by party chairman Reince Priebus (Trump’s future chief of staff), released an “autopsy” of Mitt Romney’s defeat that included a detailed plan for how the party could recover. Its most important recommendation was that Republicans embrace comprehensive immigration reform in order to broaden their appeal to minority voters. In so many words, Republican leaders were telling their rank and file that they needed to be more like Trump during his Apprentice glory days—while Trump was arriving at the opposite conclusion and, with Bannon’s eager encouragement, doing everything he could to build a political movement around white identity politics. A wily ~ Joshua Green,
310:On the platform in the opposite corner of the bar, the jazz ensemble was playing a perky little tune. Admittedly, when the Count had first encountered jazz, he hadn’t much of an affinity for it. He had been raised to appreciate music of sentiment and nuance, music that rewarded patience and attention with crescendos and diminuendos, allegros and adagios artfully arranged over four whole movements – not a fistful of notes crammed higgledy-piggledy into thirty measures.
And yet…
And yet, the art form had grown on him. Like the American correspondents, jazz seemed a naturally gregarious force – one that was a little unruly and prone to say the first thing that popped into its head, but generally of good humor and friendly intent. In addition, it seemed decidedly unconcerned with where it had been or where it was going – exhibiting somehow simultaneously the confidence of the master and the inexperience of the apprentice. Was there any wonder that such an art had failed to originate in Europe? ~ Amor Towles,
311:He paused; a grim silence gripped the whole clearing, broken by a contemptious Rumble from Tigerstar. "Mew away, little kittypet. It won't change anything."
Firestar ignored him. "Being deputy wasn't enough," he went on. "Tigerstar wanted to be leader of the clan. He set a trap for Bluestar by the Thunderpath, but my own apprentice strayed into it instead. That's how Cinderpelt came by her crippled leg."
A shocked murmer swept through the clearing. Except for Bloodclan, they all knew of Cinderpelt, she was popular even with cats of other clans.
Then Tigerstar conspired with Brokentail, the fomer leader of ShadowClan, who was ThunderClan's prisoner," Firestar told the listening cats. "He brought a pack of rogues into ThunderClan camp, and tried to murder Bluestar with his own claws. I stopped him, and when ThunderClan had beaten off the attack we drove him into excile. As a rogue, he slaughtered, Runningwind. Then before we knew what he was up too, he had made himself leader of ShadowClan. ~ Erin Hunter,
312:was with them in this strange place? “Well, we’ll just have to keep going.” Brambleclaw padded out from the trees. A grassy bank sloped down in front of him to a narrow valley. Beyond, a ridge rose into the indigo sky, its curving side shadowed by forest. As the cats began to pad out of the copse, still blinking and stretching, Leafpaw glanced up at the sky. Clouds obscured the stars. “Don’t worry about the sign.” Her father’s voice surprised her, and she turned to find him standing beside her. “You are still an apprentice medicine cat,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t feel responsible if StarClan wishes to remain silent.” She gazed gratefully into his emerald eyes as he went on. “I’m proud of you. And Squirrelpaw too—even though Cinderpelt’s prophecy frightened me for a while.” “Cinderpelt’s prophecy?” Leafpaw echoed. “StarClan’s sign that fire and tiger would destroy the Clan.” Leafpaw blinked. Cinderpelt’s ominous warning seemed a lifetime away now. “Now I think I understand what it meant.” Firestar gazed ~ Anonymous,
313:Leopardfoot’s kitting,” Bluefur told her. Dappletail’s tail flicked. “Already?” Her eyes clouded with worry. “How long has she been at it?” “Most of the afternoon.” “Is Goosefeather with her?” “No, Featherwhisker is.” “Where’s Goosefeather?” Dappletail demanded. Stormtail looked up from his shrew. “He was at the top of the ravine when we came down.” Dappletail blinked. “What in the name of StarClan was he doing up there?” “Staring at the sky when we passed, muttering about clouds,” Stormtail meowed. “I don’t think he noticed us.” The nursery brambles shivered as Featherwhisker squeezed out. His eyes glittered with tension, and his pelt was sticking up along his flanks. Bluefur hurried to meet him. “Is she okay?” Featherwhisker didn’t answer. “I need moss soaked with water, and herbs,” he mewed. “Go and ask Goosefeather to give you raspberry leaves.” Bluefur’s belly tightened. The medicine cat apprentice looked strained, and she was frightened; he might panic if he knew that Goosefeather had wandered off. ~ Erin Hunter,
314:Five standard years have passed since Darth Sidious proclaimed himself galactic Emperor. The brutal Clone Wars are a memory, and the Emperor’s apprentice, Darth Vader, has succeeded in hunting down most of the Jedi who survived dreaded Order 66. On Coruscant a servile Senate applauds the Emperor’s every decree, and the populations of the Core Worlds bask in a sense of renewed prosperity. In the Outer Rim, meanwhile, the myriad species of former Separatist worlds find themselves no better off than they were before the civil war. Stripped of weaponry and resources, they have been left to fend for themselves in an Empire that has largely turned its back on them. Where resentment has boiled over into acts of sedition, the Empire has been quick to mete out punishment. But as confident as he is in his own and Vader’s dark side powers, the Emperor understands that only a supreme military, overseen by a commander with the will to be as merciless as he is, can secure an Empire that will endure for a thousand generations … ~ James Luceno,
315:How did it ever happen that, when the dregs of the world had collected in western Europe, when Goth and Frank and Norman and Lombard had mingled with the rot of old Rome to form a patchwork of hybrid races, all of them notable for ferocity, hatred, stupidity, craftiness, lust, and brutality--how did it happen that, from all of this, there should come Gregorian chant, monasteries and cathedrals, the poems of Prudentius, the commentaries and histories of Bede, the Moralia of Gregory the Great, St. Augustine's City of God, and his Trinity, the writings of Anselm, St. Bernard's sermons on the Canticles, the poetry of Caedmon and Cynewulf and Langland and Dante, St. Thomas' Summa, and the Oxoniense of Duns Scotus?

How does it happen that even today a couple of ordinary French stonemasons, or a carpenter and his apprentice, can put up a dovecote or a barn that has more architectural perfection than the piles of eclectic stupidity that grow up at the cost of hundreds of thousands of dollars on the campuses of American universities? ~ Thomas Merton,
316:In 1934, at the January Plenum of the Central Committee and Central Control Commission of the Soviet Communist Party, the Great Leader (having already in mind, no doubt, how many he would soon have to do away with) declared that the withering away of the state (which had been awaited virtually from 1920 on) would arrive via, believe it or not, the maximum intensification of state power.

This was so unexpectedly brilliant that it was not given to every little mind to grasp it, but Vyshinsky, ever the loyal apprentice, immediately picked it up: "And this means the maximum strengthening of corrective-labor institutions."

Entry into socialism via the maximum strengthening of prisons! And this was not some satirical magazine cracking a joke, either, but was said by the Prosecutor General of the Soviet Union! ~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn,
317:I want to see Milo,” I replied. “He’s going to come with me while I look around Delphi.”
“Milo?” the other soldier echoed as we left the sanctuary grounds.
“You know, the little Calydonian,” his comrade said. “How stupid are you? It’s not like he blends in with the rest of us. A good lad, but fretful. He was up half the night worrying about how he’d ever know whether Lady Helen would need him to run errands for her while we’re at Delphi.”
“Is that right?” I asked.
The soldier nodded. “Yes, Lady Helen. It was a great kindness you did, freeing him from slavery, but now gratitude’s made him enslave himself to you. You’ve got a fine servant in that boy.”
“Not forever,” I said. “Right now there’s no choice about it--he’s got no family, no way to feed himself--but once we get home I’ll apprentice him to one of the palace craftsmen. Then he can live his own life.”
“A jug of wine says he’ll only be happy if he can live it close to her,” the first soldier muttered to the other, but when I demanded he repeat his words to my face, he claimed he’d said nothing at all. ~ Esther M Friesner,
318:Just when I despaired -- she was there, filling me as a melody fills a cottage. I was with her, running beside the Acis when we were a child. I knew the ancient villa moated by a dark lake, the view through the dusty windows of the belvedere, and the secret space in the odd angle between two rooms where we sat at noon to read by candlelight. I knew the life of the Autarch's court, where poison waited in a diamond cup. I learned what it was for one who had never seen a cell or felt a whip to be a prisoner of the torturers, what dying meant, and death.

I learned that I had been more to her than I had ever guessed, and at last fell into a sleep in which my dreams were all of her. Not memories merely -- memories I had possessed in plenty before. I held her poor, cold hands in mine, and I no longer wore the rags of an apprentice, nor the fuligin of a journeyman. We were one, naked and happy and clean, and we knew that she was no more and that I still lived, and we struggled against neither of those things, but with woven hair read from a single book and talked and sang of other matters. ~ Gene Wolfe,
319:THE ONLY THING THAT STANDS BETWEEN AMERICA AND OBLIVION IS A TOTAL immigration moratorium. There’s no possibility of quick fixes. The entire immigration bureaucracy has to be shut down. It’s evident that the government can’t be trusted to use three brain cells in admitting immigrants, so its discretion has to be completely revoked. No matter how clearly laws are written, government bureaucrats connive to confer citizenship on people that a majority of Americans would not want to let in as tourists, much less as our fellow citizens. Instead of trying to do the “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” thing, mopping the floor while the water is still pouring in, we need to stop the inflow, then take time to assimilate the immigrants already here. No other fix will work. Congress could just insist that immigrants pay taxes, learn English, not collect welfare, and have good moral character, except the problem is: It already has. All those laws were swept away by INS officials, judges, and Democratic administrations. Doing it again won’t produce a different result. We trusted the government, and it screwed up. ~ Ann Coulter,
320:As an apprentice, it can be hard for us to challenge ourselves on our own in the proper way, and to get a clear sense of our own weaknesses. The times that we live in make this even harder. Developing discipline through challenging situations and perhaps suffering along the way are no longer values that are promoted in our culture. People are increasingly reluctant to tell each other the truth about themselves—their weaknesses, their inadequacies, flaws in their work. Even the self-help books designed to set us straight tend to be soft and flattering, telling us what we want to hear—that we are basically good and can get what we want by following a few simple steps. It seems abusive or damaging to people’s self-esteem to offer them stern, realistic criticism, to set them tasks that will make them aware of how far they have to go. In fact, this indulgence and fear of hurting people’s feelings is far more abusive in the long run. It makes it hard for people to gauge where they are or to develop self-discipline. It makes them unsuited for the rigors of the journey to mastery. It weakens people’s will. ~ Robert Greene,
321:It’s true, I guess, that no matter how much it sucks, you’re supposed to sacrifice things for a friend. It was a concept that he hadn’t understood earlier on in his life. In elementary school, Bernie had been assigned 'Charlotte’s Web' to read, and he’d always found it selfish how Charlotte the spider gave everything she had to Wilbur the pig, all her time and energy trying to keep this pig alive and off the farmer’s dinner plate, only to end up dying in the wispy remains of her last cobweb. "That pig was a selfish bastard who whined too much." He hadn’t understood why, in his college days watching 'The Smurfs' cartoon on TV just to pass the time, the evil wizard Gargamel had kept his bratty little apprentice, Scruple, around with him even when there was no incentive to do it and it would have been more convenient to just get rid of him. "Well, you give and you give and you give, you sacrifice things for somebody even when you normally wouldn’t, but you get back something worth having, maybe. Something worth all that sacrifice… I mean, what’s life worth if you have nobody to share it with, anyway? ~ Rebecca McNutt,
322:You're kidding, right?" Shane asked. "You don't need caffeine. You need sleep." He held out the last cup, and Claire realized she'd been wrong; there was someone else in the shadows. Deeper in the shadows even than Oliver had been.
Myrnin.
He looked completely different to her now, and not just because he wasn't crazy anymore. He'd remembered how to dress himself, for one thing; gone were the costume coats and Mardi Gras beads and flip-flops. He had on a gray knit shirt, black pants, and a jacket that looked a bit out of period, but not as much as before.
All clean. He even had shoes on.
"Yes, you must sleep," he agreed, as he accepted the cup and tried the coffee. "I've gone to far too much trouble to train up another apprentice at this late date. We have work to do, Claire. Good, hard work. Some of it may even earn you accolades, once you leave Morganville."
She smiled slowly. "You'll never let me leave."
Myrnin's dark eyes fixed on hers. "Maybe I will," he said. "But you must give me at least a few more years, my friend. I have a great deal to learn from you, and I am a very slow learner. ~ Rachel Caine,
323:Brambleclaw stared at the apprentice for a moment before opening his mouth and tasting the air for himself. Squirrelpaw was right. The salt tang was unmistakable, carrying him right back to his dream, and the bitter taste of the water that had surged around him. “It is salt!” he meowed. “We must be close. Come on!” He raced into the wind with the sun dazzling his eyes. A swift glance behind showed that his companions were following. Even Tawnypelt was managing to hobble faster. Brambleclaw felt new strength pouring into his limbs, as if he could go on running forever until he soared into the fiery sky like one of the white birds that wheeled and screamed above them. Instead, he came to a skidding, terrified halt on the edge of a huge cliff. Steep sandy slopes fell away barely a mouse-length in front of his paws. Waves crashed at the bottom, and stretching out ahead of him was a heaving expanse of blue-green water. The sun was sinking into it on the horizon, its flames so bright that Brambleclaw had to narrow his eyes against them. The orange fire burned a path like blood across the water, almost reaching the foot of the cliff. ~ Erin Hunter,
324:Already, Cullum felt a stirring of interest. The name Horace and the mention of an oakleaf symbol struck a chord in his memory. Sir Horace, the Oakleaf Knight, was a legendary figure in Araluen, even in a place as remote as Norgate. Of course, the more remote the location, the more garbled and fantastic the legends became. As Cullum had hear tell, Sir Horace had been a youth of sixteen when he defeated the tyrant Morgarath in single combat, slicing the head off the evil lord's shoulders with one might strocke of a massive broadsword.

Then, in the company of the equally legendary Ranger Halt, Sir Horace had traveled across the Stormwhite Sea to defeat the Riders from the East and rescue Princess Cassandra and her companion, the apprentice Ranger known as Will.
Will! The significance of the name suddenly registered with the innkeeper. The jongleur's name was Will. Now here he was, in a cowled cloak, festooned with recurve bow and a quiver of arrows. He looked more closely and saw the hilt of a heavy saxe knife just visible at his waist. No doubt about it, Cullum thought, these cheerful young men were two of Araluen's greatest heroes! ~ John Flanagan,
325:The craftsperson develops a knowingness about the work she does that bears its own fruit, the fruit of being present, or attentive. The craftsperson learns that within the work she does there is a jewel hiding below the surface. That the thrill of the craft is to discover the jewel. And that there is only one way to discover it: to practice the craft mindlessly. To become one with the work. To polish and polish, as though with one’s heart. That there is no way to know when the jewel will show itself, but to trust with all one’s heart that one day, when it is least expected, the jewel will be there! It will appear. “And so the craftsperson is one who has reached that stage of her development where she is content with the work, and only the work, knowing that it is only through being there with one’s work that the jewel will reveal itself, and that it is the work, and only the work, raised to the level of near perfection that connects the craftsperson with herself, with her own heart. And so she practices, day in and day out, content to do so, without the thrill of the apprentice to keep her going, but knowing deep inside that there is no place to go but here. ~ Michael E Gerber,
326:Genesis According to George Segal,”

The Spirit brooded on the water and made
The earth, and molded us out of earth. And then
The Spirit breathed Itself into our nostrils—

And rested. What was the Spirit waiting for?
An image of Its nature, a looking glass?
Glass also made of dust, of sand and fire.

Ordinary, enigmatic, we people waiting
In the terminal. A survivor at a wire fence,
Also waiting. Behind him, a tangle of bodies

Made out of plaster, which plasterers call mud.
The apprentice hurries with a hod of mud.
Particulate sand for glass. Milled flour for bread.

What are we waiting for? The hour glass
That measures all our time in trickling dust
Is also of dust and will return to dust—

So an old poem says. Men in a bread line
Out in the dusty street are silent, waiting
At the apportioning-place of daily bread.

At an old-fashioned radio’s wooden case
A man sits listening in a wooden chair.
A woman at a butcher block waits to cut.

What are we waiting for, in clouds of dust?
Or waiting for the past, particles of being
Settled and moist with life, then brittle again. ~ Robert Pinsky,
327:The Oval Office itself had been used by prior occupants as the ultimate power symbol, a ceremonial climax. But as soon as Trump arrived, he moved in a collection of battle flags to frame him sitting at his desk, and the Oval immediately became the scene of a daily Trump cluster-fuck. It’s likely that more people had easy access to this president than any president before. Nearly all meetings in the Oval with the president were invariably surrounded and interrupted by a long list of retainers—indeed, everybody strove to be in every meeting. Furtive people skulked around without clear purpose: Bannon invariably found some reason to study papers in the corner and then to have a last word; Priebus kept his eye on Bannon; Kushner kept constant tabs on the whereabouts of the others. Trump liked to keep Hicks, Conway, and, often, his old Apprentice sidekick Omarosa Manigault—now with a confounding White House title—in constant hovering presence. As always, Trump wanted an eager audience, encouraging as many people as possible to make as many attempts as possible to be as close to him as possible. In time, however, he would take derisive notice of those who seemed most eager to suck up to him. ~ Michael Wolff,
328:Right! Let's get on with it! All right... you... Will... have trained as apprentice to Ranger Halt of Redmont Fief these last five twelvemonths and blah blah blah and so on and so on. You've shown the necessary level of proficiency in the use of the weapons a Ranger uses- the longbow, the saxe knife, the throwing knife."

He paused and glanced up Halt. "He has shown the proficiency, hasn't he? Of course he has," he went on, before Halt could answer. "Furthermore, you are a trusted officer in the service of the King and so on and so on and hi diddle diddle dee dee..." He glanced up again. "These forms really do carry on a bit, don't they? But I have to make a pretense of reading them. And so forth and so on and such like." He paused, nodded several times, then continued.

"So basically..." He flicked a few more pages, found the one he was after and then continued, "You are in all ways ready to assume the position and authority of a fully operational Ranger in the Kingdom of Araluen. Correct?"

He glanced up again, his eyebrows raised. Will realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Correct," he said hastily, then in case that wasn't enough, he added, "Yes. I mean... I do... I am. Yes."

"Well, good for you. ~ John Flanagan,
329:It looks like we’re stuck here for a while,” Cass said, trying not to let her eyes wander down to Falco’s chest. His damp chemise was clinging to his body. The drizzle became a deluge, rain pounding the stone street so hard, it drowned out Falco’s response.
Cass leaned in close. “What?”
“I said I know someplace nearby we can go. Until the rain stops.” Falco’s lips were so close to her ear that she felt a puff of warm air with each p he spoke.
Cass trembled slightly. She told herself it was from the weather, but she turned to face Falco even though it meant putting the right side of her dress out into the storm. His expression was neutral, but his eyes smiled at her.
“What sort of place?”
“Tommaso’s studio. It’s just a couple of streets over.”
Cass watched the rain come down in sheets. “Tommaso?”
“Vecellio. He’s my master.”
Cass sucked in a deep breath. Tommaso Vecellio was descended from the same bloodlines as Titian, one of the most famous Venetian artists of all time. Titian had died before Cass was born, but his influence lingered in churches and private homes all across Venice. “You apprentice with Vecellio? How come you never told me?”
Falco slicked his wet hair back from his face. “You never asked. ~ Fiona Paul,
330:THUNDERCLAN LEADER FIRESTAR—ginger tom with a flame-coloured pelt DEPUTY GREYSTRIPE—long-haired grey tom MEDICINE CAT CINDERPELT—dark grey she-cat APPRENTICE, LEAFPAW WARRIORS (toms, and she-cats without kits)   MOUSEFUR—small dusky brown she-cat APPRENTICE, SPIDERPAW   DUSTPELT—dark brown tabby tom APPRENTICE, SQUIRRELPAW   SANDSTORM—pale ginger she-cat APPRENTICE, SORRELPAW   CLOUDTAIL—long-haired white tom   BRACKENFUR—golden brown tabby tom APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW   THORNCLAW—golden brown tabby tom APPRENTICE, SHREWPAW   BRIGHTHEART—white she-cat with ginger patches   BRAMBLECLAW—dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes   ASHFUR—pale grey (with darker flecks) tom, dark blue eyes   RAINWHISKER—dark grey tom with blue eyes   SOOTFUR—lighter grey tom with amber eyes APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)   SORRELPAW—tortoiseshell and white shecat with amber eyes   SQUIRRELPAW—dark ginger she-cat with green eyes   LEAFPAW—light brown tabby she-cat with amber eyes and white paws   SPIDERPAW—long-limbed black tom with brown underbelly and amber eyes   SHREWPAW—small dark brown tom with amber eyes   WHITEPAW—white she-cat with green eyes QUEENS (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)   GOLDENFLOWER—pale ginger coat, the oldest nursery queen ~ Erin Hunter,
331:I don’t have a single callus. Even if I decided to leave title and pride behind, I lack any useful skills. I’m like a milk cow slapped on the backside and turned out of the barn to make her way in the forest. A chicken, returned to the wilds to fend for myself.”

“I don’t think chicken’s have ever been wild,” Hadrian said.

“Exactly.” Albert paused to stare at the remainder of the salt pork strip. “Your friend is right. This is just prolonging the inevitable. It’s a waste. Here.” He held out the meat.

“Keep it,” Hadrian said, tilting his head at Royce. “I’m supposed to be learning a lesson.”

“Oh shut up, the both of you. I have more.” Royce pulled another strip of pork from his vest and handed it to Hadrian.

“So that’s my miserable story,” Albert said. “How about you two?” He looked at Hadrian. “I’m guessing you’re his apprentice?”

Hadrian laughed. “No. We’re…business partners.”

“What line?”

“Procurement,” Royce said.

“What kind?”

“Any kind,” Royce answered.

Albert stared at them for a moment, then his eyes widened. “You are thieves.”

“He is.” Hadrian pointed to Royce. “I’m new to this.”

“Really? What did you used to do?”

Hadrian thought a moment. “Kill people. ~ Michael J Sullivan,
332:In the wars it had been different. Men dropped from the columns all the time on the long marches, in the cold months. First they fell to the back, then they fell behind, then they fell over. The cold, the sick, the wounded. Logen shivered and hunched his shoulders. At first he’d tried to help them. Then he became grateful he wasn’t one of them. Then he stepped over the corpses and hardly noticed them. You learn to tell when someone isn’t getting up again. He looked at Malacus Quai. One more death in the wild was nothing to remark upon. You have to be realistic, after all.

The apprentice started from his fitful sleep and tried to push himself up. His hands were shaking bad. He looked up at Logen, eyes glittering bright. “I can’t get up,” he croaked.

“I know. I’m surprised you made it this far.” It didn’t matter so much now. Logen knew the way. If he could find that track he might make twenty miles a day.

“If you leave me some of the food… perhaps… after you get to the library… someone…”

“No,” said Logen, setting his jaw. “I need the food.”

Quai made a strange sound, somewhere between a cough and a sob.

Logen leaned down and set his right shoulder in Quai’s stomach, pushed his arm under his back. “I can’t carry you forty miles without it. ~ Joe Abercrombie,
333:connection. “So, the short skirts…they’d be to help them run more easily?” he suggested. Halt nodded in his turn. “It would certainly be a more sensible form of dress than long skirts, if you wanted to do a lot of running.” He shot a quick look at Horace to see if his gentle teasing was not being turned back on himself—to see if, in fact, the boy realized Halt was talking nonsense and was simply leading him on. Horace’s face, however, was open and believing. “I suppose so,” Horace replied finally, then added, in a softer voice, “They certainly look a lot better that way too.” Again, Halt shot him a look. But Horace seemed to be content with the answer. For a moment, Halt regretted his deception, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Horace was, after all, totally trusting and it was so easy to tease him like this. Then the Ranger looked at those clear blue eyes and the contented, honest face of the warrior apprentice and any sense of regret was stifled. Horace had plenty of time to learn about the seamier side of life, he thought. He could retain his innocence for a little while longer. They left La Rivage by its northern gate and headed into the farm country surrounding it. Horace’s curiosity remained as strong as ever, and he peered from side to side as the road took them past fields and crops ~ John Flanagan,
334:Why doesn’t Goldenpaw try attacking me,” she suggested, “as though I were an enemy warrior?” “Good idea,” Sunfall meowed approvingly. “Do you think you could try that?” he asked Goldenpaw. Hesitantly she nodded. Bluepaw padded a tail-length away and turned, scowling her fiercest scowl. “Imagine I’m a ShadowClan warrior threatening the nursery,” she growled. Goldenpaw dropped into a crouch. Her eyes darkened and she drew her lips back in a snarl. Bluepaw was impressed. The young apprentice actually looked dangerous. Goldenpaw rushed at her without hesitation. She was so quick that Bluepaw hardly had time to dart out of the way or plan her defensive moves. Before she figured out where Goldenpaw was going to attack, the apprentice was gripping her back, scrabbling at her spine with vicious hind paws. Instinctively Bluepaw pressed hard against the ground, then surged up and threw Goldenpaw off. She turned and lunged at the ginger tabby, rolling her onto her flank with a well-aimed paw and raking her claws past her ear. Goldenpaw shrieked in surprise and scrambled away. Bluepaw froze. She smelled blood and saw with horror the nick she had made in Goldenpaw’s ear. “I’m so sorry!” She hadn’t meant to hurt the young apprentice. But Goldenpaw’s eyes were shining. “That was great!” she mewed. “Can we try it again?”   Back ~ Erin Hunter,
335:Get out of here, all of you," I continued. "This grave has been paid for by me and it belongs to nobody else. I died and am allowed to organize my funeral as I
see fit. So, begone! My home is my castle and I will not tolerate any trespassers."

"It's a scandal!" cried the decorated one. "A scandal without precedent!"

A Public Prosecutor turned to me. "These inanities should be called to a halt," he hissed. "I arrest you in the name of the law, and I command the policemen to do their duty!"

The policemen descended into the hole and placed their broad paws on my shoulder. But I looked at them sharply and said: "Have you no respect for the dead?"

"But he is not dead! This is a complete sham!" a particularly brave Judge's apprentice cried out.

"Ah, I beg your pardon!" I laughed, handing over my death certificate to the policemen. "Here, see for yourself. And in case the coroner's report is not sufficient you can always have a whiff, old donkey that you are."

The decorated one leaned towards me. "The devil!" he exclaimed, hastily drawing back.

"Please keep your distance, Sir," I admonished him. "Do I have to remind you of your whereabouts? It is a red-hot day in July, close to noon and you are in the presence of a corpse. I have every right to stink!"

"My Burial ~ Hanns Heinz Ewers,
336:We are about to study the idea of a computational process. Computational processes are abstract beings that inhabit computers. As they evolve, processes manipulate other abstract things called data. The evolution of a process is directed by a pattern of rules called a program. People create programs to direct processes. In effect, we conjure the spirits of the computer with our spells.

A computational process is indeed much like a sorcerer's idea of a spirit. It cannot be seen or touched. It is not composed of matter at all. However, it is very real. It can perform intellectual work. It can answer questions. It can affect the world by disbursing money at a bank or by controlling a robot arm in a factory. The programs we use to conjure processes are like a sorcerer's spells. They are carefully composed from symbolic expressions in arcane and esoteric programming languages that prescribe the tasks we want our processes to perform.

A computational process, in a correctly working computer, executes programs precisely and accurately. Thus, like the sorcerer's apprentice, novice programmers must learn to understand and to anticipate the consequences of their conjuring. Even small errors (usually called bugs or glitches) in programs can have complex and unanticipated consequences. ~ Harold Abelson,
337:Little girls ought to be taught and brought up with boys, so that they might be always together. A woman ought to be trained so that she may be able, like a man, to recognise when she's wrong, or she always thinks she's in the right. Instil into a little girl from her cradle that a man is not first of all a cavalier or a possible lover, but her neighbour, her equal in everything. Train her to think logically, to generalise, and do not assure her that her brain weighs less than a man's and that therefore she can be indifferent to the sciences, to the arts, to the tasks of culture in general. The apprentice to the shoemaker or the house painter has a brain of smaller size than the grown-up man too, yet he works, suffers, takes his part in the general struggle for existence. We must give up our attitude to the physiological aspect, too -- to pregnancy and childbirth, seeing that in the first place women don't have babies every month; secondly, not all women have babies; and, thirdly, a normal countrywoman works in the fields up to the day of her confinement and it does her no harm. Then there ought to be absolute equality in everyday life. If a man gives a lady his chair or picks up the handkerchief she has dropped, let her repay him in the same way. I have no objection if a girl of good family helps me to put on my coat or hands me a glass of water -- ~ Anton Chekhov,
338:The 1890s were apprentice years for Yeats. Though he played with Indian and Irish mythology, his symbolism really developed later. The decade was for him, as a poet, the years of lyric, of the Rhymers’ Club, of those contemporaries whom he dubbed the ‘tragic generation’. ‘I have known twelve men who killed themselves,’ Arthur Symons looked back from his middle-aged madness, reflecting on the decade of which he was the doyen. The writers and artists of the period lived hectically and recklessly. Ernest Dowson (1867–1900) (one of the best lyricists of them all – ‘I cried for madder music and for stronger wine’) died from consumption at thirty-two; Lionel Johnson (1867–1902), a dipsomaniac, died aged thirty-five from a stroke. John Davidson committed suicide at fifty-two; Oscar Wilde, disgraced and broken by prison and exile, died at forty-six; Aubrey Beardsley died at twenty-six. This is not to mention the minor figures of the Nineties literary scene: William Theodore Peters, actor and poet, who starved to death in Paris; Hubert Crankanthorpe, who threw himself in the Thames; Henry Harland, editor of The Yellow Book, who died of consumption aged forty-three, or Francis Thompson, who fled the Hound of Heaven ‘down the nights and down the days’ and who died of the same disease aged forty-eight. Charles Conder (1868–1909), water-colourist and rococo fan-painter, died in an asylum aged forty-one. ~ A N Wilson,
339:Between culinary school, a year and a half of apprentice stages all over the world in amazing restaurants, ten years as the personal chef of talk show phenom Maria De Costa, and six years as Patrick's culinary slave, I am nothing if not efficient in the kitchen. I grab eggs, butter, chives, a packet of prosciutto, my favorite nonstick skillet. I crack four eggs, whip them quickly with a bit of cold water, and then use my Microplane grater to grate a flurry of butter into them. I heat my pan, add just a tiny bit more butter to coat the bottom, and let it sizzle while I slice two generous slices off the rustic sourdough loaf I have on the counter and drop them in the toaster. I dump the eggs in the pan, stirring constantly over medium-low heat, making sure they cook slowly and stay in fluffy curds. The toast pops, and I put them on a plate, give them a schmear of butter, and lay two whisper-thin slices of prosciutto on top. The eggs are ready, set perfectly; dry but still soft and succulent, and I slide them out of the pan on top of the toast, and quickly mince some chives to confetti on top. A sprinkle of gray fleur de sel sea salt, a quick grinding of grains of paradise, my favorite African pepper, and I hand the plate to Patrick, who rises from the loveseat to receive it, grabs a fork from the rack on my counter, and heads out of my kitchen toward the dining room. Dumpling followed him, tail wagging, like a small furry acolyte. ~ Stacey Ballis,
340:Perhaps one of us should talk to him?” Eugene suggested. “If we find out his story, there might be nothing to fear.”

“Our young apprentice has a point,” Sebastian said with enough surprise in his voice to draw a scowl from the younger man. “It’s upsetting to have a tiger about and not know if it’s hungry. Go speak to him, Eugene.”

“No thank you. I had the idea.”

“Well I certainly can’t,” Sebastian said. “I’m far too talkative. It’s a trait that has often led to problems. We don’t want to provoke the man unnecessarily. What about you, Samuel?”

“Are you insane? You don’t send a lamb to question a tiger. The soldier should go. He has nothing to be afraid of. Even a murderer would think twice before challenging a man with two swords.”

They all looked at Hadrian.

“What do you want to know?”

“His name,” Sebastian suggested. “Where he’s from. What he does-”

“If he’s the murderer-” Vivian burst in.

“I’m not so sure you’ll want to lead with that,” Samuel said.

“But isn’t that what we all want to know?”

“Yes, but who would admit to such a thing? Better to get enough information to build a picture and then infer the truth from that.”

“But if you ask straight out, that will serve as a warning that we’re wise to him and on our guard. Any plans he might have will be spoiled and abandoned.”

“How about I just see how things go,” Hadrian said, rising. ~ Michael J Sullivan,
341:Get a move on, Perico, and go ask him for the battery charger," and the apprentice hurried out, but everything was like a dream and what was the point of any of it: battery chargers, wrenches, mechanics, and he felt sorry for the terrified little boy because, he thought, all of us are dreaming and why punish kids and why fix cars and have crushes on nice boys and then get married and have children who also dream that they're alive, who have to suffer, go off to war or fight or give up hope all on account of mere dreams. He was simply drifting along now, like a boat without a crew swept along by shifting currents, and moving mechanically like those invalids who have lost almost all will and consciousness and yet allow themselves to be moved by the nurses and obey the instructions they are given with the obscure remains of that will and that consciousness without knowing why. The 493, he thought, I go as far as Chacarita and then I take the subway to Florida and then I walk from there to the hotel. So he got on the 493 and mechanically asked for a ticket, and for half an hour continued to see ghosts dreaming of things that kept them very busy; at the Florida stop he went out the exit on the Calle San Martin, walked along the Corrientes to Reconquista and from there headed for the Warszawa rooming house, Accommodations for Gentlemen, went up dirty, dilapidated stairs to the fourth floor, and threw himself on the wretched bed as though he had been wandering through labyrinths for centuries. ~ Ernesto Sabato,
342:The Gray King’s back arched, and his mouth hung open, gasping in the icy thrall of shock; with both of his arms he pushed at Locke’s head, as though by prying the smaller man off him he could undo his wound, but Locke held fast, and in an impossibly calm voice he whispered, “Calo Sanza. My brother and my friend.”

Backward, the Gray King toppled, and Locke slid the knife out of his back just before he struck the deck. Locke fell on top of him. He raised the dagger once again and brought it down in the middle of the Gray King’s chest, just beneath his rib cage. Blood spurted and the Gray King flailed, moaning. Locke’s voice rose as he worked the knife farther in: “Galdo Sanza, my brother and my friend!”

With one last convulsive effort, the Gray King spat warm coppery blood into Locke’s face and grabbed at the dagger that transfixed his chest; Locke countered by bearing down with his useless left side, batting the Gray King’s hands away. Sobbing, Locke wrenched the dagger out of the Gray King’s chest, raised it with a wildly shaking right arm, and brought it down in the middle of the Gray King’s neck. He sawed at the windpipe until the neck was half-severed and great rivers of blood were flowing on the deck. The Gray King shuddered one last time and died, his wide white eyes still fixed on Locke’s.

“Bug,” Locke whispered. “His real name was Bertilion Gadek. My apprentice. My brother. And my friend.”

His strength failed, and he slid down atop the Gray King’s corpse.

“My friend. ~ Scott Lynch,
343:Martise had remained silent since first entering his domain, offering no hint of her character. If he refused her, it would alarm the priests even more.
“Martise of Asher.” He smiled when she stiffened. “His Grace has spoken for you during this entire meeting. Have you no words? Or did you suffer as my servant and have your tongue cut out?”
He followed her gaze to Gurn. The servant gave her an encouraging nod. Silhara might have considered her easily intimidated, save for that calm demeanor.
“No, sir, I’m no mute. It is rude to speak out of turn, is it not?”
He stilled at her question. Bursin’s wings, what generous god blessed this woman with such a voice? Refined and sensual, it possessed a silky quality, as if she physically caressed him.
The contrast between her dulcet tones and bland appearance startled him. Before she spoke, Martise had faded into her surroundings, forgotten. Now she shone, riveting the attention of anyone within hearing distance. He glanced at Cumbria who treated him to a smug smile.
He didn’t like being caught off guard and lashed out. “Far be it from me that I compromise the deportment of a lady. I wouldn’t tempt a well-trained dog into forgetting the commands of ‘Fetch’ and ‘Sit’.”
Her jaw tightened. She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the sparks of anger in her eyes. Not so docile as one might first believe, yet his new apprentice exercised admirable control over her emotions. Behavior of a long-time servant. Cumbria had indeed brought him a spy. ~ Grace Draven,
344:He’d parted reluctantly from Amily, thinking again with envy of Lena and Bear. One thing that they hadn’t been forced to deal with during their courtship was other people . . . “keeping an eye on them.” He and Amily must have a hundred “eyes” on them at all times. Amily, after all, was the daughter of the King’s Own. Practically every Companion on the Hill was “keeping an eye on her.” Literally nothing they did was really private, and if he and Amily got beyond a little kissing and cuddling, it was absolutely guaranteed that within a candlemark her father would know about it.

Mags wasn’t entirely sure what Nikolas’s reaction to that would be. He had shown himself to be a reasonable man. His objections to Bear and Lena getting married on the sly had all been rational ones that had everything to do with political situations. Everyone knew that Mags and Amily were a couple. No one objected to that. There would be no political repercussions. . . .

But the difference was that Nikolas was not dealing with a couple of younglings in the abstract, he was dealing with his “apprentice” and his daughter.

From what Mags could tell, based on what his friends here said, things he’d read, and things Dallen had dropped, a man could be perfectly rational about a pair of younglings coupling, even give tacit approval (at least to the young man) right up until that coupling involved his daughter. Then rational thought went flying right out the window.

So . . . for now, kissing and cuddling was all he was going to get.

And, oh, how he envied Bear. ~ Mercedes Lackey,
345:You said earlier today that you wanted to talk about something,” Halt said. Crowley nodded, gathering his thoughts before he began. “We seem to share a lot of the same skills,” he said. “And the same weapons. I noticed you carry a saxe knife and a throwing knife like mine. I wondered where you came by them.” Crowley, of course, carried his two knives in the distinctive Ranger-issue double scabbard. Halt’s were in separate scabbards, placed close together on the left side of his belt. He glanced at them now, where the belt was draped over a rock beside the campfire. “My mentor gave them to me,” he said. “He was a Ranger, like you.” Crowley sat up at that piece of information. “A Ranger?” he said. “In Hibernia? What was his name?” “He called himself Pritchard. He was an amazing man.” “He was indeed,” Crowley affirmed, and now it was Halt’s turn to look surprised. “You knew him?” Crowley nodded eagerly. “I was his apprentice for five years. He taught me everything I know. How did you come to meet him?” “He turned up at Du . . . Droghela, some three years ago. He took me under his wing and taught me silent movement, knife work, tracking and the rest. I could already shoot, but he tightened up my technique quite a bit.” Crowley noticed the hesitation and correction when Halt mentioned the name of the place where he’d met Pritchard. But he let it pass. “Yes. He was very big on technique.” “And practice,” Halt agreed. Crowley smiled at the memory of his old teacher. “He had a saying. An ordinary archer practices until he gets it right. A Ranger—” “Practices until he never gets it wrong.” Halt ~ John Flanagan,
346:A creative illness succeeds a period of intense preoccupation with an idea and search for a certain truth. It is a polymorphous condition that can take the shape of depression, neurosis, psychosomatic ailments, or even psychosis. Whatever the symptoms, they are felt as painful, if not agonizing, by the subject, with alternating periods of alleviation and worsening. Throughout the illness the subject never loses the thread of his dominating preoccupation. It is often compatible with normal, professional activity and family life. But even if he keeps to his social activities, he is almost entirely absorbed with himself. He suffers from feelings of utter isolation, even when he has a mentor who guides him through the ordeal (like the shaman apprentice with his master). The termination is often rapid and marked by a phase of exhilaration. The subject emerges from his ordeal with a permanent transformation in his personality and the conviction that he has discovered a great truth or a new spiritual world.
Many of the nineteenth and twentieth century figures recognized unquestionably as "great" - Nietzsche, Darwin, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Freud, Jung, Piaget - were all additionally characterized by lengthy periods of profound psychological unrest and uncertainty. Their "psychopathology" - a term ridiculous in this context - was generated as a consequence of the revolutionary nature of their personal experience (their action, fantasy and thought). It is no great leap of comparative psychology to see their role in our society as analogous to that of the archaic religious leader and healer. ~ Henri Ellenberger,
347:I would like [my readers] to better understand human beings and human life as a result of having read [my] stories. I'd like them to feel that this was an experience that made things better for them and an experience that gave them hope. I think that the kind of things that we talk about at this conference -- fantasy very much so, science fiction, and even horror -- the message that we're sending is the reverse of the message sent by what is called "realistic fiction." (I happen to think that realistic fiction is not, in fact, realistic, but that's a side issue.) And what we are saying is that it doesn't have to be like this: things can be different. Our society can be changed. Maybe it's worse, maybe it's better. Maybe it's a higher civilization, maybe it's a barbaric civilization. But it doesn't have to be the way it is now. Things can change. And we're also saying things can change for you in your life. Look at the difference between Severian the apprentice and Severian the Autarch [in The Book of the New Sun], for example. The difference beteween Silk as an augur and Silk as calde [in The Book of the Long Sun]. You see?

We don't always have to be this. There can be something else. We can stop doing the thing that we're doing. Moms Mabley had a great line in some movie or other -- she said, "You keep on doing what you been doing and you're gonna keep on gettin' what you been gettin'." And we don't have to keep on doing what we've been doing. We can do something else if we don't like what we're gettin'. I think a lot of the purpose of fiction ought to be to tell people that. ~ Gene Wolfe,
348:Secondly," he went on, "a Chief Magistrate is about as far beneath a marquess's daughter as a tree is beneath the moon."
A mutinous look crossed his aunt's face. "Sir Richard started out as a saddler's apprentice. He got himself a knighthood partly because he married a wife with good connections."
"A wealthy baker's daughter. That's a far cry from a lady of rank."
"That doesn't mean it can't happen. You're a fine man, a handsome man, if I do say so myself. You're young and strong, with a good education and gentlemanly manners-better manners than Sir Richard, anyway. And now that you own this house-"
"She lives in a mansion!" Snatching his arm free, he rose. "Do you really think she'd be happy here in Cheapside, with the butchers and merchants and tradesmen?"
Her aunt looked wounded. "I thought you liked this neighborhood."
Damn. "I do, but..." There was nothing for it but to tell her the truth. "She can't stand me, all right? I'd be the last person on earth she'd want to marry." Snatching up the report, he headed for the door. "I have to go."
"Jackson?"
"What?" he barked.
"If that's true, she's a fool."
Lady Celia was no fool. She simply knew better than to take up with a man who didn't know the identity of his own father. He managed a curt nod. "I'll see you tonight, Aunt."
As he left the house, an age-old anger weighed him down. He wouldn't hurt Aunt Ada for the world, but she didn't understand. Ever since he'd started working for the Sharpes, she'd hoped that his association with them would raise him up in the world, and nothing he said dampened that hope.
No doubt she believed that his father's supposedly noble blood made him somehow superior to every other bastard. But one day she would learn. An unclaimed bastard was an unclaimed bastard, no matter who his father was. ~ Sabrina Jeffries,
349:To Men
Sirs, when you pity us, I say
You waste your pity. Let it stay,
Well corked and stored upon your shelves,
Until you need it for yourselves.
We do appreciate God's thought
In forming you, before He brought
Us into life. His art was crude,
But oh, so virile in its rude
Large elemental strength: and then
He learned His trade in making men;
Learned how to mix and mould the clay
And fashion in a finer way.
How fine that skilful way can be
You need but lift your eyes to see;
And we are glad God placed you there
To lift your eyes and find us fair.
Apprentice labour though you were,
He made you great enough to stir
The best and deepest depths of us,
And we are glad he made you thus.
Ay! we are glad of many things.
God strung our hearts with such fine strings
The least breath movces them, and we hear
Music where silence greets your ear.
We suffer so? but women's souls
Like violet powder dropped on coals,
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh,
The subtle secrets that we know,
Of joy in sorrow, strange delights
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights,
And mysteries of gain in loss
Known but to Christ upon the Cross!
851
Our tears are pitiful to you?
Look how the heaven-reflecting dew
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand.
How could your pity find a place
For us, the mothers of the race?
Men may be fathers unaware,
So poor the title is you wear,
But mothers -? Who that crown adorns
Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns;
And she whose feet that path hath trod
Has walked upon the heights with God.
No, offer us not pity's cup.
There is no looking down or up
Between us: eye looks straight in eye:
Born equals, so we live and die.
~ Ella Wheeler Wilcox,
350:Besides, it’s not as big a deal as people make it out to be. You just have to be prepared to answer any question on any of the four hundred books you’ve read so far in graduate school. And if you get it wrong, they kick you out,” she said. He fixed her with a look of barely contained awe while she stirred the salad around her plate with the tines of her fork. She smiled at him. Part of learning to be a professor was learning to behave in a professorial way. Thomas could not be permitted to see how afraid she was. The oral qualifying exam is usually a turning point—a moment when the professoriate welcomes you as a colleague rather than as an apprentice. More infamously, the exam can also be the scene of spectacular intellectual carnage, as the unprepared student—conscious but powerless—witnesses her own professional vivisection. Either way, she will be forced to face her inadequacies. Connie was a careful, precise young woman, not given to leaving anything to chance. As she pushed the half-eaten salad across the table away from the worshipful Thomas, she told herself that she was as prepared as it was possible to be. In her mind ranged whole shelvesful of books, annotated and bookmarked, and as she set aside her luncheon fork she roamed through the shelves of her acquired knowledge, quizzing herself. Where are the economics books? Here. And the books on costume and material culture? One shelf over, on the left. A shadow of doubt crossed her face. But what if she was not prepared enough? The first wave of nausea contorted her stomach, and her face grew paler. Every year, it happened to someone. For years she had heard the whispers about students who had cracked, run sobbing from the examination room, their academic careers over before they had even begun. There were really only two ways that this could go. Her performance today could, in theory, raise her significantly in departmental regard. Today, if she handled herself correctly, she would be one step closer to becoming a professor. Or she would look in the shelves ~ Katherine Howe,
351:Come Clean with God It is a trustworthy statement, deserving full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, among whom I am foremost of all. —1 TIMOTHY 1:15 NASB     One of the most watched TV series in recent years has been Donald Trump’s The Apprentice. The highlight of the program is when Mr. Trump delights in saying, “You’re fired!” This format has been so well received in America that other networks quickly introduced their versions. While we never want to hear our bosses utter, “You’re fired!” it could happen. But thankfully, we will only hear Jesus say, “You’re hired.” He gives us new life. But in order for us to be hired, we must humble ourselves and come clean with God. The apostle Paul had the same dilemma when he was challenged to deal with God’s grace. Some of these struggles can be found in his writings: • 1 Corinthians 15:9—I am the least of all the apostles. • Ephesians 3:8—I am the least deserving Christian there is. • 1 Timothy 1:15—I am the worst sinner of all. Paul was humbled by his past and wanted to change his direction in life. At one time in my life I had to make a decision. I had to let old things pass away and then turn to eternal values. As I faced decisions about how I lived and what I wanted, I had to ask, How do I come close to God? Examine Paul’s challenge in 1 Timothy 2:1-4: Here are my directions: Pray much for others; plead for God’s mercy upon them; give thanks for all he is going to do for them.   Pray in this way for kings and all others who are in authority over us, or are in places of high responsibility, so that we can live in peace and quietness, spending our time in godly living and thinking much about the Lord. This is good and pleases God our Savior, for he longs for all to be saved (TLB). Paul gives us three very valuable challenges and instructions: (1) pray for your needs, (2) pray for others, and (3) pray for thanksgiving. Notice that we are instructed to go from our internal needs first and then move to prayers for others and then thanksgiving to God. We are a very narcissistic ~ Emilie Barnes,
352:According to Max Weber and the sociological tradition that he founded, the very essence of modern economic life is the rise and proliferation of rules and law. One of his most famous concepts was the tripartite division of authority into traditional, charismatic, and bureaucratic forms. In the first, authority was inherited from long-standing cultural sources like religion or patriarchal tradition. In the second, authority came from a “gift”; a leader was chosen by God or some other supernatural power.1 The rise of the modern world, however, was bound up with the rise of rationality, that is, the ordered structuring of ends to means, and for Weber the ultimate embodiment of rationality was modern bureaucracy.2 Modern bureaucracy was based on “the principle of fixed and official jurisdictional areas, which are generally ordered by rules, that is, by laws and administrative regulations.”3 The stability and rationality of modern bureaucratic authority arose from the fact that it was rule bound; the ability of superiors to have their way was limited in a transparent and clearly articulated manner, and the rights and duties of subordinates were spelled out in advance.4 Modern bureaucracies are the social embodiment of regular rules and govern virtually every aspect of modern life, from corporations, governments, and armies to labor unions, religious organizations, and educational establishments.5 The modern economic world was, for Weber, bound up as well with the rise of contract. Weber noted that contracts, particularly regarding marriage and inheritance, have existed for thousands of years. But he distinguished between “status” contracts and what he called “purposive” ones.6 In the former, one person agreed in a general and diffuse way to enter into a relationship with another (e.g., as a vassal or apprentice); duties and responsibilities were not clearly spelled out but based on tradition or the general characteristics of the particular status relationship. Purposive contracts, on the other hand, were entered into for the sake of some specific act of economic exchange. They did not affect broad social relationships but were limited to the particular transaction at hand. The proliferation of the latter kind of contract was characteristic of modernity: In contrast to the older law, the most ~ Francis Fukuyama,
353:I WANT TO end this list by talking a little more about the founding of Pixar University and Elyse Klaidman’s mind-expanding drawing classes in particular. Those first classes were such a success—of the 120 people who worked at Pixar then, 100 enrolled—that we gradually began expanding P.U.’s curriculum. Sculpting, painting, acting, meditation, belly dancing, live-action filmmaking, computer programming, design and color theory, ballet—over the years, we have offered free classes in all of them. This meant spending not only the time to find the best outside teachers but also the real cost of freeing people up during their workday to take the classes. So what exactly was Pixar getting out of all of this? It wasn’t that the class material directly enhanced our employees’ job performance. Instead, there was something about an apprentice lighting technician sitting alongside an experienced animator, who in turn was sitting next to someone who worked in legal or accounting or security—that proved immensely valuable. In the classroom setting, people interacted in a way they didn’t in the workplace. They felt free to be goofy, relaxed, open, vulnerable. Hierarchy did not apply, and as a result, communication thrived. Simply by providing an excuse for us all to toil side by side, humbled by the challenge of sketching a self-portrait or writing computer code or taming a lump of clay, P.U. changed the culture for the better. It taught everyone at Pixar, no matter their title, to respect the work that their colleagues did. And it made us all beginners again. Creativity involves missteps and imperfections. I wanted our people to get comfortable with that idea—that both the organization and its members should be willing, at times, to operate on the edge. I can understand that the leaders of many companies might wonder whether or not such classes would truly be useful, worth the expense. And I’ll admit that these social interactions I describe were an unexpected benefit. But the purpose of P.U. was never to turn programmers into artists or artists into belly dancers. Instead, it was to send a signal about how important it is for every one of us to keep learning new things. That, too, is a key part of remaining flexible: keeping our brains nimble by pushing ourselves to try things we haven’t tried before. That’s what P.U. lets our people do, and I believe it makes us stronger. ~ Ed Catmull,
354:The educational goal of self-esteem seems to habituate young people to work that lacks objective standards and revolves instead around group dynamics. When self-esteem is artificially generated, it becomes more easily manipulable, a product of social technique rather than a secure possession of one’s own based on accomplishments. Psychologists find a positive correlation between repeated praise and “shorter task persistence, more eye-checking with the teacher, and inflected speech such that answers have the intonation of questions.” 36 The more children are praised, the more they have a stake in maintaining the resulting image they have of themselves; children who are praised for being smart choose the easier alternative when given a new task. 37 They become risk-averse and dependent on others. The credential loving of college students is a natural response to such an education, and prepares them well for the absence of objective standards in the job markets they will enter; the validity of your self-assessment is known to you by the fact it has been dispensed by gatekeeping institutions. Prestigious fellowships, internships, and degrees become the standard of self-esteem. This is hardly an education for independence, intellectual adventurousness, or strong character. “If you don’t vent the drain pipe like this, sewage gases will seep up through the water in the toilet, and the house will stink of shit.” In the trades, a master offers his apprentice good reasons for acting in one way rather than another, the better to realize ends the goodness of which is readily apparent. The master has no need for a psychology of persuasion that will make the apprentice compliant to whatever purposes the master might dream up; those purposes are given and determinate. He does the same work as the apprentice, only better. He is able to explain what he does to the apprentice, because there are rational principles that govern it. Or he may explain little, and the learning proceeds by example and imitation. For the apprentice there is a progressive revelation of the reasonableness of the master’s actions. He may not know why things have to be done a certain way at first, and have to take it on faith, but the rationale becomes apparent as he gains experience. Teamwork doesn’t have this progressive character. It depends on group dynamics, which are inherently unstable and subject to manipulation. On a crew, ~ Matthew B Crawford,
355:The Sandwich Maker would pass what he had made to his assistant who would then add a few slices of newcumber and fladish and a touch of splagberry sauce, and then apply the topmost layer of bread and cut the sandwich with a fourth and altogether plainer knife. It was not that these were not also skilful operations, but they were lesser skills to be performed by a dedicated apprentice who would one day, when the Sandwich Maker finally laid down his tools, take over from him. It was an exalted position and that apprentice, Drimple, was the envy of his fellows. There were those in the village who were happy chopping wood, those who were content carrying water, but to be the Sandwich Maker was very heaven.

And so the Sandwich Maker sang as he worked.

He was using the last of the year’s salted meat. It was a little past its best now, but still the rich savour of Perfectly Normal Beast meat was something unsurpassed in any of the Sandwich Maker’s previous experience. Next week it was anticipated that the Perfectly Normal Beasts would appear again for their regular migration, whereupon the whole village would once again be plunged into frenetic action: hunting the Beasts, killing perhaps six, maybe even seven dozen of the thousands that thundered past. Then the Beasts must be rapidly butchered and cleaned, with most of the meat salted to keep it through the winter months until the return migration in the spring, which would replenish their supplies.

The very best of the meat would be roasted straight away for the feast that marked the Autumn Passage. The celebrations would last for three days of sheer exuberance, dancing and stories that Old Thrashbarg would tell of how the hunt had gone, stories that he would have been busy sitting making up in his hut while the rest of the village was out doing the actual hunting.

And then the very, very best of the meat would be saved from the feast and delivered cold to the Sandwich Maker. And the Sandwich Maker would exercise on it the skills that he had brought to them from the gods, and make the exquisite Sandwiches of the Third Season, of which the whole village would partake before beginning, the next day, to prepare themselves for the rigours of the coming winter.

Today he was just making ordinary sandwiches, if such delicacies, so lovingly crafted, could ever be called ordinary. Today his assistant was away so the Sandwich Maker was applying his own garnish, which he was happy to do. He was happy with just about everything in fact. ~ Douglas Adams,
356:The renegade strand of hair nipped her eyes once more. With a swift, steady hand, Oscar pushed it away from her face. His fingertip left a trail of fire along her cheek. Camille reached up to help him tuck the strand back, and their fingers met. She knew for certain the flush had returned to her ears.
Oscar dropped his arm and walked to the rail, wrapping his strong hands around the carved wood.
“He is used to having things go his way,” Oscar said, his voice low and only for her ears. Camille moved to stand beside hm.
“Have you always done everything he’s asked of you?” She was cautious not to come off sounding snide.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the rail tighter, as if to hold something back. Hold something in.
“No.”
She hadn’t expected him to give her an answer, and certainly not that one.
“No? I don’t believe it. What have you done that’s gone against his wishes?”
Oscar had been her father’s shadow since day one. He’d watched and obeyed William Rowen with the kind of devotion any eager apprentice would show his teacher.
Oscar had been staring at the water, at the mounting churn of the waves. Now he shifted his eyes to her and fixed her with a look so strong and deep, she felt helpless beneath it.
“He asked me to stop associating with you,” he answered, still hushed. Camille’s eyes watered with mortification and dread. Her father had spoken to Oscar, too. She wiped her sweaty palms on the hips of her trousers.
“But clearly,” Oscar continued, leaning toward her, “I didn’t listen.”
His gaze revolved out to the ocean again, releasing Camille. Air flowed back down her windpipe. This was beyond humiliation. Her father couldn’t do this. He couldn’t order people to stop speaking to her.
“Why not?” she asked, her breath uneven from a cross of fury and the steadfast way Oscar had looked at her. “He could fire you.”
He moved away from the rail.
“If he wants to fire me for speaking to you, for looking at you…” He turned back to her on his way to the quarterdeck and held her gaze again. “Then I’ll risk it.”
She watched in awe as Oscar took the helm from a sailor and placed himself behind the great spoked wheel. He’d risk everything he had to be able to speak with her, to just look at her. His bravery made her feel no taller than a hermit crab. She’d so quickly, dutifully, accepted her father’s request to set her focus solely on Randall. But she mattered to Oscar. She mattered, and that one truth made her wish she was brave enough to risk everything, too. ~ Angie Frazier,
357:Is that all?” he blurted out.
Crowley and Halt exchanged slightly puzzled glances. Then Crowley pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Um…it seems to be…Listed your trainging, mentioned a few achievements, made sure you know which end of an arrow is the sharp part…decided your new name…I think that’s…” Then it seemed that understanding dawned on him and his eyes opened wide.
“Of course! You have to have you Silver…whatsis, don ‘t you?” He took hold of the chain that held his own Silver Oakleaf around his throat and shook it lightly. It was a badge of a Graduate Ranger. Then he began to search through his pockets, frowning.
“Had it here! Had it here! Where the devil is it…wait. I heard something fall on the boards as I came in! Must have dropped it. Just check outside the front door, will you, Will?”
Too stunned to talk, Will rose and went to the door. As he set his hand on the latch, he looked back at the two Rangers, still seated at the table. Crowley made a small shooing motion with the back of his hand, urging him to go outside. Will was still looking back at them when he opened the door and stepped through on the verandah.
“Congratulations!”
The massive cry went up from at least forty throats. He swung around in shock to find all his friends gathered in the clearing outside around the table laid for a feast, their faces beaming with smiles. Baron Arald, Sir Rodney, Lady Pauline and Master Chubb were all there. So were Jenny and George, his former wardmates. There were a dozen others in the Ranger uniform – men he had met worked with over the past five years. And wonder of wonders, there were Erak and Svengal , bellowing his name and waving their huge axes overhead in his praise. Close by them stood Horace and Gilan, both brandishing their swords overhead as well. It looked like a dangerous section of the crowd to be in, Will thought.
After the first concerted shout, people began cheering and calling his name, laughing and waving to him.
Halt and Crowley joined him on the verandah. The Commandant was doubled over with laughter.
“Oh, if you could have seen yourself!” he wheezed. “Your face! Your face! It was priceless! ‘Is that all?’” He mimicked Will’s plaintive tones and doubled over again.
Will tuned to Halt accusingly. His teacher grinned at him.
“Your face was a study,” he said.
“Do you so that to all apprentices?” Will asked.
Halt nodded vigorously. “Every one. Stops them getting a swelled head at the last minute. You have to swear never to let an apprentice in on the secret. ~ John Flanagan,
358:She spoke so passionately that some of the Historians believed her, even the ones like Dr. Karuna who had been passed over for promotion when Crome put Valentine in charge of their Guild. As for Bevis Pod, he watched her with shining eyes, filled with a feeling that he couldn’t even name; something that they had never taught him about in the Learning Labs. It made him shiver all over. Pomeroy was the first to speak. “I hope you’re right, Miss Valentine,” he said. “Because he is the only man who can hope to challenge the Lord Mayor. We must wait for his return.” “But …” “In the meantime, we have agreed to keep Mr. Pod safe, here at the Museum. He can sleep up in the old Transport Gallery, and help Dr. Nancarrow catalogue the art collection, and if the Engineers come hunting for him we’ll find a hiding place. It isn’t much of a blow against Crome, I know. But please understand, Katherine: We are old, and frightened, and there really is nothing more that we can do.” The world was changing. That was nothing new, of course; the first thing an Apprentice Historian learned was that the world was always changing, but now it was changing so fast that you could actually see it happening. Looking down from the flight deck of the Jenny Haniver, Tom saw the wide plains of the eastern Hunting Ground speckled with speeding towns, spurred into flight by whatever it was that had bruised the northern sky, heading away from it as fast as their tracks or wheels could carry them, too preoccupied to try and catch one another. “MEDUSA,” he heard Miss Fang whisper to herself, staring toward the far-off, flame-flecked smoke. “What is a MEDUSA?” asked Hester. “You know something, don’t you? About what my mum and dad were killed for?” “I’m afraid not,” the aviatrix replied. “I wish I did. But I heard the name once. Six years ago another League agent managed to get into London, posing as a crewman on a licensed airship. He had heard something that must have intrigued him, but we never learned what it was. The League had only one message from him, just two words: Beware MEDUSA. The Engineers caught him and killed him.” “How do you know?” asked Tom. “Because they sent us back his head,” said Miss Fang. “Cash on Delivery.” That evening she set the Jenny Haniver down on one of the fleeing towns, a respectable four-decker called Peripatetiapolis that was steering south to lair in the mountains beyond the Sea of Khazak. At the air-harbor there they heard more news of what had happened to Panzerstadt-Bayreuth. “I saw it!” said an aviator. “I was a hundred miles away, but I still saw it. A tongue of fire, reaching out from London’s Top Tier and bringing death to everything ~ Philip Reeve,
359:So, what did you tell him?” “I . . . I told him that I . . . I was fond of him, but I saw . . . no future in romance between us,” she coughed out.  “That my heart was not invested in him.” “Well, that might explain his sudden departure,” I agreed, a few things from our brief, tense conversation becoming clearer.  “You do realize that he would have quit Sevendor long ago, if he had not held out hope for your heart?” “That’s what he said!” she almost screamed.  “In fact,” I continued, apologetically, “he put himself in grave danger last summer, helping Tyndal and Rondal in Enultramar, purely in an effort to attract your attention.” “I never asked him to do that!” she fumed. “Of course you didn’t.  But that attempt . . . failed,” I said, as objectively as possible.  “I’m sure the boy wanted the assurance that his efforts were not in vain before he made any further decisions.”  I knew it was small comfort to my sobbing apprentice, but she needed to understand the truth.  “When you did not return his affections after all he has done to impress you, and you told him in certain terms that it was a fruitless endeavor, what did you expect him to do?” “No just pack up and leave! He won’t respond to me, mind-to-mind, and I have no idea where he is!” “He’s the one who figured out how to use the Alkan Ways, on his own,” I reminded her.  “I doubt he’s lingering near Sevendor.  Or even in the Riverlands.” “So where did he go?  I need to talk to him!” “And say what?” I asked.  “That you’ve changed your mind?  That you’ve found love in your heart in his absence that his presence could not produce?” I suggested. “That he doesn’t have to run away from me, just because I’m not in love with him!” “Clearly, he feels differently about that,” I pointed out.  “Asking a man with a broken heart to be proximate to the one who broke it . . . that seems a cruel request, Dara.” “But I didn’t mean to break his heart!  Now everyone thinks I drove him away!  Banamor is pissed with me, Sire Cei isn’t happy that he’s lost one of his best aides, and the enchanters in town all hate me!  Nattia isn’t even speaking to me!  She thinks I was unfair to him!” “You may not have meant to do it, but it is done.  Gareth is a very, very smart man, Dara.  He’s one of the most intuitive thaumaturges I know, and a brilliant enchanter.  He’s as determined as Azar when it comes to achieving what he wants.  And when he learns that what he wants he cannot have, he's smart enough to know that lingering in your shadow, pining for what cannot be, is a torture he cannot bear.” “But I hold his friendship in the highest esteem!” she protested.  “He was instrumental in the hawk project!  He’s been a constant help to me, and come to my aid faithfully!” “Did you think he did that out of the goodness of his heart?” I felt compelled to ask.  “Oh, he’s a wholesome and worthy lad, don’t mistake me.  But if you don’t return his affections, then continuing to be at your call is . . . well, it’s humiliating, Dara.  Especially when you have other suitors you hold in more favor, nearby. ~ Terry Mancour,
360:THE GOLEM
If every name is (as the Greek maintains
In the Cratylus) the archetype of its thing,
Among the letters of ring, resides the ring,
And in the word Nile all the Nile remains.

Then, made up of vowels and consonants,
Encoding Gods essence, should exist some Name
Whose exact syllables and letters frame
Within them, terribly, Omnipotence.

Adam and all the stars had known it, placed
There in the Garden. The corrosive rust
Of sin (cabalists say) has long effaced
The Name that generations since have lost.

Human innocency and human guile
Are boundless: it is known that a day came
When the Chosen People pursued the Name
Over the wakeful ghettos midnight oil.

Unlike the way of those who, as in fog,
Beam a dim shadow in dim history,
Green and alive remains the memory
Of Judah, the Hohe Rabbi Lw of Prague.

Yearning to know that which the Deity
Knows, the Rabbi turned to permutations
Of letters in complicated variations,
And finally pronounced the Name which is the Key,

The Entry Gate, the Echo, Host, and Mansion,
Over a dummy at which, with sluggish hand,
He labored hard that it might understand
Secrets of Time, Space, Being, and Extension.

The simulacrum raised its heavy, lowered
Eyelids and perceived colors and forms;
It understood not; lost in loud alarms,
It started to take groping paces forward.

And like ourselves, it gradually became
Locked in the sonorous meshes of the net
Of After, Before, Tomorrow, Meanwhile, Yet,
Right, Left, You, Me, and Different and Same.

(The cabalist from whom the creature took
Its inspiration called the weird thing Golem
But all these matters are discussed by Scholem
In a most learned passage in his book.)

The rabbi revealed to it the universe
(This is my foot; thats yours; this is a log)
And after years of training, the perverse
Pupil managed to sweep the synagogue.

Perhaps there was a faulty text, or breach
In the articulation of the Name;
The magic was the highestall the same,
The apprentice person never mastered speech.

Less a mans than a dogs, less a dogs, well,
Even than a things, the creatures eyes
Would always turn to follow the rabbis
Steps through the dubious shadows of his cell.

Something eerie, gross, about the Golem,
For, at his very coming, the rabbis cat
Would vanish. (The cat cannot be found in Scholem;
Across the years, I divine it, for all that.)

Toward God it would extend those filial palms,
Aping the devotions of its God,
Or bend itself, the stupid, grinning clod,
In hollow, Orientalized salaams.

The rabbi gazed on it with tender eyes
And terror. How (he asked) could it be done
That I engender this distressing son?
Inaction is wisdom. I left off being wise.

To an infinite series why was it for me
To add another integer? To the vain
Hank that is spun out in Eternity
Another cause or effect, another pain?

At the anguished hour when the light gets vague
Upon his Golem his eyes would come to rest.
Who can tell us the feelings in His breast
As God gazed on His rabbi there in Prague?
[John Hollander]
~ Jorge Luis Borges, The Golem
,
361: II - BEFORE THE CITY-GATE

(Pedestrians of all kinds come forth.)

SEVERAL APPRENTICES

Why do you go that way?

OTHERS

We're for the Hunters' lodge, to-day.

THE FIRST

We'll saunter to the Mill, in yonder hollow.

AN APPRENTICE

Go to the River Tavern, I should say.

SECOND APPRENTICE

But then, it's not a pleasant way.

THE OTHERS

And what will you?

A THIRD
As goes the crowd, I follow.

A FOURTH

Come up to Burgdorf? There you'll find good cheer,
The finest lasses and the best of beer,
And jolly rows and squabbles, trust me!

A FIFTH

You swaggering fellow, is your hide
A third time itching to be tried?
I won't go there, your jolly rows disgust me!

SERVANT-GIRL

No,no! I'll turn and go to town again.

ANOTHER

We'll surely find him by those poplars yonder.

THE FIRST

That's no great luck for me, 'tis plain.
You'll have him, when and where you wander:
His partner in the dance you'll be,
But what is all your fun to me?

THE OTHER

He's surely not alone to-day:
He'll be with Curly-head, I heard him say.

A STUDENT

Deuce! how they step, the buxom wenches!
Come, Brother! we must see them to the benches.
A strong, old beer, a pipe that stings and bites,
A girl in Sunday clothes,these three are my delights.

CITIZEN'S DAUGHTER

Just see those handsome fellows, there!
It's really shameful, I declare;
To follow servant-girls, when they
Might have the most genteel society to-day!

SECOND STUDENT (to the First)

Not quite so fast! Two others come behind,
Those, dressed so prettily and neatly.
My neighbor's one of them, I find,
A girl that takes my heart, completely.
They go their way with looks demure,
But they'll accept us, after all, I'm sure.

THE FIRST

No, Brother! not for me their formal ways.
Quick! lest our game escape us in the press:
The hand that wields the broom on Saturdays
Will best, on Sundays, fondle and caress.

CITIZEN

He suits me not at all, our new-made Burgomaster!
Since he's installed, his arrogance grows faster.
How has he helped the town, I say?
Things worsen,what improvement names he?
Obedience, more than ever, claims he,
And more than ever we must pay!

BEGGAR (sings)
Good gentlemen and lovely ladies,
So red of cheek and fine of dress,
Behold, how needful here your aid is,
And see and lighten my distress!
Let me not vainly sing my ditty;
He's only glad who gives away:
A holiday, that shows your pity,
Shall be for me a harvest-day!

ANOTHER CITIZEN

On Sundays, holidays, there's naught I take delight in,
Like gossiping of war, and war's array,
When down in Turkey, far away,
The foreign people are a-fighting.
One at the window sits, with glass and friends,
And sees all sorts of ships go down the river gliding:
And blesses then, as home he wends
At night, our times of peace abiding.

THIRD CITIZEN

Yes, Neighbor! that's my notion, too:
Why, let them break their heads, let loose their passions,
And mix things madly through and through,
So, here, we keep our good old fashions!

OLD WOMAN (to the Citizen's Daughter)

Dear me, how fine! So handsome, and so young!
Who wouldn't lose his heart, that met you?
Don't be so proud! I'll hold my tongue,
And what you'd like I'll undertake to get you.

CITIZEN'S DAUGHTER

Come, Agatha! I shun the witch's sight
Before folks, lest there be misgiving:
'Tis true, she showed me, on Saint Andrew's Night,
My future sweetheart, just as he were living.

THE OTHER

She showed me mine, in crystal clear,
With several wild young blades, a soldier-lover:
I seek him everywhere, I pry and peer,
And yet, somehow, his face I can't discover.

SOLDIERS

Castles, with lofty
Ramparts and towers,
Maidens disdainful
In Beauty's array,
Both shall be ours!
Bold is the venture,
Splendid the pay!
Lads, let the trumpets
For us be suing,
Calling to pleasure,
Calling to ruin.
Stormy our life is;
Such is its boon!
Maidens and castles
Capitulate soon.
Bold is the venture,
Splendid the pay!
And the soldiers go marching,
Marching away!

FAUST AND WAGNER

FAUST

Released from ice are brook and river
By the quickening glance of the gracious Spring;
The colors of hope to the valley cling,
And weak old Winter himself must shiver,
Withdrawn to the mountains, a crownless king:
Whence, ever retreating, he sends again
Impotent showers of sleet that darkle
In belts across the green o' the plain.
But the sun will permit no white to sparkle;
Everywhere form in development moveth;
He will brighten the world with the tints he loveth,
And, lacking blossoms, blue, yellow, and red,
He takes these gaudy people instead.
Turn thee about, and from this height
Back on the town direct thy sight.
Out of the hollow, gloomy gate,
The motley throngs come forth elate:
Each will the joy of the sunshine hoard,
To honor the Day of the Risen Lord!
They feel, themselves, their resurrection:
From the low, dark rooms, scarce habitable;
From the bonds of Work, from Trade's restriction;
From the pressing weight of roof and gable;
From the narrow, crushing streets and alleys;
From the churches' solemn and reverend night,
All come forth to the cheerful light.
How lively, see! the multitude sallies,
Scattering through gardens and fields remote,
While over the river, that broadly dallies,
Dances so many a festive boat;
And overladen, nigh to sinking,
The last full wherry takes the stream.
Yonder afar, from the hill-paths blinking,
Their clothes are colors that softly gleam.
I hear the noise of the village, even;
Here is the People's proper Heaven;
Here high and low contented see!
Here I am Man,dare man to be!

WAGNER

To stroll with you, Sir Doctor, flatters;
'Tis honor, profit, unto me.
But I, alone, would shun these shallow matters,
Since all that's coarse provokes my enmity.
This fiddling, shouting, ten-pin rolling
I hate,these noises of the throng:
They rave, as Satan were their sports controlling.
And call it mirth, and call it song!
PEASANTS, UNDER THE LINDEN-TREE
(Dance and Song.)

All for the dance the shepherd dressed,
In ribbons, wreath, and gayest vest
Himself with care arraying:
Around the linden lass and lad
Already footed it like mad:
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
The fiddle-bow was playing.

He broke the ranks, no whit afraid,
And with his elbow punched a maid,
Who stood, the dance surveying:
The buxom wench, she turned and said:
"Now, you I call a stupid-head!"
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
"Be decent while you're staying!"

Then round the circle went their flight,
They danced to left, they danced to right:
Their kirtles all were playing.
They first grew red, and then grew warm,
And rested, panting, arm in arm,
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
And hips and elbows straying.

Now, don't be so familiar here!
How many a one has fooled his dear,
Waylaying and betraying!

And yet, he coaxed her soon aside,
And round the linden sounded wide.
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
And the fiddle-bow was playing.

OLD PEASANT

Sir Doctor, it is good of you,
That thus you condescend, to-day,
Among this crowd of merry folk,
A highly-learned man, to stray.
Then also take the finest can,
We fill with fresh wine, for your sake:
I offer it, and humbly wish
That not alone your thirst is slake,
That, as the drops below its brink,
So many days of life you drink!

FAUST

I take the cup you kindly reach,
With thanks and health to all and each.

(The People gather in a circle about him.)

OLD PEASANT

In truth, 'tis well and fitly timed,
That now our day of joy you share,
Who heretofore, in evil days,
Gave us so much of helping care.
Still many a man stands living here,
Saved by your father's skillful hand,
That snatched him from the fever's rage
And stayed the plague in all the land.
Then also you, though but a youth,
Went into every house of pain:
Many the corpses carried forth,
But you in health came out again.

FAUST

No test or trial you evaded:
A Helping God the helper aided.

ALL

Health to the man, so skilled and tried.
That for our help he long may abide!

FAUST

To Him above bow down, my friends,
Who teaches help, and succor sends!

(He goes on with WAGNER.)

WAGNER

With what a feeling, thou great man, must thou
Receive the people's honest veneration!
How lucky he, whose gifts his station
With such advantages endow!
Thou'rt shown to all the younger generation:
Each asks, and presses near to gaze;
The fiddle stops, the dance delays.
Thou goest, they stand in rows to see,
And all the caps are lifted high;
A little more, and they would bend the knee
As if the Holy Host came by.

FAUST

A few more steps ascend, as far as yonder stone!
Here from our wandering will we rest contented.
Here, lost in thought, I've lingered oft alone,
When foolish fasts and prayers my life tormented.
Here, rich in hope and firm in faith,
With tears, wrung hands and sighs, I've striven,
The end of that far-spreading death
Entreating from the Lord of Heaven!
Now like contempt the crowd's applauses seem:
Couldst thou but read, within mine inmost spirit,
How little now I deem,
That sire or son such praises merit!
My father's was a sombre, brooding brain,
Which through the holy spheres of Nature groped and wandered,
And honestly, in his own fashion, pondered
With labor whimsical, and pain:
Who, in his dusky work-shop bending,
With proved adepts in company,
Made, from his recipes unending,
Opposing substances agree.
There was a Lion red, a wooer daring,
Within the Lily's tepid bath espoused,
And both, tormented then by flame unsparing,
By turns in either bridal chamber housed.
If then appeared, with colors splendid,
The young Queen in her crystal shell,
This was the medicine the patients' woes soon ended,
And none demanded: who got well?
Thus we, our hellish boluses compounding,
Among these vales and hills surrounding,
Worse than the pestilence, have passed.
Thousands were done to death from poison of my giving;
And I must hear, by all the living,
The shameless murderers praised at last!

WAGNER

Why, therefore, yield to such depression?
A good man does his honest share
In exercising, with the strictest care,
The art bequea thed to his possession!
Dost thou thy father honor, as a youth?
Then may his teaching cheerfully impel thee:
Dost thou, as man, increase the stores of truth?
Then may thine own son afterwards excel thee.

FAUST

O happy he, who still renews
The hope, from Error's deeps to rise forever!
That which one does not know, one needs to use;
And what one knows, one uses never.
But let us not, by such despondence, so
The fortune of this hour embitter!
Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight's glow,
The green-embosomed houses glitter!
The glow retreats, done is the day of toil;
It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!
Then would I see eternal Evening gild
The silent world beneath me glowing,
On fire each mountain-peak, with peace each valley filled,
The silver brook to golden rivers flowing.
The mountain-chain, with all its gorges deep,
Would then no more impede my godlike motion;
And now before mine eyes expands the ocean
With all its bays, in shining sleep!
Yet, finally, the weary god is sinking;
The new-born impulse fires my mind,
I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking,
The Day before me and the Night behind,
Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me,
A glorious dream! though now the glories fade.
Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.
Yet in each soul is born the pleasure
Of yearning onward, upward and away,
When o'er our heads, lost in the vaulted azure,
The lark sends down his flickering lay,
When over crags and piny highlands
The poising eagle slowly soars,
And over plains and lakes and islands
The crane sails by to other shores.

WAGNER

I've had, myself, at times, some odd caprices,
But never yet such impulse felt, as this is.
One soon fatigues, on woods and fields to look,
Nor would I beg the bird his wing to spare us:
How otherwise the mental raptures bear us
From page to page, from book to book!
Then winter nights take loveliness untold,
As warmer life in every limb had crowned you;
And when your hands unroll some parchment rare and old,
All Heaven descends, and opens bright around you!

FAUST

One impulse art thou conscious of, at best;
O, never seek to know the other!
Two souls, alas! reside within my breast,
And each withdraws from, and repels, its brother.
One with tenacious organs holds in love
And clinging lust the world in its embraces;
The other strongly sweeps, this dust above,
Into the high ancestral spaces.
If there be airy spirits near,
'Twixt Heaven and Earth on potent errands fleeing,
Let them drop down the golden atmosphere,
And bear me forth to new and varied being!
Yea, if a magic mantle once were mine,
To waft me o'er the world at pleasure,
I would not for the costliest stores of treasure
Not for a monarch's robe the gift resign.

WAGNER

Invoke not thus the well-known throng,
Which through the firmament diffused is faring,
And danger thousand-fold, our race to wrong.
In every quarter is preparing.
Swift from the North the spirit-fangs so sharp
Sweep down, and with their barbd points assail you;
Then from the East they come, to dry and warp
Your lungs, till breath and being fail you:
If from the Desert sendeth them the South,
With fire on fire your throbbing forehead crowning,
The West leads on a host, to cure the drouth
Only when meadow, field, and you are drowning.
They gladly hearken, prompt for injury,
Gladly obey, because they gladly cheat us;
From Heaven they represent themselves to be,
And lisp like angels, when with lies they meet us.
But, let us go! 'Tis gray and dusky all:
The air is cold, the vapors fall.
At night, one learns his house to prize:
Why stand you thus, with such astonished eyes?
What, in the twilight, can your mind so trouble?

FAUST

Seest thou the black dog coursing there, through corn and
stubble?

WAGNER

Long since: yet deemed him not important in the least.

FAUST

Inspect him close: for what tak'st thou the beast?

WAGNER

Why, for a poodle who has lost his master,
And scents about, his track to find.

FAUST

Seest thou the spiral circles, narrowing faster,
Which he, approaching, round us seems to wind?
A streaming trail of fire, if I see rightly,
Follows his path of mystery.

WAGNER

It may be that your eyes deceive you slightly;
Naught but a plain black poodle do I see.

FAUST

It seems to me that with enchanted cunning
He snares our feet, some future chain to bind.

WAGNER

I see him timidly, in doubt, around us running,
Since, in his master's stead, two strangers doth he find.

FAUST

The circle narrows: he is near!

WAGNER

A dog thou seest, and not a phantom, here!
Behold him stopupon his belly crawlHis
tail set wagging: canine habits, all!

FAUST

Come, follow us! Come here, at least!

WAGNER

'Tis the absurdest, drollest beast.
Stand still, and you will see him wait;
Address him, and he gambols straight;
If something's lost, he'll quickly bring it,
Your cane, if in the stream you fling it.

FAUST

No doubt you're right: no trace of mind, I own,
Is in the beast: I see but drill, alone.

WAGNER

The dog, when he's well educated,
Is by the wisest tolerated.
Yes, he deserves your favor thoroughly,
The clever scholar of the students, he!

(They pass in the city-gate.)
Faust

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, BEFORE THE CITY-GATE
,
362:The Bush
I wonder if the spell, the mystery,
That like a haze about your silence clings,
Moulding your void until we seem to see
Tangible Presences of Deathless Things,
Patterned but little to our spirits' woof,
Yet from our love or hate not all aloof,
Can. be the matrix where are forming slowly
Troy tales of Old Australia, to refine
Eras to come of ordered melancholy
'Neath lily-pale Perfection's anodyne.
For Troy hath ever been, and Homer sang
Its younger story for a lodging's fee,
While o'er Scamander settlers' axes rang
Amid the Bush where Ilium was to be.
For Cretan Art, dim centuries before,
Minoan Dream-times some Briseis bore.
Sumerian Phoebus by a willowed water
Song-built a Troy for far Chaldea, where
The sons of God, beholding Leda's daughter,
Bartered eternal thrones for love of her.
Across each terraced aeon Time hath sowed
With green tautology of vanished years,
Gaping aghast or webbed with shining lode,
Achilles' anger's earthquake-rift appears.
The towers that Phoebus builds can never fall:
Desire that Helen lights can never pall:
Yea, wounded Love hath still but gods to fly to,
When lust of war inflames Diomedes:
Must some Australian Hector vainly die, too?
Captives in ships? (0 change that omen, Trees!)
Yea, Mother Bush, in your deep dreams abide
Cupids alert for man and maid unborn,
Apprentice Pucks amid your saplings hide,
And wistful gorges wait a Roland horn:
Wallet of Sigurd shall this swag replace,
And centaurs curvet where those brumbies race.
39
That drover's tale of love shall greaten duly
Through magic prisms of a myriad years,
Till bums Isolde to Tristram's fervour newly,
Or Launcelot to golden Guinevere's.
The miner cradling washdirt by the creek,
Or pulled through darkness dripping to the plat:
The navvy boring tunnels through the peak:
The farmer grubbing box-trees on the flat:
The hawker camping by the roadside spring:
The hodman on the giddy scaffolding:
Moths that around the fashion windows flutter:
The racecourse spider and the betting fly:
The children romping by the city gutter,
While baby crows to every passer-byFrom these rough blocks strewn o'er our ancient stream
Sculptors shall chisel brownie, fairy, faun,
Any myrmidons of some Homeric dream
From Melbourne mob and Sydney push be drawn.
The humdrum lives that now we tire of, then
Romance shall be, and 'we heroic men
Treading the vestibule of Golden Ages,
The Isthmus of the Land of Heart's Desire:
For lo! the Sybil's final volume's pages
Ope with our Advent, close when we expire.
Forgetful Change in one 'antiquity'
Boreal gleams shall drown, and southern glows;
Out of some singing woman's heart-break plea
Australia's dawn shall flush with Sappho's rose:
Strong Shirlow's hand shall trace Mantegna's line,
And Soma foam from Victor Daley's wine:
Scholars to be our prehistoric drama
From Esson's 'Woman Tamer' shall restore,
Or find in Gilbert's 'Lotus Stream and Lama'
An Austral Nile and Buddhas we adore.
The sunlit Satyrs follow Hugh McCrae,
Quinn spans the ocean with a Celtic ford,
And Williamson the Pan-pipe learns to play
From magpie-songs our schoolboy ears ignored:
40
A sweeter woe no keen of Erin gave
Than Kendall sings o'er Araluen's grave:
Tasmanian Wordsworth to his chapel riding
The Burning Bush and Ardath mead shall pass,
Or, from the sea-coast of Bohemia gliding
On craft of dream, behold a shepherd lass.
Jessie Mackay on Southern Highlands sees
The elves deploy in kem and gallowglass:
Our Gilbert Murray writes 'Euripides':
Pirani merges in Pythagoras:
Marsyas plunges into Lethe, flayed,
From Rhadamanthine Stephens' steady blade:
While Benvenuto Morton, drunk with singing,
Sees salamanders in a bush-fire's bed,
And Spencer sails from Alcheringa bringing
Intaglios, totems and Books of the Dead.
On Southern fiords shall Brady's Long Snakes hiss,
Heavy with brides he wins to Viking troth:
O'Reilly's Sydney shall be Sybaris,
While Melbourne's Muses sup their Spartan broth:
Murdoch, Zenobia's counsellor, in time,
Redacts from Burke his book on The Sublime:
By Way was Homer into Greek translated:
And Shakespeare's self is Sophocles so plain
They know the kerb whereon the Furies waited
Outside the Mermaid Inn in Brogan's Lane.
Vane shall divide with Vern Eureka's fame;
Tillett and Mann are Tyler then and Cade:
Dowie's entwines with Cagliostro's name,
And in Tarpeia's, lo, those fair forms fade
Who drug the poor, for social bread and wine,
And lift the furtive latch to Catiline:
There, where the Longmore-featured Gracchi hurry,
And Greek-browed Higinbotham walks, anon,
The 'wealthy lower orders' leap the Murray
Before the stockwhip cracks of Jardine Don.
Cleons in 'Windsor dress at Syracuse
Their thin plebeians' promised meal delay;
41
And Archibald begets Australia's Muse
Upon an undine red of Chowder Bay:
Paterson's swan draws Amphitrite's car,
And Sidon learns from Young what purples are:
Rose Scott refutes dogmatic Cyril gaily,
Hypatia turns the anti-suffrage flank,
And Herod's daughter sools her 'morning daily'
On John the Baptist by the Yarra Bank.
Yon regal bustard, fading hence ere long,
Shall seem the guide we followed to the Grail;
This lyre-bird on his dancing-mound of song
Our mystagogue of some Bacchantic vale,
Where feathered Pan guffaws 'Evoe!' above,
And Maenad curlews shriek their midnight love:
That trailing flight of distant swans is bearing
Sarpedon's soul to its eternal joy:
This ibis, from the very Nile, despairing,
Memnon our own would warn from fatal Troy.
Primeval gnomes distilled the golden bribes
That have impregnated your musing waste with men;
But shall the spell of your pathetic tribes
Curl round, in time, our fairer limbs again?
Through that long tunnel of your gloom, I see
Gardens of a metropolis to be!
Out of the depths the mountain ash is soaring
To embryon gods of what unsounded space?
Out of the heights what influence is pouring
Thin desolation on your haunted face?
Many there are who see no higher lot
For all your writhing centuries of toil
Than that the avaricious plough should blot
Their wilding burgeon, and the red brand spoil
Your cyclopean garniture, to sow
The cheap parterres of Europe on your woe.
They weave all sorceries but yours, and borrow
The tinkling spells of alien winds and seas
To drown the chord of purifying sorrow,
Bom ere the world, that pulses through your trees.
42
For, save when we, in not o'er-subtle mood,
Hear magpies warbling soft November in,
Or, hand in hand with Love, a dreaming wood
Or bouldered crest of crisper April win,
Your harps, unblurred by glozing strings, intone
The dirges that behind Creation moan'Where, riding reinless billows, new lives dash on
The souring beach of yesterday's decay,
Where Love's chord leaps from mandrake shrieks of passion,
And groping gods mould man from quivering clay.
(Is Nature deaf and blind and dumb? A cruse
Unfilled of wine? Clay for an unbreathed soul?
Alien to man, till his desires transfuse
Their flames through wind and water, leaf and bole,
And each crude fane elaborately fit
With oracles that echo all his wit?
The living wilds of Greece saw death returning
When Pan that men had made fell from his throne:
Till through her sap our very blood is churning
The Bush her lonely alien woe shall moan!
Or is she reticent but to be kind?
Whispers she not beneath her mask of clods'Who asks he shall receive, who seeks shall find,
Who knocks shall open every door of God's?'
Dumb Faith's, blind Hope's eternal consort she,
Gravid with all that is on earth to be;
Corn, wine and oil in hungry granite hiding,
All Beauty under sober wings of clay,
All life beneath her dead heart long abiding,
Yea, all the gods her sons and she obey!)
What sin's wan expiation strewed your Vast
With mounded pillage of what conquering fire?
Slumbering throes of what prodigious Past
Exhale these lingering ghosts of its desire?
Sunshine that bleached corruption out, that glare?
Desolate blue of Purgatory, there?
Flagellant winds through guilty Eden scouring?
Sahara drowning Prester John's domain?
Satumian dam her progeny devouring?
Hath dawn-time Hun these footprints left? Hath Cain?
43
Even the human wave, that shall at length
To man's endurance key your strident surge,
Sings in your poignant tones and sombre strength,
And makes, as yet, its own your primal dirge:
A gun-shot startles dawn back from the sky,
And mourning tea-trees echo Gordon's sigh:
Nardoo with Burke's faint sweat is dank for ever:
Spectral a tribe round poisoned rations shrieks:
Till doomday Leichhardt walks die Never Never:
Pensive, of Boake, the circling stock-whip speaks.
The wraiths unseen of roadside crimes unnamed
About that old-time shanty's ruins roam:
This squatter's fenceless acres hide ashamed
The hearth and battered zinc of Naboth's home:
Deserted 'yam-holes' pit your harmonies
With sloughing pock-marks of the gold-disease:
The sludgy creek 'mid hungry rushes rambles,
Where teal once dived and lowan raised her mound:
That tree, with crows, o'erlooks the township shambles:
These paddocks, ordure-smeared, the city bound.
0 yield not all to factory and farm!
For we, who drew a milk no stranger knows
From her scant paps, yearn for the acrid charm
That gossamers the Bush Where No Tree Grows.
And we have ritual moments when we crave
For worship in some messmate-pillared nave,
Where contrite 'bears' for woodland sins are kneeling,
And, 'mid the censers of the mountain musk,
Acolyte bell-birds the Angelus are pealing,
And boobooks moan lone vespers in the dusk,
And you have Children of the Dreaming Star,
Who care but little for the crowded ways
Where meagre spirits' vapid prizes are,
Or for the paddocked ease of dreamless days
And hedges clipped of every sunny growth
That plights the soul to God in daily troth:
Their wayward love prefers your desolation,
Or (where the human trail hath seared its charm)
44
The briar-rose on some abandoned 'station',
To all the tilled obedience of the farm.
Vineyards that purblind thrift shall never glean
The weedy waste and thistly gully hold:
No mint shall melt to currency unclean
Yon river-rounded hillock's Cape-broom gold:
The onion-grass upon that dark green slope
Returns our gaze from eyes of heliotrope:
But more we seek your underflowered expanses
Of scrub monotonous, or, where, O Bush,
The craters of your fiery noon's romances,
Like great firm bosoms, through the bare plains push.
As many. Mother, are your moods and forms
As all the sons who love you. Here, you mow
Careering grounds for every brood of storms
The wild sea-mares to desert stallions throw;
Anon, up through a sea of sand you glance
With green ephemeral exuberance,
And then quick seeds dive deep to years of slumber
From hot-hoofed drought's precipitate return:
There, league on league, the snow's cold fingers number
The shrinking nerves of supple-jack and fern.
To other eyes and ears you are a great
Pillared cathedral tremulously green,
An odorous and hospitable gate
To genial mystery, the happy screen
Of truants or of lovers rambling there
'Neath sun-shot boughs o'er miles of maidenhair.
Wee rubies dot the leaflets of the cherries,
The wooing wagtails hop from log to bough,
The bronzewing comes from Queensland for the berries,
The bell-bird by the creek is calling now.
And you can ride, an Eastern queen, they say,
By living creatures sumptuously borne,
With all barbaric equipages gay,
Beneath the torrid blue of Capricorn.
That native lotus is the very womb
That was the Hindoo goddess' earthly tomb.
45
The gang-gang screams o'er cactus wildernesses,
Palm trees are there, and swampy widths of rice,
Unguents and odours ooze from green recesses,
The jungles blaze with birds of Paradise.
But I, in city exile, hear you sing
Of saplinged hill and box-tree dotted plain,
Or silver-grass that prays the North Wind's wing
Convey its sigh to the loitering rain:
And Spring is half distraught with wintry gusts,
Summer the daily spoil of tropic lusts
The sun and she too fiercely shared together
Lingering thro' voluptuous Hindoo woods,
But o'er my windless, soft autumnal weather
The peace that passes understanding broods.
When, now, they say 'The Bush!', I see the top
Delicate amber leanings of the gum
Flutter, or flocks of screaming green leeks drop
Silent, where in the shining morning hum
The gleaning bees for honey-scented hours
'Mid labyrinthine leaves and white gum flowers.
Cantering midnight hoofs are nearing, nearing,
The straining bullocks flick the harpy flies,
The 'hatter' weeds his melancholy clearing,
The distant cow-bell tinkles o'er the rise.
You are the brooding comrade of our way,
Whispering rumour of a new Unknown,
Moulding us white ideals to obey,
Steeping whate'er we learn in lore your own,
And freshening with unpolluted light
The squalid city's day and pallid night,
Till we become ourselves distinct, Australian,
(Your native lightning charging blood and nerve),
Stripped to the soul of borrowed garments, alien
To that approaching Shape of God you serve.
Brooding, brooding, your whispers murmur plain
That searching for the clue to mystery
In grottos of decrepitude is vain,
That never shall the eye of prophet see
46
In crooked Trade's tumultuous streets the plan
Of templed cities adequate to man.
Brooding, brooding, you make us Brahmins waiting
(While uninspired pass on the hurtling years),
Faithful to dreams your spirit is creating,
Till Great Australia, born of you, appears.
For Great Australia is not yet: She waits
(Where o'er the Bush prophetic auras play)
The passing of these temporary States,
Flaunting their tawdry flags of far decay.
Her aureole above the alien mists
Beacons our filial eyes to mountain trysts:
'Mid homely trees with all ideals fruited,
She shelters us till Trade's Simoom goes by,
And slakes our thirst from cisterns unpolluted .
For ages cold in brooding deeps of sky.
We love our brothers, and to heal their woe
Pluck simples from the known old gardens still:
We love our kindred over seas, and grow
Their symbols tenderly o'er plain and hill;
We feel their blood rebounding in our hearts,
And speak as they would speak our daily parts:
But under all we know, we know that only
A virgin womb unsoiled by ancient fear
Can Saviours bear. So, we, your Brahmins, lonely,
Deaf to the barren tumult, wait your Year.
The Great Year's quivering dawn pencils the Night
To be the morning of our children's prime,
And weave from rays of yet ungathered Light
A richer noon than e'er apparelled Time.
If it must be, as Tuscan wisdom knew,
Babylon's seer, and wistful Egypt too,
That mellow afternoon shall pensive guide us
Down somnolent Decay's ravine to rest,
Then you, reborn, 0 Mother Bush, shall hide us
All the long night at your dream-laden breast.
Australian eyes that heed your lessons know
Another world than older pilgrims may:
47
Prometheus chained in Kosciusko's snow
Sees later gods than Zeus in turn decay:
Boundless plateaux expand the spirit's sight,
Resilient gales uphold her steeper flight:
And your close beating heart, 0 savage Mother,
Throbs secret words of joy and starker pain
Than reach the ears all old deceptions smother
In Lebanon, or e'en in Westermain.
We marvel not, who hear your undersong,
And catch a glimpse in rare exalted hours
Of something like a Being gleam along
Festooned arcades of flossie creeper flowers,
Or, toward the mirk, seem privileged to share
The silent rapture of the trees at prayerWe marvel not that seers in other ages,
With eyes unstrained by peering logic, saw
The desolation glow with Koran pages,
Or Sinai stones with Tables of the Law.
Homers are waiting in the gum trees now,
Far driven from the tarnished Cyclades:
More Druids to your green enchantment bow
Than 'neath unfaithful Mona's vanished trees:
A wind hath spirited from ageing France
To our fresh hills the carpet of Romance:
Heroes and maids of old with young blood tingling
In ampler gardens grow their roses new:
And races long apart their manas mingling
Prepare the cradle of an Advent due.
And those who dig the mounded eld for runes
To read Religion's tangled cipher, here,
Where all Illusion haunts the fainting noons
Of days hysteric with the tireless leer
Of ravenous enamoured suns, shall find
How May a flings her mantle o'er the mind,
Till sober sand to shining water changes,
Dodona whispers from the she-oak groves,
Afreets upon the tempest cross the ranges,
And Fafnir through the bunyip marshes roves.
48
Once, when Uranian Love appeared to glow
Through that abysmal Night that bounds our reignLove that a man may scarcely feel and know i
Quite the same world as other men againWith earthward-streaming frontier wraiths distraught,
Your oracles, 0 Mother Bush, I sought:
But found, dismayed, that eerie light revealing
Those wraiths already in your depths on sleuth,
Termagant Scorns along your hillsides stealing,
Remorse unbaring slow her barbed tooth.
My own thoughts first from far dispersion flew
Back to their sad creator, with the crops
Of woes in flower and all the harvests due
Till tiring Time the fearful seeding stops:
In pigmy forms of friends and foes, anon
In my own image, they came, stung, were gone:
And then I heard the voice of Him Who Questions,
Knowing the faltered answer ere it came,
Chilling the soul by hovering suggestions
Of wan damnation at a wince of blame.
And all your leaves in symbols were arranged,
Despairs long dead would leap from bough to bough,
A gum-tree buttress to a goblin changed
Grinning the warmth of some old broken vow:
Furtive desires for scarce-remembered maids
Glanced in a fearful bo-peep from your shades:
Till you became a purgatory cleansing
With rosy flakes in form of manikins,
To fiercer shame within my soul condensing,
The dim pollution of forgotten sins.
And She, the human symbol of that Love,
Would, as my cleansed eyes forgot their fear,
Comrade beside me. Comforter above,
With sunny smile ubiquitous appear:
Run on before me to the nooks we knew,
Walk hand in hand as glad young lovers do,
Gravely reprove me toying with temptation,
Show me the eyes and ears in roots and clods,
Bend with me o'er some blossom's revelation,
49
Or read from clouds the judgments of the gods.
My old ideals She would tune until
The grating note of self no longer rang:
She drove the birds of gloom and evil will
Out of the cote wherein my poems sang.
Time at Her wand annulled his calendar,
And Space his fallacy of Near and Far,
For through my Bush along with me She glided,
And crowded days of Beauty made more fair,
Though lagging weeks and ocean widths divided
Her mortal casing from Her Presence there.
Her wetted finger oped my shuttered eyes
To boyhood's scership of the Real again:
Upon the Bush descended from the skies
The rapt-up Eden of primordial men:
August Dominions through the vistas strode:
On white-maned clouds the smiling cherubs rode:
Maltreated Faith restored my jangled hearing
Till little seraphs sang from chip and clod:
And prayers were radiant children that, unfearing,
Floated as kisses to the lips of God.
It matters not that for some purpose wise
Myopic Reason censored long ago
The revelations of that Paradise,
When, back of all I feel or will or know,
Its silent angels beacon through the Dark
And point to harbours new my drifted ark.
Nor need we dread the fogs that round us thicken
Questing the Bush for Grails decreed for man,
When Powers our fathers saw unseen still quicken
Eyes that were ours before the world began.
'Twas then I saw the Vision of the Ways,
And 'mid their gloom and glory seemed to live,
Threaded the coverts of the Dark Road's maze,
Toiled up, with tears, the Track Retributive,
And, on the Path of Grace, beheld aglow
The love-lit Nave of all that wheeled below.
And She who flowered, my Mystic Rose, in Heaven,
50
And lit the Purging Mount, my Guiding Star,
Trudged o'er the marl, my mate, through Hell's wan levin,
Nor shrank, like lonely Dante's love, afar.
High towered a cloud over one leafy wild,
And to a bridged volcano grew. Above,
A great Greek group of father, mother, child,
Illumed a narrow round with radiant love.
Below, a smoke-pool thick with faces swirled,
The mutinous omen. of an Under-world,
Defeated, plundered, blackened, but preparing,
E'en though that calm, white dominance fell down,
To overflow the rim, and, sunward faring,
Shape myriad perfect groups from slave and clown.
Or thus I read the symbol, though 'twas sent
To hound compunction on my wincing pride,
That dreamed of raceless brotherhood, content
Though all old Charm dissolved and Glory died.
For often signs will yield their deeper signs,
Virginal Bush, in your untrodden shrines,
Than where the craven ages' human clamour
Distorts the boldest oracle with fear,
Or where dissolving wizards dew with glamour
Arden, Broceliande, or Windermere.
Once while my mother by a spreading tree
Our church's sober rubric bade me con,
My vagrant eyes among the boughs would see
Forbidden wings and •wizard aprons on
Father's 'wee people' from their Irish glades
Brighten and darken with your lights and shades.
And I would only read again those stern leaves
For whispered bribe that, when their tale I told,
We would go and look for fairies in the fern-leaves
And red-capped leprechauns with crocks of gold.
Anon, my boyhood saw how Sunbursts flamed
Or filmy hinds lured on a pale Oisin,
Where lithe indignant saplings crowding claimed
The digger's ravage for their plundered queen:
And heard within yon lichened 'mullock-heap'
51
Lord Edward's waiting horsemen moan in sleep:
Or flew the fragrant path of swans consoling
Lir's exiled daughter wandering with me,
And traced below the Wattle River rolling
Exuberant and golden toward the sea.
Here, would the •wavering wings of heat uplift
Some promontory till the tree-crowned pile
Above a phantom sea would swooning drift,
St. Brendan's vision of the Winged Isle:
Anon, the isle divides again, again,
Till archipelagos poise o'er the main.
There, lazy fingers of a breeze have scattered
The distant blur of factory chimney smoke
hi poignant groups of all the young lives shattered
To feed the ravin of a piston-stroke!
Or when I read the tale of what you were
Beyond these hungry eyes' home-keeping view,
I peopled petrel rocks with Sirens fair,
In Maid Mirage the Fairy Morgan knew,
Steered Quetzalcoatl's skiff to coral coasts,
On Chambers' Pillar throned the Olympian hosts,
Heard in white sulphur-crested parrots' screeches
Remorseful Peris vent their hopeless rage,
Atlantis' borders traced on sunken beaches,
m Alcheringa found the Golden Age.
Sibyl and Siren, with alternate breaths
You read our foetal nation's boon and bane,
And lure to trysts of orgiastic Deaths
Adventurous love that listens to your strain:
Pelsarts and Vanderdeckens of the world
Circle your charms or at your feet are hurled:
And, Southern witch, whose glamour drew De Quiros
O'er half the earth for one unyielded kiss,
Were yours the arms that healed the scalded Eros
When Psyche's curious lamp darkened their bliss?
Ye, who would challenge when we claim to see
The bush alive with Northern wealth of wings,
Forget that at a common mother's knee
52
We learned, with you, the lore of Silent Things.
There is no New that is not older far
Than swirling cradle of the first-born star:
Our youngest hearts prolong the far pulsation
And churn the brine of the primordial sea:
The foetus writes the précis of Creation:
Australia is the whole world's legatee.
Imagination built her throne in us
Before your present bodies saw the sky:
Your myths were counters of our abacus,
And in your brain developed long our eye:
We from the misty folk have also sprung
Who saw the gnomes and heard the Ever Young:
Do Southern skies the fancy disinherit
Of moly flower and Deva-laden breeze?
Do nerves attuned by old defect and merit
Their timbre lose by crossing tropic seas?
All mysteries ye claim as yours alone
Have wafted secrets over oceans here:
Our living soil Antiquity hath sown
With just the corn and tares ye love and fear:
Romance and song enthral us just as you,
Nor change of zenith changes spirit too:
Our necks as yours are sore with feudal halters:
To the Pole ye know our compasses are set;
And shivering years that huddled round your altars
Beneath our stars auspicious tremble yet.
Who fenced the nymphs in European vales?
Or Pan tabooed from all but Oxford dreams?
Warned Shakespeare off from foreign Plutarch's tales?
Or tethered Virgil to Italian themes?
And when the body sailed from your control
Think ye we left behind in bond the soul?
Whate'er was yours is ours in equal measure,
The Temple was not built for you alone,
Altho' 'tis ours to grace the common treasure
With Lares and Penates of our own!
Ye stole yourselves from gardens fragrant long
53
The sprouting seed-pods of your choicest blooms,
And wove the splendid garments of your song
From Viking foam on grave Hebraic looms:
'Twas Roman nerve and rich Hellenic lymph
Changed your pale pixie to a nubile nymph:
Yea, breathed at dawn around Atlantis' islands,
Wind-home o'er some Hesperidean road,
The morning clouds on dim Accadian highlands
Spring-fed the Nile that over Hellas flowed!
As large-eyed Greek amid Sicilian dews
Saw Dis, as ne'er before, pursue the Maid,
Or, safe 'neath screening billows, Arethuse
Alpheus' rugged sleuth unsoiled evade:
We shall complete the tale ye left half-told,
Under the ocean lead your fountains old,
To slake our sceptic thirst with haunted water,
And tame our torrents with a wedding kiss,
Shall loose, mayhap, the spell on Ceres' daughter,
And show, unclouded, God in very Dis.
(Yet, there are moods and mornings when I hear,
Above the music of the Bush's breath,
The rush of alien breezes far and near
Drowning her oracles to very death:
Exotic battle-cries the silence mar,
Seductive perfumes drive the gum-scent far;
And organ-tones august a moment show me
Miltonic billows and Homeric gales
Until I feel the older worlds below me,
And all her wonder trembles, thins and fails.)
Yea, you are all that we may be, and yet
In us is all you are to be for aye!
The Giver of the gifts that we shall get?
An empty womb that waits the wedding day?
Thus drifting sense by age-long habit buoyed
Plays round the thought that knows all nature void!
And so, my song alternate would believe her
Idiot Bush and Daughter of the Sun,
A worthless gift apart from the receiver,
An empty womb, but in a Deathless One.
54
To shapes we would of Freedom, Truth and Joy
Shall we your willing plasm mould for man:
Afresh rebuild the world, and thus destroy
What only Ragnarok in Europe can:
There is no Light but in your dark blendes sleeps,
Drops from your stars or through your ether leaps:
Yea, you are Nature, Chaos since Creation,
Waiting what human Word to chord in song?
Matrix inert of what auspicious nation?
For what far bees your nectar hiving long?
Exhausted manas of the conquering North
Shall rise refreshed to vivid life again
At your approach, and in your lap pour forth
Grateful the gleanings of his mighty reign:
As, when a tropic heat-king southward crawls,
Blistering the ranges, till he hears the calls
Of some cold high-browed bride, her streaming tresses,
Sprinkled with rose-buds, make his wild eyes thrill
To such desire for her superb caresses
He yields his fiery treasures to her will.
'Where is Australia, singer, do you know?
These sordid farms and joyless factories,
Mephitic mines and lanes of pallid woe?
Those ugly towns and cities such as these
With incense sick to all unworthy power,
And all old sin in full malignant flower?
No! to her bourn her children still are faring:
She is a Temple that we are to build:
For her the ages have been long preparing:
She is a prophecy to be fulfilled!
All that we love in olden lands and lore
Was signal of her coming long ago!
Bacon foresaw her, Campanella, More
And Plato's eyes were with her star aglow!
Who toiled for Truth, whate'er their countries were,
Who fought for Liberty, they yearned for her!
No corsair's gathering ground, or tryst for schemers,
55
No chapman Carthage to a huckster Tyre,
She is the Eldorado of old dreamers,
The Sleeping Beauty of the world's desire!
She is the scroll on which we are to write
Mythologies our own and epics new:
She is the port of our propitious flight
From Ur idolatrous and Pharaoh's crew.
She is our own, unstained, if worthy we,
By dream, or god, or star we would not see:
Her crystal beams all but the eagle dazzle;
Her wind-wide ways none but the strong-winged sail:
She is Eutopia, she is Hy-Brasil,
The watchers on the tower of morning hail I
Yet she shall be as we, the Potter, mould:
Altar or tomb, as we aspire, despair:
What wine we bring shall she, the chalice, hold:
What word we write shall she, the script, declare:
Bandage our eyes, she shall be Memphis, Spain:
Barter our souls, she shall be Tyre again:
And if we pour on her the red oblation
All o'er the world shall Asshur's buzzards throng:
Love-lit, her Chaos shall become Creation:
And dewed with dream, her silence flower in song.
~ Bernard O'Dowd,
363:DRAMATIS PERSON

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.
ACT I

Scene I.
An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.
Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.
Cenci.
The third of my possessionslet it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!
Henceforth no witnessnot the lampshall see
That which the vassal threatened to divulge
Whose throat is choked with dust for his reward.
The deed he saw could not have rated higher
Than his most worthless life:it angers me!
Respited me from Hell!So may the Devil
Respite their souls from Heaven. No doubt Pope Clement,
And his most charitable nephews, pray
That the Apostle Peter and the Saints
Will grant for their sake that I long enjoy
Strength, wealth, and pride, and lust, and length of days
Wherein to act the deeds which are the stewards
Of their revenue.But much yet remains
To which they show no title.
Camillo.
               Oh, Count Cenci!
So much that thou mightst honourably live
And reconcile thyself with thine own heart
And with thy God, and with the offended world.
How hideously look deeds of lust and blood
Through those snow white and venerable hairs!
Your children should be sitting round you now,
But that you fear to read upon their looks
The shame and misery you have written there.
Where is your wife? Where is your gentle daughter?
Methinks her sweet looks, which make all things else
Beauteous and glad, might kill the fiend within you.
Why is she barred from all society
But her own strange and uncomplaining wrongs?
Talk with me, Count,you know I mean you well
I stood beside your dark and fiery youth
Watching its bold and bad career, as men
Watch meteors, but it vanished notI marked
Your desperate and remorseless manhood; now
Do I behold you in dishonoured age
Charged with a thousand unrepented crimes.
Yet I have ever hoped you would amend,
And in that hope have saved your life three times.
Cenci.
For which Aldobrandino owes you now
My fief beyond the Pincian.Cardinal,
One thing, I pray you, recollect henceforth,
And so we shall converse with less restraint.
A man you knew spoke of my wife and daughter
He was accustomed to frequent my house;
So the next day his wife and daughter came
And asked if I had seen him; and I smiled:
I think they never saw him any more.
Camillo.
Thou execrable man, beware!
Cenci.
                Of thee?
Nay this is idle:We should know each other.
As to my character for what men call crime
Seeing I please my senses as I list,
And vindicate that right with force or guile,
It is a public matter, and I care not
If I discuss it with you. I may speak
Alike to you and my own conscious heart
For you give out that you have half reformed me,
Therefore strong vanity will keep you silent
If fear should not; both will, I do not doubt.
All men delight in sensual luxury,
All men enjoy revenge; and most exult
Over the tortures they can never feel
Flattering their secret peace with others' pain.
But I delight in nothing else. I love
The sight of agony, and the sense of joy,
When this shall be another's, and that mine.
And I have no remorse and little fear,
Which are, I think, the checks of other men.
This mood has grown upon me, until now
Any design my captious fancy makes
The picture of its wish, and it forms none
But such as men like you would start to know,
Is as my natural food and rest debarred
Until it be accomplished.
Camillo.
              Art thou not
Most miserable?
Cenci.
        Why, miserable?
No.I am what your theologians call
Hardened;which they must be in impudence,
So to revile a man's peculiar taste.
True, I was happier than I am, while yet
Manhood remained to act the thing I thought;
While lust was sweeter than revenge; and now
Invention palls:Ay, we must all grow old
And but that there yet remains a deed to act
Whose horror might make sharp an appetite
Duller than mineI'd doI know not what.
When I was young I thought of nothing else
But pleasure; and I fed on honey sweets:
Men, by St. Thomas! cannot live like bees,
And I grew tired:yet, till I killed a foe,
And heard his groans, and heard his children's groans,
Knew I not what delight was else on earth,
Which now delights me little. I the rather
Look on such pangs as terror ill conceals,
The dry fixed eyeball; the pale quivering lip,
Which tell me that the spirit weeps within
Tears bitterer than the bloody sweat of Christ.
I rarely kill the body, which preserves,
Like a strong prison, the soul within my power,
Wherein I feed it with the breath of fear
For hourly pain.
Camillo.
         Hell's most abandoned fiend
Did never, in the drunkenness of guilt,
Speak to his heart as now you speak to me;
I thank my God that I believe you not.
Enter Andrea.
Andrea.
My Lord, a gentleman from Salamanca
Would speak with you.
Cenci.
           Bid him attend me in
The grand saloon.
[Exit Andrea.
Camillo.
         Farewell; and I will pray
Almighty God that thy false, impious words
Tempt not his spirit to abandon thee.
[Exit Camillo.
Cenci.
The third of my possessions! I must use
Close husbandry, or gold, the old man's sword,
Falls from my withered hand. But yesterday
There came an order from the Pope to make
Fourfold provision for my cursd sons;
Whom I had sent from Rome to Salamanca,
Hoping some accident might cut them off;
And meaning if I could to starve them there.
I pray thee, God, send some quick death upon them!
Bernardo and my wife could not be worse
If dead and damned:then, as to Beatrice [Looking around him suspiciously.

I think they cannot hear me at that door;
What if they should? And yet I need not speak
Though the heart triumphs with itself in words.
O, thou most silent air, that shalt not hear
What now I think! Thou, pavement, which I tread
Towards her chamber,let your echoes talk
Of my imperious step scorning surprise,
But not of my intent!Andrea!
[Enter Andrea.
Andrea.
                My lord?
                Cenci.
Bid Beatrice attend me in her chamber
This evening:no, at midnight and alone.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
A Garden of the Cenci Palace. EnterBeatrice and Orsino, as in conversation.
Beatrice.
Pervert not truth,
Orsino. You remember where we held
That conversation;nay, we see the spot
Even from this cypress;two long years are past
Since, on an April midnight, underneath
The moonlight ruins of mount Palatine,
I did confess to you my secret mind.
Orsino.
You said you loved me then.
Beatrice.
               You are a Priest,
Speak to me not of love.
Orsino.
             I may obtain
The dispensation of the Pope to marry.
Because I am a Priest do you believe
Your image, as the hunter some struck deer,
Follows me not whether I wake or sleep?
Beatrice.
As I have said, speak to me not of love;
Had you a dispensation I have not;
Nor will I leave this home of misery
Whilst my poor Bernard, and that gentle lady
To whom I owe life, and these virtuous thoughts,
Must suffer what I still have strength to share.
Alas, Orsino! All the love that once
I felt for you, is turned to bitter pain.
Ours was a youthful contract, which you first
Broke, by assuming vows no Pope will loose.
And thus I love you still, but holily,
Even as a sister or a spirit might;
And so I swear a cold fidelity.
And it is well perhaps we shall not marry.
You have a sly, equivocating vein
That suits me not.Ah, wretched that I am!
Where shall I turn? Even now you look on me
As you were not my friend, and as if you
Discovered that I thought so, with false smiles
Making my true suspicion seem your wrong.
Ah, no! forgive me; sorrow makes me seem
Sterner than else my nature might have been;
I have a weight of melancholy thoughts,
And they forbode,but what can they forbode
Worse than I now endure?
Orsino.
             All will be well.
Is the petition yet prepared? You know
My zeal for all you wish, sweet Beatrice;
Doubt not but I will use my utmost skill
So that the Pope attend to your complaint.
Beatrice.
Your zeal for all I wish;Ah me, you are cold!
Your utmost skill . . . speak but one word . . . (aside)
Alas!
Weak and deserted creature that I am,
Here I stand bickering with my only friend! [To Orsino.

This night my father gives a sumptuous feast,
Orsino; he has heard some happy news
From Salamanca, from my brothers there,
And with this outward show of love he mocks
His inward hate. 'Tis bold hypocrisy,
For he would gladlier celebrate their deaths,
Which I have heard him pray for on his knees:
Great God! that such a father should be mine!
But there is mighty preparation made,
And all our kin, the Cenci, will be there,
And all the chief nobility of Rome.
And he has bidden me and my pale Mother
Attire ourselves in festival array.
Poor lady! She expects some happy change
In his dark spirit from this act; I none.
At supper I will give you the petition:
Till whenfarewell.
Orsino.
           Farewell.
(Exit Beatrice.)
                I know the Pope
Will ne'er absolve me from my priestly vow
But by absolving me from the revenue
Of many a wealthy see; and, Beatrice,
I think to win thee at an easier rate.
Nor shall he read her eloquent petition:
He might bestow her on some poor relation
Of his sixth cousin, as he did her sister,
And I should be debarred from all access.
Then as to what she suffers from her father,
In all this there is much exaggeration:
Old men are testy and will have their way;
A man may stab his enemy, or his vassal,
And live a free life as to wine or women,
And with a peevish temper may return
To a dull home, and rate his wife and children;
Daughters and wives call this foul tyranny.
I shall be well content if on my conscience
There rest no heavier sin than what they suffer
From the devices of my lovea net
From which she shall escape not. Yet I fear
Her subtle mind, her awe-inspiring gaze,
Whose beams anatomize me nerve by nerve
And lay me bare, and make me blush to see
My hidden thoughts.Ah, no! A friendless girl
Who clings to me, as to her only hope:
I were a fool, not less than if a panther
Were panic-stricken by the antelope's eye,
If she escape me.
[Exit.
Scene III.
A Magnificent Hall in the Cenci Palace. A Banquet. Enter Cenci, Lucretia, Beatrice, Orsino, Camillo, Nobles.
Cenci.
Welcome, my friends and kinsmen; welcome ye,
Princes and Cardinals, pillars of the church,
Whose presence honours our festivity.
I have too long lived like an anchorite,
And in my absence from your merry meetings
An evil word is gone abroad of me;
But I do hope that you, my noble friends,
When you have shared the entertainment here,
And heard the pious cause for which 'tis given,
And we have pledged a health or two together,
Will think me flesh and blood as well as you;
Sinful indeed, for Adam made all so,
But tender-hearted, meek and pitiful.
First Guest.
In truth, my Lord, you seem too light of heart,
Too sprightly and companionable a man,
To act the deeds that rumour pins on you. (To his Companion.)

I never saw such blithe and open cheer
In any eye!
Second Guest.
      Some most desired event,
In which we all demand a common joy,
Has brought us hither; let us hear it, Count.
Cenci.
It is indeed a most desired event.
If, when a parent from a parent's heart
Lifts from this earth to the great Father of all
A prayer, both when he lays him down to sleep,
And when he rises up from dreaming it;
One supplication, one desire, one hope,
That he would grant a wish for his two sons,
Even all that he demands in their regard
And suddenly beyond his dearest hope
It is accomplished, he should then rejoice,
And call his friends and kinsmen to a feast,
And task their love to grace his merriment,
Then honour me thus farfor I am he.
Beatrice
(to Lucretia).
Great God! How horrible! Some dreadful ill
Must have befallen my brothers.
Lucretia.
                 Fear not, Child,
He speaks too frankly.
Beatrice.
            Ah! My blood runs cold.
I fear that wicked laughter round his eye,
Which wrinkles up the skin even to the hair.
Cenci.
Here are the letters brought from Salamanca;
Beatrice, read them to your mother. God!
I thank thee! In one night didst thou perform,
By ways inscrutable, the thing I sought.
My disobedient and rebellious sons
Are dead!Why, dead!What means this change of cheer?
You hear me not, I tell you they are dead;
And they will need no food or raiment more:
The tapers that did light them the dark way
Are their last cost. The Pope, I think, will not
Expect I should maintain them in their coffins.
Rejoice with memy heart is wondrous glad.
[Lucretia sinks, half fainting; Beatrice supports her.
Beatrice.
It is not true!Dear lady, pray look up.
Had it been true, there is a God in Heaven,
He would not live to boast of such a boon.
Unnatural man, thou knowest that it is false.
Cenci.
Ay, as the word of God; whom here I call
To witness that I speak the sober truth;
And whose most favouring Providence was shown
Even in the manner of their deaths. For Rocco
Was kneeling at the mass, with sixteen others,
When the church fell and crushed him to a mummy,
The rest escaped unhurt. Cristofano
Was stabbed in error by a jealous man,
Whilst she he loved was sleeping with his rival;
All in the self-same hour of the same night;
Which shows that Heaven has special care of me.
I beg those friends who love me, that they mark
The day a feast upon their calendars.
It was the twenty-seventh of December:
Ay, read the letters if you doubt my oath.
[The Assembly appears confused; several of the guests rise.
First Guest.
Oh, horrible! I will depart
Second Guest.
                And I.
                Third Guest.
                    No, stay!
I do believe it is some jest; though faith!
'Tis mocking us somewhat too solemnly.
I think his son has married the Infanta,
Or found a mine of gold in El Dorado;
'Tis but to season some such news; stay, stay!
I see 'tis only raillery by his smile.
Cenci
(filling a bowl of wine, and lifting it up).
Oh, thou bright wine whose purple splendour leaps
And bubbles gaily in this golden bowl
Under the lamplight, as my spirits do,
To hear the death of my accursd sons!
Could I believe thou wert their mingled blood,
Then would I taste thee like a sacrament,
And pledge with thee the mighty Devil in Hell,
Who, if a father's curses, as men say,
Climb with swift wings after their children's souls,
And drag them from the very throne of Heaven,
Now triumphs in my triumph!But thou art
Superfluous; I have drunken deep of joy,
And I will taste no other wine to-night.
Here, Andrea! Bear the bowl around.
A Guest
(rising).
                   Thou wretch!
Will none among this noble company
Check the abandoned villain?
Camillo.
               For God's sake
Let me dismiss the guests! You are insane,
Some ill will come of this.
Second Guest.
               Seize, silence him!
               First Guest.
I will!
Third Guest.
    And I!
    Cenci
(addressing those who rise with a threatening gesture).
       Who moves? Who speaks?
       (turning to the Company)
                   'tis nothing
Enjoy yourselves.Beware! For my revenge
Is as the sealed commission of a king
That kills, and none dare name the murderer.
[The Banquet is broken up; several of the Guests are departing.
Beatrice.
I do entreat you, go not, noble guests;
What, although tyranny and impious hate
Stand sheltered by a father's hoary hair?
What, if 'tis he who clothed us in these limbs
Who tortures them, and triumphs? What, if we,
The desolate and the dead, were his own flesh,
His children and his wife, whom he is bound
To love and shelter? Shall we therefore find
No refuge in this merciless wide world?
O think what deep wrongs must have blotted out
First love, then reverence in a child's prone mind,
Till it thus vanquish shame and fear! O think!
I have borne much, and kissed the sacred hand
Which crushed us to the earth, and thought its stroke
Was perhaps some paternal chastisement!
Have excused much, doubted; and when no doubt
Remained, have sought by patience, love, and tears
To soften him, and when this could not be
I have knelt down through the long sleepless nights
And lifted up to God, the Father of all,
Passionate prayers: and when these were not heard
I have still borne,until I meet you here,
Princes and kinsmen, at this hideous feast
Given at my brothers' deaths. Two yet remain,
His wife remains and I, whom if ye save not,
Ye may soon share such merriment again
As fathers make over their children's graves.
O Prince Colonna, thou art our near kinsman,
Cardinal, thou art the Pope's chamberlain,
Camillo, thou art chief justiciary,
Take us away!
Cenci.
(He has been conversing with Camillo during the first part of Beatrice's speech; he hears the conclusion, and now advances.)
       I hope my good friends here
Will think of their own daughtersor perhaps
Of their own throatsbefore they lend an ear
To this wild girl.
Beatrice
(not noticing the words of Cenci).
          Dare no one look on me?
None answer? Can one tyrant overbear
The sense of many best and wisest men?
Or is it that I sue not in some form
Of scrupulous law, that ye deny my suit?
O God! That I were buried with my brothers!
And that the flowers of this departed spring
Were fading on my grave! And that my father
Were celebrating now one feast for all!
Camillo.
A bitter wish for one so young and gentle;
Can we do nothing?
Colonna.
          Nothing that I see.
Count Cenci were a dangerous enemy:
Yet I would second any one.
A Cardinal.
               And I.
               Cenci.
Retire to your chamber, insolent girl!
Beatrice.
Retire thou, impious man! Ay, hide thyself
Where never eye can look upon thee more!
Wouldst thou have honour and obedience
Who art a torturer? Father, never dream
Though thou mayst overbear this company,
But ill must come of ill.Frown not on me!
Haste, hide thyself, lest with avenging looks
My brothers' ghosts should hunt thee from thy seat!
Cover thy face from every living eye,
And start if thou but hear a human step:
Seek out some dark and silent corner, there,
Bow thy white head before offended God,
And we will kneel around, and fervently
Pray that he pity both ourselves and thee.
Cenci.
My friends, I do lament this insane girl
Has spoilt the mirth of our festivity.
Good night, farewell; I will not make you longer
Spectators of our dull domestic quarrels.
Another time.
[Exeunt all but Cenci and Beatrice.
        My brain is swimming round;
Give me a bowl of wine!
[To Beatrice.
            Thou painted viper!
Beast that thou art! Fair and yet terrible!
I know a charm shall make thee meek and tame,
Now get thee from my sight!
[Exit Beatrice.
               Here, Andrea,
Fill up this goblet with Greek wine. I said
I would not drink this evening; but I must;
For, strange to say, I feel my spirits fail
With thinking what I have decreed to do. [Drinking the wine.

Be thou the resolution of quick youth
Within my veins, and manhood's purpose stern,
And age's firm, cold, subtle villainy;
As if thou wert indeed my children's blood
Which I did thirst to drink! The charm works well;
It must be done; it shall be done, I swear!
[Exit.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II
Scene I.
An Apartment in the Cenci Palace. Enter Lucretia and Bernardo.
Lucretia.
Weep not, my gentle boy; he struck but me
Who have borne deeper wrongs. In truth, if he
Had killed me, he had done a kinder deed.
O God, Almighty, do Thou look upon us,
We have no other friend but only Thee!
Yet weep not; though I love you as my own,
I am not your true mother.
Bernardo.
              O more, more,
Than ever mother was to any child,
That have you been to me! Had he not been
My father, do you think that I should weep!
Lucretia.
Alas! Poor boy, what else couldst thou have done?
Enter Beatrice.
Beatrice
(in a hurried voice).
Did he pass this way? Have you seen him, brother?
Ah, no! that is his step upon the stairs;
'Tis nearer now; his hand is on the door;
Mother, if I to thee have ever been
A duteous child, now save me! Thou, great God,
Whose image upon earth a father is,
Dost Thou indeed abandon me? He comes;
The door is opening now; I see his face;
He frowns on others, but he smiles on me,
Even as he did after the feast last night. Enter a Servant.

Almighty God, how merciful Thou art!
'Tis but Orsino's servant.Well, what news?
Servant.
My master bids me say, the Holy Father
Has sent back your petition thus unopened. [Giving a paper.

And he demands at what hour 'twere secure
To visit you again?
Lucretia.
          At the Ave Mary.[Exit Servant.

So, daughter, our last hope has failed; Ah me!
How pale you look; you tremble, and you stand
Wrapped in some fixed and fearful meditation,
As if one thought were over strong for you:
Your eyes have a chill glare; O, dearest child!
Are you gone mad? If not, pray speak to me.
Beatrice.
You see I am not mad: I speak to you.
Lucretia.
You talked of something that your father did
After that dreadful feast? Could it be worse
Than when he smiled, and cried, 'My sons are dead!'
And every one looked in his neighbour's face
To see if others were as white as he?
At the first word he spoke I felt the blood
Rush to my heart, and fell into a trance;
And when it passed I sat all weak and wild;
Whilst you alone stood up, and with strong words
Checked his unnatural pride; and I could see
The devil was rebuked that lives in him.
Until this hour thus have you ever stood
Between us and your father's moody wrath
Like a protecting presence: your firm mind
Has been our only refuge and defence:
What can have thus subdued it? What can now
Have given you that cold melancholy look,
Succeeding to your unaccustomed fear?
Beatrice.
What is it that you say? I was just thinking
'Twere better not to struggle any more.
Men, like my father, have been dark and bloody,
Yet neverOh! Before worse comes of it
'Twere wise to die: it ends in that at last.
Lucretia.
Oh, talk not so, dear child! Tell me at once
What did your father do or say to you?
He stayed not after that accursd feast
One moment in your chamber.Speak to me.
Bernardo.
Oh, sister, sister, prithee, speak to us!
Beatrice
(speaking very slowly with a forced calmness).
It was one word, Mother, one little word;
One look, one smile. (Wildly.)
Oh! He has trampled me
Under his feet, and made the blood stream down
My pallid cheeks. And he has given us all
Ditch-water, and the fever-stricken flesh
Of buffaloes, and bade us eat or starve,
And we have eaten.He has made me look
On my beloved Bernardo, when the rust
Of heavy chains has gangrened his sweet limbs,
And I have never yet despairedbut now!
What could I say?
[Recovering herself.
         Ah, no! 'tis nothing new.
The sufferings we all share have made me wild:
He only struck and cursed me as he passed;
He said, he looked, he did;nothing at all
Beyond his wont, yet it disordered me.
Alas! I am forgetful of my duty,
I should preserve my senses for your sake.
Lucretia.
Nay, Beatrice; have courage, my sweet girl,
If any one despairs it should be I
Who loved him once, and now must live with him
Till God in pity call for him or me.
For you may, like your sister, find some husband,
And smile, years hence, with children round your knees;
Whilst I, then dead, and all this hideous coil
Shall be remembered only as a dream.
Beatrice.
Talk not to me, dear lady, of a husband.
Did you not nurse me when my mother died?
Did you not shield me and that dearest boy?
And had we any other friend but you
In infancy, with gentle words and looks,
To win our father not to murder us?
And shall I now desert you? May the ghost
Of my dead Mother plead against my soul
If I abandon her who filled the place
She left, with more, even, than a mother's love!
Bernardo.
And I am of my sister's mind. Indeed
I would not leave you in this wretchedness,
Even though the Pope should make me free to live
In some blithe place, like others of my age,
With sports, and delicate food, and the fresh air.
Oh, never think that I will leave you, Mother!
Lucretia.
My dear, dear children!
Enter Cenci, suddenly.
Cenci.
            What, Beatrice here!
Come hither!
[She shrinks back, and covers her face.
      Nay, hide not your face, 'tis fair;
Look up! Why, yesternight you dared to look
With disobedient insolence upon me,
Bending a stern and an inquiring brow
On what I meant; whilst I then sought to hide
That which I came to tell youbut in vain.
Beatrice
(wildly, staggering towards the door).
O that the earth would gape! Hide me, O God!
Cenci.
Then it was I whose inarticulate words
Fell from my lips, and who with tottering steps
Fled from your presence, as you now from mine.
Stay, I command youfrom this day and hour
Never again, I think, with fearless eye,
And brow superior, and unaltered cheek,
And that lip made for tenderness or scorn,
Shalt thou strike dumb the meanest of mankind;
Me least of all. Now get thee to thy chamber!
Thou too, loathed image of thy cursd mother, [To Bernardo.

Thy milky, meek face makes me sick with hate! [Exeunt Beatrice and Bernardo.
(Aside.)

So much has passed between us as must make
Me bold, her fearful.'Tis an awful thing
To touch such mischief as I now conceive:
So men sit shivering on the dewy bank,
And try the chill stream with their feet; once in . . .
How the delighted spirit pants for joy!
Lucretia
(advancing timidly towards him).
O husband! Pray forgive poor Beatrice.
She meant not any ill.
Cenci.
            Nor you perhaps?
Nor that young imp, whom you have taught by rote
Parricide with his alphabet? Nor Giacomo?
Nor those two most unnatural sons, who stirred
Enmity up against me with the Pope?
Whom in one night merciful God cut off:
Innocent lambs! They thought not any ill.
You were not here conspiring? You said nothing
Of how I might be dungeoned as a madman;
Or be condemned to death for some offence,
And you would be the witnesses?This failing,
How just it were to hire assassins, or
Put sudden poison in my evening drink?
Or smother me when overcome by wine?
Seeing we had no other judge but God,
And He had sentenced me, and there were none
But you to be the executioners
Of His decree enregistered in Heaven?
Oh, no! You said not this?
Lucretia.
              So help me God,
I never thought the things you charge me with!
Cenci.
If you dare speak that wicked lie again
I'll kill you. What! It was not by your counsel
That Beatrice disturbed the feast last night?
You did not hope to stir some enemies
Against me, and escape, and laugh to scorn
What every nerve of you now trembles at?
You judged that men were bolder than they are;
Few dare to stand between their grave and me.
Lucretia.
Look not so dreadfully! By my salvation
I knew not aught that Beatrice designed;
Nor do I think she designed any thing
Until she heard you talk of her dead brothers.
Cenci.
Blaspheming liar! You are damned for this!
But I will take you where you may persuade
The stones you tread on to deliver you:
For men shall there be none but those who dare
All thingsnot question that which I command.
On Wednesday next I shall set out: you know
That savage rock, the Castle of Petrella:
'Tis safely walled, and moated round about:
Its dungeons underground, and its thick towers
Never told tales; though they have heard and seen
What might make dumb things speak.Why do you linger?
Make speediest preparation for the journey! [Exit Lucretia.

The all-beholding sun yet shines; I hear
A busy stir of men about the streets;
I see the bright sky through the window panes:
It is a garish, broad, and peering day;
Loud, light, suspicious, full of eyes and ears,
And every little corner, nook, and hole
Is penetrated with the insolent light.
Come darkness! Yet, what is the day to me?
And wherefore should I wish for night, who do
A deed which shall confound both night and day?
'Tis she shall grope through a bewildering mist
Of horror: if there be a sun in heaven
She shall not dare to look upon its beams;
Nor feel its warmth. Let her then wish for night;
The act I think shall soon extinguish all
For me: I bear a darker deadlier gloom
Than the earth's shade, or interlunar air,
Or constellations quenched in murkiest cloud,
In which I walk secure and unbeheld
Towards my purpose.Would that it were done!
[Exit.
Scene II.
A Chamber in the Vatican. Enter Camillo and Giacomo, in conversation.
Camillo.
There is an obsolete and doubtful law
By which you might obtain a bare provision
Of food and clothing
Giacomo.
            Nothing more? Alas!
Bare must be the provision which strict law
Awards, and agd, sullen avarice pays.
Why did my father not apprentice me
To some mechanic trade? I should have then
Been trained in no highborn necessities
Which I could meet not by my daily toil.
The eldest son of a rich nobleman
Is heir to all his incapacities;
He has wide wants, and narrow powers. If you,
Cardinal Camillo, were reduced at once
From thrice-driven beds of down, and delicate food,
An hundred servants, and six palaces,
To that which nature doth indeed require?
Camillo.
Nay, there is reason in your plea; 'twere hard.
Giacomo.
'Tis hard for a firm man to bear: but I
Have a dear wife, a lady of high birth,
Whose dowry in ill hour I lent my father
Without a bond or witness to the deed:
And children, who inherit her fine senses,
The fairest creatures in this breathing world;
And she and they reproach me not. Cardinal,
Do you not think the Pope would interpose
And stretch authority beyond the law?
Camillo.
Though your peculiar case is hard, I know
The Pope will not divert the course of law.
After that impious feast the other night
I spoke with him, and urged him then to check
Your father's cruel hand; he frowned and said,
'Children are disobedient, and they sting
Their fathers' hearts to madness and despair,
Requiting years of care with contumely.
I pity the Count Cenci from my heart;
His outraged love perhaps awakened hate,
And thus he is exasperated to ill.
In the great war between the old and young
I, who have white hairs and a tottering body,
Will keep at least blameless neutrality.' Enter Orsino.

You, my good Lord Orsino, heard those words.
Orsino.
What words?
Giacomo.
      Alas, repeat them not again!
There then is no redress for me, at least
None but that which I may achieve myself,
Since I am driven to the brink.But, say,
My innocent sister and my only brother
Are dying underneath my father's eye.
The memorable torturers of this land,
Galeaz Visconti, Borgia, Ezzelin,
Never inflicted on the meanest slave
What these endure; shall they have no protection?
Camillo.
Why, if they would petition to the Pope
I see not how he could refuse ityet
He holds it of most dangerous example
In aught to weaken the paternal power,
Being, as 'twere, the shadow of his own.
I pray you now excuse me. I have business
That will not bear delay.
[Exit Camillo.
Giacomo.
              But you, Orsino,
Have the petition: wherefore not present it?
Orsino.
I have presented it, and backed it with
My earnest prayers, and urgent interest;
It was returned unanswered. I doubt not
But that the strange and execrable deeds
Alleged in itin truth they might well baffle
Any beliefhave turned the Pope's displeasure
Upon the accusers from the criminal:
So I should guess from what Camillo said.
Giacomo.
My friend, that palace-walking devil Gold
Has whispered silence to his Holiness:
And we are left, as scorpions ringed with fire.
What should we do but strike ourselves to death?
For he who is our murderous persecutor
Is shielded by a father's holy name,
Or I would
[Stops abruptly.
Orsino.
      What? Fear not to speak your thought.
Words are but holy as the deeds they cover:
A priest who has forsworn the God he serves;
A judge who makes Truth weep at his decree;
A friend who should weave counsel, as I now,
But as the mantle of some selfish guile;
A father who is all a tyrant seems,
Were the profaner for his sacred name.
Giacomo.
Ask me not what I think; the unwilling brain
Feigns often what it would not; and we trust
Imagination with such phantasies
As the tongue dares not fashion into words,
Which have no words, their horror makes them dim
To the mind's eye.My heart denies itself
To think what you demand.
Orsino.
              But a friend's bosom
Is as the inmost cave of our own mind
Where we sit shut from the wide gaze of day,
And from the all-communicating air.
You look what I suspected
Giacomo.
               Spare me now!
I am as one lost in a midnight wood,
Who dares not ask some harmless passenger
The path across the wilderness, lest he,
As my thoughts are, should bea murderer.
I know you are my friend, and all I dare
Speak to my soul that will I trust with thee.
But now my heart is heavy, and would take
Lone counsel from a night of sleepless care.
Pardon me, that I say farewellfarewell!
I would that to my own suspected self
I could address a word so full of peace.
Orsino.
Farewell!Be your thoughts better or more bold. [Exit Giacomo.

I had disposed the Cardinal Camillo
To feed his hope with cold encouragement:
It fortunately serves my close designs
That 'tis a trick of this same family
To analyse their own and other minds.
Such self-anatomy shall teach the will
Dangerous secrets: for it tempts our powers,
Knowing what must be thought, and may be done,
Into the depth of darkest purposes:
So Cenci fell into the pit; even I,
Since Beatrice unveiled me to myself,
And made me shrink from what I cannot shun,
Show a poor figure to my own esteem,
To which I grow half reconciled. I'll do
As little mischief as I can; that thought
Shall fee the accuser conscience.
(After a pause.)
                  Now what harm
If Cenci should be murdered?Yet, if murdered,
Wherefore by me? And what if I could take
The profit, yet omit the sin and peril
In such an action? Of all earthly things
I fear a man whose blows outspeed his words;
And such is Cenci: and while Cenci lives
His daughter's dowry were a secret grave
If a priest wins her.Oh, fair Beatrice!
Would that I loved thee not, or loving thee
Could but despise danger and gold and all
That frowns between my wish and its effect,
Or smiles beyond it! There is no escape . . .
Her bright form kneels beside me at the altar,
And follows me to the resort of men,
And fills my slumber with tumultuous dreams,
So when I wake my blood seems liquid fire;
And if I strike my damp and dizzy head
My hot palm scorches it: her very name,
But spoken by a stranger, makes my heart
Sicken and pant; and thus unprofitably
I clasp the phantom of unfelt delights
Till weak imagination half possesses
The self-created shadow. Yet much longer
Will I not nurse this life of feverous hours:
From the unravelled hopes of Giacomo
I must work out my own dear purposes.
I see, as from a tower, the end of all:
Her father dead; her brother bound to me
By a dark secret, surer than the grave;
Her mother scared and unexpostulating
From the dread manner of her wish achieved:
And she!Once more take courage, my faint heart;
What dares a friendless maiden matched with thee?
I have such foresight as assures success:
Some unbeheld divinity doth ever,
When dread events are near, stir up men's minds
To black suggestions; and he prospers best,
Not who becomes the instrument of ill,
But who can flatter the dark spirit, that makes
Its empire and its prey of other hearts
Till it become his slave . . . as I will do.
[Exit.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III
Scene I.
An Apartment in the Cenci Palace. Lucretia, to her enter Beatrice.
Beatrice.
(She enters staggering, and speaks wildly.)
Reach me that handkerchief!My brain is hurt;
My eyes are full of blood; just wipe them for me . . .
I see but indistinctly . . .
Lucretia.
               My sweet child,
You have no wound; 'tis only a cold dew
That starts from your dear brow . . . Alas! Alas!
What has befallen?
Beatrice.
          How comes this hair undone?
Its wandering strings must be what blind me so,
And yet I tied it fast.O, horrible!
The pavement sinks under my feet! The walls
Spin round! I see a woman weeping there,
And standing calm and motionless, whilst I
Slide giddily as the world reels. . . . My God!
The beautiful blue heaven is flecked with blood!
The sunshine on the floor is black! The air
Is changed to vapours such as the dead breathe
In charnel pits! Pah! I am choked! There creeps
A clinging, black, contaminating mist
About me . . . 'tis substantial, heavy, thick,
I cannot pluck it from me, for it glues
My fingers and my limbs to one another,
And eats into my sinews, and dissolves
My flesh to a pollution, poisoning
The subtle, pure, and inmost spirit of life!
My God! I never knew what the mad felt
Before; for I am mad beyond all doubt!
(More wildly.)
No, I am dead! These putrefying limbs
Shut round and sepulchre the panting soul
Which would burst forth into the wandering air! (A pause.)

What hideous thought was that I had even now?
'Tis gone; and yet its burthen remains here
O'er these dull eyes . . . upon this weary heart!
O, world! O, life! O, day! O, misery!
Lucretia.
What ails thee, my poor child? She answers not:
Her spirit apprehends the sense of pain,
But not its cause; suffering has dried away
The source from which it sprung . . .
Beatrice
(franticly).
                    Like Parricide . . .
Misery has killed its father: yet its father
Never like mine . . . O, God! What thing am I?
Lucretia.
My dearest child, what has your father done?
Beatrice
(doubtfully).
Who art thou, questioner? I have no father.
(Aside.)
She is the madhouse nurse who tends on me,
It is a piteous office.
[To Lucretia, in a slow, subdued voice.
            Do you know
I thought I was that wretched Beatrice
Men speak of, whom her father sometimes hales
From hall to hall by the entangled hair;
At others, pens up naked in damp cells
Where scaly reptiles crawl, and starves her there,
Till she will eat strange flesh. This woful story
So did I overact in my sick dreams,
That I imagined . . . no, it cannot be!
Horrible things have been in this wide world,
Prodigious mixtures, and confusions strange
Of good and ill; and worse have been conceived
Than ever there was found a heart to do.
But never fancy imaged such a deed
As . . .
[Pauses, suddenly recollecting herself.
    Who art thou? Swear to me, ere I die
With fearful expectation, that indeed
Thou art not what thou seemest . . . Mother!
Lucretia.
                        Oh!
My sweet child, know you . . .
Beatrice.
                Yet speak it not:
For then if this be truth, that other too
Must be a truth, a firm enduring truth,
Linked with each lasting circumstance of life,
Never to change, never to pass away.
Why so it is. This is the Cenci Palace;
Thou art Lucretia; I am Beatrice.
I have talked some wild words, but will no more.
Mother, come near me: from this point of time,
I am . . .
[Her voice dies away faintly.
Lucretia.
     Alas! What has befallen thee, child?
What has thy father done?
Beatrice.
              What have I done?
Am I not innocent? Is it my crime
That one with white hair, and imperious brow,
Who tortured me from my forgotten years,
As parents only dare, should call himself
My father, yet should be!Oh, what am I?
What name, what place, what memory shall be mine?
What retrospects, outliving even despair?
Lucretia.
He is a violent tyrant, surely, child:
We know that death alone can make us free;
His death or ours. But what can he have done
Of deadlier outrage or worse injury?
Thou art unlike thyself; thine eyes shoot forth
A wandering and strange spirit. Speak to me,
Unlock those pallid hands whose fingers twine
With one another.
Beatrice.
         'Tis the restless life
Tortured within them. If I try to speak
I shall go mad. Ay, something must be done;
What, yet I know not . . . something which shall make
The thing that I have suffered but a shadow
In the dread lightning which avenges it;
Brief, rapid, irreversible, destroying
The consequence of what it cannot cure.
Some such thing is to be endured or done:
When I know what, I shall be still and calm,
And never anything will move me more.
But now!O blood, which art my father's blood,
Circling through these contaminated veins,
If thou, poured forth on the polluted earth,
Could wash away the crime, and punishment
By which I suffer . . . no, that cannot be!
Many might doubt there were a God above
Who sees and permits evil, and so die:
That faith no agony shall obscure in me.
Lucretia.
It must indeed have been some bitter wrong;
Yet what, I dare not guess. Oh, my lost child,
Hide not in proud impenetrable grief
Thy sufferings from my fear.
Beatrice.
               I hide them not.
What are the words which you would have me speak?
I, who can feign no image in my mind
Of that which has transformed me: I, whose thought
Is like a ghost shrouded and folded up
In its own formless horror: of all words,
That minister to mortal intercourse,
Which wouldst thou hear? For there is none to tell
My misery: if another ever knew
Aught like to it, she died as I will die,
And left it, as I must, without a name.
Death! Death! Our law and our religion call thee
A punishment and a reward . . . Oh, which
Have I deserved?
Lucretia.
         The peace of innocence;
Till in your season you be called to heaven.
Whate'er you may have suffered, you have done
No evil. Death must be the punishment
Of crime, or the reward of trampling down
The thorns which God has strewed upon the path
Which leads to immortality.
Beatrice.
               Ay; death . . .
The punishment of crime. I pray thee, God,
Let me not be bewildered while I judge.
If I must live day after day, and keep
These limbs, the unworthy temple of Thy spirit,
As a foul den from which what Thou abhorrest
May mock Thee, unavenged . . . it shall not be!
Self-murder . . . no, that might be no escape,
For Thy decree yawns like a Hell between
Our will and it:O! In this mortal world
There is no vindication and no law
Which can adjudge and execute the doom
Of that through which I suffer.
Enter Orsino.
(She approaches him solemnly.)
                 Welcome, Friend!
I have to tell you that, since last we met,
I have endured a wrong so great and strange,
That neither life nor death can give me rest.
Ask me not what it is, for there are deeds
Which have no form, sufferings which have no tongue.
Orsino.
And what is he who has thus injured you?
Beatrice.
The man they call my father: a dread name.
Orsino.
It cannot be . . .
Beatrice.
          What it can be, or not,
Forbear to think. It is, and it has been;
Advise me how it shall not be again.
I thought to die; but a religious awe
Restrains me, and the dread lest death itself
Might be no refuge from the consciousness
Of what is yet unexpiated. Oh, speak!
Orsino.
Accuse him of the deed, and let the law
Avenge thee.
Beatrice.
      Oh, ice-hearted counsellor!
If I could find a word that might make known
The crime of my destroyer; and that done,
My tongue should like a knife tear out the secret
Which cankers my heart's core; ay, lay all bare
So that my unpolluted fame should be
With vilest gossips a stale mouthd story;
A mock, a byword, an astonishment:
If this were done, which never shall be done,
Think of the offender's gold, his dreaded hate,
And the strange horror of the accuser's tale,
Baffling belief, and overpowering speech;
Scarce whispered, unimaginable, wrapped
In hideous hints . . . Oh, most assured redress!
Orsino.
You will endure it then?
Beatrice.
             Endure?Orsino,
It seems your counsel is small profit.
[Turns from him, and speaks half to herself.
                     Ay,
All must be suddenly resolved and done.
What is this undistinguishable mist
Of thoughts, which rise, like shadow after shadow,
Darkening each other?
Orsino.
           Should the offender live?
Triumph in his misdeed? and make, by use,
His crime, whate'er it is, dreadful no doubt,
Thine element; until thou mayst become
Utterly lost; subdued even to the hue
Of that which thou permittest?
Beatrice
(to herself).
                Mighty death!
Thou double-visaged shadow? Only judge!
Rightfullest arbiter!
[She retires absorbed in thought.
Lucretia.
           If the lightning
Of God has e'er descended to avenge . . .
Orsino.
Blaspheme not! His high Providence commits
Its glory on this earth, and their own wrongs
Into the hands of men; if they neglect
To punish crime . . .
Lucretia.
           But if one, like this wretch,
Should mock, with gold, opinion, law, and power?
If there be no appeal to that which makes
The guiltiest tremble? If because our wrongs,
For that they are unnatural, strange, and monstrous,
Exceed all measure of belief? O God!
If, for the very reasons which should make
Redress most swift and sure, our injurer triumphs?
And we, the victims, bear worse punishment
Than that appointed for their torturer?
Orsino.
                     Think not
But that there is redress where there is wrong,
So we be bold enough to seize it.
Lucretia.
                  How?
If there were any way to make all sure,
I know not . . . but I think it might be good
To . . .
Orsino.
    Why, his late outrage to Beatrice;
For it is such, as I but faintly guess,
As makes remorse dishonour, and leaves her
Only one duty, how she may avenge:
You, but one refuge from ills ill endured;
Me, but one counsel . . .
Lucretia.
              For we cannot hope
That aid, or retribution, or resource
Will arise thence, where every other one
Might find them with less need.
[Beatrice advances.
Orsino.
                 Then . . .
                 Beatrice.
                      Peace, Orsino!
And, honoured Lady, while I speak, I pray,
That you put off, as garments overworn,
Forbearance and respect, remorse and fear,
And all the fit restraints of daily life,
Which have been borne from childhood, but which now
Would be a mockery to my holier plea.
As I have said, I have endured a wrong,
Which, though it be expressionless, is such
As asks atonement; both for what is past,
And lest I be reserved, day after day,
To load with crimes an overburthened soul,
And be . . . what ye can dream not. I have prayed
To God, and I have talked with my own heart,
And have unravelled my entangled will,
And have at length determined what is right.
Art thou my friend, Orsino? False or true?
Pledge thy salvation ere I speak.
Orsino.
                  I swear
To dedicate my cunning, and my strength,
My silence, and whatever else is mine,
To thy commands.
Lucretia.
         You think we should devise
His death?
Beatrice.
     And execute what is devised,
And suddenly. We must be brief and bold.
Orsino.
And yet most cautious.
Lucretia.
            For the jealous laws
Would punish us with death and infamy
For that which it became themselves to do.
Beatrice.
Be cautious as ye may, but prompt. Orsino,
What are the means?
Orsino.
          I know two dull, fierce outlaws,
Who think man's spirit as a worm's, and they
Would trample out, for any slight caprice,
The meanest or the noblest life. This mood
Is marketable here in Rome. They sell
What we now want.
Lucretia.
         To-morrow before dawn,
Cenci will take us to that lonely rock,
Petrella, in the Apulian Apennines.
If he arrive there . . .
Beatrice.
             He must not arrive.
             Orsino.
Will it be dark before you reach the tower?
Lucretia.
The sun will scarce be set.
Beatrice.
               But I remember
Two miles on this side of the fort, the road
Crosses a deep ravine; 'tis rough and narrow,
And winds with short turns down the precipice;
And in its depth there is a mighty rock,
Which has, from unimaginable years,
Sustained itself with terror and with toil
Over a gulf, and with the agony
With which it clings seems slowly coming down;
Even as a wretched soul hour after hour,
Clings to the mass of life; yet clinging, leans;
And leaning, makes more dark the dread abyss
In which it fears to fall: beneath this crag
Huge as despair, as if in weariness,
The melancholy mountain yawns . . . below,
You hear but see not an impetuous torrent
Raging among the caverns, and a bridge
Crosses the chasm; and high above there grow,
With intersecting trunks, from crag to crag,
Cedars, and yews, and pines; whose tangled hair
Is matted in one solid roof of shade
By the dark ivy's twine. At noonday here
'Tis twilight, and at sunset blackest night.
Orsino.
Before you reach that bridge make some excuse
For spurring on your mules, or loitering
Until . . .
Beatrice.
      What sound is that?
      Lucretia.
Hark! No, it cannot be a servant's step
It must be Cenci, unexpectedly
Returned . . . Make some excuse for being here.
Beatrice.
(To Orsino, as she goes out.)
That step we hear approach must never pass
The bridge of which we spoke.
[Exeunt Lucretia and Beatrice.
Orsino.
                What shall I do?
Cenci must find me here, and I must bear
The imperious inquisition of his looks
As to what brought me hither: let me mask
Mine own in some inane and vacant smile. Enter Giacomo, in a hurried manner.

How! Have you ventured hither? Know you then
That Cenci is from home?
Giacomo.
             I sought him here;
And now must wait till he returns.
Orsino.
                  Great God!
Weigh you the danger of this rashness?
Giacomo.
                     Ay!
Does my destroyer know his danger? We
Are now no more, as once, parent and child,
But man to man; the oppressor to the oppressed;
The slanderer to the slandered; foe to foe:
He has cast Nature off, which was his shield,
And Nature casts him off, who is her shame;
And I spurn both. Is it a father's throat
Which I will shake, and say, I ask not gold;
I ask not happy years; nor memories
Of tranquil childhood; nor home-sheltered love;
Though all these hast thou torn from me, and more;
But only my fair fame; only one hoard
Of peace, which I thought hidden from thy hate,
Under the penury heaped on me by thee,
Or I will . . . God can understand and pardon,
Why should I speak with man?
Orsino.
               Be calm, dear friend.
               Giacomo.
Well, I will calmly tell you what he did.
This old Francesco Cenci, as you know,
Borrowed the dowry of my wife from me,
And then denied the loan; and left me so
In poverty, the which I sought to mend
By holding a poor office in the state.
It had been promised to me, and already
I bought new clothing for my raggd babes,
And my wife smiled; and my heart knew repose.
When Cenci's intercession, as I found,
Conferred this office on a wretch, whom thus
He paid for vilest service. I returned
With this ill news, and we sate sad together
Solacing our despondency with tears
Of such affection and unbroken faith
As temper life's worst bitterness; when he,
As he is wont, came to upbraid and curse,
Mocking our poverty, and telling us
Such was God's scourge for disobedient sons.
And then, that I might strike him dumb with shame,
I spoke of my wife's dowry; but he coined
A brief yet specious tale, how I had wasted
The sum in secret riot; and he saw
My wife was touched, and he went smiling forth.
And when I knew the impression he had made,
And felt my wife insult with silent scorn
My ardent truth, and look averse and cold,
I went forth too: but soon returned again;
Yet not so soon but that my wife had taught
My children her harsh thoughts, and they all cried,
'Give us clothes, father! Give us better food!
What you in one night squander were enough
For months!' I looked, and saw that home was hell.
And to that hell will I return no more
Until mine enemy has rendered up
Atonement, or, as he gave life to me
I will, reversing Nature's law . . .
Orsino.
                    Trust me,
The compensation which thou seekest here
Will be denied.
Giacomo.
        Then . . . Are you not my friend?
Did you not hint at the alternative,
Upon the brink of which you see I stand,
The other day when we conversed together?
My wrongs were then less. That word parricide,
Although I am resolved, haunts me like fear.
Orsino.
It must be fear itself, for the bare word
Is hollow mockery. Mark, how wisest God
Draws to one point the threads of a just doom,
So sanctifying it: what you devise
Is, as it were, accomplished.
Giacomo.
                Is he dead?
                Orsino.
His grave is ready. Know that since we met
Cenci has done an outrage to his daughter.
Giacomo.
What outrage?
Orsino.
       That she speaks not, but you may
Conceive such half conjectures as I do,
From her fixed paleness, and the lofty grief
Of her stern brow bent on the idle air,
And her severe unmodulated voice,
Drowning both tenderness and dread; and last
From this; that whilst her step-mother and I,
Bewildered in our horror, talked together
With obscure hints; both self-misunderstood
And darkly guessing, stumbling, in our talk,
Over the truth, and yet to its revenge,
She interrupted us, and with a look
Which told before she spoke it, he must die: . . .
Giacomo.
It is enough. My doubts are well appeased;
There is a higher reason for the act
Than mine; there is a holier judge than me,
A more unblamed avenger. Beatrice,
Who in the gentleness of thy sweet youth
Hast never trodden on a worm, or bruised
A living flower, but thou hast pitied it
With needless tears! Fair sister, thou in whom
Men wondered how such loveliness and wisdom
Did not destroy each other! Is there made
Ravage of thee? O, heart, I ask no more
Justification! Shall I wait, Orsino,
Till he return, and stab him at the door?
Orsino.
Not so; some accident might interpose
To rescue him from what is now most sure;
And you are unprovided where to fly,
How to excuse or to conceal. Nay, listen:
All is contrived; success is so assured
That . . .
Enter Beatrice.
Beatrice.
     'Tis my brother's voice! You know me not?
     Giacomo.
My sister, my lost sister!
Beatrice.
              Lost indeed!
I see Orsino has talked with you, and
That you conjecture things too horrible
To speak, yet far less than the truth. Now, stay not,
He might return: yet kiss me; I shall know
That then thou hast consented to his death.
Farewell, farewell! Let piety to God,
Brotherly love, justice and clemency,
And all things that make tender hardest hearts
Make thine hard, brother. Answer not . . . farewell.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene II.
A mean Apartment in Giacomo's House. Giacomo alone.
Giacomo.
'Tis midnight, and Orsino comes not yet. [Thunder, and the sound of a storm.

What! can the everlasting elements
Feel with a worm like man? If so, the shaft
Of mercy-wingd lightning would not fall
On stones and trees. My wife and children sleep:
They are now living in unmeaning dreams:
But I must wake, still doubting if that deed
Be just which is most necessary. O,
Thou unreplenished lamp! whose narrow fire
Is shaken by the wind, and on whose edge
Devouring darkness hovers! Thou small flame,
Which, as a dying pulse rises and falls,
Still flickerest up and down, how very soon,
Did I not feed thee, wouldst thou fail and be
As thou hadst never been! So wastes and sinks
Even now, perhaps, the life that kindled mine:
But that no power can fill with vital oil
That broken lamp of flesh. Ha! 'tis the blood
Which fed these veins that ebbs till all is cold:
It is the form that moulded mine that sinks
Into the white and yellow spasms of death:
It is the soul by which mine was arrayed
In God's immortal likeness which now stands
Naked before Heaven's judgement seat!
[A bell strikes.
                    One! Two!
The hours crawl on; and when my hairs are white,
My son will then perhaps be waiting thus,
Tortured between just hate and vain remorse;
Chiding the tardy messenger of news
Like those which I expect. I almost wish
He be not dead, although my wrongs are great;
Yet . . . 'tis Orsino's step . . .
Enter Orsino.
                  Speak!
                  Orsino.
                      I am come
To say he has escaped.
Giacomo.
            Escaped!
            Orsino.
                And safe
Within Petrella. He passed by the spot
Appointed for the deed an hour too soon.
Giacomo.
Are we the fools of such contingencies?
And do we waste in blind misgivings thus
The hours when we should act? Then wind and thunder,
Which seemed to howl his knell, is the loud laughter
With which Heaven mocks our weakness! I henceforth
Will ne'er repent of aught designed or done
But my repentance.
Orsino.
          See, the lamp is out.
          Giacomo.
If no remorse is ours when the dim air
Has drank this innocent flame, why should we quail
When Cenci's life, that light by which ill spirits
See the worst deeds they prompt, shall sink for ever?
No, I am hardened.
Orsino.
          Why, what need of this?
Who feared the pale intrusion of remorse
In a just deed? Although our first plan failed,
Doubt not but he will soon be laid to rest.
But light the lamp; let us not talk i' the dark.
Giacomo
(lighting the lamp).
And yet once quenched I cannot thus relume
My father's life: do you not think his ghost
Might plead that argument with God?
Orsino.
                   Once gone
You cannot now recall your sister's peace;
Your own extinguished years of youth and hope;
Nor your wife's bitter words; nor all the taunts
Which, from the prosperous, weak misfortune takes;
Nor your dead mother; nor . . .
Giacomo.
                 O, speak no more!
I am resolved, although this very hand
Must quench the life that animated it.
Orsino.
There is no need of that. Listen: you know
Olimpio, the castellan of Petrella
In old Colonna's time; him whom your father
Degraded from his post? And Marzio,
That desperate wretch, whom he deprived last year
Of a reward of blood, well earned and due?
Giacomo.
I knew Olimpio; and they say he hated
Old Cenci so, that in his silent rage
His lips grew white only to see him pass.
Of Marzio I know nothing.
Orsino.
              Marzio's hate
Matches Olimpio's. I have sent these men,
But in your name, and as at your request,
To talk with Beatrice and Lucretia.
Giacomo.
Only to talk?
Orsino.
       The moments which even now
Pass onward to to-morrow's midnight hour
May memorize their flight with death: ere then
They must have talked, and may perhaps have done,
And made an end . . .
Giacomo.
           Listen! What sound is that?
           Orsino.
The house-dog moans, and the beams crack: nought else.
Giacomo.
It is my wife complaining in her sleep:
I doubt not she is saying bitter things
Of me; and all my children round her dreaming
That I deny them sustenance.
Orsino.
               Whilst he
Who truly took it from them, and who fills
Their hungry rest with bitterness, now sleeps
Lapped in bad pleasures, and triumphantly
Mocks thee in visions of successful hate
Too like the truth of day.
Giacomo.
              If e'er he wakes
Again, I will not trust to hireling hands . . .
Orsino.
Why, that were well. I must be gone; good-night.
When next we meetmay all be done!
Giacomo.
                   And all
Forgotten: Oh, that I had never been!
[Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV
Scene I.
An Apartment in the Castle of Petrella. Enter Cenci.
Cenci.
She comes not; yet I left her even now
Vanquished and faint. She knows the penalty
Of her delay: yet what if threats are vain?
Am I not now within Petrella's moat?
Or fear I still the eyes and ears of Rome?
Might I not drag her by the golden hair?
Stamp on her? Keep her sleepless till her brain
Be overworn? Tame her with chains and famine?
Less would suffice. Yet so to leave undone
What I most seek! No, 'tis her stubborn will
Which by its own consent shall stoop as low
As that which drags it down.
Enter Lucretia.
               Thou loathd wretch!
Hide thee from my abhorrence: fly, begone!
Yet stay! Bid Beatrice come hither.
Lucretia.
                   Oh,
Husband! I pray for thine own wretched sake
Heed what thou dost. A man who walks like thee
Through crimes, and through the danger of his crimes,
Each hour may stumble o'er a sudden grave.
And thou art old; thy hairs are hoary gray;
As thou wouldst save thyself from death and hell,
Pity thy daughter; give her to some friend
In marriage: so that she may tempt thee not
To hatred, or worse thoughts, if worse there be.
Cenci.
What! like her sister who has found a home
To mock my hate from with prosperity?
Strange ruin shall destroy both her and thee
And all that yet remain. My death may be
Rapid, her destiny outspeeds it. Go,
Bid her come hither, and before my mood
Be changed, lest I should drag her by the hair.
Lucretia.
She sent me to thee, husband. At thy presence
She fell, as thou dost know, into a trance;
And in that trance she heard a voice which said,
'Cenci must die! Let him confess himself!
Even now the accusing Angel waits to hear
If God, to punish his enormous crimes,
Harden his dying heart!'
Cenci.
             Whysuch things are . . .
No doubt divine revealings may be made.
'Tis plain I have been favoured from above,
For when I cursed my sons they died.Ay . . . so . . .
As to the right or wrong, that's talk . . . repentance . . .
Repentance is an easy moment's work
And more depends on God than me. Well . . . well . . .
I must give up the greater point, which was
To poison and corrupt her soul.
[A pause; Lucretia approaches anxiously, and then shrinks back as he speaks.
                 One, two;
Ay . . . Rocco and Cristofano my curse
Strangled: and Giacomo, I think, will find
Life a worse Hell than that beyond the grave:
Beatrice shall, if there be skill in hate,
Die in despair, blaspheming: to Bernardo,
He is so innocent, I will bequeath
The memory of these deeds, and make his youth
The sepulchre of hope, where evil thoughts
Shall grow like weeds on a neglected tomb.
When all is done, out in the wide Campagna,
I will pile up my silver and my gold;
My costly robes, paintings and tapestries;
My parchments and all records of my wealth,
And make a bonfire in my joy, and leave
Of my possessions nothing but my name;
Which shall be an inheritance to strip
Its wearer bare as infamy. That done,
My soul, which is a scourge, will I resign
Into the hands of him who wielded it;
Be it for its own punishment or theirs,
He will not ask it of me till the lash
Be broken in its last and deepest wound;
Until its hate be all inflicted. Yet,
Lest death outspeed my purpose, let me make
Short work and sure . . .
[Going.
Lucretia.
(Stops him.)
              Oh, stay! It was a feint:
She had no vision, and she heard no voice.
I said it but to awe thee.
Cenci.
              That is well.
Vile palterer with the sacred truth of God,
Be thy soul choked with that blaspheming lie!
For Beatrice worse terrors are in store
To bend her to my will.
Lucretia.
            Oh! to what will?
What cruel sufferings more than she has known
Canst thou inflict?
Cenci.
          Andrea! Go call my daughter,
And if she comes not tell her that I come.
What sufferings? I will drag her, step by step,
Through infamies unheard of among men:
She shall stand shelterless in the broad noon
Of public scorn, for acts blazoned abroad,
One among which shall be . . . What? Canst thou guess?
She shall become (for what she most abhors
Shall have a fascination to entrap
Her loathing will) to her own conscious self
All she appears to others; and when dead,
As she shall die unshrived and unforgiven,
A rebel to her father and her God,
Her corpse shall be abandoned to the hounds;
Her name shall be the terror of the earth;
Her spirit shall approach the throne of God
Plague-spotted with my curses. I will make
Body and soul a monstrous lump of ruin.
Enter Andrea.
Andrea.
The Lady Beatrice . . .
Cenci.
            Speak, pale slave! What
Said she?
Andrea.
     My Lord, 'twas what she looked; she said:
'Go tell my father that I see the gulf
Of Hell between us two, which he may pass,
I will not.'
[Exit Andrea.
Cenci.
      Go thou quick, Lucretia,
Tell her to come; yet let her understand
Her coming is consent: and say, moreover,
That if she come not I will curse her.
[Exit Lucretia.
                     Ha!
With what but with a father's curse doth God
Panic-strike armd victory, and make pale
Cities in their prosperity? The world's Father
Must grant a parent's prayer against his child,
Be he who asks even what men call me.
Will not the deaths of her rebellious brothers
Awe her before I speak? For I on them
Did imprecate quick ruin, and it came. Enter Lucretia.

Well; what? Speak, wretch!
Lucretia.
              She said, 'I cannot come;
Go tell my father that I see a torrent
Of his own blood raging between us.'
Cenci
(kneeling).
                    God!
Hear me! If this most specious mass of flesh,
Which Thou hast made my daughter; this my blood,
This particle of my divided being;
Or rather, this my bane and my disease,
Whose sight infects and poisons me; this devil
Which sprung from me as from a hell, was meant
To aught good use; if her bright loveliness
Was kindled to illumine this dark world;
If nursed by Thy selectest dew of love
Such virtues blossom in her as should make
The peace of life, I pray Thee for my sake,
As Thou the common God and Father art
Of her, and me, and all; reverse that doom!
Earth, in the name of God, let her food be
Poison, until she be encrusted round
With leprous stains! Heaven, rain upon her head
The blistering drops of the Maremma's dew,
Till she be speckled like a toad; parch up
Those love-enkindled lips, warp those fine limbs
To loathd lameness! All-beholding sun,
Strike in thine envy those life-darting eyes
With thine own blinding beams!
Lucretia.
                Peace! Peace!
For thine own sake unsay those dreadful words.
When high God grants He punishes such prayers.
Cenci
(leaping up, and throwing his right hand towards Heaven).
He does His will, I mine! This in addition,
That if she have a child . . .
Lucretia.
                Horrible thought!
                Cenci.
That if she ever have a child; and thou,
Quick Nature! I adjure thee by thy God,
That thou be fruitful in her, and increase
And multiply, fulfilling his command,
And my deep imprecation! May it be
A hideous likeness of herself, that as
From a distorting mirror, she may see
Her image mixed with what she most abhors,
Smiling upon her from her nursing breast.
And that the child may from its infancy
Grow, day by day, more wicked and deformed,
Turning her mother's love to misery:
And that both she and it may live until
It shall repay her care and pain with hate,
Or what may else be more unnatural.
So he may hunt her through the clamorous scoffs
Of the loud world to a dishonoured grave.
Shall I revoke this curse? Go, bid her come,
Before my words are chronicled in Heaven. [Exit Lucretia.

I do not feel as if I were a man,
But like a fiend appointed to chastise
The offences of some unremembered world.
My blood is running up and down my veins;
A fearful pleasure makes it prick and tingle:
I feel a giddy sickness of strange awe;
My heart is beating with an expectation
Of horrid joy.
Enter Lucretia.
       What? Speak!
       Lucretia.
              She bids thee curse;
And if thy curses, as they cannot do,
Could kill her soul . . .
Cenci.
              She would not come. 'Tis well,
I can do both: first take what I demand,
And then extort concession. To thy chamber!
Fly ere I spurn thee: and beware this night
That thou cross not my footsteps. It were safer
To come between the tiger and his prey.[Exit Lucretia.

It must be late; mine eyes grow weary dim
With unaccustomed heaviness of sleep.
Conscience! Oh, thou most insolent of lies!
They say that sleep, that healing dew of Heaven,
Steeps not in balm the foldings of the brain
Which thinks thee an impostor. I will go
First to belie thee with an hour of rest,
Which will be deep and calm, I feel: and then . . .
O, multitudinous Hell, the fiends will shake.
Thine arches with the laughter of their joy!
There shall be lamentation heard in Heaven
As o'er an angel fallen; and upon Earth
All good shall droop and sicken, and ill things
Shall with a spirit of unnatural life
Stir and be quickened . . . even as I am now.
[Exit.
Scene II.
Before the Castle of Petrella. Enter Beatrice andLucretia above on the Ramparts.
Beatrice.
They come not yet.
Lucretia.
          'Tis scarce midnight.
          Beatrice.
                     How slow
Behind the course of thought, even sick with speed,
Lags leaden-footed time!
Lucretia.
             The minutes pass . . .
If he should wake before the deed is done?
Beatrice.
O, mother! He must never wake again.
What thou hast said persuades me that our act
Will but dislodge a spirit of deep hell
Out of a human form.
Lucretia.
           'Tis true he spoke
Of death and judgement with strange confidence
For one so wicked; as a man believing
In God, yet recking not of good or ill.
And yet to die without confession! . . .
Beatrice.
                      Oh!
Believe that Heaven is merciful and just,
And will not add our dread necessity
To the amount of his offences.
Enter Olimpio and Marzio, below.
Lucretia.
                See,
They come.
Beatrice.
     All mortal things must hasten thus
To their dark end. Let us go down.
[Exeunt Lucretia and Beatrice from above.
Olimpio.
How feel you to this work?
Marzio.
              As one who thinks
A thousand crowns excellent market price
For an old murderer's life. Your cheeks are pale.
Olimpio.
It is the white reflection of your own,
Which you call pale.
Marzio.
           Is that their natural hue?
           Olimpio.
Or 'tis my hate and the deferred desire
To wreak it, which extinguishes their blood.
Marzio.
You are inclined then to this business?
Olimpio.
                     Ay.
If one should bribe me with a thousand crowns
To kill a serpent which had stung my child,
I could not be more willing.
Enter Beatrice and Lucretia, below.
               Noble ladies!
               Beatrice.
Are ye resolved?
Olimpio.
         Is he asleep?
         Marzio.
                Is all
Quiet?
Lucretia.
   I mixed an opiate with his drink:
He sleeps so soundly . . .
Beatrice.
              That his death will be
But as a change of sin-chastising dreams,
A dark continuance of the Hell within him,
Which God extinguish! But ye are resolved?
Ye know it is a high and holy deed?
Olimpio.
We are resolved.
Marzio.
         As to the how this act
Be warranted, it rests with you.
Beatrice.
                 Well, follow!
                 Olimpio.
Hush! Hark! What noise is that?
Marzio.
                 Ha! some one comes!
                 Beatrice.
Ye conscience-stricken cravens, rock to rest
Your baby hearts. It is the iron gate,
Which ye left open, swinging to the wind,
That enters whistling as in scorn. Come, follow!
And be your steps like mine, light, quick and bold.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
An Apartment in the Castle. Enter Beatrice and Lucretia.
Lucretia.
They are about it now.
Beatrice.
            Nay, it is done.
            Lucretia.
I have not heard him groan.
Beatrice.
               He will not groan.
               Lucretia.
What sound is that?
Beatrice.
          List! 'tis the tread of feet
About his bed.
Lucretia.
       My God!
If he be now a cold stiff corpse . . .
Beatrice.
                     O, fear not
What may be done, but what is left undone:
The act seals all.
Enter Olimpio and Marzio.
          Is it accomplished?
          Marzio.
                    What?
                    Olimpio.
Did you not call?
Beatrice.
         When?
         Olimpio.
            Now.
            Beatrice.
              I ask if all is over?
              Olimpio.
We dare not kill an old and sleeping man;
His thin gray hair, his stern and reverend brow,
His veind hands crossed on his heaving breast,
And the calm innocent sleep in which he lay,
Quelled me. Indeed, indeed, I cannot do it.
Marzio.
But I was bolder; for I chid Olimpio,
And bade him bear his wrongs to his own grave
And leave me the reward. And now my knife
Touched the loose wrinkled throat, when the old man
Stirred in his sleep, and said, 'God! hear, O, hear,
A father's curse! What, art Thou not our Father?'
And then he laughed. I knew it was the ghost
Of my dead father speaking through his lips,
And could not kill him.
Beatrice.
            Miserable slaves!
Where, if ye dare not kill a sleeping man,
Found ye the boldness to return to me
With such a deed undone? Base palterers!
Cowards and traitors! Why, the very conscience
Which ye would sell for gold and for revenge
Is an equivocation: it sleeps over
A thousand daily acts disgracing men;
And when a deed where mercy insults Heaven . . .
Why do I talk?
[Snatching a dagger from one of them and raising it.
       Hadst thou a tongue to say,
'She murdered her own father!'I must do it!
But never dream ye shall outlive him long!
Olimpio.
Stop, for God's sake!
Marzio.
           I will go back and kill him.
           Olimpio.
Give me the weapon. we must do thy will.
Beatrice.
Take it! Depart! Return!
[Exeunt Olimpio and Marzio.
             How pale thou art!
We do but that which 'twere a deadly crime
To leave undone.
Lucretia.
         Would it were done!
         Beatrice.
                   Even whilst
That doubt is passing through your mind, the world
Is conscious of a change. Darkness and Hell
Have swallowed up the vapour they sent forth
To blacken the sweet light of life. My breath
Comes, methinks, lighter, and the jellied blood
Runs freely through my veins. Hark!
Enter Olimpio and Marzio.
                   He is . . .
                   Olimpio.
                         Dead!
                         Marzio.
We strangled him that there might be no blood;
And then we threw his heavy corpse i' the garden
Under the balcony; 'twill seem it fell.
Beatrice
(giving them a bag of coin).
Here, take this gold, and hasten to your homes.
And, Marzio, because thou wast only awed
By that which made me tremble, wear thou this! [Clothes him in a rich mantle.

It was the mantle which my grandfather
Wore in his high prosperity, and men
Envied his state: so may they envy thine.
Thou wert a weapon in the hand of God
To a just use. Live long and thrive! And, mark,
If thou hast crimes, repent: this deed is none.
[A horn is sounded.
Lucretia.
Hark, 'tis the castle horn; my God! it sounds
Like the last trump.
Beatrice
           Some tedious guest is coming.
           Lucretia.
The drawbridge is let down; there is a tramp
Of horses in the court; fly, hide yourselves!
[Exeunt Olimpio and Marzio.
Beatrice.
Let us retire to counterfeit deep rest;
I scarcely need to counterfeit it now:
The spirit which doth reign within these limbs
Seems strangely undisturbed. I could even sleep
Fearless and calm: all ill is surely past.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.
Another Apartment in the Castle. Enter on one side the Legate Savella, introduced by a Servant, and on the other Lucretia and Bernardo.
Savella.
Lady, my duty to his Holiness
Be my excuse that thus unseasonably
I break upon your rest. I must speak with
Count Cenci; doth he sleep?
Lucretia
(in a hurried and confused manner).
               I think he sleeps;
Yet wake him not, I pray, spare me awhile,
He is a wicked and a wrathful man;
Should he be roused out of his sleep to-night,
Which is, I know, a hell of angry dreams,
It were not well; indeed it were not well.
Wait till day break . . . (aside)
O, I am deadly sick!
Savella.
I grieve thus to distress you, but the Count
Must answer charges of the gravest import,
And suddenly; such my commission is.
Lucretia
(with increased agitation).
I dare not rouse him: I know none who dare . . .
'Twere perilous; . . . you might as safely waken
A serpent; or a corpse in which some fiend
Were laid to sleep.
Savella.
          Lady, my moments here
Are counted. I must rouse him from his sleep,
Since none else dare.
Lucretia
(aside).
           O, terror! O, despair!
(To Bernardo.)
Bernardo, conduct you the Lord Legate to
Your father's chamber.
[Exeunt Savella and Bernardo.
Enter Beatrice.
Beatrice.
            'Tis a messenger
Come to arrest the culprit who now stands
Before the throne of unappealable God.
Both Earth and Heaven, consenting arbiters,
Acquit our deed.
Lucretia.
         Oh, agony of fear!
Would that he yet might live! Even now I heard
The Legate's followers whisper as they passed
They had a warrant for his instant death.
All was prepared by unforbidden means
Which we must pay so dearly, having done.
Even now they search the tower, and find the body;
Now they suspect the truth; now they consult
Before they come to tax us with the fact;
O, horrible, 'tis all discovered!
Beatrice.
                  Mother,
What is done wisely, is done well. Be bold
As thou art just. 'Tis like a truant child
To fear that others know what thou hast done,
Even from thine own strong consciousness, and thus
Write on unsteady eyes and altered cheeks
All thou wouldst hide. Be faithful to thyself,
And fear no other witness but thy fear.
For if, as cannot be, some circumstance
Should rise in accusation, we can blind
Suspicion with such cheap astonishment,
Or overbear it with such guiltless pride,
As murderers cannot feign. The deed is done,
And what may follow now regards not me.
I am as universal as the light;
Free as the earth-surrounding air; as firm
As the world's centre. Consequence, to me,
Is as the wind which strikes the solid rock
But shakes it not.
[A cry within and tumult.
Voices.
          Murder! Murder! Murder!
          Enter Bernardo and Savella.
Savella
(to his followers).
Go search the castle round; sound the alarm;
Look to the gates that none escape!
Beatrice.
                   What now?
                   Bernardo.
I know not what to say . . . my father's dead.
Beatrice.
How; dead! he only sleeps; you mistake, brother.
His sleep is very calm, very like death;
'Tis wonderful how well a tyrant sleeps.
He is not dead?
Bernardo.
        Dead; murdered.
        Lucretia
(with extreme agitation).
                Oh no, no
He is not murdered though he may be dead;
I have alone the keys of those apartments.
Savella.
Ha! Is it so?
Beatrice.
       My Lord, I pray excuse us;
We will retire; my mother is not well:
She seems quite overcome with this strange horror.
[Exeunt Lucretia and Beatrice.
Savella.
Can you suspect who may have murdered him?
Bernardo.
I know not what to think.
Savella.
              Can you name any
Who had an interest in his death?
Bernardo.
                  Alas!
I can name none who had not, and those most
Who most lament that such a deed is done;
My mother, and my sister, and myself.
Savella.
'Tis strange! There were clear marks of violence.
I found the old man's body in the moonlight
Hanging beneath the window of his chamber,
Among the branches of a pine: he could not
Have fallen there, for all his limbs lay heaped
And effortless; 'tis true there was no blood . . .
Favour me, Sir; it much imports your house
That all should be made clear; to tell the ladies
That I request their presence.
[Exit Bernardo.
Enter Guards bringing in Marzio.
Guard.
                We have one.
                Officer.
My Lord, we found this ruffian and another
Lurking among the rocks; there is no doubt
But that they are the murderers of Count Cenci:
Each had a bag of coin; this fellow wore
A gold-inwoven robe, which shining bright
Under the dark rocks to the glimmering moon
Betrayed them to our notice: the other fell
Desperately fighting.
Savella.
           What does he confess?
           Officer.
He keeps firm silence; but these lines found on him
May speak.
Savella.
     Their language is at least sincere.
     [Reads.
'To the Lady Beatrice.

'That the atonement of what my nature sickens to conjecture may soon arrive, I send thee, at thy brother's desire, those who will speak and do more than I dare write. . .

'Thy devoted servant, Orsino.'

Enter Lucretia, Beatrice, and Bernardo.
Knowest thou this writing, Lady?
Beatrice.
                 No.
                 Savella.
                   Nor thou?
                   Lucretia.
(Her conduct throughout the scene is marked by extreme agitation.)
Where was it found? What is it? It should be
Orsino's hand! It speaks of that strange horror
Which never yet found utterance, but which made
Between that hapless child and her dead father
A gulf of obscure hatred.
Savella.
              Is it so?
Is it true, Lady, that thy father did
Such outrages as to awaken in thee
Unfilial hate?
Beatrice.
       Not hate, 'twas more than hate:
This is most true, yet wherefore question me?
Savella.
There is a deed demanding question done;
Thou hast a secret which will answer not.
Beatrice.
What sayest? My Lord, your words are bold and rash.
Savella.
I do arrest all present in the name
Of the Pope's Holiness. You must to Rome.
Lucretia.
O, not to Rome! Indeed we are not guilty.
Beatrice.
Guilty! Who dares talk of guilt? My Lord,
I am more innocent of parricide
Than is a child born fatherless . . . Dear mother,
Your gentleness and patience are no shield
For this keen-judging world, this two-edged lie,
Which seems, but is not. What! will human laws,
Rather will ye who are their ministers,
Bar all access to retribution first,
And then, when Heaven doth interpose to do
What ye neglect, arming familiar things
To the redress of an unwonted crime,
Make ye the victims who demanded it
Culprits? 'Tis ye are culprits! That poor wretch
Who stands so pale, and trembling, and amazed,
If it be true he murdered Cenci, was
A sword in the right hand of justest God.
Wherefore should I have wielded it? Unless
The crimes which mortal tongue dare never name
God therefore scruples to avenge.
Savella.
                  You own
That you desired his death?
Beatrice.
               It would have been
A crime no less than his, if for one moment
That fierce desire had faded in my heart.
'Tis true I did believe, and hope, and pray,
Ay, I even knew . . . for God is wise and just,
That some strange sudden death hung over him.
'Tis true that this did happen, and most true
There was no other rest for me on earth,
No other hope in Heaven . . . now what of this?
Savella.
Strange thoughts beget strange deeds; and here are both:
I judge thee not.
Beatrice.
         And yet, if you arrest me,
You are the judge and executioner
Of that which is the life of life: the breath
Of accusation kills an innocent name,
And leaves for lame acquittal the poor life
Which is a mask without it. 'Tis most false
That I am guilty of foul parricide;
Although I must rejoice, for justest cause,
That other hands have sent my father's soul
To ask the mercy he denied to me.
Now leave us free; stain not a noble house
With vague surmises of rejected crime;
Add to our sufferings and your own neglect
No heavier sum: let them have been enough:
Leave us the wreck we have.
Savella.
               I dare not, Lady.
I pray that you prepare yourselves for Rome:
There the Pope's further pleasure will be known.
Lucretia.
O, not to Rome! O, take us not to Rome!
Beatrice.
Why not to Rome, dear mother? There as here
Our innocence is as an armd heel
To trample accusation. God is there
As here, and with His shadow ever clothes
The innocent, the injured and the weak;
And such are we. Cheer up, dear Lady, lean
On me; collect your wandering thoughts. My Lord,
As soon as you have taken some refreshment,
And had all such examinations made
Upon the spot, as may be necessary
To the full understanding of this matter,
We shall be ready. Mother; will you come?
Lucretia.
Ha! they will bind us to the rack, and wrest
Self-accusation from our agony!
Will Giacomo be there? Orsino? Marzio?
All present; all confronted; all demanding
Each from the other's countenance the thing
Which is in every heart! O, misery!
[She faints, and is borne out.
Savella.
She faints: an ill appearance this.
Beatrice.
                   My Lord,
She knows not yet the uses of the world.
She fears that power is as a beast which grasps
And loosens not: a snake whose look transmutes
All things to guilt which is its nutriment.
She cannot know how well the supine slaves
Of blind authority read the truth of things
When written on a brow of guilelessness:
She sees not yet triumphant Innocence
Stand at the judgement-seat of mortal man,
A judge and an accuser of the wrong
Which drags it there. Prepare yourself, my Lord;
Our suite will join yours in the court below.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V
Scene I.
An Apartment in Orsino's Palace. Enter Orsino and Giacomo.
Giacomo.
Do evil deeds thus quickly come to end?
O, that the vain remorse which must chastise
Crimes done, had but as loud a voice to warn
As its keen sting is mortal to avenge!
O, that the hour when present had cast off
The mantle of its mystery, and shown
The ghastly form with which it now returns
When its scared game is roused, cheering the hounds
Of conscience to their prey! Alas! Alas!
It was a wicked thought, a piteous deed,
To kill an old and hoary-headed father.
Orsino.
It has turned out unluckily, in truth.
Giacomo.
To violate the sacred doors of sleep;
To cheat kind Nature of the placid death
Which she prepares for overwearied age;
To drag from Heaven an unrepentant soul
Which might have quenched in reconciling prayers
A life of burning crimes . . .
Orsino.
                You cannot say
I urged you to the deed.
Giacomo.
             O, had I never
Found in thy smooth and ready countenance
The mirror of my darkest thoughts; hadst thou
Never with hints and questions made me look
Upon the monster of my thought, until
It grew familiar to desire . . .
Orsino.
                 'Tis thus
Men cast the blame of their unprosperous acts
Upon the abettors of their own resolve;
Or anything but their weak, guilty selves.
And yet, confess the truth, it is the peril
In which you stand that gives you this pale sickness
Of penitence; confess 'tis fear disguised
From its own shame that takes the mantle now
Of thin remorse. What if we yet were safe?
Giacomo.
How can that be? Already Beatrice,
Lucretia and the murderer are in prison.
I doubt not officers are, whilst we speak,
Sent to arrest us.
Orsino.
          I have all prepared
For instant flight. We can escape even now,
So we take fleet occasion by the hair.
Giacomo.
Rather expire in tortures, as I may.
What! will you cast by self-accusing flight
Assured conviction upon Beatrice?
She, who alone in this unnatural work,
Stands like God's angel ministered upon
By fiends; avenging such a nameless wrong
As turns black parricide to piety;
Whilst we for basest ends . . . I fear, Orsino,
While I consider all your words and looks,
Comparing them with your proposal now,
That you must be a villain. For what end
Could you engage in such a perilous crime,
Training me on with hints, and signs, and smiles,
Even to this gulf? Thou art no liar? No,
Thou art a lie! Traitor and murderer!
Coward and slave! But, no, defend thyself; [Drawing.

Let the sword speak what the indignant tongue
Disdains to brand thee with.
Orsino.
               Put up your weapon.
Is it the desperation of your fear
Makes you thus rash and sudden with a friend,
Now ruined for your sake? If honest anger
Have moved you, know, that what I just proposed
Was but to try you. As for me, I think,
Thankless affection led me to this point,
From which, if my firm temper could repent,
I cannot now recede. Even whilst we speak
The ministers of justice wait below:
They grant me these brief moments. Now if you
Have any word of melancholy comfort
To speak to your pale wife, 'twere best to pass
Out at the postern, and avoid them so.
Giacomo.
O, generous friend! How canst thou pardon me?
Would that my life could purchase thine!
Orsino.
                      That wish
Now comes a day too late. Haste; fare thee well!
Hear'st thou not steps along the corridor? [Exit Giacomo.

I'm sorry for it; but the guards are waiting
At his own gate, and such was my contrivance
That I might rid me both of him and them.
I thought to act a solemn comedy
Upon the painted scene of this new world,
And to attain my own peculiar ends
By some such plot of mingled good and ill
As others weave; but there arose a Power
Which grasped and snapped the threads of my device
And turned it to a net of ruin . . . Ha! [A shout is heard.

Is that my name I hear proclaimed abroad?
But I will pass, wrapped in a vile disguise;
Rags on my back, and a false innocence
Upon my face, through the misdeeming crowd
Which judges by what seems. 'Tis easy then
For a new name and for a country new,
And a new life, fashioned on old desires,
To change the honours of abandoned Rome.
And these must be the masks of that within,
Which must remain unaltered . . . Oh, I fear
That what is past will never let me rest!
Why, when none else is conscious, but myself,
Of my misdeeds, should my own heart's contempt
Trouble me? Have I not the power to fly
My own reproaches? Shall I be the slave
Of . . . what? A word? which those of this false world
Employ against each other, not themselves;
As men wear daggers not for self-offence.
But if I am mistaken, where shall I
Find the disguise to hide me from myself,
As now I skulk from every other eye?
[Exit.
Scene II.
A Hall of Justice. Camillo, Judges, &c., are discovered seated; Marzio is led in.
First Judge.
Accused, do you persist in your denial?
I ask you, are you innocent, or guilty?
I demand who were the participators
In your offence? Speak truth and the whole truth.
Marzio.
My God! I did not kill him; I know nothing;
Olimpio sold the robe to me from which
You would infer my guilt.
Second Judge.
              Away with him!
              First Judge.
Dare you, with lips yet white from the rack's kiss
Speak false? Is it so soft a questioner,
That you would bandy lover's talk with it
Till it wind out your life and soul? Away!
Marzio.
Spare me! O, spare! I will confess.
First Judge.
                   Then speak.
                   Marzio.
I strangled him in his sleep.
First Judge.
                Who urged you to it?
                Marzio.
His own son Giacomo, and the young prelate
Orsino sent me to Petrella; there
The ladies Beatrice and Lucretia
Tempted me with a thousand crowns, and I
And my companion forthwith murdered him.
Now let me die.
First Judge.
        This sounds as bad as truth. Guards, there,
Lead forth the prisoner!
Enter Lucretia, Beatrice, and Giacomo, guarded.
             Look upon this man;
When did you see him last?
Beatrice.
              We never saw him.
              Marzio.
You know me too well, Lady Beatrice.
Beatrice.
I know thee! How? where? when?
Marzio.
                You know 'twas I
Whom you did urge with menaces and bribes
To kill your father. When the thing was done
You clothed me in a robe of woven gold
And bade me thrive: how I have thriven, you see.
You, my Lord Giacomo, Lady Lucretia,
You know that what I speak is true.
[Beatrice advances towards him; he covers his face, and shrinks back.
                   Oh, dart
The terrible resentment of those eyes
On the dead earth! Turn them away from me!
They wound: 'twas torture forced the truth. My Lords,
Having said this let me be led to death.
Beatrice.
Poor wretch, I pity thee: yet stay awhile.
Camillo.
Guards, lead him not away.
Beatrice.
              Cardinal Camillo,
You have a good repute for gentleness
And wisdom: can it be that you sit here
To countenance a wicked farce like this?
When some obscure and trembling slave is dragged
From sufferings which might shake the sternest heart
And bade to answer, not as he believes,
But as those may suspect or do desire
Whose questions thence suggest their own reply:
And that in peril of such hideous torments
As merciful God spares even the damned. Speak now
The thing you surely know, which is that you,
If your fine frame were stretched upon that wheel,
And you were told: 'Confess that you did poison
Your little nephew; that fair blue-eyed child
Who was the lodestar of your life:'and though
All see, since his most swift and piteous death,
That day and night, and heaven and earth, and time,
And all the things hoped for or done therein
Are changed to you, through your exceeding grief,
Yet you would say, 'I confess anything:'
And beg from your tormentors, like that slave,
The refuge of dishonourable death.
I pray thee, Cardinal, that thou assert
My innocence.
Camillo.
(much moved).
       What shall we think, my Lords?
Shame on these tears! I thought the heart was frozen
Which is their fountain. I would pledge my soul
That she is guiltless.
Judge.
            Yet she must be tortured.
            Camillo.
I would as soon have tortured mine own nephew
(If he now lived he would be just her age;
His hair, too, was her colour, and his eyes
Like hers in shape, but blue and not so deep)
As that most perfect image of God's love
That ever came sorrowing upon the earth.
She is as pure as speechless infancy!
Judge.
Well, be her purity on your head, my Lord,
If you forbid the rack. His Holiness
Enjoined us to pursue this monstrous crime
By the severest forms of law; nay even
To stretch a point against the criminals.
The prisoners stand accused of parricide
Upon such evidence as justifies
Torture.
Beatrice.
What evidence? This man's?
Judge.
              Even so.
              Beatrice
(to Marzio).
Come near. And who art thou thus chosen forth
Out of the multitude of living men
To kill the innocent?
Marzio.
           I am Marzio,
Thy father's vassal.
Beatrice.
           Fix thine eyes on mine;
Answer to what I ask.
[Turning to the Judges.
           I prithee mark
His countenance: unlike bold calumny
Which sometimes dares not speak the thing it looks,
He dares not look the thing he speaks, but bends
His gaze on the blind earth.
(To Marzio.)
               What! wilt thou say
That I did murder my own father?
Marzio.
                 Oh!
Spare me! My brain swims round . . . I cannot speak . . .
It was that horrid torture forced the truth.
Take me away! Let her not look on me!
I am a guilty miserable wretch;
I have said all I know; now, let me die!
Beatrice.
My Lords, if by my nature I had been
So stern, as to have planned the crime alleged,
Which your suspicions dictate to this slave,
And the rack makes him utter, do you think
I should have left this two-edged instrument
Of my misdeed; this man, this bloody knife
With my own name engraven on the heft,
Lying unsheathed amid a world of foes,
For my own death? That with such horrible need
For deepest silence, I should have neglected
So trivial a precaution, as the making
His tomb the keeper of a secret written
On a thief's memory? What is his poor life?
What are a thousand lives? A parricide
Had trampled them like dust; and, see, he lives! (Turning to Marzio.)

And thou . . .
Marzio.
       Oh, spare me! Speak to me no more!
That stern yet piteous look, those solemn tones,
Wound worse than torture.
(To the Judges.
              I have told it all;
For pity's sake lead me away to death.
Camillo.
Guards, lead him nearer the Lady Beatrice,
He shrinks from her regard like autumn's leaf
From the keen breath of the serenest north.
Beatrice.
O thou who tremblest on the giddy verge
Of life and death, pause ere thou answerest me;
So mayst thou answer God with less dismay:
What evil have we done thee? I, alas!
Have lived but on this earth a few sad years,
And so my lot was ordered, that a father
First turned the moments of awakening life
To drops, each poisoning youth's sweet hope; and then
Stabbed with one blow my everlasting soul;
And my untainted fame; and even that peace
Which sleeps within the core of the heart's heart;
But the wound was not mortal; so my hate
Became the only worship I could lift
To our great father, who in pity and love,
Armed thee, as thou dost say, to cut him off;
And thus his wrong becomes my accusation;
And art thou the accuser? If thou hopest
Mercy in heaven, show justice upon earth:
Worse than a bloody hand is a hard heart.
If thou hast done murders, made thy life's path
Over the trampled laws of God and man,
Rush not before thy Judge, and say: 'My maker,
I have done this and more; for there was one
Who was most pure and innocent on earth;
And because she endured what never any
Guilty or innocent endured before:
Because her wrongs could not be told, not thought;
Because thy hand at length did rescue her;
I with my words killed her and all her kin.'
Think, I adjure you, what it is to slay
The reverence living in the minds of men
Towards our ancient house, and stainless fame!
Think what it is to strangle infant pity,
Cradled in the belief of guileless looks,
Till it become a crime to suffer. Think
What 'tis to blot with infamy and blood
All that which shows like innocence, and is,
Hear me, great God! I swear, most innocent,
So that the world lose all discrimination
Between the sly, fierce, wild regard of guilt,
And that which now compels thee to reply
To what I ask: Am I, or am I not
A parricide?
Marzio.
      Thou art not!
      Judge.
              What is this?
              Marzio.
I here declare those whom I did accuse
Are innocent. 'Tis I alone am guilty.
Judge.
Drag him away to torments; let them be
Subtle and long drawn out, to tear the folds
Of the heart's inmost cell. Unbind him not
Till he confess.
Marzio.
         Torture me as ye will:
A keener pang has wrung a higher truth
From my last breath. She is most innocent!
Bloodhounds, not men, glut yourselves well with me;
I will not give you that fine piece of nature
To rend and ruin.
[Exit Marzio, guarded.
Camillo.
         What say ye now, my Lords?
         Judge.
Let tortures strain the truth till it be white
As snow thrice sifted by the frozen wind.
Camillo.
Yet stained with blood.
Judge
(to Beatrice).
            Know you this paper, Lady?
            Beatrice.
Entrap me not with questions. Who stands here
As my accuser? Ha! wilt thou be he,
Who art my judge? Accuser, witness, judge,
What, all in one? Here is Orsino's name;
Where is Orsino? Let his eye meet mine.
What means this scrawl? Alas! ye know not what,
And therefore on the chance that it may be
Some evil, will ye kill us?
Enter an Officer.
Officer.
               Marzio's dead.
               Judge.
What did he say?
Officer.
         Nothing. As soon as we
Had bound him on the wheel, he smiled on us,
As one who baffles a deep adversary;
And holding his breath, died.
Judge.
                There remains nothing
But to apply the question to those prisoners,
Who yet remain stubborn.
Camillo.
             I overrule
Further proceedings, and in the behalf
Of these most innocent and noble persons
Will use my interest with the Holy Father.
Judge.
Let the Pope's pleasure then be done. Meanwhile
Conduct these culprits each to separate cells;
And be the engines ready: for this night
If the Pope's resolution be as grave,
Pious, and just as once, I'll wring the truth
Out of those nerves and sinews, groan by groan.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
The Cell of a Prison. Beatrice is discovered asleep on a couch. Enter Bernardo.
Bernardo.
How gently slumber rests upon her face,
Like the last thoughts of some day sweetly spent
Closing in night and dreams, and so prolonged.
After such torments as she bore last night,
How light and soft her breathing comes. Ay me!
Methinks that I shall never sleep again.
But I must shake the heavenly dew of rest
From this sweet folded flower, thus . . . wake! awake!
What, sister, canst thou sleep?
Beatrice
(awaking).
                 I was just dreaming
That we were all in Paradise. Thou knowest
This cell seems like a kind of Paradise
After our father's presence.
Bernardo.
               Dear, dear sister,
Would that thy dream were not a dream! O God!
How shall I tell?
Beatrice.
         What wouldst thou tell, sweet brother?
         Bernardo.
Look not so calm and happy, or even whilst
I stand considering what I have to say
My heart will break.
Beatrice.
           See now, thou mak'st me weep:
How very friendless thou wouldst be, dear child,
If I were dead. Say what thou hast to say.
Bernardo.
They have confessed; they could endure no more
The tortures . . .
Beatrice.
          Ha! What was there to confess?
They must have told some weak and wicked lie
To flatter their tormentors. Have they said
That they were guilty? O white innocence,
That thou shouldst wear the mask of guilt to hide
Thine awful and serenest countenance
From those who know thee not!
Enter Judge with Lucretia and Giacomo, guarded.
                Ignoble hearts!
For some brief spasms of pain, which are at least
As mortal as the limbs through which they pass,
Are centuries of high splendour laid in dust?
And that eternal honour which should live
Sunlike, above the reek of mortal fame,
Changed to a mockery and a byword? What!
Will you give up these bodies to be dragged
At horses' heels, so that our hair should sweep
The footsteps of the vain and senseless crowd,
Who, that they may make our calamity
Their worship and their spectacle, will leave
The churches and the theatres as void
As their own hearts? Shall the light multitude
Fling, at their choice, curses or faded pity,
Sad funeral flowers to deck a living corpse,
Upon us as we pass to pass away,
And leave . . . what memory of our having been?
Infamy, blood, terror, despair? O thou,
Who wert a mother to the parentless,
Kill not thy child! Let not her wrongs kill thee!
Brother, lie down with me upon the rack,
And let us each be silent as a corpse;
It soon will be as soft as any grave.
'Tis but the falsehood it can wring from fear
Makes the rack cruel.
Giacomo.
           They will tear the truth
Even from thee at last, those cruel pains:
For pity's sake say thou art guilty now.
Lucretia.
Oh, speak the truth! Let us all quickly die;
And after death, God is our judge, not they;
He will have mercy on us.
Bernardo.
              If indeed
It can be true, say so, dear sister mine;
And then the Pope will surely pardon you,
And all be well.
Judge.
         Confess, or I will warp
Your limbs with such keen tortures . . .
Beatrice.
                      Tortures! Turn
The rack henceforth into a spinning-wheel!
Torture your dog, that he may tell when last
He lapped the blood his master shed . . . not me!
My pangs are of the mind, and of the heart,
And of the soul; ay, of the inmost soul,
Which weeps within tears as of burning gall
To see, in this ill world where none are true,
My kindred false to their deserted selves.
And with considering all the wretched life
Which I have lived, and its now wretched end,
And the small justice shown by Heaven and Earth
To me or mine; and what a tyrant thou art,
And what slaves these; and what a world we make,
The oppressor and the oppressed . . . such pangs compel
My answer. What is it thou wouldst with me?
Judge.
Art thou not guilty of thy father's death?
Beatrice.
Or wilt thou rather tax high-judging God
That He permitted such an act as that
Which I have suffered, and which He beheld;
Made it unutterable, and took from it
All refuge, all revenge, all consequence,
But that which thou hast called my father's death?
Which is or is not what men call a crime,
Which either I have done, or have not done;
Say what ye will. I shall deny no more.
If ye desire it thus, thus let it be,
And so an end of all. Now do your will;
No other pains shall force another word.
Judge.
She is convicted, but has not confessed.
Be it enough. Until their final sentence
Let none have converse with them. You, young Lord,
Linger not here!
Beatrice.
         Oh, tear him not away!
         Judge.
Guards, do your duty.
Bernardo
(embracing Beatrice).
           Oh! would ye divide
Body from soul?
Officer.
        That is the headsman's business.
        [Exeunt all but Lucretia, Beatrice, and Giacomo.
Giacomo.
Have I confessed? Is it all over now?
No hope! No refuge! O weak, wicked tongue
Which hast destroyed me, would that thou hadst been
Cut out and thrown to dogs first! To have killed
My father first, and then betrayed my sister;
Ay, thee! the one thing innocent and pure
In this black guilty world, to that which I
So well deserve! My wife! my little ones!
Destitute, helpless, and I . . . Father! God!
Canst Thou forgive even the unforgiving,
When their full hearts break thus, thus! . . .
[Covers his face and weeps.
Lucretia.
                         O my child!
To what a dreadful end are we all come!
Why did I yield? Why did I not sustain
Those torments? Oh, that I were all dissolved
Into these fast and unavailing tears,
Which flow and feel not!
Beatrice.
             What 'twas weak to do,
'Tis weaker to lament, once being done;
Take cheer! The God who knew my wrong, and made
Our speedy act the angel of His wrath,
Seems, and but seems, to have abandoned us.
Let us not think that we shall die for this.
Brother, sit near me; give me your firm hand,
You had a manly heart. Bear up! Bear up!
O dearest Lady, put your gentle head
Upon my lap, and try to sleep awhile:
Your eyes look pale, hollow and overworn,
With heaviness of watching and slow grief.
Come, I will sing you some low, sleepy tune,
Not cheerful, nor yet sad; some dull old thing,
Some outworn and unused monotony,
Such as our country gossips sing and spin,
Till they almost forget they live: lie down!
So, that will do. Have I forgot the words?
Faith! They are sadder than I thought they were.
SONG
False friend, wilt thou smile or weep
When my life is laid asleep?
Little cares for a smile or a tear,
The clay-cold corpse upon the bier!
Farewell! Heigho!
What is this whispers low?
There is a snake in thy smile, my dear;
And bitter poison within thy tear.
Sweet sleep, were death like to thee,
Or if thou couldst mortal be,
I would close these eyes of pain;
When to wake? Never again.
O World! Farewell!
Listen to the passing bell!
It says, thou and I must part,
With a light and a heavy heart.
[The scene closes.
Scene IV.
A Hall of the Prison. Enter Camillo and Bernardo.
Camillo.
The Pope is stern; not to be moved or bent.
He looked as calm and keen as is the engine
Which tortures and which kills, exempt itself
From aught that it inflicts; a marble form,
A rite, a law, a custom: not a man.
He frowned, as if to frown had been the trick
Of his machinery, on the advocates
Presenting the defences, which he tore
And threw behind, muttering with hoarse, harsh voice:
'Which among ye defended their old father
Killed in his sleep?' Then to another: 'Thou
Dost this in virtue of thy place; 'tis well.'
He turned to me then, looking deprecation,
And said these three words, coldly: 'They must die.'
Bernardo.
And yet you left him not?
Camillo.
              I urged him still;
Pleading, as I could guess, the devilish wrong
Which prompted your unnatural parent's death.
And he replied: 'Paolo Santa Croce
Murdered his mother yester evening,
And he is fled. Parricide grows so rife
That soon, for some just cause no doubt, the young
Will strangle us all, dozing in our chairs.
Authority, and power, and hoary hair
Are grown crimes capital. You are my nephew,
You come to ask their pardon; stay a moment;
Here is their sentence; never see me more
Till, to the letter, it be all fulfilled.'
Bernardo.
O God, not so! I did believe indeed
That all you said was but sad preparation
For happy news. Oh, there are words and looks
To bend the sternest purpose! Once I knew them,
Now I forget them at my dearest need.
What think you if I seek him out, and bathe
His feet and robe with hot and bitter tears?
Importune him with prayers, vexing his brain
With my perpetual cries, until in rage
He strike me with his pastoral cross, and trample
Upon my prostrate head, so that my blood
May stain the senseless dust on which he treads,
And remorse waken mercy? I will do it!
Oh, wait till I return!
[Rushes out.
Camillo.
            Alas! poor boy!
A wreck-devoted seaman thus might pray
To the deaf sea.
Enter Lucretia, Beatrice, and Giacomo, guarded.
Beatrice.
         I hardly dare to fear
That thou bring'st other news than a just pardon.
Camillo.
May God in heaven be less inexorable
To the Pope's prayers, than he has been to mine.
Here is the sentence and the warrant.
Beatrice
(wildly).
                    O
My God! Can it be possible I have
To die so suddenly? So young to go
Under the obscure, cold, rotting, wormy ground!
To be nailed down into a narrow place;
To see no more sweet sunshine; hear no more
Blithe voice of living thing; muse not again
Upon familiar thoughts, sad, yet thus lost
How fearful! to be nothing! Or to be . . .
What? Oh, where am I? Let me not go mad!
Sweet Heaven, forgive weak thoughts! If there should be
No God, no Heaven, no Earth in the void world;
The wide, gray, lampless, deep, unpeopled world!
If all things then should be . . . my father's spirit,
His eye, his voice, his touch surrounding me;
The atmosphere and breath of my dead life!
If sometimes, as a shape more like himself,
Even the form which tortured me on earth,
Masked in gray hairs and wrinkles, he should come
And wind me in his hellish arms, and fix
His eyes on mine, and drag me down, down, down!
For was he not alone omnipotent
On Earth, and ever present? Even though dead,
Does not his spirit live in all that breathe,
And work for me and mine still the same ruin,
Scorn, pain, despair? Who ever yet returned
To teach the laws of Death's untrodden realm?
Unjust perhaps as those which drive us now,
Oh, whither, whither?
Lucretia.
           Trust in God's sweet love,
The tender promises of Christ: ere night,
Think, we shall be in Paradise.
Beatrice.
                 'Tis past!
Whatever comes my heart shall sink no more.
And yet, I know not why, your words strike chill:
How tedious, false and cold seem all things. I
Have met with much injustice in this world;
No difference has been made by God or man,
Or any power moulding my wretched lot,
'Twixt good or evil, as regarded me.
I am cut off from the only world I know,
From light, and life, and love, in youth's sweet prime.
You do well telling me to trust in God,
I hope I do trust in Him. In whom else
Can any trust? And yet my heart is cold.
[During the latter speeches Giacomo has retired conversing with Camillo, who now goes out; Giacomo advances.
Giacomo.
Know you not, Mother . . . Sister, know you not?
Bernardo even now is gone to implore
The Pope to grant our pardon.
Lucretia.
                Child, perhaps
It will be granted. We may all then live
To make these woes a tale for distant years:
Oh, what a thought! It gushes to my heart
Like the warm blood.
Beatrice.
           Yet both will soon be cold.
Oh, trample out that thought! Worse than despair,
Worse than the bitterness of death, is hope:
It is the only ill which can find place
Upon the giddy, sharp and narrow hour
Tottering beneath us. Plead with the swift frost
That it should spare the eldest flower of spring:
Plead with awakening earthquake, o'er whose couch
Even now a city stands, strong, fair, and free;
Now stench and blackness yawn, like death. Oh, plead
With famine, or wind-walking Pestilence,
Blind lightning, or the deaf sea, not with man!
Cruel, cold, formal man; righteous in words,
In deeds a Cain. No, Mother, we must die:
Since such is the reward of innocent lives;
Such the alleviation of worst wrongs.
And whilst our murderers live, and hard, cold men,
Smiling and slow, walk through a world of tears
To death as to life's sleep; 'twere just the grave
Were some strange joy for us. Come, obscure Death,
And wind me in thine all-embracing arms!
Like a fond mother hide me in thy bosom,
And rock me to the sleep from which none wake.
Live ye, who live, subject to one another
As we were once, who now . . .
Bernardo rushes in.
Bernardo.
                Oh, horrible!
That tears, that looks, that hope poured forth in prayer,
Even till the heart is vacant and despairs,
Should all be vain! The ministers of death
Are waiting round the doors. I thought I saw
Blood on the face of one . . . What if 'twere fancy?
Soon the heart's blood of all I love on earth
Will sprinkle him, and he will wipe it off
As if 'twere only rain. O life! O world!
Cover me! let me be no more! To see
That perfect mirror of pure innocence
Wherein I gazed, and grew happy and good,
Shivered to dust! To see thee, Beatrice,
Who made all lovely thou didst look upon . . .
Thee, light of life . . . dead, dark! while I say, sister,
To hear I have no sister; and thou, Mother,
Whose love was as a bond to all our loves . . .
Dead! The sweet bond broken!
Enter Camillo and Guards.
               They come! Let me
Kiss those warm lips before their crimson leaves
Are blighted . . . white . . . cold. Say farewell, before
Death chokes that gentle voice! Oh, let me hear
You speak!
Beatrice.
     Farewell, my tender brother. Think
Of our sad fate with gentleness, as now:
And let mild, pitying thoughts lighten for thee
Thy sorrow's load. Err not in harsh despair,
But tears and patience. One thing more, my child:
For thine own sake be constant to the love
Thou bearest us; and to the faith that I,
Though wrapped in a strange cloud of crime and shame,
Lived ever holy and unstained. And though
Ill tongues shall wound me, and our common name
Be as a mark stamped on thine innocent brow
For men to point at as they pass, do thou
Forbear, and never think a thought unkind
Of those, who perhaps love thee in their graves.
So mayest thou die as I do; fear and pain
Being subdued. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!
Bernardo.
I cannot say, farewell!
Camillo.
            Oh, Lady Beatrice!
            Beatrice.
Give yourself no unnecessary pain,
My dear Lord Cardinal. Here, Mother, tie
My girdle for me, and bind up this hair
In any simple knot; ay, that does well.
And yours I see is coming down. How often
Have we done this for one another; now
We shall not do it any more. My Lord,
We are quite ready. Well, 'tis very well.
THE END
Composed at Rome and near Leghorn (Villa Valsovano), May - August 8, 1819; published 1820 (spring) by C. & J. Ollier, London. This edition of 250 copies was printed in Italy 'because,' writes Shelley to Peacock, Sept. 21, 1819, 'it costs, with all duties and freightage, about half what it would cost in London.'
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Cenci - A Tragedy In Five Acts
,

IN CHAPTERS [53/53]



   19 Integral Yoga
   10 Poetry
   5 Psychology
   5 Philosophy
   3 Fiction
   2 Occultism
   1 Thelema
   1 Alchemy


   15 Satprem
   11 The Mother
   4 Walt Whitman
   4 Jorge Luis Borges
   4 Jordan Peterson
   3 Sri Aurobindo
   2 William Wordsworth
   2 H P Lovecraft
   2 Aldous Huxley


   4 Whitman - Poems
   4 On the Way to Supermanhood
   4 Maps of Meaning
   2 Wordsworth - Poems
   2 Words Of Long Ago
   2 The Perennial Philosophy
   2 Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness
   2 Lovecraft - Poems
   2 Labyrinths
   2 Agenda Vol 08
   2 Agenda Vol 01


0.00 - The Book of Lies Text, #The Book of Lies, #Aleister Crowley, #Philosophy
    Five and forty apprentice masons out of work!
    Fifteen fellow-craftsmen out of work!
  --
    and each Fellow-Craft by 3 apprentices, as if the
    Masters were sitting in pentagrams, and the Fellow-
  --
     apprentices, instead of making bricks, put the
     straws in their hair, and think they are Jesus
  --
    Entered apprentice Mason.
     Paragraph 3 refers to the Ceremony of Exaltation

01.03 - The Yoga of the King - The Yoga of the Souls Release, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Out of apprenticeship to Ignorance
  Wisdom upraised him to her master craft

0 1956-10-08, #Agenda Vol 01, #unset, #Zen
   One is never anything but a divine apprentice: the Divine of yesterday is only an apprentice to the Divine of tomorrow No, I am not speaking of a progressive manifestation that is much farther below.
   When I am at my highest, I am already too high for the manifestation.

0 1958-05-10, #Agenda Vol 01, #unset, #Zen
   It is as yet only an apprentice in supermanhood.
   That is all it is trying to be.
  --
   I am learning to work. I am only an apprentice, simply an apprentice I am learning the trade!
   ***

0 1961-04-25, #Agenda Vol 02, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Well, his jaw dropped! People imagine that by the simple fact of being here they become disciples and apprentice yogis! But its not true.
   So, now Im not angry any more!

0 1962-07-04, #Agenda Vol 03, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   People say, He has lost consciousness. They made this assumption in N.S.s case because there were no vital signs and the consciousness in the body was reduced to a minimum; there was still some left (because it did react!), but it was a bare minimum, without much reacting powerhe wasnt an accomplished yogi, after all, only an apprentice yogi. It would have been entirely different, for instance, and far more serious, for someone who had practiced hatha yoga. But I mean to say that N.S. was here beside me, fully conscious, and could have moved on to another mode of manifestation without having to go through the throes of death thats not at all indispensable! Such is my experience, and I find it very important, tremendously important.
   Besides, this is the first time it has happened. All those (like I.B., for example) who were hurled violently out of their bodies through an accident have, after a time, become conscious again the consciousness gathers itself back together. But N.S.s consciousness never scattered, he never lost consciousness.

0 1967-05-06, #Agenda Vol 08, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   There was a rather interesting phenomenon (it was yesterday or the day before), amusing little details: now the last member of the government of India has been converted, so to speak. All the members of government (the central government I dont mean the whole country, but of the centre), all the members of the central government are (what should I say?) I could almost say apprentice disciples of Sri Aurobindo, with a great goodwill to serve.
   And everywhere, everywhere in the world, the signs of a CONSCIOUS goodwill awakening.

0 1967-08-02, #Agenda Vol 08, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   (Regarding a Tantric apprentice, disciple of X.)
   Do you see W?
  --
   Till now, in the majority of cases, this has signalled a conversion, a transformation, an illumination (depending on the case), but this case we were just talking about (the Tantric apprentice) came precisely as a result of that return of the Power (I knew it; he told me yesterday, but I knew it when he had his revolt). And all that came was just all the old revolts, all the old movements, which were previously so strong, so widespread, so ESTABLISHED, and had been as though halted in their expression by the withdrawal of the Power. So everyone was slumbering in his condition. Then, as soon as the Force started coming back and working again, it all woke up.
   But its not the full Presence yet, not the complete Presence of the being, which, through an incontrovertible omnipotence, changes things. And then, the body, with something so very moving in the simplicity of its prayer and its childlike astonishment, asks, Since You are there, how can that be? And all that is ready to be transformed is transformed. But it isnt yet (how can I explain?) the compelling thing (gesture of irresistible descent), the absolute authority that nothing can resistits not that, not yet, far from it.

0 1968-03-20, #Agenda Vol 09, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Yes, and he wants to leave everything. But its a problem, because the slightest thing may cause scandals in Italy. The Communists are always ready to seize on the least opportunity: a priest who gives up the frock Not only a priest, but an apprentice bishop of the Roman Curia. So he would like it to take place without scandals. But how should he go about it?
   I saw the man, and I found him very good.

0 1970-01-28, #Agenda Vol 11, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Then we may discover that our splendid twentieth century was still the Stone Age of psychology, that with all our science we had not yet entered the true science of living, the mastery of the world and of ourselves, and that there open up before us horizons of perfection and harmony and beauty compared to which our superb discoveries are like the roughcasts of an apprentice.
   Its very good, very good its magnificent. That really has a dynamic force.

0 1972-11-25, #Agenda Vol 13, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   (Smiling) The apprenticeship of personal nonexistence.
   I dont know.

1.00 - PREFACE, #A Garden of Pomegranates - An Outline of the Qabalah, #Israel Regardie, #Occultism
  harmony and beauty, compared to which our most superb scientific discoveries are like the roughcasts of an apprentice.
  Satprem Pondicherry,

1.02 - BEFORE THE CITY-GATE, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  SEVERAL apprenticeS
  Why do you go that way?
  --
  AN apprentice
  Go to the River Tavern, I should say.
  SECOND apprentice
  But then, it's not a pleasant way.

1.02 - The Great Process, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  But, in so doing, we are perhaps making as great a mistake as that of the apprentice human in his first lake dwelling who would have claimed that the Goal, the mental heaven he was gropingly discovering, was not in the commonplaceness of daily life, in those tools to carve, those mouths to feed, those entangling nets, those countless snares, but in some ice cave or Australasian desert and who would have discarded his tools. Einstein's equations would never have seen the light of day. By losing his tools, man loses his goal; by discarding all the grossness and evil and darkness and burden of life, we may go dozing off into the blissful (?) reaches of the Spirit, but we are completely outside the Goal, because the Goal might very well be right here, in this grossness and darkness and evil and burden which are gross and dark and burdensome only because we look at them erroneously, as the apprentice human looked erroneously at his tools, unable to see how his tying that stone to that club was already tying the invisible train of our thought to the movement of Jupiter and Venus, and how the mental heaven actually teems everywhere here, in all our gestures and superfluous acts, just as our next heaven teems under our eyes, concealed only by our false spiritual look, imprisoned in the white circle of a so-called Spirit which is but our human approximation for the next stage of evolution. Life... Life alone is the field of our Yoga, exclaimed Sri Aurobindo.4
  Yet the process, the Great Process, is here, just as it began as long ago as the Pleistocene era that idle little second, that introspection of the second kind but the movement revealed to the monkey and the movement revealed to the spiritualist of ages past (and surpassed) are in no way an indication of the next direction it is to take. There is no continuity that is a delusion! There is no refinement of the same movement, no improving upon the ape or man, no perfecting of the stone tool or the mental tool, no climbing higher peaks, no thinking loftier thoughts, no deeper meditations or discoveries that would be a glorification of the existing state, a sublimation of the old flesh, a sublime halo around the old beast there is SOMETHING ELSE, something radically different, a new threshold to cross, as different from ours as the threshold of plant life was from the animal, another discovery of the already-here, which will change our world as drastically as the human look changed the world of the caterpillar yet it is the same world, but seen with two different looks another Spirit, we might say, as different from the religious or intellectual spirit or the great naked Spirit on the heights of the Absolute, as man's thought is different from the first quivering of a wild rose under a ray of sunlight yet it is the same eternal Spirit but in a greater concretization of itself, for, in fact, the Spirit's true direction is not from the bottom up, but from the top down, and it becomes ever more in matter, because it is the world's very Matter, wrested bit by bit from our false caterpillar look and false human look and false spiritual look or, let us say, recognized little by little by our growing true look. This new threshold of vision depends first on a pause in our regular mental and visual routine and that is the Great Process, the movement of introspection of the second kind but the path is entirely new: this is a new life on earth, another discovery to make; and the less weighed down we are by past wisdom, past ascents, past illuminations, all the disciplines and virtues and old gilded frills of the Spirit, the freer we are and more open to the new, the more the path shall spring up under our feet, as if by magic, as if it sprang from that total desecration.

1.02 - The Three European Worlds, #The Ever-Present Origin, #Jean Gebser, #Integral
  The transition mirrored in Petrarch's letter of six hundred years ago was primarily an unprecedented extension of man's image of the world. The event that Petrarch describes in almost prophetic terms as "certainly of benefit to himself and many others" inaugurates a new realistic, individualistic, and rational understanding of nature. The freer treatment of space and landscape is already manifest in the work of AmbrogioLorenzetti and Giotto; but although Giotto's landscape with its hill motifs, for example, is still a predominantly symbolic representation of Umbrian nature, his treatment represents a decided shift away from the unperspectival world. This shift is continued by his apprentices, FraAngelico and Masolino, and later by Paolo Uccello and the brothers Limbourg (in the Trs riches heuresduDuc de Berry), who elaborate perspectival painting with ever greater detail. What Giotto merely anticipated, namely the establishment of a clear contour of man, is first achieved by Masaccio. It is a characteristic also expressed in Andrea Pisano'sreliefs, particularly in his "Astronomer's relief" on the campanile in Florence, and notably evident in the works of Donatello. We must also remember Lorenzo Ghiberti, whose early Bronze relief, the "Sacrifice of Isaac"(1401-02),is a remarkably au thentic rendering of free, open, and unenclosed space.
  To the extent that a relief is able to convey spatiality, this relief depicts a space where neither the transcendental gold illumination nor its complement, the darkness of the all-encompassing cavern, are present but rather one where man is able to breath freely.

1.03 - APPRENTICESHIP AND ENCULTURATION - ADOPTION OF A SHARED MAP, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  object:1.03 - apprenticeSHIP AND ENCULTURATION - ADOPTION OF A SHARED MAP
  author class:Jordan Peterson
  --
  CHAPTER 3: apprenticeSHIP AND ENCULTURATION: ADOPTION OF A SHARED MAP
  Ideologies may be regarded as incomplete myths as partial stories, whose compelling nature is a
  --
  crush the spirit of those they serve. apprenticeship is a precursor to freedom, however and nothing
  necessary and worthwhile is without its danger.
  --
  This is the philosophy of apprenticeship useful for conceptualizing the necessary relationship between
  subordination to a potent historically-constructed social institution and the eventual development of true
  --
  contrast, to be found in the philosophy of the apprenticeship: each individual must voluntarily subjugate
  him or herself to a master a wise king whose goal is not so much maintenance and protection of his
  --
  The adoption of group identity the apprenticeship of the adolescent disciplines the individual, and
  brings necessary predictability to his or her actions, within the social group. Group identity, however, is a

1.04 - THE APPEARANCE OF ANOMALY - CHALLENGE TO THE SHARED MAP, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  (like the shaman apprentice with his master). The termination is often rapid and marked by a phase of
  exhilaration. The subject emerges from his ordeal with a permanent transformation in his personality

1.05 - CHARITY, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
  He would give no other answer. At last, however, the Bishop said, There are many besides you who want me to tell them of methods and systems and secret ways of becoming perfect, and I can only tell them that the sole secret is a hearty love of God, and the only way of attaining that love is by loving. You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so you learn to love God and man by loving. All those who think to learn in any other way deceive themselves. If you want to love God, go on loving Him more and more. Begin as a mere apprentice, and the very power of love will lead you on to become a master in the art. Those who have made most progress will continually press on, never believing themselves to have reached their end; for charity should go on increasing until we draw our last breath.
  Jean Pierre Camus

1.05 - THE HOSTILE BROTHERS - ARCHETYPES OF RESPONSE TO THE UNKNOWN, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  as an apprentice. The fascist wants to crush everything different, and then everything; the decadent
  immolates himself, and builds the fascist from his ashes. The bloody excesses of the twentieth century,
  --
  Adoption of group identity should constitute apprenticeship, not capitulation; should constitute a
  developmental stage in disciplined maturation, requiring temporary subjugation and immolation of
  --
  see chapter 3: apprenticeship and enculturation: Adoption of a shared map.
  464
  --
  see Jung, E. & von Franz, M.L. (1980). pp.369-370. The authors describe the apprentice Taliesens description of
  Merlin, spirit of transformation:

1.05 - The New Consciousness, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  But at the beginning this functioning is still unsure. We are constantly snatched back by the old machinery, the habit of mulling over thoughts, judging, deducing, calculating, and immediately it is as if a veil fell, a screen came between the quiet clarity behind and the arduous whirlwind here: communications are jammed. Again we have to take a step back and find the comfortable expanse and it is irritating, uncommunicative and apparently indifferent to our fate, opposing a neutral silence, an unrelieved blankness to the question we send it and which would yet call for an immediate answer. So we yield once more; we start up the machine again only to realize that everything was blank behind so we would not move in front, and that the time for an answer had not yet come. We keep stumbling along and persisting, trustful but awkward outwardly (or in front), when circumstances would call for swiftness and efficiency, and those who work with the old reason may scoff, as perhaps the old veteran anthropoid scoffed at the clumsiness of the apprentice man: we miss the branch. We fall and pick ourselves up. We go on. But gradually, as our demechanization gains ground, grows sure-footed and more perfect, the communications become clearer, the perceptions more accurate and precise. We begin to unravel a whole jumbled network that had previously seemed like logic itself. From within the tranquil clarity, we notice a multitude of movements rising from below, from outside, from others; it is a mixture of vibrations, a cacophony of minuscule impulses, a battlefield, an arena filled with obscure contenders, blind drives, dark flashes, microscopic and stubborn wills. And all of a sudden, in all that muddle falls a tiny little drop from our quiet river without our wanting it or trying or even asking for it and everything loosens up, smoothes out, disappears, dissolves. That face there in front of us, this grating little circumstance, that knot of difficulty, this stubborn resistance vanishes, melts away, smoothes out, opens up as if by magic. We begin to enter mastery.
  But it is a curious sort of mastery it does not obey us at all! On the contrary, the minute we try to use it, it eludes us completely, slips through our fingers, pokes fun at us and leaves us looking foolish, like an apprentice sculptor trying to imitate the stroke of the Master: our stroke misses. We even hit our fingers. And we learn. Perhaps we learn not to want anything. But it is a little more complicated than that complicated from our standpoint, of course, because everything is complicated on this side; it is complexity itself. In fact, it is simple. We are learning the law of rhythm. Because Truth is a rhythm.
  It has swift flowings, precipitous cascades, slack stretches that go deep into themselves like a sea into a deeper sea, like a great bird into the infinite blue. It has sudden urgings, minute diamond points that probe and pierce, expansive white silences like a steppe in the eternity of ages, like a fathomless gaze spanning lives upon lives, oceans of sorrow and toil, continents of struggle, road upon road of prayer and fervor. It has abrupt bursts, miraculous instantaneous outcomes, a long, untiring patience that follows each step, each quiver of being like a murmur of eternity upholding the minute. And behind that instant or swordlike flash, that vast slowness unfolding its trail of infinity, that burning point bursting out, that commanding word or compelling pressure, there always lies a kind of tranquil clarity, a crystalline distance, a little snow-white note that seems to have traveled and traveled across expanses of calm light, filtered down from an infinity of clear-sighted softness, trickled from a vast sun-washed prairie where no one suffers, acts or becomes a sweeping expanse upholding the little note, the gesture, the word, and the abruptness of an act springing from a fathomless peace where the noise of time and the press of men and the swirl of sorrows are cloaked in their mantle of eternity, already healed, already past, already wept over. For Truth enfolds the world as in a great robe of softness, in an infinite sky where our black birds and birds of paradise, sorrows from here and there, gray wings and pink ones melt away. All becomes one, adjusts to that note, and is in tune; all is simple and stainless, without trace, imprint or doubt, because all flows from that music, and this minute immediate gesture harmonizes with a great swell that will still roll in long after we have left.

1.06 - MORTIFICATION, NON-ATTACHMENT, RIGHT LIVELIHOOD, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
  There are some who are newly delivered from their sins and so, though they are resolved to love God, they are still novices and apprentices, soft and weak. They love a number of superfluous, vain and dangerous things at the same time as Our Lord. Though they love God above all things, they yet continue to take pleasure in many things which they do not love according to God, but besides Himthings such as slight inordinations in word, gesture, clothing, pastimes and frivolities.
  St. Franois de Sales

1.08 - Attendants, #Twelve Years With Sri Aurobindo, #Nirodbaran, #Integral Yoga
  I am firmly convinced that through the ages he has been closely connected with the Mother and Sri Aurobindo, otherwise how could he have been selected as Sri Aurobindo's personal attendant, even as a young man, as soon as he arrived? When he came to see Sri Aurobindo for the first time, he lay prostrate at his feet for an hour, all bathed in happy tears! And when he was leaving, Sri Aurobindo asked one of his older companions to bring him back with him! It is he who first accepted Sri Aurobindo as the Divine Father and called him Father, accepted the Mother as the Divine Mother and began to call her Mother. When he offered to wash the 'Father's' clothes, Sri Aurobindo warned him that he would be mocked at, but that did not deter him. He had gone without food and sleep, had not moved from his place lest the Master should need something or should even have to wait a minute more. To serve Sri Aurobindo was in one way quite easy, for he would never make any demands on us, was content with the main necessities being met and would never express any displeasure if we failed him. This very easiness kept us alert, for one who didn't ask for more than the bare minimum, needed a careful, vigilant watch so that he could be given a little more comfort and ease. Champaklal kept that vigilant eye always. He was more familiar with Sri Aurobindo's nature and temperament by love and long experience and felt his needs on his very pulse. If he saw that Sri Aurobindo needed some side pillows, he got them made; if his footstool was a bit high or low, he adjusted it to the required height. He put a time-piece by his side, for he knew that Sri Aurobindo was in the habit of frequently seeing the time. Such small things that would pass unnoticed because our imaginative perception was perhaps dull, were caught by his sensitive insight and he tried to make "happy and comfortable" the life of the impersonal Brahman. Sri Aurobindo, when he sat on the edge of the bed and had to wait long for the Mother's arrival, seemed to feel drowsy; his body would lean backwards and would then right itself. Still, he would not ask for any assistance but this, not from any sense of egoism. He would put up with any inconvenience but if we offered him some help, he did not refuse it. We simply looked on without knowing how to meet the situation, but Champaklal rose to the occasion: he made a pile of pillows to serve as his back-rest and to prevent them from tumbling down, supported them from behind. To observe economy due to the War, the Mother advised us not to change Sri Aurobindo's bed-sheets too often, but if there was a tiny stain on an otherwise clean white sheet, Champaklal would hesitate to use it, saying, "How can we use anything unclean for the Lord?" His making the bed was a sight worth seeing. I wonder if even an expert housewife would do it so perfectly! The bed-sheet had not the slightest crease anywhere, it shone with a marble smoothness. In everything his aim was to be flawless. Thus it put others who had to work with him into a very difficult corner. He claimed to have acquired this thoroughness under the apprenticeship of the Mother. I sometimes got my share of rebuke from him if I was not tidy or clean enough: "You are a doctor and you still don't wash your hands?" he would say. The fact in his case was that over and above his own training he belonged to a very orthodox Brahmin family and had meticulously observed all the practices ordained by the Shastras and enjoined upon the children by his orthodox priest-father. We were quite modern people having our own ideas of things, so sometimes clash and conflict would arise. Besides, he was in some parts sensitive like a child. We had to be very careful not to upset him and to spare his feelings as much as we could. He could not understand jokes or any round-about manner. He told me that Sri Aurobindo had once spoken about this to the Mother. It was just after he had settled here. His father wrote a letter to Sri Aurobindo saying that Champaklal's marriage had been fixed; he had only to go, undergo the marriage ceremony and then come back. Sri Aurobindo gravely said, "I suppose we have to send back Champaklal." He was much perturbed to hear it. Then Sri Aurobindo added, "He doesn't understand jokes." He knew, however, how to get things done by the Divine, blessings written on a book, for instance, an autograph on a photo. If asked by Champaklal, Sri Aurobindo would not refuse. The Mother too has to accede to the wishes of her bhakta, her "most faithful child".
  One day he conceived the idea of getting Sri Aurobindo's footprints; but how was he to do it without troubling him in any way or without informing him in advance? He had a brain-wave. He kept a white sheet of paper and pencil ready. As soon as Sri Aurobindo sat on the chair, he pushed the sheet of paper under his feet and asked, "May I draw your footprint?" Sri Aurobindo not only consented but later wrote "Love and Blessings" on the drawing. Let us not forget, by the way, that Champaklal is an artist. Whenever he saw Sri Aurobindo in what seemed to him statuesque poses his heart would go into rapture and he would call us to share his joy. He would exclaim, "Ah, if a photograph could be taken of this marvellous pose!" The Mother has said that he has "a natural talent already developed to an unusual degree". On one of his birthdays he painted two lotuses, white and red, and offered the pictures to the Mother. She was very pleased and said she would take them to Sri Aurobindo and ask him to write something. He wrote under the painting of the white lotus: Aditi, The Divine Mother. And the Mother wrote on the other: The Avatar. But she forbade Champaklal to show them to anyone, for people would not understand what they meant.

1.08 - The Change of Vision, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  But how do those clear little seconds help change the world? Perhaps exactly the way the brief distracted second of the ape distracted from its immediate interests helped give birth to the first thought. For a whole world starts pouring into that transparency, but in imperceptible little breaths, in little drops of nothing to be sure, the uselessness of things is a terrible snare, an ever-present trap, the old mistake that engulfs the world in its dark false vision. At every moment the seeker must struggle against the old way of looking, correct himself, catch himself in the act. The new vision demands a long apprenticeship. One knows neither where it leads nor its use. What was the use of the ape's reflection, except to disturb its immediate acrobatics? And yet, the seeker comes back to it, as if drawn in spite of himself; he receives little signs, demonstrations in the flesh. It is as if somebody or something were there, watching over everything and taking advantage of the least crack in the old machinery to slip in a drop of light a hole is needed, a crack in the shell, a lapse in the old habit of being, for the new world to get in! Little by little the seeker yields. He lets himself go, he turns his look on the thousands of everyday useless things, the meaningless incidents, the senseless encounters, the multitude of microscopic unconnected events. He is in his fire of being and he looks; he looks at each thing as a would-be revelation, a truth concealed; and if nothing is revealed, he still persists, he observes everything, records everything: the futile steps, the useless detours, the closed faces, the accidents without reason. Instead of jumping at the desirable, he watches its movement, how it follows its course and attains its goal; instead of rejecting an unpleasant encounter, he watches it come, welcomes it, lets it give out its little drop of truth, its message beneath the falsehood or confusion; instead of running away from the darkness, evil or negation flung at him, he waits calmly for the darkness to disclose its lesson for him, the evil its drop of good beneath its venom, the negation, its vaster yes awaiting its hour. And finally he discovers a YES everywhere, a good everywhere, a meaning everywhere, and that everything is ascending, moving in the Great Direction, beneath the good and the evil, the black and the white, the useful and the harmful. Gradually, the world teems with a thousand little truths twinkling here and there, filling this vacuum, plugging that useless hole, connecting things to one another, dropping the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle into place, and everything ties together as one continuous message every moment things whisper in our ear and destiny speaks in a dove feather lifted by the wind.
  But once more we are struck by the same peculiarity. What we discover are not eternal and sublime truths, not triumphs of the geometrical mind that confines the world in an equation, not seeds of dogma or revelations atop the Sinais of the world, but minuscule little truths, vivid and light, smiles of truth along the path and in everyday commonplaceness a minuscule, contagious truth which seems to spread from place to place and light up even the rocks: a truth of the earth, a truth of matter. And when we can trap a single one of these little whimsical smiles, we are richer than if the illuminations of all the sages put together were bestowed on us, because we have touched the truth with our eyes wide open and with our body maybe because the Supreme Truth is also there, in an infinitesimal wisp of straw as much as in the totality of all the ages.

1.08 - The Supreme Discovery, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  In order to do that, he must become conscious of this Divine Presence within him. Some individuals must undergo a real apprenticeship in order to achieve this: their egoistic being is too all-absorbing, too rigid, too conservative, and their struggles against it are long and painful. Others, on the contrary, who are more impersonal, more plastic, more spiritualised, come easily into contact with the inexhaustible divine source of their being. But let us not forget that they too should devote themselves daily, constantly, to a methodical effort of adaptation and transformation, so that nothing within them may ever again obscure the radiance of that pure light.
  But how greatly the standpoint changes once we attain this deeper consciousness! How understanding widens, how compassion grows!

1.12 - The Sociology of Superman, #On the Way to Supermanhood, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  The first wave of this new consciousness is quite visible. It is perfectly chaotic. It has caught human beings unawares. Its ebb and flow can be seen everywhere: men have been seized with errantry, or aberrancy. They have set out in search of something they did not understand, but which pushed and prodded them inside; they have taken to the road to anywhere, knocked on every door, the good as well as the bad, broken through walls and windmills, or, suddenly seized with laughter, they have left bag and baggage and said goodbye to the old establishment. It is natural that the first reaction is aberrant, since by definition it leaves the old circuit, as the primate suddenly left the instinctive wisdom of the herd. Each transition to a higher equilibrium is at first a dis-equilibrium and total disruption of the old equilibrium. Therefore, these apprentice supermen, who do not even know each other, will more likely be found among the unorthodox elements of society, the so-called misfits, the bastards, the recalcitrants of the general prison, the rebels against they don't know what except they have had enough of it. They are the new crusaders without a crusade, the partisans without a party, the antis who are so much against that they no longer want any against or for; they want something else altogether, without plus or minus, offensive or defensive, without black, good, yes or no, something completely different and completely free from all the twists and turns of the Machine, which still would like to catch them in the nets of its negations as in the nets of its affirmations. Or else, at the opposite end of the spectrum, these apprentice supermen will perhaps be found among those who have traveled the long road of the mind, its labyrinths, its endless grind, its answers that answer nothing, that raise another question and still another, its solutions that solve nothing, and its whole painful round its sudden futility at the end of the road, after a thousand questions and a thousand triumphs ever ruined, that little cry, at the end, of a man gaping at nothing and suddenly becoming like a helpless child again, as if all those days and years and labor had never been, as if nothing had happened, not a single real second in thirty years! These too, then, set out on the road. There, too, there is a crack for the Possible.
  But the very conditions of the uprooting of the old order may for a long time falsify the quest for the new order. And at first, this new order does not exist; it has to be made. A whole world has to be invented. And the aspiring superman or let us simply say the aspirant to something else must confront a primary reality: the law of freedom is a very demanding one, infinitely more demanding than all the laws imposed by the Machine. It is not a coasting into just anything, but a methodical uprooting from thousands of little slaveries; it does not mean abandoning everything, but, on the contrary, taking charge of everything, since we no longer want to depend on anybody or anything. It is a supreme apprenticeship of responsibility that of being oneself, which in the end is being all. It is not an escape, but a conquest; not a vacation from the Machine, but a great Adventure into man's unknown. And anything that may hamper this supreme freedom, at whatever level or under whatever appearance, must be fought as fiercely as the police or lawmakers of the old world. We are not leaving the slavery of the old order to fall into the worse slavery of ourselves the slavery of drugs, of a party, of one religion or another, one sect or another, a golden bubble or a white one. We want the one freedom of smiling at everything and being light everywhere, identical in destitution and pomp, in prison and palace, in emptiness and fullness and everything is full because we burn with the one little flame that possesses everything forever.
  What will they do, these wanderers, these transhumans of a new country that does not yet exist? In the first place, they will perhaps not move at all. They will perhaps have understood that the change has to be wrought inside and that, if nothing changes inside, nothing will ever change outside for centuries and centuries. They will perhaps stay right where they are, in this little street, this gray country, in a humble disguise, an old routine, but it will no longer be a routine because they will do everything with another look, in another way, with another attitude an inner way that changes all ways. And if they persevere, they will notice that this one little drop of true light they carry within themselves has the power to change everything about them surreptitiously. In their unpretentious little circle, they will have worked for the new world and precipitated a little more truth upon earth. But no circle is little when it has that center, since it is the center of everything. Or else, one day, perhaps they will feel impelled to join with their peers of the new world and with them build some living testimony of their common aspiration, as others built pyramids or cathedrals perhaps a city of the new world. And this is the beginning of a great enterprise, and a great danger.
  --
  For that matter, the apprentice superman could begin his battle very early, not just in himself but in his children, and not just from their birth but right from their conception.
  We are born in a lead casing. It surrounds us completely. It is airtight and invisible, but it is there all the same, covering our least gestures and reactions. We are born ready-made, as it were, but the making is not of our own, neither in the best nor in the worst. There are millions of sensations, which are not yet thoughts, but like seeds of desire or repulsion, odors of fear, odors of anguish, like a subtle fungus lining our caves: layers upon layers of prohibitions and taboos, and a few rare permissions thrown in like an escape of the same dark onrush in our tunnels. And, in the middle of all that, a bewildered and lost little look who will soon be taught life, good and evil, geometry and the Tables of the Law. A little look getting more and more veiled, and definitely lost after he has been made to understand everything. For the obvious and natural assumption is that a child understands nothing and has to be taught how to live. But it could be that a child understands very well, even if that does not agree with our constructs, and that we merely teach him to bury his knowledge and replace it with a ready-made science, which buries him for good. Then we spend thirty years of our life undoing what they have done, unless we are a particularly successful subject, that is, definitively immured, satisfied, polite and holding degrees. Hence, a great part of the work involves not doing but undoing that spell. We will be told that this struggle is fruitful, enriching, that it develops our muscles and personality that is wrong. It hardens us, develops fighting muscles in us and may well drive us into an against as noxious as the for. Moreover, it does not develop a personality, but a mask, for the true person is there, totally there, artless and wide open, in the eyes of a newborn child we only add the misery of struggle. We believe utterly, intensely and blindly in the power of suffering; it has been the subconscious mark of our entire Western civilization for the last two thousand years. Perhaps it was necessary, given the denseness of our substance. But the law of suffering is a law of Falsehood what is true smiles, that's all. Suffering is a sign of falsehood, the product of falsehood; they go hand and hand. To believe that suffering is enriching is to believe that cancer is a boon from the gods, although cancer, too, can help us break the shell of falsehood. Like all virtues, this negative virtue leaves a permanent shadow on us; and even the unobscured sun is still blemished by it. The blows, truly and necessarily, leave their mark; they produce liberated beings with scorched hearts who remember having suffered. That memory is yet another veil over the artless look. The law of the gods is a sunlit one. And perhaps the whole work of Sri Aurobindo and Mother is to have brought the world the possibility of a sunlit path on which suffering, pain and disaster are no longer necessary in order to progress.
  The apprentice superman does not believe in suffering. He believes in enrichment through joy; he believes in Harmony. He does not believe in education; he believes in the power of truth in the heart of all things and all beings he only helps that truth to grow with as little interference as possible. He trusts in the powers of that truth. He knows that man always moves toward his goal, inexorably, despite everything he is told or taught he only tries to suppress that despite. He simply waters that little sapling of truth and then again, with some caution, for some saplings prefer a sandy and rocky soil. But, at least, in that City or rather, laboratory of the future the child will be born in less stifling conditions. He will not be brainwashed, met at every street corner by screaming posters, corrupted by television or poisoned by vulgar movies, not burdened by all the vibrations of anxiety, fear or desire that his mother may have conscientiously accumulated in her womb through entertaining reading, debilitating films or a torn home life for everything is recorded, the slightest vibration, the least shock; everything enters the embryo freely, remains and accumulates there. The Greeks knew this well, and the Egyptians and the Indians, who used to surround the mother with special conditions of beauty and harmony so that the breath of the gods could pervade each day and each breath of the child, so that everything could be an inspiration of truth. And when the mother and father decided to have a child, they did it as a prayer, a sacrifice for incarnating the gods of the future. It takes only a spark of aspiration, a flame of entreaty, a luminous breath in the mother's heart for the same light to answer and come down, the identical flame, the kindred intensity of life if we are gray and dull, we will summon only the grayness and nothingness of millions of lifeless men.
  The child of that City will be born with a flame, consciously, voluntarily, without having to undo millennia of animality or abysses of prejudice. He will not be told incessantly that he has to earn a living, for nobody will earn a living in the City of the Future, nobody will have money. Living will be devoted to serving the Truth, each according to his capacity or talent, and the only earnings will be joy. He will not be deluged with musts and must-nots; he will only be shown the immediate sadness of not listening to the right little note. He will not be tormented with the idea of finding a job, being a success, outranking others, passing or failing grades, for nobody succeeds or fails in the City of the Future, nobody has a job, nobody takes precedence over anybody; one does the one job of pursuing a clear little note that lights up everything, does everything for one, takes care of everything for one, unites everything in its tranquil harmony, and whose only success is to be in accord with itself and with the whole. He will not learn to depend on a teacher, a book or a machine, but to rely on that little flame inside, that sprightly little flowing that guides his steps, prompts a discovery, leads by chance to an experience and brings out knowledge effortlessly. And he will learn to cultivate the powers of his body the way others today cultivate the powers of push buttons. His faculties will not be confined in ready-made forms of vision and comprehension; in him will be fostered a vision that has nothing to do with the eyes, a comprehension that is not from books, dreams of other worlds that prepare tomorrow's, direct communications and instant intuitions and subtle senses. And if machines are still used in the City of the Future, he will be told that they are temporary crutches until we find in our own heart the source of the pure Power which will one day transmute matter as we now transmute a blank sheet of paper into a green prairie with the stroke of a pencil. He will be taught the Look, the true and potent look, the look that creates, that changes everything he will be taught to use his own powers and to believe in his power of truth, and that the purer and clearer he is, in harmony with the Law, the more matter responds to Truth. And, instead of entering a prison, the child will grow up in an atmosphere of natural oneness, free of you, me, yours or mine, where he will not have been taught constantly to put up screens and mental barriers, but to be consciously what he unconsciously has been since the beginning of time: to extend himself into all that is and lives, to feel in all that feels, to comprehend through an identical more profound breathing, through a silence that carries everything, to recognize the same little flame everywhere, to love the same clear little flowing everywhere, and to be the self everywhere, behind a thousand different faces and in a thousand musics that are a single music.

1.14 - The Secret, #Sri Aurobindo or the Adventure of Consciousness, #Satprem, #Integral Yoga
  If by chance psychoanalysts had the power to descend into the subconscient, not only would they not heal anything, not only would they risk setting in motion forces which, like the sorcerer's apprentice, they could not control, but even if they did have the power to master and to destroy these forces, they would very probably destroy the good along with the evil, thus irreparably mutilating our nature. For they do not possess knowledge. From their mental poise, they cannot see far enough into the future to discern the good that a certain evil may be preparing and the dynamic Force concealed behind the play of opposites. Another kind of power is needed in order to sort out this bizarre amalgam, and above all another vision: You must know the whole before you can know the part and the highest before you can truly understand the lowest. That is the promise of the greater psychology awaiting its hour before which these poor gropings will disappear and come to nothing.
  As we have said, there are numerous gradations and sub-gradations within the subconscient. We deliberately did not dwell on the description of these lower worlds; the seeker will experience them himself when the time comes. To give a specific mental form to these lower forces does not help to exorcise them, as some might imagine, but gives them an even greater hold on our consciousness. The mind is simply incapable of healing anything.

1.26 - On discernment of thoughts, passions and virtues, #The Ladder of Divine Ascent, #Saint John of Climacus, #unset
  If there is a time for everything under heaven,8 as the Preacher says, and by the word everything must be understood what concerns our holy life, then if you please let us look into it and let us seek to do at each time what is proper for that occasion. For it is certain that for those who enter the lists there is a time for dispassion (I say this for the combatants who are serving their apprenticeship); there is a time for tears, and a time for hardness of heart; there is a time for obedience, and there is a time to command; there is a time to fast, and a time to partake; there is a time for battle with our enemy the body, and a time when the fire is dead;9 a time of spiritual storm, and a time of spiritual calm; a time for heartfelt sorrow, and a time for spiritual joy; a time for teaching and a time for listening; a time of
  1 Psalm cii, 12.

15.07 - Souls Freedom, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 05, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Earth or material nature does not easily tolerate any thing unknown and foreign to it. Even if it is for its own well-being, a foreign touch makes it shrink and turn on itself. It is even painful for it to bear. In the end the earth is not to be goaded on or driven along: it has to go on its own. It must depend entirely on itself, bring out what it carries within itself or has acquired or stored. It has to outgrow its childhood or apprenticeship, the period when an intelligent amount of pressure or even coercion might be needed or inevitable. But that stage passed, the higher realisation is to be the natural expression of ordinary earth-life: its normal state is to be the state of the higher consciousness, its life naturally moved by its self-nature expressing its own truth.
   If there is to be a Divine destiny for earth, it must be because of its free choice. There must be no pressure or even solicitude from any agent outside itself to compel it or force it that way. It must be a glad and spontaneous impulse from within to follow the line of destiny it has itself chosen.

1958-10-08 - Stages between man and superman, #Questions And Answers 1957-1958, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  All those who strive to overcome their ordinary nature, all those who try to realise materially the deeper experience which has brought them into contact with the divine Truth, all those who, instead of turning to the Beyond or the Highest, try to realise physically, externally, the change of consciousness they have realised within themselvesall are apprentice-supermen. And there, there are countless differences in the success of their efforts. Each time we try not to be an ordinary man, not to live the ordinary life, to express in our movements, our actions and reactions the divine Truth, when we are governed by that Truth instead of being governed by the general ignorance, we are apprentice-supermen, and according to the success of our efforts, well, we are more or less able apprentices, more or less advanced on the way.
  All these are stages, so In reality, in this race to the Transformation, the question is to know which of the two will arrive first: the one who wants to transform his body in the image of the divine Truth, or the old habit of the body to go on disintegrating until it is so deformed that it can no longer continue to live in its outer integrality It is a race between transformation and decay. For there are only two stopping-places, two things which can indicate to what extent one has succeeded: either success, that is to say, becoming a superman then of course one can say, Now I have reached the goal or else death. Till then, normally, one is on the way.

1f.lovecraft - The Loved Dead, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   undertaker and talked him into taking me on as a sort of apprentice.
   The shock of my mothers demise had visibly affected my father. I think
  --
   apprenticeship stood me in good stead. I had no trouble in establishing
   a favorable connection as an assistant with the Gresham Corporation, a

1f.lovecraft - The Quest of Iranon, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
   Athok the cobbler, and be apprenticed to him.
   But I am Iranon, a singer of songs, he said, and have no heart for

1.jlb - The Golem, #Borges - Poems, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry
  The apprentice person never mastered speech.
  Less a mans than a dogs, less a dogs, well,

1.pbs - The Cenci - A Tragedy In Five Acts, #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
  Why did my father not apprentice me
  To some mechanic trade? I should have then

1.whitman - Carol Of Occupations, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Offspring of ignorant and poor, boys apprenticed to trades,
  Young fellows working on farms, and old fellows working on farms,

1.whitman - I Sing The Body Electric, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty,
      good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sundown,

1.whitman - Song Of The Broad-Axe, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
       apprentices,
  The swing of their axes on the square-hew'd log, shaping it toward

1.whitman - Who Learns My Lesson Complete?, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Boss, journeyman, apprenticechurchman and atheist,
  The stupid and the wise thinkerparents and offspringmerchant,

1.ww - The Excursion- II- Book First- The Wanderer, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Now happily apprenticed.--'I perceive
  You look at me, and you have cause; today

1.ww - The Excursion- IV- Book Third- Despondency, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
  Youngest apprentice in the school of art!
  Him, as we entered from the open glen, 0

3.03 - On Thought - II, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  That is also why the great instructors of men began their apprenticeship in solitude. For if too many things are absent for the thought to be able to express itself in the minds of unrefined men, too many things are also absent from the mind of the cultivated man shaped by the artificial life of human societies.
  How much silence is needed - not the outer, illusory and momentary silence, but on the contrary the true, profound, integral, permanent silence - to be able to hear the far-off voices of thought!

3-5 Full Circle, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
  So also in regard to their various psycho-social Strata: equality of opportunity for people with unequal inborn abstraction ceilings is approached by careful provision of corresponding training situations. During the first few years (preceding and up to the attainment of the first human abstraction ceiling) a single institution, Kindergarten, and the first few grades, provides equality of opportunity for all Strata.36 Figure IV-3 shows graphically humankind's initial state of intellectual identity (zero), and its divergence into Strata during ontogeny. As the childrens' creodes separate--as Stratum after Stratum approaches its abstraction ceiling, levels out, and is surpassed by the people with higher inborn abstraction ceilings--each Stratum enters the corresponding set of educational institutions. Namely, the kind of institution designed to provide for it the opportunity to realize its inborn capacities to the fullest degree: apprenticeships, craft schools, trade schools, secretarial schools, high schools, preparatory schools, (European) gymnasia, junior colleges, colleges, institutes of technology, graduate schools, post-doctoral training courses, institutes for advanced study, and so forth.
  In Figure IV-2, Period 6 (Lower Industrialists) displays six Strata, each characterized by the corresponding number of Substrata. The highest Sub-stratum in each case (including the first one) is reached by, and only by, utilizing opportunities for continuous, persistent development of inborn capabilities.
  --
  Downward exceptions also occur, especially in the highest and most recently entered Strata. (Geneticists recognize them as "regressions toward the mean."40) But downward exceptions occur in all Strata. (Of late those who display them have been euphemistically called "retarded.") For them, equality of opportunity requires repetition of school classes, top Stratum children's apprenticeship in trade or craft schools, and emigration to less developed regions or countries.
  Since respectable institutional channels for these adjustments are inadequate or absent, considerable numbers of young people, called Hippies, are improvising equality of opportunity by "dropping out" in all three of these ways. Many emigrate to rural parts of New Mexico, Arizona and similar regions and try unsuccessfully to simulate pre-Industrial life styles.

4.06 - RETIRED, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  potter who had never finished his apprenticeship. But
  that he wreaked revenge on his pots and creations for

6.08 - THE CONTENT AND MEANING OF THE FIRST TWO STAGES, #Mysterium Coniunctionis, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  [752] Thus the modern man cannot even bring about the unio mentalis which would enable him to accomplish the second degree of conjunction. The analysts guidance in helping him to understand the statements of his unconscious in dreams, etc. may provide the necessary insight, but when it comes to the question of real experience the analyst can no longer help him: he himself must put his hand to the work. He is then in the position of an alchemists apprentice who is inducted into the teachings by the Master and learns all the tricks of the laboratory. But sometime he must set about the opus himself, for, as the alchemists emphasize, nobody else can do it for him. Like this apprentice, the modern man begins with an unseemly prima materia which presents itself in unexpected forma contemptible fantasy which, like the stone that the builders rejected, is flung into the street and is so cheap that people do not even look at it. He will observe it from day to day and note its alterations until his eyes are opened or, as the alchemists say, until the fishs eyes, or the sparks, shine in the dark solution. For the eyes of the fish are always open and therefore must always see, which is why the alchemists used them as a symbol of perpetual attention. (Pis. 8 and 9.)
  [753] The light that gradually dawns on him consists in his understanding that his fantasy is a real psychic process which is happening to him personally. Although, to a certain extent, he looks on from outside, impartially, he is also an acting and suffering figure in the drama of the psyche. This recognition is absolutely necessary and marks an important advance. So long as he simply looks at the pictures he is like the foolish Parsifal, who forgot to ask the vital question because he was not aware of his own participation in the action. Then, if the flow of images ceases, next to nothing has happened even though the process is repeated a thousand times. But if you recognize your own involvement you yourself must enter into the process with your personal reactions, just as if you were one of the fantasy figures, or rather, as if the drama being enacted before your eyes were real. It is a psychic fact that this fantasy is happening, and it is as real as youas a psychic entityare real. If this crucial operation is not carried out, all the changes are left to the flow of images, and you yourself remain unchanged. As Dorn says, you will never make the One unless you become one yourself. It is, however, possible that if you have a dramatic fantasy you will enter the interior world of images as a fictitious personality and thereby prevent any real participation; it may even endanger consciousness because you then become the victim of your own fantasy and succumb to the powers of the unconscious, whose dangers the analyst knows all too well. But if you place yourself in the drama as you really are, not only does it gain in actuality but you also create, by your criticism of the fantasy, an effective counterbalance to its tendency to get out of hand. For what is now happening is the decisive rapprochement with the unconscious. This is where insight, the unio mentalis, begins to become real. What you are now creating is the beginning of individuation, whose immediate goal is the experience and production of the symbol of totality.

Avatars of the Tortoise, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
  mathematical apprenticeship would allow me (perhaps) to plan decorously
  such a book. It is useless to add that life forbids me that hope and even that

BOOK II. -- PART II. THE ARCHAIC SYMBOLISM OF THE WORLD-RELIGIONS, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  lodges). "The first line of the triangle offered to the apprentice for study," writes the founder, -- "is the
  mineral kingdom, symbolized by Tubalc . . . (Tubal-cain). The second side on which the 'companion'

Deutsches Requiem, #Labyrinths, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry
  I will say little of my years of apprenticeship. They were more
  difficult for me than for others, since, although I do not lack courage, I am

Gorgias, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
  The myths of Plato are a phenomenon unique in literature. There are four longer ones: these occur in the Phaedrus, Phaedo, Gorgias, and Republic. That in the Republic is the most elaborate and finished of them. Three of these greater myths, namely those contained in the Phaedo, the Gorgias and the Republic, relate to the destiny of human souls in a future life. The magnificent myth in the Phaedrus treats of the immortality, or rather the eternity of the soul, in which is included a former as well as a future state of existence. To these may be added, (1) the myth, or rather fable, occurring in the Statesman, in which the life of innocence is contrasted with the ordinary life of man and the consciousness of evil: (2) the legend of the Island of Atlantis, an imaginary history, which is a fragment only, commenced in the Timaeus and continued in the Critias: (3) the much less artistic fiction of the foundation of the Cretan colony which is introduced in the preface to the Laws, but soon falls into the background: (4) the beautiful but rather artificial tale of Prometheus and Epimetheus narrated in his rhetorical manner by Protagoras in the dialogue called after him: (5) the speech at the beginning of the Phaedrus, which is a parody of the orator Lysias; the rival speech of Socrates and the recantation of it. To these may be added (6) the tale of the grasshoppers, and (7) the tale of Thamus and of Theuth, both in the Phaedrus: (8) the parable of the Cave (Republic), in which the previous argument is recapitulated, and the nature and degrees of knowledge having been previously set forth in the abstract are represented in a picture: (9) the fiction of the earth-born men (Republic; compare Laws), in which by the adaptation of an old tradition Plato makes a new beginning for his society: (10) the myth of Aristophanes respecting the division of the sexes, Sym.: (11) the parable of the noble captain, the pilot, and the mutinous sailors (Republic), in which is represented the relation of the better part of the world, and of the philosopher, to the mob of politicians: (12) the ironical tale of the pilot who plies between Athens and Aegina charging only a small payment for saving men from death, the reason being that he is uncertain whether to live or die is better for them (Gor.): (13) the treatment of freemen and citizens by physicians and of slaves by their apprentices,a somewhat laboured figure of speech intended to illustrate the two different ways in which the laws speak to men (Laws). There also occur in Plato continuous images; some of them extend over several pages, appearing and reappearing at intervals: such as the bees stinging and stingless (paupers and thieves) in the Eighth Book of the Republic, who are generated in the transition from timocracy to oligarchy: the sun, which is to the visible world what the idea of good is to the intellectual, in the Sixth Book of the Republic: the composite animal, having the form of a man, but containing under a human skin a lion and a many-headed monster (Republic): the great beast, i.e. the populace: and the wild beast within us, meaning the passions which are always liable to break out: the animated comparisons of the degradation of philosophy by the arts to the dishonoured maiden, and of the tyrant to the parricide, who 'beats his father, having first taken away his arms': the dog, who is your only philosopher: the grotesque and rather paltry image of the argument wandering about without a head (Laws), which is repeated, not improved, from the Gorgias: the argument personified as veiling her face (Republic), as engaged in a chase, as breaking upon us in a first, second and third wave:on these figures of speech the changes are rung many times over. It is observable that nearly all these parables or continuous images are found in the Republic; that which occurs in the Theaetetus, of the midwifery of Socrates, is perhaps the only exception. To make the list complete, the mathematical figure of the number of the state (Republic), or the numerical interval which separates king from tyrant, should not be forgotten.
  The myth in the Gorgias is one of those descriptions of another life which, like the Sixth Aeneid of Virgil, appear to contain reminiscences of the mysteries. It is a vision of the rewards and punishments which await good and bad men after death. It supposes the body to continue and to be in another world what it has become in this. It includes a Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno, like the sister myths of the Phaedo and the Republic. The Inferno is reserved for great criminals only. The argument of the dialogue is frequently referred to, and the meaning breaks through so as rather to destroy the liveliness and consistency of the picture. The structure of the fiction is very slight, the chief point or moral being that in the judgments of another world there is no possibility of concealment: Zeus has taken from men the power of foreseeing death, and brings together the souls both of them and their judges naked and undisguised at the judgment-seat. Both are exposed to view, stripped of the veils and clothes which might prevent them from seeing into or being seen by one another.

Liber 111 - The Book of Wisdom - LIBER ALEPH VEL CXI, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   of apprenticeship in His School did I discover his most excellent Way
   of Magick. Be thou diligent, o my son, for in this wondrous Art is no

Liber 46 - The Key of the Mysteries, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   phosphorescent apparitions. One day, the rash apprentice-magician had
   dared to call up Astaroth, and had seen the apparition of a gigantic

Maps of Meaning text, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  CHAPTER 3: apprenticeSHIP AND ENCULTURATION: ADOPTION OF A SHARED MAP __________ 175
  CHAPTER 4: THE APPEARANCE OF ANOMALY: CHALLENGE TO THE SHARED MAP _____________ 188

The Act of Creation text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
  traditional schemes. Kepler, who served his apprenticeship under
  128
  --
  the classical practice of the master letting his pupils, apprenticed to his
  workshop, assist in the execution of larger undertakings; and 'assis-

The Circular Ruins, #Labyrinths, #Jorge Luis Borges, #Poetry
  Gradually, he began accustoming him to reality. Once he ordered him to place a flag on a faraway peak. The next day the flag was fluttering on the peak. He tried other analogous experiments, each time more audacious. With a certain bitterness, he understood that his son was ready to be born--and perhaps impatient. That night he kissed him for the first time and sent him off to the other temple whose remains were turning white downstream, across many miles of inextricable jungle and marshes. Before doing this (and so that his son should never know that he was a phantom, so that he should think himself a man like any other) he destroyed in him all memory of his years of apprenticeship.
  His victory and peace became blurred with boredom. In the twilight times of dusk and dawn, he would prostrate himself before the stone figure, perhaps imagining his unreal son carrying out identical rites in other circular ruins downstream; at night he no longer dreamed, or dreamed as any man does. His perceptions of the sounds and forms of the universe became somewhat pallid: his absent son was being nourished by these diminution of his soul. The purpose of his life had been fulfilled; the man remained in a kind of ecstasy. After a certain time, which some chronicles prefer to compute in years and others in decades, two oarsmen awoke him at midnight; he could not see their faces, but they spoke to him of a charmed man in a temple of the North, capable of walking on fire without burning himself. The wizard suddenly remembered the words of the god. He remembered that of all the creatures that people the earth, Fire was the only one who knew his son to be a phantom. This memory, which at first calmed him, ended by tormenting him. He feared lest his son should meditate on this abnormal privilege and by some means find out he was a mere simulacrum. Not to be a man, to be a projection of another man's dreams--what an incomparable humiliation, what madness! Any father is interested in the sons he has procreated (or permitted) out of the mere confusion of happiness; it was natural that the wizard should fear for the future of that son whom he had thought out entrail by entrail, feature by feature, in a thousand and one secret nights.

The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
  warn apprentices against a too detrimental impatience; praecipiatio a diabolo (precipitous
  action goes to the devil), they say; for in seeking to reach the goal too quickly, they only
  --
  We will readily agree that there is no need of an exhaustive apprenticeship to have a
  grindstone turn, and we have never heard that the most skilled of low-wagers with his
  --
  Arrived at this point, the apprentice must recognize the impossibility of continuing the work,
  by pursuing the operation which gave him the first sulfur. If he wants to go on further he must

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun apprentice

The noun apprentice has 1 sense (first 1 from tagged texts)
                  
1. (10) apprentice, learner, prentice ::: (works for an expert to learn a trade)

--- Overview of verb apprentice

The verb apprentice has 1 sense (first 1 from tagged texts)
                  
1. (1) apprentice ::: (be or work as an apprentice; "She apprenticed with the great master")


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

1 sense of apprentice                        

Sense 1
apprentice, learner, prentice
   => novice, beginner, tyro, tiro, initiate
     => unskilled person
       => person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
         => organism, being
           => living thing, animate thing
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity
         => causal agent, cause, causal agency
           => physical entity
             => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun apprentice

1 sense of apprentice                        

Sense 1
apprentice, learner, prentice
   => printer's devil


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

1 sense of apprentice                        

Sense 1
apprentice, learner, prentice
   => novice, beginner, tyro, tiro, initiate




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun apprentice

1 sense of apprentice                        

Sense 1
apprentice, learner, prentice
  -> novice, beginner, tyro, tiro, initiate
   => abecedarian
   => apprentice, learner, prentice
   => cub, greenhorn, rookie
   => landlubber, lubber, landsman
   => newcomer, fledgling, fledgeling, starter, neophyte, freshman, newbie, entrant
   => tenderfoot
   => trainee




--- Grep of noun apprentice
apprentice
apprenticeship



IN WEBGEN [10000/599]

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Chuck Norris' Karate Kommandos (1986 - 1987) - This was Chuck Norris' attempt to star in his own animated series. He plays an operative for the United States government who has a team consisting of Pepper, a technological genius, Kimo, a Samurai warrior, Reed, his apprentice, Tabe, a Sumo warrior, and Too Much, the young ward. Together they foil...
SantApprentice (2006 - 2006) - A young orphan boy from Sydney, Australia, who's name is Nicholas Barnsworth. His heart is pure and he believes in Santa Claus. This is how he is whisked out of Australia and brought to the North Pole. He has 15 years to learn the tricks of the Santa Claus trade. He needs to master such skills as...
The Apprentice (U.S. TV Series) (2004 - 2017) - The American reality competition series was hosted by Donald Trump for Seasons 1-6 & 10, and the all-star celebrity edition for seasons 7-9 & seasons 11-14. And Arnold Schwarzenegger hosted Season 15 of the All-Star Celebrity Apprentice.
Chowder (2007 - 2010) - an American animated television series created by C. H. Greenblatt for Cartoon Network. The series follows an aspiring young chef apprentice named Chowder and his day-to-day adventures in Chef Mung Daal's catering company.
Little Wizards (1987 - 1987) - Young Prince Dexter runs away after his father dies and the evil sorcerer claims the crown. Dexter then becomes the apprentice of the wizard Phineus so he can learn magic for the day he would become king.
Perman (1967 - 1968) - Anime adaptation of the Manga by Fujiko F. Fujio, about a clumsy boy, Mitsuo Suwa, who is chosen to apprentice to a powerful superhero to save the world along with other superheroes.
Tijuana Toads (1969 - 1972) - Poncho, a pushy but experienced toad, shows his apprentice Toro how to catch flies and otherwise survive the pitfalls of being a toad.
Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace(1999) - Long, long ago in a galaxy far far away the peaceful planet of Naboo has been invaded by the Trade Federation. Secretley Chancellor Valorum dispatches two jedi knights, Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi, to negotiate with the Trade Federation leader Nute Gunray. When on the ship Qui-Gon...
Fantasia 2000(1999) - A sequel to the 1940 classic, Fantasia 2000 continued the original concept Walt Disney had for a series of Fantasia films. It shares the same ideals of the original film combining animation with classical music including the returning short The Sorcerer's Apprentice featuring Mickey Mouse. This time...
Quest of the Delta Knights(1993) - Travis (nicknamed Tee) is young boy who sold into slavery but when Beggar named Baydool buys him from the slave market he teaches him the ways for the legendary Delta Knights. Tee grows up trained to lead a legendary prophecy as Baydool's apprentice. Tee becomes a Delta knight teaming up with Leonar...
Rough Magic(1997) - Director Clare Peploe (wife of Bernardo Bertolucci) adapted this blend of noir mystery and magical realism from the story Miss Shumway Waves a Wand by James Hadley Chase. Bridget Fonda stars as Myra Shumway, an apprentice to a magician (Kenneth Mars) in 1952 Los Angeles. Myra is unhappily engaged to...
The Water Babies(1978) - Grimes (James Mason), an amoral chimney sweep, occasionally likes to steal valuables from his clients. One day, on the verge of being caught, he frames his young apprentice, Tom (Tommy Pender), for the crime. Tom runs away and jumps into a river where, instead of drowning, he finds himself transform...
Santa's Apprentice(2010) - Nicholas is a 7-year-old Australian orphan who loves Christmas. The happiest day of the year for Nicholas and his friends at the orphanage is also tainted with sadness. Their greatest Christmas wish is one that may never be granted: to find a new family that they can call thei
Seventh Son(2015) - A powerful knight trains his young apprentice to do battle against a diabolical witch who is gathering an army to wage supernatural war on all mankind in this adaptation of author Joseph Delaney's young-adult novel "The Spook's Apprentice". Years ago, brave Master Gregory succeeded in capturing evil...
The Secret of Kells(2009) - In the remote Irish woods, Cellach (Brendan Gleeson) prepares a fortress for an impending attack by a Viking war party. Unbeknown to Cellach, his young nephew Brendan (Evan McGuire) -- who has no taste for battle -- works secretly as an apprentice in the scriptorium of the local monastery, learning...
Archer(1985) - During the 1860s, Dave Powers, apprentice to a horse trainer, volunteers to ride Archer to the Melbourne Cup race. Their start is 600 miles from Melbourne, and the journey is anything but easy. Of course, the pair have numerous adventures along the way, and in the end Archer competes in the Melbourn...
From The Hip(1987) - Apprentice lawyer Robin "Stormy" Weathers turns a civil suit into a headline grabbing charade. He must re-examine his scruples after his shenanigans win him a promotion in his firm, and he must now defend a college professor who is apparently guilty of murder.
Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971) ::: 7.1/10 -- G | 1h 57min | Animation, Adventure, Comedy | 13 December 1971 (USA) -- An apprentice witch, three kids and a cynical magician conman search for the missing component to a magic spell to be used in the defense of Britain in World War II. Directors: Robert Stevenson, Ward Kimball (uncredited) Writers:
Chowder ::: TV-Y7-FV | 11min | Animation, Short, Adventure | TV Series (20072010) -- In Marzipan City, the young, excitable food-loving Chowder is the apprentice of Mung Daal, a very old chef who runs a catering company with his wife, Truffles and assistant, Shnitzel. Creator:
Dragonslayer (1981) ::: 6.7/10 -- PG | 1h 49min | Action, Adventure, Fantasy | 26 June 1981 (USA) -- A young wizarding apprentice is sent to kill a dragon which has been devouring girls from a nearby kingdom. Director: Matthew Robbins Writers: Hal Barwood, Matthew Robbins Stars:
Eyes Wide Open (2009) ::: 7.3/10 -- Einayim Petukhoth (original title) -- Eyes Wide Open Poster -- A married, Orthodox, Jerusalem butcher and Jewish father of four falls in love with his handsome, 22-year-old male apprentice, triggering the suspicions of his wife and the disapproval of his Orthodox community. Director: Haim Tabakman Writer:
Frances Ha (2012) ::: 7.5/10 -- R | 1h 26min | Comedy, Drama, Romance | 23 August 2013 (Brazil) -- A New York woman (who doesn't really have an apartment) apprentices for a dance company (though she's not really a dancer) and throws herself headlong into her dreams, even as the possibility of realizing them dwindles. Director: Noah Baumbach Writers:
Lark Rise to Candleford ::: TV-PG | 53min | Drama, Romance | TV Series (20082011) -- An adaptation of Flora Thompson's autobiographical novel "Lark Rise To Candleford", set in 19 century Oxfordshire, in which a young girl moves to the local market town to begin an apprenticeship as a postmistress. Creator:
Oliver Twist (1948) ::: 7.8/10 -- Not Rated | 1h 45min | Drama | 30 July 1951 (USA) -- In Charles Dickens' classic tale, an orphan wends his way from cruel apprenticeship to den of thieves in search of a true home. Director: David Lean Writers: Charles Dickens (by), David Lean (screen play) | 1 more credit
O Lucky Man! (1973) ::: 7.8/10 -- R | 2h 58min | Comedy, Drama, Fantasy | 20 June 1973 (USA) -- An apprentice coffee salesman has a series of improbable and ironic adventures that seem designed to challenge his naive idealism. Director: Lindsay Anderson Writers: David Sherwin (screenplay), Malcolm McDowell (based on an original idea
Star Wars Rebels (2014-2018) ::: 2016 Season 2 | Episode 22 Previous All Episodes (76) Next Twilight of the Apprentice: Part 2 Poster After gaining information about the Sith, Kanan, Ezra and Ahsoka battle the Inquisitors with the help of a new ally, but are overmatched when Vader arrives. Director: Dave Filoni
The Ancient Magus' Bride ::: Mah Tsukai no Yome (original tit ::: TV-14 | 25min | Animation, Drama, Fantasy | TV Series (2017- ) Episode Guide 24 episodes The Ancient Magus' Bride Poster -- Hatori Chise, 15 years old. Lost, without hope and without family - she sells herself to a non-human mage known as Elias Ainsworth. Hesitant, she starts a new life with him as his new apprentice. Stars:
The Boy and the Beast (2015) ::: 7.7/10 -- Bakemono no ko (original title) -- The Boy and the Beast Poster -- When a young orphaned boy living on the streets of Shibuya stumbles upon a fantastic world of beasts, he's taken in by a gruff warrior beast looking for an apprentice. Director: Mamoru Hosoda Writer:
The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967) ::: 7.2/10 -- Dance of the Vampires (original title) -- The Fearless Vampire Killers Poster -- A noted professor and his dim-witted apprentice fall prey to their inquiring vampires, while on the trail of the ominous damsel in distress. Director: Roman Polanski Writers:
The Mechanic (2011) ::: 6.6/10 -- R | 1h 33min | Action, Crime, Thriller | 28 January 2011 (USA) -- An elite hitman teaches his trade to an apprentice who has a connection to one of his previous victims. Director: Simon West Writers: Richard Wenk (screenplay), Lewis John Carlino (screenplay) | 1 more
The Name of the Rose ::: TV-MA | 1h | Drama, Mystery, Thriller | TV Series (2019 ) -- In 1327, an enlightened friar and his young apprentice investigate a series of mysterious deaths at an abbey risking the wrath of a powerful Inquisitor. Television adaptation of Umberto Eco's novel 'The Name of the Rose'. Stars:
The Physician (2013) ::: 7.2/10 -- R | 2h 35min | Adventure, Drama, History | 5 December 2014 (USA) -- In Persia in the 11th Century, a surgeon's apprentice disguises himself as a Jew to study at a school that does not admit Christians. Director: Philipp Stlzl Writers: Noah Gordon (based on the novel by), Jan Berger (screenplay by) | 3
The Smurfs ::: Smurfs (original tit ::: TV-Y | 30min | Animation, Adventure, Comedy | TV Series (19811989) -- The Smurfs are tiny blue creatures that live in mushroom houses in a peaceful forest. They repeatedly try to outwit Gargamel, an evil sorcerer, his apprentice, Scruple, and his mangy cat, Azrael. Creator:
Wolfwalkers (2020) ::: 8.1/10 -- WolfWalkers (original title) -- Wolfwalkers Poster -- A young apprentice hunter and her father journey to Ireland to help wipe out the last wolf pack. But everything changes when she befriends a free-spirited girl from a mysterious tribe rumored to transform into wolves by night. Directors: Tomm Moore, Ross Stewart
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https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sith_apprentice/Legends
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Snoke's_other_apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars_Annual_3:_The_Apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars:_Darth_Maul,_Sith_Apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/The_Apprentice_(short_story)
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/The_Phantom_Apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Twilight_of_the_Apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/"You're_Hired"_to_be_Darth_Vader's_Secret_Apprentice
https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/"You're_Hired"_to_be_Darth_Vader's_Secret_Apprentice!
https://swfanon.fandom.com/wiki/The_Chosen_Apprentice
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Alison_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Black_Dalek_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Jac_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Ryan_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/School_girl_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/Supreme_Dalek_(The_Magician's_Apprentice)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Astronomer's_Apprentice_(short_story)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Magician's_Apprentice
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Magician's_Apprentice_(TV_story)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Magician's_Apprentice:_What_We_Know_So_Far_(webcast)
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Sorcerer's_Apprentice
https://tardis.fandom.com/wiki/The_Sorcerer's_Apprentice_(novel)
https://warriors.fandom.com/wiki/The_Apprentice's_Quest
https://warriors.fandom.com/wiki/The_Fourth_Apprentice
https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Apprentice_(Tremere)
https://whitewolf.fandom.com/wiki/Apprentice_(VTM)
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Alchemy_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Apprentice_blacksmithing_plans
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Apprentice_jewelcrafting_designs
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Blacksmithing_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Enchanting_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Engineering_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Inscription_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Jewelcrafting_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Leatherworking_recipes/Apprentice
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Quest:Apprentice_Angler
https://wowwiki-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Tailoring_recipes/Apprentice
Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season -- -- Bones -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Drama Romance Fantasy Shoujo -- Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season -- Shirayuki and Zen Wistalia have finally confirmed their romantic feelings for each other, and everyone has resumed their daily lives. Shirayuki remains an apprentice court herbalist at the royal palace of Clarines, and Zen continues his duties alongside his aides. -- -- However, their daily routines are disrupted when Crown Prince Izana, Zen’s older brother, receives an invitation from Raji Shenazard, the prince of Tanbarun. The herbalist finds herself ordered to go to Tanbarun for seven days, to build a new friendship with the formerly selfish and haughty ruler who once ordered Shirayuki to become his concubine. Along the way, Shirayuki is bound to run into trouble once again, as she is sought by a mysterious boy named Kazuki, someone she has never met. -- -- 263,914 7.99
Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season -- -- Bones -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Drama Romance Fantasy Shoujo -- Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season Akagami no Shirayuki-hime 2nd Season -- Shirayuki and Zen Wistalia have finally confirmed their romantic feelings for each other, and everyone has resumed their daily lives. Shirayuki remains an apprentice court herbalist at the royal palace of Clarines, and Zen continues his duties alongside his aides. -- -- However, their daily routines are disrupted when Crown Prince Izana, Zen’s older brother, receives an invitation from Raji Shenazard, the prince of Tanbarun. The herbalist finds herself ordered to go to Tanbarun for seven days, to build a new friendship with the formerly selfish and haughty ruler who once ordered Shirayuki to become his concubine. Along the way, Shirayuki is bound to run into trouble once again, as she is sought by a mysterious boy named Kazuki, someone she has never met. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 263,914 7.99
Aria the Avvenire -- -- TYO Animations -- 3 eps -- Manga -- Sci-Fi Slice of Life Fantasy Shounen -- Aria the Avvenire Aria the Avvenire -- Now that Akari Mizunashi is a Prima Undine and head of the Aria Company with her own apprentice, Ai Aino, she can't help but reminisce about her time as a Single. She has new responsibilities and much less time on her hands, but these changes bring with them new forms of miracles that Neo Venezia can give. Growing up into new roles is hard, but Akari can always count on the friends she's made on Aqua in times of need. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Nozomi Entertainment -- Special - Sep 26, 2015 -- 21,416 7.93
Aria the Avvenire -- -- TYO Animations -- 3 eps -- Manga -- Sci-Fi Slice of Life Fantasy Shounen -- Aria the Avvenire Aria the Avvenire -- Now that Akari Mizunashi is a Prima Undine and head of the Aria Company with her own apprentice, Ai Aino, she can't help but reminisce about her time as a Single. She has new responsibilities and much less time on her hands, but these changes bring with them new forms of miracles that Neo Venezia can give. Growing up into new roles is hard, but Akari can always count on the friends she's made on Aqua in times of need. -- -- Special - Sep 26, 2015 -- 21,416 7.93
Aria the Origination -- -- Hal Film Maker -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Sci-Fi Slice of Life Fantasy Shounen -- Aria the Origination Aria the Origination -- In the 24th century on the planet Aqua, three girls—Akari Mizunashi, Alice Carroll, and Aika S. Granzchesta—continue to work hard toward achieving their goal of becoming Prima Undines: professional tour guide gondoliers. Luckily, the girls have the guidance of the three best Prima Undines in Neo-Venezia—Alicia Florence, Athena Glory, and Akira E. Ferrari—who are known as the "Water Fairies" in honor of their skill. With their help, the young apprentices train hard and work to overcome any situations that they find themselves in. -- -- Aria The Origination follows the hardships and daily lives of these three young girls, who are doing their best to improve as tour gondoliers in Neo-Venezia, a terraformed replica of Venice. -- -- 100,601 8.52
Aria the Origination -- -- Hal Film Maker -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Sci-Fi Slice of Life Fantasy Shounen -- Aria the Origination Aria the Origination -- In the 24th century on the planet Aqua, three girls—Akari Mizunashi, Alice Carroll, and Aika S. Granzchesta—continue to work hard toward achieving their goal of becoming Prima Undines: professional tour guide gondoliers. Luckily, the girls have the guidance of the three best Prima Undines in Neo-Venezia—Alicia Florence, Athena Glory, and Akira E. Ferrari—who are known as the "Water Fairies" in honor of their skill. With their help, the young apprentices train hard and work to overcome any situations that they find themselves in. -- -- Aria The Origination follows the hardships and daily lives of these three young girls, who are doing their best to improve as tour gondoliers in Neo-Venezia, a terraformed replica of Venice. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Nozomi Entertainment -- 100,601 8.52
Aria the OVA: Arietta -- -- Hal Film Maker -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Sci-Fi Slice of Life Fantasy Shounen -- Aria the OVA: Arietta Aria the OVA: Arietta -- Akari Mizunashi dreams of life after attaining her goal of becoming a Prima Undine, but upon waking realizes that she might not actually have the confidence to run Aria Company on her own. Wary of the future, she seeks advice from her mentor Alicia Florence—one of the three great "Water Fairies" of Neo-Venezia. -- -- Much to Akari's surprise, Alicia reveals her own struggles of the past, but also shares the steps she took in overcoming her self-doubt of running the company and taking on an apprentice. Finding solace in her teacher's words, Akari prepares to embrace whatever trials she must overcome on her path toward achieving her dreams. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Nozomi Entertainment -- OVA - Sep 21, 2007 -- 31,683 8.02
Arte -- -- Seven Arcs -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Drama Historical Romance Seinen Slice of Life -- Arte Arte -- In the 16th century, the city of Florence booms with cultural and creative revival in celebration of the Renaissance. Arte, a delightful young lady from an aristocratic family, dreams of being an artist and contributing to the renewal of civilization. However, with her father's death, she ends up losing the only person who believed in her passion for art. Now she is expected to marry a nobleman and live as a refined housewife without disgracing her family name. Reluctant to accept her fate, the headstrong Arte steps into the streets in search of a master artisan to take her on as an apprentice. -- -- In her quest for a mentor, Arte has to face harsh reality when she is completely shunned for being a female artist. No one believes that women are capable of fine craftsmanship, and therefore none are willing to accept her. Luckily, a renowned artisan by the name of Leo is persuaded to take her as his disciple since he has none anyway. And thus, Arte's new life begins, far from the comfort of her noble upbringing. As an apprentice, she must earn her keep while tackling various challenges along the difficult path to becoming a full-fledged, master artisan. -- -- 87,602 7.17
Arte -- -- Seven Arcs -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Drama Historical Romance Seinen Slice of Life -- Arte Arte -- In the 16th century, the city of Florence booms with cultural and creative revival in celebration of the Renaissance. Arte, a delightful young lady from an aristocratic family, dreams of being an artist and contributing to the renewal of civilization. However, with her father's death, she ends up losing the only person who believed in her passion for art. Now she is expected to marry a nobleman and live as a refined housewife without disgracing her family name. Reluctant to accept her fate, the headstrong Arte steps into the streets in search of a master artisan to take her on as an apprentice. -- -- In her quest for a mentor, Arte has to face harsh reality when she is completely shunned for being a female artist. No one believes that women are capable of fine craftsmanship, and therefore none are willing to accept her. Luckily, a renowned artisan by the name of Leo is persuaded to take her as his disciple since he has none anyway. And thus, Arte's new life begins, far from the comfort of her noble upbringing. As an apprentice, she must earn her keep while tackling various challenges along the difficult path to becoming a full-fledged, master artisan. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 87,602 7.17
Black Lagoon: Roberta's Blood Trail -- -- Madhouse -- 5 eps -- Manga -- Action Seinen -- Black Lagoon: Roberta's Blood Trail Black Lagoon: Roberta's Blood Trail -- Roberta, the terrorist-turned-maid that made her appearence in the first season of Black Lagoon, returns in this five-episode OVA series—and this time, all bets are off! -- -- Roberta's benefactor, the patriarch of the Lovelace clan, is murdered during a political rally. The assassin's trail soon leads back to Roanapur—so now she has returned on a mission of vengeance! However, close behind her is the new patriarch, Garcia, as well as Roberta's apprentice (and maid), Fabiola Iglesias. As the body count of Roberta's bloody rampage mounts, forces from within the corrupt island (which includes the Lagoon Company), as well as overseas converge on what threatens to escalate into all-out war! -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- OVA - Jun 27, 2010 -- 216,788 8.04
Chicchana Yukitsukai Sugar -- -- J.C.Staff -- 24 eps -- Original -- Comedy Fantasy Slice of Life -- Chicchana Yukitsukai Sugar Chicchana Yukitsukai Sugar -- Season Fairies create and control the weather using special musical instruments. They make the wind blow, the snow fall, the sun shine; if it's something weather related, they are the ones who make it happen. -- -- Sugar, an apprentice Snow Fairy, and her friends Salt and Pepper, all want to become full-fledged Season Fairies, and the only way to achieve this is to search for and find the "Twinkles" that will make their magical flowers bloom. The only problem is that none of them have any idea what a Twinkle is. -- -- They enlist the somewhat unwilling help of Saga, a human girl who can see Season Fairies. Much to her annoyance, Saga's perfectly planned and ordered life has just become a little too lively for her taste. Together, they search for the mysterious Twinkles while trying to perfect their magic. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Geneon Entertainment USA, Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Oct 2, 2001 -- 20,548 7.07
Detective Conan Movie 22: Zero the Enforcer -- -- TMS Entertainment -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Action Mystery Police Drama -- Detective Conan Movie 22: Zero the Enforcer Detective Conan Movie 22: Zero the Enforcer -- In the film's story, there is a sudden explosion at Tokyo Summit's giant Edge of Ocean facility. The shadow of Tooru Amuro, who works for the National Police Agency Security Bureau as Zero, appears at the site. In addition, the "triple-face" character is known as Rei Furuya as a detective and Kogorou Mouri's apprentice, and he is also known as Bourbon as a Black Organization member. Kogorou is arrested as a suspect in the case of the explosion. Conan conducts an investigation to prove Kogorou's innocence, but Amuro gets in his way. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Discotek Media -- Movie - Apr 13, 2018 -- 19,320 7.81
Flying Witch -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Supernatural Magic Shounen -- Flying Witch Flying Witch -- In the witches' tradition, when a practitioner turns 15, they must become independent and leave their home to study witchcraft. Makoto Kowata is one such apprentice witch who leaves her parents' home in Yokohama in pursuit of knowledge and training. Along with her companion Chito, a black cat familiar, they embark on a journey to Aomori, a region favored by witches due to its abundance of nature and affinity with magic. They begin their new life by living with Makoto's second cousins, Kei Kuramoto and his little sister Chinatsu. -- -- While Makoto may seem to be attending high school like any other teenager, her whimsical and eccentric involvement with witchcraft sets her apart from others her age. From her encounter with an anthropomorphic dog fortune teller to the peculiar magic training she receives from her older sister Akane, Makoto's peaceful everyday life is filled with the idiosyncrasies of witchcraft that she shares with her friends and family. -- -- 217,847 7.53
Flying Witch -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Comedy Supernatural Magic Shounen -- Flying Witch Flying Witch -- In the witches' tradition, when a practitioner turns 15, they must become independent and leave their home to study witchcraft. Makoto Kowata is one such apprentice witch who leaves her parents' home in Yokohama in pursuit of knowledge and training. Along with her companion Chito, a black cat familiar, they embark on a journey to Aomori, a region favored by witches due to its abundance of nature and affinity with magic. They begin their new life by living with Makoto's second cousins, Kei Kuramoto and his little sister Chinatsu. -- -- While Makoto may seem to be attending high school like any other teenager, her whimsical and eccentric involvement with witchcraft sets her apart from others her age. From her encounter with an anthropomorphic dog fortune teller to the peculiar magic training she receives from her older sister Akane, Makoto's peaceful everyday life is filled with the idiosyncrasies of witchcraft that she shares with her friends and family. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Sentai Filmworks -- 217,847 7.53
Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou -- -- AIC -- 13 eps -- Original -- Magic -- Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou Genei wo Kakeru Taiyou -- Akari Taiyou is an apprentice fortune teller living with her aunt, uncle, and their daughter Fuyuna. Having lost her mother at a young age, the only thing Akari has left of her is a deck of tarot cards and a dream to follow in her footsteps as a fortune teller. -- -- One night, Akari has a dream of being attacked by a plant monster and witnesses a stronger version of herself defeat it. When she awakens, she discovers to her horror that the monster was actually Fuyuna. But mysteriously, Akari and her relatives soon forget Fuyuna ever existed. After another close encounter with a similar monster, she is rescued by three magical girls: Ginka Shirokane, Seira Hoshikawa, and Luna Tsukuyomi. They explain that they are from the Sefiro Fiore organization, which uses Elemental Tarot power to fight the evil creatures known as "Daemonia." -- -- Akari discovers she too is a magical girl and has inherited her mother's power of The Sun card. However, she comes to realize Daemonia are actually people who have been possessed, and she must decide whether to try to save what is left of their humanity or to wipe them from existence. As Akari comes to terms with her grim duty of protecting the world from Daemonia, the bonds of the organization and that of their team will soon be strained when they deal with grave threats from the outside and from within. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- 48,475 6.42
Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home -- -- P.A. Works -- 1 ep -- Original -- Comedy Drama Slice of Life -- Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home -- Ohana Matsumae has been working at Kissui Inn as a waitress for a while now. However, she realizes that she is starting to lose her desire to sparkle, having grown accustomed to the routines of her job. As this was a desire she had when she first moved to the inn, the realization bothers her. While having Yuina Wakura—Ohana's classmate, friend, and the daughter of rival Fukuya Inn's owner—under her as an apprentice, Ohana stumbles upon some old archives that mention her mother, Satsuki. Ohana does not know much about her mother, but these archives could shed some light on her past. -- -- Besides learning more about her mother, it is business as usual at Kissui Inn—though with a couple of challenges to test Ohana and the staff of the inn. -- -- -- Licensor: -- NIS America, Inc. -- Movie - Mar 9, 2013 -- 72,456 7.88
Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home -- -- P.A. Works -- 1 ep -- Original -- Comedy Drama Slice of Life -- Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home Hanasaku Iroha: Home Sweet Home -- Ohana Matsumae has been working at Kissui Inn as a waitress for a while now. However, she realizes that she is starting to lose her desire to sparkle, having grown accustomed to the routines of her job. As this was a desire she had when she first moved to the inn, the realization bothers her. While having Yuina Wakura—Ohana's classmate, friend, and the daughter of rival Fukuya Inn's owner—under her as an apprentice, Ohana stumbles upon some old archives that mention her mother, Satsuki. Ohana does not know much about her mother, but these archives could shed some light on her past. -- -- Besides learning more about her mother, it is business as usual at Kissui Inn—though with a couple of challenges to test Ohana and the staff of the inn. -- -- Movie - Mar 9, 2013 -- 72,456 7.88
Honzuki no Gekokujou: Shisho ni Naru Tame ni wa Shudan wo Erandeiraremasen 2nd Season -- -- Ajia-Do -- 12 eps -- Light novel -- Slice of Life Fantasy -- Honzuki no Gekokujou: Shisho ni Naru Tame ni wa Shudan wo Erandeiraremasen 2nd Season Honzuki no Gekokujou: Shisho ni Naru Tame ni wa Shudan wo Erandeiraremasen 2nd Season -- When Myne learns that the Holy Church is in need of mana for their relics, she sees it as her chance to be cured of her life-threatening mana disorder. After seeing their bountiful library, she throws herself headfirst into the Church's grasp and begs to join their order. In exchange for her service and her unusually bountiful supply of mana, Myne is given the blue robes of a noble-born apprentice priestess, despite being a commoner. To Myne, all this talk of mana and nobility is trivial, as she now has access to an unlimited supply of books! -- -- As Myne transitions into the next phase of her life in this new world, she soon learns that achieving her dream has come at a heavy cost. Noble society is severe, unforgiving, and fueled by politics and neglect. She must now deal with the class conflict between the noble-born blue robes and the common-born grey robes, the High Priest's attempts to oust her, and constant behavioral issues from her new retainers. With the help of her family, friends, and the enigmatic Head Priest whose loyalties and motives remain unknown, Myne seeks to overcome these obstacles and continue on the path to becoming her ideal self—the ultimate librarian! -- -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll -- 108,351 8.15
Iria: Zeiram The Animation -- -- Ashi Production -- 6 eps -- Original -- Action Adventure Space Sci-Fi -- Iria: Zeiram The Animation Iria: Zeiram The Animation -- Iria is the story of a girl and the Alien being she loves to hate. The series begins with her brother, Gren, taking a job. He is a bounty hunter, and one well known for his incredible skill. Iria, being a skilled apprentice bounty hunter herself, tags along. What is the job, one might ask. It is to find out what has happened to the crew and cargo of a Space Station. Needless to say, nothing is as it seems, and the war between Iria and Zeiram begins in earnest. -- -- Licensor: -- Central Park Media, Discotek Media, Media Blasters -- OVA - Jun 23, 1994 -- 19,182 7.06
Kai Byoui Ramune -- -- Platinum Vision -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Comedy Psychological Supernatural Shounen -- Kai Byoui Ramune Kai Byoui Ramune -- As long as hearts exist inside people, there will always be those who suffer. And then something "strange" enters their mind and causes a strange disease to manifest itself in the body. The illness, which is called a "mystery disease" is unknown to most, but certainly exists. There is a doctor and apprentice who fights the disease, which modern medicine cannot cure. -- -- His name is Ramune. He acts freely all the time, is foul-mouthed, and doesn't even look like a doctor! However, once he is confronted with the mysterious disease, he is able to quickly uncover the root cause of his patients' deep-seated distress and cure them. And beyond that... -- -- (Source: Crunchyroll) -- 41,336 7.15
Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon -- -- ufotable -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Action Magic Mystery Romance Supernatural Thriller -- Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon -- With strange events occurring at Reien Girls' Academy during winter break, Azaka Kokutou, a student and apprentice mage, is sent by her master to investigate. It turns out that another mage has been stealing the students' memories using fairies that, despite her magical talent, are invisible to Azaka. So Shiki Ryougi, an acquaintance with special eyes who can see what Azaka cannot, is also sent to the academy to help with the crisis. -- -- However, the two have trouble getting along, mainly due to the fact that Azaka views Shiki as her romantic rival. But when the fairy situation quickly spirals out of control and more layers of the mystery are revealed, Azaka must learn to work with Shiki in order to save her classmates. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- Movie - Dec 20, 2008 -- 156,770 7.52
Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon -- -- ufotable -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Action Magic Mystery Romance Supernatural Thriller -- Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon Kara no Kyoukai 6: Boukyaku Rokuon -- With strange events occurring at Reien Girls' Academy during winter break, Azaka Kokutou, a student and apprentice mage, is sent by her master to investigate. It turns out that another mage has been stealing the students' memories using fairies that, despite her magical talent, are invisible to Azaka. So Shiki Ryougi, an acquaintance with special eyes who can see what Azaka cannot, is also sent to the academy to help with the crisis. -- -- However, the two have trouble getting along, mainly due to the fact that Azaka views Shiki as her romantic rival. But when the fairy situation quickly spirals out of control and more layers of the mystery are revealed, Azaka must learn to work with Shiki in order to save her classmates. -- -- Movie - Dec 20, 2008 -- 156,770 7.52
King's Raid: Ishi wo Tsugumono-tachi -- -- OLM, Sunrise Beyond -- 26 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Fantasy Magic -- King's Raid: Ishi wo Tsugumono-tachi King's Raid: Ishi wo Tsugumono-tachi -- Long ago, the king of Orvelia, Kyle, defeated the demon king Angmund and brought peace to the world. However, one hundred years later, demons have been sighted in the forests, threatening humanity once more. A scouting expedition is sent to verify the claim but only one member returns. Meanwhile, Riheet, the leader of a dark elf mercenary group, plots to take over Orvelia to exact revenge against the humans who forsook their race a century ago. -- -- The knight apprentice Kasel, accompanied by the priestess Frey, sets out to rescue Clause, an old friend who went missing in the tragic mission. However, along the way, Kasel discovers that he is the son of the revered King Kyle and the only one who can wield the Holy Sword Aea—the same sword that slew the demon king. To fulfill this destiny, the young knight must embark on a perilous quest, unseal the sword, and end the fear instilled by demons. As Kasel's journey to bring hope to humanity and Riheet's vow for vengeance intertwine, what fate could possibly await them? -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 46,453 5.99
Last Period: Owarinaki Rasen no Monogatari -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Comedy Fantasy Magic -- Last Period: Owarinaki Rasen no Monogatari Last Period: Owarinaki Rasen no Monogatari -- "Period" is how magic users called who beat "Spiral"—monsters that were summoned from isolation. Due to the rise of these beings, 14-year-old apprentice Period Haru, who is a part of the Eighth Arc-end Division, is called to break the cycle and cast himself into the endless battle. However, a mysterious thievery occurred and sank the division into bankruptcy, forcing Haru and his other comrades have to leave their headquarters. To rebuild a branch, they have to overcome quest after quest. -- -- (Source: MAL News) -- 31,504 6.43
Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note -- -- TROYCA -- 13 eps -- Light novel -- Fantasy Mystery Supernatural -- Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note -- Ten years after facing defeat in the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet, now Lord El Melloi II, teaches classes at the Clock Tower—the center of education for mages. However, his new status as "Lord" comes with a caveat: obey the orders of Reines, the younger sister of the deceased Kayneth El Melloi, until she is old enough to rule the House of El Melloi. -- -- Waver, along with his mysterious apprentice Gray, takes on a series of cases assigned by Reines and the Mages Association. With each case proving to be more complex than the last, could there be more to the Clock Tower than meets the eye, and what secrets does Reines hide? -- -- 112,244 7.36
Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note -- -- TROYCA -- 13 eps -- Light novel -- Fantasy Mystery Supernatural -- Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note -- Ten years after facing defeat in the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet, now Lord El Melloi II, teaches classes at the Clock Tower—the center of education for mages. However, his new status as "Lord" comes with a caveat: obey the orders of Reines, the younger sister of the deceased Kayneth El Melloi, until she is old enough to rule the House of El Melloi. -- -- Waver, along with his mysterious apprentice Gray, takes on a series of cases assigned by Reines and the Mages Association. With each case proving to be more complex than the last, could there be more to the Clock Tower than meets the eye, and what secrets does Reines hide? -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- 112,244 7.36
Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi -- -- TROYCA -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Fantasy Mystery Supernatural -- Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi -- Years after the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet becomes the head of the Modern Magecraft Theories department at the Clock Tower, succeeding the title of Lord El-Melloi II. Waver and his apprentice Gray set out to find the truth behind a mysterious shadow that stalks them, while trouble brews among the mages of the Association. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Aniplex of America -- Special - Dec 31, 2018 -- 43,361 7.10
Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi -- -- TROYCA -- 1 ep -- Light novel -- Fantasy Mystery Supernatural -- Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi Lord El-Melloi II Sei no Jikenbo: Rail Zeppelin Grace Note - Hakamori to Neko to Majutsushi -- Years after the Fourth Holy Grail War, Waver Velvet becomes the head of the Modern Magecraft Theories department at the Clock Tower, succeeding the title of Lord El-Melloi II. Waver and his apprentice Gray set out to find the truth behind a mysterious shadow that stalks them, while trouble brews among the mages of the Association. -- -- Special - Dec 31, 2018 -- 43,361 7.10
Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Drama Magic Shounen -- Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto -- Yume Kikuchi, a girl who can use magic, goes to Tokyo to be an apprentice mage to the handsome Masami Oyamada (a professional mage). In Tokyo, Yume learns about magic, helping people, and various other things on her way to being a mage. But she soon also finds out that even just magic alone isn't enough to make someone truly happy... -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Geneon Entertainment USA, Sentai Filmworks -- TV - Jan 10, 2003 -- 22,623 6.75
Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Drama Magic Shounen -- Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto Mahoutsukai ni Taisetsu na Koto -- Yume Kikuchi, a girl who can use magic, goes to Tokyo to be an apprentice mage to the handsome Masami Oyamada (a professional mage). In Tokyo, Yume learns about magic, helping people, and various other things on her way to being a mage. But she soon also finds out that even just magic alone isn't enough to make someone truly happy... -- -- (Source: ANN) -- TV - Jan 10, 2003 -- 22,623 6.75
Mahoutsukai no Yome -- -- Wit Studio -- 24 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Magic Fantasy Shounen -- Mahoutsukai no Yome Mahoutsukai no Yome -- Chise Hatori, a 15-year-old Japanese girl, was sold for five million pounds at an auction to a tall masked gentleman. Abandoned at a young age and ridiculed by her peers for her unconventional behavior, she was ready to give herself to any buyer if it meant having a place to go home to. In chains and on her way to an unknown fate, she hears whispers from robed men along her path, gossiping and complaining that such a buyer got his hands on a rare "Sleigh Beggy." -- -- Ignoring the murmurs, the mysterious man leads the girl to a study, where he reveals himself to be Elias Ainsworth—a magus. After a brief confrontation and a bit of teleportation magic, the two open their eyes to Elias' picturesque cottage in rural England. Greeted by fairies and surrounded by weird and wonderful beings upon her arrival, these events mark the beginning of Chise's story as the apprentice and supposed bride of the ancient magus. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- 650,881 8.09
Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito -- -- Wit Studio -- 3 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Magic Fantasy Shounen -- Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito -- After many hardships in her life, Chise Hatori ended up at an auction, where she was purchased and then freed by the renowned Thorn Sorcerer, Elias Ainsworth, only to stay and become his apprentice. Though her life is wonderful now, the arrival of a picture book, "The Lonely Little Star," brings back memories of those trying times and the loneliness she endured. -- -- As a child, Chise experienced a great tragedy: her mother's death. Shunned and unwanted by peers and relatives alike, she has lived a detached and pitiful life. However, the unexpected discovery of a mysterious library in the forest provides her with a temporary place of solace. Through reading countless books and spending time with the kindhearted librarian, Chise slowly begins to feel less alone in the world. But could this peculiar library have a darker side? -- -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll -- OVA - Sep 10, 2016 -- 225,972 8.13
Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito -- -- Wit Studio -- 3 eps -- Manga -- Slice of Life Magic Fantasy Shounen -- Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito Mahoutsukai no Yome: Hoshi Matsu Hito -- After many hardships in her life, Chise Hatori ended up at an auction, where she was purchased and then freed by the renowned Thorn Sorcerer, Elias Ainsworth, only to stay and become his apprentice. Though her life is wonderful now, the arrival of a picture book, "The Lonely Little Star," brings back memories of those trying times and the loneliness she endured. -- -- As a child, Chise experienced a great tragedy: her mother's death. Shunned and unwanted by peers and relatives alike, she has lived a detached and pitiful life. However, the unexpected discovery of a mysterious library in the forest provides her with a temporary place of solace. Through reading countless books and spending time with the kindhearted librarian, Chise slowly begins to feel less alone in the world. But could this peculiar library have a darker side? -- -- OVA - Sep 10, 2016 -- 225,972 8.13
Mahoutsukai Precure! -- -- Toei Animation -- 50 eps -- Original -- Action Slice of Life Magic Fantasy School Shoujo -- Mahoutsukai Precure! Mahoutsukai Precure! -- In the human realm, witches and wizards seem to be mere creations of fantasy. Ever the adventurous teenager, Mirai Asahina sets out to disprove this notion by following the tracks of a peculiar shooting star that had fallen the night before. Sure enough, Mirai soon has a chance encounter with Liko—a clumsy witch apprentice who hails from the Magic World, a colorful realm inhabited by magicians. -- -- As if by fate, the appearance of strange villains forces Mirai and Liko to join hands. In doing so, they unleash their strength as a pair of legendary magicians—the "Maho Girls Precure!" Now gifted with unbelievable power, the unlikely duo embarks on an adventure filled with magical spells and powerful gemstones. Along the way, the two girls discover the hidden marvels that tie their individual worlds together. -- -- 9,869 7.10
Majimoji Rurumo -- -- J.C.Staff -- 12 eps -- Manga -- Comedy Magic Ecchi Fantasy School Shounen -- Majimoji Rurumo Majimoji Rurumo -- After an unfortunate accident, completely normal heterosexual high school student Kouta Shibaki is branded as the school pervert. With girls avoiding Kouta like the plague, truly the young man's worst nightmare has come to fruition! One day in the school library, he stumbles upon a peculiar book said to possess the power to summon witches. Partly out of desperation, partly out of boredom, Kouta decides to play along with the joke of a book, until an apprentice witch going by the name of Rurumo Maji Mojiruka appears before him. In an unusual turn of events, Kouta ends up helping Rurumo with some general witchery tasks in exchange for his soul being spared. -- -- Majimoji Rurumo follows the misadventures of Rurumo as she attempts to persuade Kouta to use 666 magical wish-granting tickets in her efforts to become a fully-fledged witch, unaware that every time she grants a wish, Kouta's life is shortened. Aided by Rurumo's familiar Chiro, Kouta must decide between helping Rurumo or saving his own life. -- -- TV - Jul 9, 2014 -- 64,142 6.85
Merc Storia: Mukiryoku no Shounen to Bin no Naka no Shoujo -- -- Encourage Films -- 12 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Magic Fantasy -- Merc Storia: Mukiryoku no Shounen to Bin no Naka no Shoujo Merc Storia: Mukiryoku no Shounen to Bin no Naka no Shoujo -- Merc Storia takes places in a world where humans and monsters coexist. The protagonist, Yuu, is a healer apprentice and possesses the ability to tame monsters. In a quest to regain the memories of Merc, a girl confined in a bottle, the pair embarks on a journey. -- -- (Source: MAL News) -- 24,596 6.53
Nanako Kaitai Shinsho -- -- Radix -- 6 eps -- Original -- Military Sci-Fi Comedy Mecha -- Nanako Kaitai Shinsho Nanako Kaitai Shinsho -- Nanako is a an inept apprentice nurse to the brilliant young Dr. Kouji. Now for some reason, Nanako is always being targeted by various elements which makes Nanako wonder if she has done anything wrong. But there are certain secrets to Nanako's past that only Dr. Kouji and his family know about. -- -- Licensor: -- Geneon Entertainment USA -- OVA - Jul 5, 1999 -- 9,398 5.56
Ojamajo Doremi -- -- Toei Animation -- 51 eps -- Original -- Comedy Magic -- Ojamajo Doremi Ojamajo Doremi -- Harukaze Doremi considers herself to be the unluckiest girl in the world. Her parents are always fighting, her little sister makes fun of her, and her crush pines after another girl. If only Doremi could just wave a magic wand, she would have a much better life—or so she used to think. -- -- After a mishap with a real witch, Doremi becomes an apprentice witch herself, and it turns out she's pretty horrible at that, too. -- -- Now she and her two friends must study to become better at magic so they can become good witches. That is, if they can focus on their magic studies! -- -- The three apprentices will need all the luck they can get if they want to pass the witch exams and become full-fledged witches. Only then will Doremi's debt to the witch Majorika be repaid. Until then, Doremi will remain a useless little witch girl! -- -- Licensor: -- 4Kids Entertainment -- 40,996 7.22
Pita Ten -- -- Madhouse -- 26 eps -- Manga -- Comedy Fantasy Kids Romance School Shounen -- Pita Ten Pita Ten -- Kotaro was pretty much supposed to be your average boy, worried about the pressures of education while enjoying a simple life with his friends. Much to his despair, he one day finds the overly cheerful Misha at his door, asking to be friends out of nowhere. Even more shocking is that Misha is an apprentice angel, yet she does more bad then good. Along with Kotaro's school friends Takashi and Koboshi and the so called devil Shia (once again being able to do more good then bad), the group of friends spend their days getting into all sorts of adventures and troubles. Based on the manga by Koge-Donbo. -- 20,665 6.94
Pita Ten -- -- Madhouse -- 26 eps -- Manga -- Comedy Fantasy Kids Romance School Shounen -- Pita Ten Pita Ten -- Kotaro was pretty much supposed to be your average boy, worried about the pressures of education while enjoying a simple life with his friends. Much to his despair, he one day finds the overly cheerful Misha at his door, asking to be friends out of nowhere. Even more shocking is that Misha is an apprentice angel, yet she does more bad then good. Along with Kotaro's school friends Takashi and Koboshi and the so called devil Shia (once again being able to do more good then bad), the group of friends spend their days getting into all sorts of adventures and troubles. Based on the manga by Koge-Donbo. -- -- Licensor: -- Nozomi Entertainment -- 20,665 6.94
Sakura Taisen: Ecole de Paris -- -- Radix -- 3 eps -- Game -- Action Adventure Game Harem Mecha Sci-Fi -- Sakura Taisen: Ecole de Paris Sakura Taisen: Ecole de Paris -- An unseen evil lurks in the streets of Paris. Unless something is done, the darkness will unleash its destruction and consume all that is good. The City of Love will be lost to her people forever. All hope rests within the hearts of five young ladies. The only problem is, they don't even know it yet. But will an apprenticed nun, a reserved aristocrat, a hardened criminal, a traveling circus emcee and a Japanese girl experiencing loss set aside their unique differences and come together as one for the defense of many. The Paris Fighting Troup is born. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- -- Licensor: -- Funimation -- OVA - Mar 19, 2003 -- 3,320 6.44
Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu -- -- Studio Deen -- 13 eps -- Manga -- Drama Historical Josei -- Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu -- Yotarou is a former yakuza member fresh out of prison and fixated on just one thing: rather than return to a life of crime, the young man aspires to take to the stage of Rakugo, a traditional Japanese form of comedic storytelling. Inspired during his incarceration by the performance of distinguished practitioner Yakumo Yuurakutei, he sets his mind on meeting the man who changed his life. After hearing Yotarou's desperate appeal for his mentorship, Yakumo is left with no choice but to accept his very first apprentice. -- -- As he eagerly begins his training, Yotarou meets Konatsu, an abrasive young woman who has been under Yakumo's care ever since her beloved father Sukeroku Yuurakutei, another prolific Rakugo performer, passed away. Through her hidden passion, Yotarou is drawn to Sukeroku's unique style of Rakugo despite learning under contrasting techniques. Upon seeing this, old memories and feelings return to Yakumo who reminisces about a much earlier time when he made a promise with his greatest rival. -- -- Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu is a story set in both the past and present, depicting the art of Rakugo, the relationships it creates, and the lives and hearts of those dedicated to keeping the unique form of storytelling alive. -- -- 231,915 8.60
Strike the Blood -- -- Connect, SILVER LINK. -- 24 eps -- Light novel -- Action Harem Supernatural Ecchi Vampire Fantasy School -- Strike the Blood Strike the Blood -- Kojou Akatsuki's days as an ordinary high school student in the Demon District of Itogami Island come to an abrupt end after a fateful encounter leaves him with the remarkable abilities of a vampire. -- -- It isn't long before he is thrust into the center of attention when it is discovered that he is the fourth primogenitor, an immensely powerful vampire whom most consider to be merely a legend. Fearing Kojou's destructive potential, the Lion King Organization sends in an apprentice sword-shaman, Yukina Himeragi, to monitor, and should he become a threat, kill the boy deemed the world's most powerful vampire. Forced together by circumstance, the two form an unlikely alliance as Kojou comes to terms with his abilities and they both struggle to protect the city from various emerging chaotic forces. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Crunchyroll, Discotek Media -- 518,095 7.12
Uchouten Kazoku 2 -- -- P.A. Works -- 12 eps -- Novel -- Comedy Demons Drama Fantasy Slice of Life -- Uchouten Kazoku 2 Uchouten Kazoku 2 -- After uncovering the truth behind their father's untimely death, life for the four Shimogamo brothers returns to relative peace with each trying to live up to their father's greatness in their own way. For the eldest, Yaichirou, who aims to become the next Trick Magister and leader of the tanuki society, it starts with reinstating the popular shogi tournament. For Yajirou, it is restoring his former shapeshifting abilities, whilst little Yashirou is content with continuing his work at the family’s factory. But for the third son, Yasaburou, it simply means embracing the "fool's blood" he inherited from his father and living a carefree but interesting life. This, of course, includes hunting for the mysterious and elusive snake-like creature known as a tsuchinoko, and causing ripples of trouble at every turn. -- -- However, these ripples threaten to turn into waves with the return of Nidaime, the estranged son of the brothers' tengu teacher, Professor Akadama. Nidaime bears a grudge against not only his father, but his father's apprentice Benten as well. His loyalties suddenly brought into question, Yasaburou must use his tanuki wit to appease all sides without getting caught in the crossfire, before the delicate balance between human, tengu, and tanuki is overthrown and all hell breaks loose. -- -- 52,454 8.13
Zombie Clay Animation: Life of the Dead -- -- Studio Binzo -- 4 eps -- Original -- Comedy Horror -- Zombie Clay Animation: Life of the Dead Zombie Clay Animation: Life of the Dead -- Clay animation about a guy stuck in a room during zombie apocalypse. -- OVA - ??? ??, 2011 -- 292 N/A -- -- The Girl and the Monster -- -- - -- ? eps -- Original -- Comedy Horror -- The Girl and the Monster The Girl and the Monster -- A girl quietly reads a book in her room. Suddenly, a monster comes crawling out from under her bed! Is it friend or foe? -- ONA - Jul 26, 2019 -- 291 N/A -- -- Heisei Matsue Kaidan: Ayashi -- -- DLE -- 2 eps -- Original -- Comedy Historical Parody Horror Supernatural -- Heisei Matsue Kaidan: Ayashi Heisei Matsue Kaidan: Ayashi -- A Matsue City collaboration anime with Eagle Talon. Yoshida book-ends the story as horror tales, both modern and historical, originated within the city are narrated by another person. -- ONA - Mar 17, 2017 -- 289 N/A -- -- 3-bu de Wakaru Koizumi Yakumo no Kaidan -- -- - -- 7 eps -- Book -- Historical Horror Parody Supernatural -- 3-bu de Wakaru Koizumi Yakumo no Kaidan 3-bu de Wakaru Koizumi Yakumo no Kaidan -- Stories from Patrick Lafcadio Hearn's book Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things. The Greek-American author was known as Koizumi Yakumo in Japan and is renowned for collecting and publishing stories of Japanese folklore and legends. -- -- The shorts were made for a Matsue City tourism promotion, as Hearn taught, lived, and married there. His home is a museum people can visit. -- ONA - May 9, 2014 -- 287 N/A -- -- Kimoshiba -- -- Jinnis Animation Studios, TMS Entertainment -- 13 eps -- Original -- Comedy Horror Kids Supernatural -- Kimoshiba Kimoshiba -- Kimoshiba is a weird type of life form with the shape of an oversize shiba inu, loves eating curry (particularly curry breads), and works at a funeral home. Similar life forms include yamishiba and onishiba. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- 284 N/A -- -- Ehon Yose -- -- - -- 50 eps -- Other -- Historical Horror Kids -- Ehon Yose Ehon Yose -- Anime rakugo of classic Japanese horror tales shown in a wide variety of art styles. -- TV - ??? ??, 2006 -- 279 N/A -- -- Higanjima X: Aniki -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Manga -- Fantasy Horror Seinen Vampire -- Higanjima X: Aniki Higanjima X: Aniki -- A new episode of Higanjima X that was included in Blu-ray. -- Special - Aug 30, 2017 -- 277 N/A -- -- Yamiyo no Jidaigeki -- -- Sunrise -- 2 eps -- - -- Historical Horror -- Yamiyo no Jidaigeki Yamiyo no Jidaigeki -- Tales include: -- -- The Hill of Old Age, which tells of a conspiracy hatched against Japan's unifier, Oda Nobunaga. -- -- Seeing the Truth, about the assassin sent to murder Nobunaga's successor leyasu Tokugawa. -- -- The broadcast was a part of the Neo Hyper Kids program. -- -- (Source: Anime Encyclopedia) -- Special - Feb 19, 1995 -- 275 N/A -- -- Youkai Ningen Bem: Part II -- -- Topcraft -- 2 eps -- Original -- Demons Horror -- Youkai Ningen Bem: Part II Youkai Ningen Bem: Part II -- For 1982 a 26-episode TV series sequel to Youkai Ningen Bem was planned. Because the original producers disbanded, the animation was done by Topcraft. 2 episodes were created and the project shut down without airing on television. The episodes were released to the public on a LD-Box Set a decade later. 2,000 units were printed and all were sold out. -- Special - Oct 21, 1992 -- 268 N/A -- -- Kaibutsu-kun: Kaibutsu Land e no Shoutai -- -- Shin-Ei Animation -- 1 ep -- - -- Comedy Horror Kids Shounen -- Kaibutsu-kun: Kaibutsu Land e no Shoutai Kaibutsu-kun: Kaibutsu Land e no Shoutai -- Based on the shounen manga by Fujiko Fujio. -- -- Note: Screened as a double feature with Doraemon: Nobita no Uchuu Kaitakushi. -- -- (Source: AniDB) -- Movie - Mar 14, 1981 -- 266 N/A -- -- Ushiro no Hyakutarou -- -- - -- 2 eps -- - -- Horror School Supernatural -- Ushiro no Hyakutarou Ushiro no Hyakutarou -- Horror OVA based on the manga by Jirou Tsunoda. The title roughly means "Hyakutarou behind". -- -- A boy named Ichitarou Ushiro deals with various horrifying phenomena with the help of his guardian spirit Hyakutarou. -- -- 2 episodes: "Kokkuri Satsujin Jiken", "Yuutai Ridatsu". -- -- (Source: AniDB) -- OVA - Aug 21, 1991 -- 254 N/A -- -- Zombie Clay Animation: I'm Stuck!! -- -- Studio Binzo -- 4 eps -- Original -- Comedy Horror -- Zombie Clay Animation: I'm Stuck!! Zombie Clay Animation: I'm Stuck!! -- Spin-off series of Zombie Clay Animation: Life of the Dead. -- ONA - Mar 2, 2014 -- 247 N/A -- -- Shou-chan Sora wo Tobu -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Novel -- Horror Sci-Fi -- Shou-chan Sora wo Tobu Shou-chan Sora wo Tobu -- An anime version of Ikkei Makina's horror novel of the same name. It aired at the same time as the live-action adaptation. -- Movie - Nov 14, 1992 -- 235 N/A -- -- Matsue Kankou Taishi Sanri ga Iku! Matsue Ghost Tour -- -- DLE -- 2 eps -- Original -- Comedy Historical Parody Horror -- Matsue Kankou Taishi Sanri ga Iku! Matsue Ghost Tour Matsue Kankou Taishi Sanri ga Iku! Matsue Ghost Tour -- An accompaniment to Heisei Matsue Kaidan: Ayashi. This ghost tour takes a more realistic approach featuring Yoshia (the fictional Eagle Talon character), Kihara Hirokatsu (horror and mystery novelist), Chafurin (voice actor and Shimae Prefecture ambassador), and Frogman (Ryou Ono's caricature; real-life director of the anime studio DLE). The quartet travels around Matsue City exploring horror/haunted real life locations talking about the history and how it became a paranormal focus. -- -- The end of the episode promotes ticket sale and times for a real ghost tour watchers can partake in. -- ONA - Mar 16, 2017 -- 227 N/A -- -- Yamiyo no Jidaigeki (OVA) -- -- Sunrise -- 2 eps -- - -- Historical Horror -- Yamiyo no Jidaigeki (OVA) Yamiyo no Jidaigeki (OVA) -- A direct sequel that was put straight to video. -- -- The Ear of Jinsuke, about a wandering swordsman saving a damsel in distress from evil spirits. -- -- Prints from the Fall of the Bakufu, features a tomboy from a woodcut works charged with making a print of the young warrior Okita Soji. -- -- (Source: Anime Encyclopedia) -- -- OVA - Aug 2, 1995 -- 227 N/A -- -- Inunaki-mura x Taka no Tsume-dan -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Other -- Comedy Horror Parody -- Inunaki-mura x Taka no Tsume-dan Inunaki-mura x Taka no Tsume-dan -- A collaboration between the live-action horror film Inunaki-mura slated to be released in theaters February 7, 2020 and the Eagle Talon franchise. The film is based on the urban legend of the real-life abandoned Inunaki Village and the old tunnel that cut through the area. -- ONA - Jan 17, 2020 -- 226 N/A -- -- Echigo no Mukashibanashi: Attaten Ganoo -- -- - -- 1 ep -- - -- Demons Horror Kids -- Echigo no Mukashibanashi: Attaten Ganoo Echigo no Mukashibanashi: Attaten Ganoo -- A collection of four folk tales from Koshiji (from 2005, part of Nagaoka), Niigata prefecture (Echigo is the old name of Niigata). -- -- Episode 1: The Azuki Mochi and the Frog -- A mean old woman tells an azuki mochi to turn into a frog, if her daughter-in-law wants to eat it. The daughter-in-law hears this, and... -- -- Episode 2: Satori -- A woodcutter warms himself at the fire of deadwood, when a spirit in the form of an eyeball appears in front of him. The spirit guesses each of the woodcutter's thoughts right... -- -- Episode 3: The Fox's Lantern -- An old man, who got lost in the night streets, finds a lantern with a beautiful pattern, which was lost by a fox spirit. The next day, he returns it reluctantly, and what he sees... -- -- Episode 4: The Three Paper Charms -- An apprentice priest, who lost his way, accidentally puts up at the hut of the mountain witch. To avoid being eaten, he uses three paper charms to get back to the temple... -- -- (Source: Official site) -- OVA - May ??, 2000 -- 221 N/A -- -- Jigoku Koushien -- -- - -- 1 ep -- - -- Sports Comedy Horror Shounen -- Jigoku Koushien Jigoku Koushien -- (No synopsis yet.) -- OVA - Feb 13, 2009 -- 220 N/A -- -- Nanja Monja Obake -- -- - -- 1 ep -- - -- Kids Horror -- Nanja Monja Obake Nanja Monja Obake -- An anime made entirely in sumi-e following a child fox spirit and his morphing ability for haunting but he ends up getting scared himself. -- Special - Dec 6, 1994 -- 215 N/A -- -- Heisei Matsue Kaidan -- -- DLE -- 7 eps -- Original -- Horror Parody Supernatural -- Heisei Matsue Kaidan Heisei Matsue Kaidan -- A Matsue City collaboration anime with Eagle Talon. Yoshida book-ends the story as modern horror tales, originated within the city, are narrated by another person. The shorts are meant to promote the Patrick Lafcadio Hearn's Ghost Tour offered by the city. -- -- Some episodes feature biographical segments of the Matsue Kankou Taishi Sanri ga Iku! Matsue Ghost Tour group. -- ONA - Apr 9, 2015 -- 211 N/A -- -- Akuma no Organ -- -- - -- 1 ep -- Music -- Music Horror Demons -- Akuma no Organ Akuma no Organ -- Music video for Devil's Organ by GREAT3. From Climax E.P. (2003) -- Music - ??? ??, 2003 -- 210 5.16
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change "table font size":
last updated: 2022-05-01 13:45:54
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