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branches ::: consoles

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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
Gamecube
Gamecube
N64
NES
Playstation
PS2
retroarch
Sega_Genesis
Sega_Saturn
SNES
TurboGrafx-16
SEE ALSO


AUTH

BOOKS
Evolution_II
Process_and_Reality
The_Divine_Companion
The_Divine_Milieu
The_Imitation_of_Christ
The_Seals_of_Wisdom
The_Use_and_Abuse_of_History
The_Way_of_Perfection

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
0.00_-_INTRODUCTION
0.00_-_The_Book_of_Lies_Text
0.05_-_Letters_to_a_Child
0.06_-_Letters_to_a_Young_Sadhak
01.01_-_The_New_Humanity
01.01_-_The_Symbol_Dawn
01.06_-_Vivekananda
0.10_-_Letters_to_a_Young_Captain
0_1961-07-18
0_1963-07-20
0_1964-08-26
0_1966-05-25
0_1966-08-24
0_1966-12-20
0_1968-10-09
0_1969-05-24
0_1969-11-05
02.09_-_Two_Mystic_Poems_in_Modern_French
04.07_-_Readings_in_Savitri
05.02_-_Physician,_Heal_Thyself
05.25_-_Sweet_Adversity
10.01_-_A_Dream
1.00a_-_Introduction
1.019_-_Mary
1.01_-_Description_of_the_Castle
1.01_-_Economy
1.01f_-_Introduction
10.23_-_Prayers_and_Meditations_of_the_Mother
10.24_-_Savitri
1.02_-_The_Descent._Dante's_Protest_and_Virgil's_Appeal._The_Intercession_of_the_Three_Ladies_Benedight.
1.03_-_The_House_Of_The_Lord
1.04_-_THE_STUDY_(The_Compact)
1.05_-_CHARITY
1.05_-_The_Activation_of_Human_Energy
1.06_-_LIFE_AND_THE_PLANETS
1.07_-_A_Song_of_Longing_for_Tara,_the_Infallible
1.07_-_Medicine_and_Psycho_therapy
1.07_-_On_mourning_which_causes_joy.
1.08_-_The_Depths_of_the_Divine
1.08_-_The_Supreme_Discovery
1.09_-_ADVICE_TO_THE_BRAHMOS
1.10_-_THE_MASTER_WITH_THE_BRAHMO_DEVOTEES_(II)
1.11_-_Correspondence_and_Interviews
1.11_-_Legend_of_Dhruva,_the_son_of_Uttanapada
1.11_-_WITH_THE_DEVOTEES_AT_DAKSHINEWAR
1.12_-_God_Departs
1.19_-_THE_MASTER_AND_HIS_INJURED_ARM
1.21_-_Families_of_the_Daityas
1.22_-_The_Necessity_of_the_Spiritual_Transformation
1.240_-_1.300_Talks
1.240_-_Talks_2
1.38_-_The_Myth_of_Osiris
1.38_-_Woman_-_Her_Magical_Formula
1.43_-_Dionysus
16.05_-_Distiques
1.69_-_Farewell_to_Nemi
1.78_-_Sore_Spots
1913_12_16p
1916_12_30p
1951-03-01_-_Universe_and_the_Divine_-_Freedom_and_determinism_-_Grace_-_Time_and_Creation-_in_the_Supermind_-_Work_and_its_results_-_The_psychic_being_-_beauty_and_love_-_Flowers-_beauty_and_significance_-_Choice_of_reincarnating_psychic_being
1953-07-01
1957-03-27_-_If_only_humanity_consented_to_be_spiritualised
1958-06-04_-_New_birth
1970_03_15
1970_04_18
1.bs_-_What_a_carefree_game_He_plays!
1f.lovecraft_-_Medusas_Coil
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Cats_of_Ulthar
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Colour_out_of_Space
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Dream-Quest_of_Unknown_Kadath
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Last_Test
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Shadow_out_of_Time
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Trap
1f.lovecraft_-_The_Tree
1.fs_-_The_Youth_By_The_Brook
1.hs_-_Bring_Perfumes_Sweet_To_Me
1.jk_-_Fragment_Of_An_Ode_To_Maia._Written_On_May_Day_1818
1.jk_-_Otho_The_Great_-_Act_V
1.jk_-_The_Cap_And_Bells;_Or,_The_Jealousies_-_A_Faery_Tale_.._Unfinished
1.jr_-_Book_1_-_Prologue
1.pbs_-_Death
1.pbs_-_Prometheus_Unbound
1.pbs_-_Song._Sorrow
1.pbs_-_The_First_Canzone_Of_The_Convito
1.rb_-_Caliban_upon_Setebos_or,_Natural_Theology_in_the_Island
1.rb_-_Rhyme_for_a_Child_Viewing_a_Naked_Venus_in_a_Painting_of_'The_Judgement_of_Paris'
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLVI_-_You_Left_Me
1.rt_-_Ungrateful_Sorrow
1.rwe_-_In_Memoriam
1.rwe_-_May-Day
1.sfa_-_Prayer_Inspired_by_the_Our_Father
1.stl_-_The_Atom_of_Jesus-Host
1.ww_-_Book_Sixth_[Cambridge_and_the_Alps]
1.ww_-_The_Excursion-_V-_Book_Fouth-_Despondency_Corrected
1.ww_-_Vaudracour_And_Julia
2.03_-_The_Pyx
2.04_-_The_Divine_and_the_Undivine
2.05_-_The_Tale_of_the_Vampires_Kingdom
2.06_-_WITH_VARIOUS_DEVOTEES
2.09_-_The_Pantacle
2.18_-_SRI_RAMAKRISHNA_AT_SYAMPUKUR
2.24_-_THE_MASTERS_LOVE_FOR_HIS_DEVOTEES
3.06_-_Charity
3.18_-_Of_Clairvoyance_and_the_Body_of_Light
3.3.02_-_All-Will_and_Free-Will
33.03_-_Muraripukur_-_I
3.5.02_-_Thoughts_and_Glimpses
38.05_-_Living_Matter
4.01_-_Sweetness_in_Prayer
4.01_-_The_Presence_of_God_in_the_World
4.2_-_Karma
4.3_-_Bhakti
4.42_-_Chapter_Two
Aeneid
BOOK_I._-_Augustine_censures_the_pagans,_who_attributed_the_calamities_of_the_world,_and_especially_the_sack_of_Rome_by_the_Goths,_to_the_Christian_religion_and_its_prohibition_of_the_worship_of_the_gods
BOOK_III._-_The_external_calamities_of_Rome
BOOK_I._--_PART_I._COSMIC_EVOLUTION
BOOK_V._-_Of_fate,_freewill,_and_God's_prescience,_and_of_the_source_of_the_virtues_of_the_ancient_Romans
BOOK_XVIII._-_A_parallel_history_of_the_earthly_and_heavenly_cities_from_the_time_of_Abraham_to_the_end_of_the_world
BOOK_XX._-_Of_the_last_judgment,_and_the_declarations_regarding_it_in_the_Old_and_New_Testaments
ENNEAD_06.05_-_The_One_and_Identical_Being_is_Everywhere_Present_In_Its_Entirety.345
Liber_46_-_The_Key_of_the_Mysteries
Phaedo
Sayings_of_Sri_Ramakrishna_(text)
Sophist
Talks_001-025
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_2
The_Coming_Race_Contents
The_Dwellings_of_the_Philosophers
The_Gospel_According_to_Matthew
The_Shadow_Out_Of_Time

PRIMARY CLASS

SIMILAR TITLES
consoles

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH


TERMS ANYWHERE

balcony ::: n. --> A platform projecting from the wall of a building, usually resting on brackets or consoles, and inclosed by a parapet; as, a balcony in front of a window. Also, a projecting gallery in places of amusement; as, the balcony in a theater.
A projecting gallery once common at the stern of large ships.


consolation ::: n. --> The act of consoling; the state of being consoled; allevation of misery or distress of mind; refreshment of spirit; comfort; that which consoles or comforts the spirit.

consolator ::: n. --> One who consoles or comforts.

consolatory ::: a. --> Of a consoling or comforting nature. ::: n. --> That which consoles; a speech or writing intended for consolation.

DG/L ::: 1. Descriptive Geometry Language. Early CAD/CAE language, used light pen. Interactive Graphic Consoles - Environment and Software, R.L. Beckermeyer, Proc FJCC 37 (1970).2. Data General ca 1973-1974. Derivative of ALGOL 60, developed from DG's ALGOL-5, used as the systems language under AOS and RDOS for the DG Eclipse family of computers. Replaced by PL/I in the early 80's. Data General manual 093-000229-01.

DG/L 1. Descriptive Geometry Language. Early CAD/CAE language, used light pen. "Interactive Graphic Consoles - Environment and Software", R.L. Beckermeyer, Proc FJCC 37 (1970). 2. Data General ca 1973-1974. Derivative of ALGOL 60, developed from DG's ALGOL-5, used as the systems language under {AOS} and {RDOS} for the DG Eclipse family of computers. Replaced by PL/I in the early 80's. Data General manual 093-000229-01.

DV cartridge "games" (Digital Video?) A plug-in circuit cartridge required by some games consoles in order to play {MPEG} video material. (1994-11-02)

DV cartridge ::: (games) (Digital Video?) A plug-in circuit cartridge required by some games consoles in order to play MPEG video material. (1994-11-02)

IBM 1620 ::: (computer) A computer built by IBM and released in late 1959. The 1620 cost from around $85,000(?) up to hundreds of thousands of dollars(?) according distinguish it from the business-oriented IBM 1401. It was regarded as inexpensive, and many schools started out with one.It was either developed for the US Navy to teach computing, or as a replacement for the very successful IBM 650 which did quite well in the low end scientific market. Rumour has it that the Navy called this computer the CADET - Can't Add, Doesn't Even Try.The ALU used lookup tables to add, subtract and multiply but it could do address increments and the like without the tables. You could change the number base by cards. The divide instruction required additional hardware, as did floating point operations.The basic machine had 20,000 decimal digits of ferrite core memory arranged as a 100 by 100 array of 12-bit locations, each holding two digits. Each digit was stored as four numeric bits, one flag bit and one parity bit. The numeric bits stored a decimal digit (values above nine were illegal).Memory was logically divided into fields. On the high-order digit of a field the flag bit indicated the end of the field. On the low-order digit it indicated a addressing if you had that option installed. A few illegal bit combinations were used to store things like record marks and numeric blanks.On a subroutine call it stored the return address in the five digits just before the entry point to the routine, so you had to build your own stack to do recursion.The enclosure was grey, and the core was about four or five inches across. The core memory was kept cool inside a temperature-controlled box. The machine took a few minutes to warm up after power on before you could use it. If it got too hot there was a thermal cut-out switch that would shut it down.Memory could be expanded up to 100,000 digits in a second cabinet. The cheapest package used paper tape for I/O. You could also get punched cards and later models could be hooked up to a 1311 disk drive (a two-megabyte washing machine), a 1627 plotter, and a 1443 line printer.Because the 1620 was popular with colleges, IBM ran a clearing house of software for a nominal cost such as Snobol, COBOL, chess games, etc.The model II, released about three years later, could add and subtract without tables. The clock period decreased from 20 to 10 microseconds, instruction fetch the console teletype changed from a model C to a Selectric. Later still, IBM marketed the IBM 1710.A favorite use was to tune a FM radio to pick up the interference from the lights on the console. With the right delay loops you could generate musical notes. Hackers wrote interpreters that played music from notation like C44.1620 consoles were used as props to represent Colossus in the film The Forbin Project, though most of the machines had been scrapped by the time the film was made. . . (Thanks Victor E. McGee, pictured).[Basic Programming Concepts and the IBM 1620 Computer, Leeson and Dimitry, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962]. (1997-08-05)

IBM 1620 "computer" A computer built by {IBM} and released in late 1959. The 1620 cost from around $85,000(?) up to hundreds of thousands of dollars(?) according to the configuration. It was billed as a "small scientific computer" to distinguish it from the business-oriented {IBM 1401}. It was regarded as inexpensive, and many schools started out with one. It was either developed for the US Navy to teach computing, or as a replacement for the very successful {IBM 650} which did quite well in the low end scientific market. Rumour has it that the Navy called this computer the CADET - Can't Add, Doesn't Even Try. The {ALU} used lookup tables to add, subtract and multiply but it could do address increments and the like without the tables. You could change the number base by adjusting the tables, which were input during the boot sequence from {Hollerith} cards. The divide instruction required additional hardware, as did {floating point} operations. The basic machine had 20,000 decimal digits of {ferrite core memory} arranged as a 100 by 100 array of 12-bit locations, each holding two digits. Each digit was stored as four numeric bits, one flag bit and one parity bit. The numeric bits stored a decimal digit (values above nine were illegal). Memory was logically divided into fields. On the high-order digit of a field the flag bit indicated the end of the field. On the low-order digit it indicated a negative number. A flag bit on the low order of the address indicated {indirect addressing} if you had that option installed. A few "illegal" bit combinations were used to store things like record marks and "numeric blanks". On a {subroutine} call it stored the {return address} in the five digits just before the entry point to the routine, so you had to build your own {stack} to do {recursion}. The enclosure was grey, and the core was about four or five inches across. The core memory was kept cool inside a temperature-controlled box. The machine took a few minutes to warm up after power on before you could use it. If it got too hot there was a thermal cut-out switch that would shut it down. Memory could be expanded up to 100,000 digits in a second cabinet. The cheapest package used {paper tape} for I/O. You could also get {punched cards} and later models could be hooked up to a 1311 {disk drive} (a two-{megabyte} {washing machine}), a 1627 {plotter}, and a 1443 {line printer}. Because the 1620 was popular with colleges, IBM ran a clearing house of software for a nominal cost such as {Snobol}, {COBOL}, chess games, etc. The model II, released about three years later, could add and subtract without tables. The {clock period} decreased from 20 to 10 microseconds, instruction fetch sped up by a few cycles and it added {index registers} of some sort. Some of the model I's options were standard on the model II, like {indirect addressing} and the {console} {teletype} changed from a model C to a {Selectric}. Later still, IBM marketed the {IBM 1710}. A favorite use was to tune a FM radio to pick up the "interference" from the lights on the console. With the right delay loops you could generate musical notes. Hackers wrote {interpreters} that played music from notation like "C44". {IBM 1620 console (img:/pub/misc/IBM1620-console.jpg)} 1620 consoles were used as props to represent {Colossus} in the film "The Forbin Project", though most of the machines had been scrapped by the time the film was made. {A fully configured 1620 (http://uranus.ee.auth.gr/TMTh/exhibit.htm)}. {IBM 1620 at Tuck School of Business, Dartmouth College, Hanover, NH, USA (/pub/misc/IBM1620-Tuck1960s.jpg)} (Thanks Victor E. McGee, pictured). ["Basic Programming Concepts and the IBM 1620 Computer", Leeson and Dimitry, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962]. (2018-09-11)

meta bit "character" The most-signigicant {bit} of an 8-bit {character}, which is on in character values 128--255. Also called the {high bit}, "alt bit" (alternate bit) or {hobbit}. Some terminals and consoles (see {space-cadet keyboard}) have a META shift key. Others (including, *mirabile dictu*, keyboards on IBM PC-class machines) have an ALT key. See also {bucky bits}. Historical note: although, in modern usage shaped by a universe of 8-bit {bytes}, the meta bit is invariably {hex} 80 ({octal} 0200), things were different on earlier machines with 36-bit words and 9-bit bytes. The MIT and Stanford keyboards (see {space-cadet keyboard}) generated hex 100 (octal 400) from their meta keys. [{Jargon File}] (2014-10-05)

meta bit ::: The top bit of an 8-bit character, which is on in character values 128--255. Also called high bit, alt bit, or hobbit. Some terminals and consoles (see dictu*, keyboards on IBM PC-class machines) have an ALT key. See also bucky bits.Historical note: although in modern usage shaped by a universe of 8-bit bytes the meta bit is invariably hex 80 (octal 0200), things were different on earlier machines with 36 bit words and 9-bit bytes. The MIT and Stanford keyboards (see space-cadet keyboard) generated hex 100 (octal 400) from their meta keys.[Jargon File]

Motorola 68000 ::: (processor) (MC68000) The first member of Motorola, Inc.'s family of 16- and 32-bit microprocessors. The successor to the Motorola 6809 and followed by the Motorola 68010.The 68000 has 32-bit registers but only a 16-bit ALU and external data bus. It has 24-bit addressing and a linear address space, with none of the evil segment are cut to fit the address bus into a 64-pin package (address and data share a bus in the 40 pin packages of the 8086 and Zilog Z8000).The 68000 has sixteen 32-bit registers, split into data and address registers. One address register is reserved for the Stack Pointer. Any register, of either registers can be used as the source of an address, but data registers can provide the offset from an address.Like the Zilog Z8000, the 68000 features a supervisor and user mode, each with its own Stack Pointer. The Zilog Z8000 and 68000 are similar in capabilities, but the 68000 is 32 bits internally, making it faster and eliminating forced segmentations.Like many other CPUs of its generation, it can fetch the next instruction during execution (2 stage pipeline).The 68000 was used in many workstations, notably early Sun-2 machines, and personal computers, notably Apple Computer's first Macintoshes and the Amiga. It was also used in most of Sega's early arcade machines, and in the Genesis/Megadrive consoles.Variants of the 68000 include the 68HC000 (a low-power HCMOS implementation) and the 68008 (an eight-bit data bus version used in the Sinclair QL).[The 68000: Principles and Programming, Leo Scanlon, 1981].(2003-07-11)

Motorola 68000 "processor" (MC68000) The first member of {Motorola, Inc.}'s family of 16- and 32-bit {microprocessors}. The successor to the {Motorola 6809} and followed by the {Motorola 68010}. The 68000 has 32-bit registers but only a 16-bit {ALU} and external {data bus}. It has 24-bit addressing and a {linear address space}, with none of the evil {segment registers} of {Intel}'s contemporary processors that make programming them unpleasant. That means that a single directly accessed {array} or structure can be larger than 64KB in size. Addresses are computed as 32 bit, but the top 8 bits are cut to fit the address bus into a 64-pin package (address and data share a bus in the 40 pin packages of the {8086} and {Zilog Z8000}). The 68000 has sixteen 32-bit {registers}, split into data and address registers. One address register is reserved for the {Stack Pointer}. Any register, of either type, can be used for any function except direct addressing. Only address registers can be used as the source of an address, but data registers can provide the offset from an address. Like the {Zilog Z8000}, the 68000 features a supervisor and user mode, each with its own {Stack Pointer}. The {Zilog Z8000} and 68000 are similar in capabilities, but the 68000 is 32 bits internally, making it faster and eliminating forced segmentations. Like many other CPUs of its generation, it can fetch the next instruction during execution (2 stage {pipeline}). The 68000 was used in many {workstations}, notably early {Sun-2} machines, and {personal computers}, notably {Apple Computer}'s first {Macintoshes} and the {Amiga}. It was also used in most of {Sega}'s early arcade machines, and in the {Genesis}/{Megadrive} consoles. Variants of the 68000 include the {68HC000} (a low-power HCMOS implementation) and the {68008} (an eight-bit data bus version used in the {Sinclair QL}). ["The 68000: Principles and Programming", Leo Scanlon, 1981]. (2003-07-11)

multi-user "operating system" A term describing an {operating system} or {application program} that can be used by several people concurrently; opposite of {single-user}. {Unix} is an example of a multi-user operating system, whereas most (but not all) versions of {Microsoft Windows} are intended to support only one user at a time. A multi-user system, by definition, supports {concurrent processing} of multiple tasks (once known as "{time-sharing}") or true {parallel processing} if it has multiple {CPUs}. While {batch processing} systems often ran jobs for serveral users concurrently, the term "multi-user" typically implies {interactive} access. Before {Ethernet} networks were commonplace, multi-user systems were accessed from a {terminal} (e.g. a {vt100}) connected via a {serial line} (typically {RS-232}). This arrangement was eventually superseded by networked {personal computers}, perhaps sharing files on a {file server}. With the wide-spread availability of Internet connections, the idea of sharing centralised resources is becoming trendy again with {cloud computing} and {managed applications}, though this time it is the overhead of administering the system that is being shared rather than the cost of the hardware. In gaming, both on PCs and {games consoles}, the equivalent term is {multi-player}, though the first multi-player games (e.g. {ADVENT}) were on multi-user computers. (2009-11-23)

Nintendo "company, games" A Japanese {video game} hardware manufacturer and software publisher. Nintendo started by making playing cards, but was later dominant in video games throughout the 1980s and early 1990s worldwide. They make lots of games consoles including the Gameboy, Gameboy Advance SP, DS, DS Lite and the Wii. {Nintendo home (http://nintendo.com/)}. (2008-03-08)

Playstation ::: (games, hardware) The leading family of games consoles, from Sony Corporation consisting of the original Playstation (PS1) and the Playstation 2 (PS2).The basic Playstations consist of a small box containing the processor and a DVD reader, with video outputs to connect to a TV, sockets for two game controllers, and a socket for one or two memory cards. The PS2 also has USB sockets.The PS2 can run PS1 software because the PS2's I/O processor is the same as the PS1's CPU. . .[Dates? Features?](2003-07-29)

Playstation "games, hardware" The leading family of {games consoles}, from {Sony Corporation} consisting of the original Playstation (PS1) and the Playstation 2 (PS2). The basic Playstations consist of a small box containing the processor and a {DVD} reader, with video outputs to connect to a TV, sockets for two game controllers, and a socket for one or two memory cards. The PS2 also has {USB} sockets. The PS2 can run PS1 software because the PS2's I/O processor is the same as the PS1's CPU. {(http://scea.sony.com/playstation/)}. {FAQ (http://flex.net/users/cjayc/vgfa/system/sony_psx.txt)}. [Dates? Features?] (2003-07-29)

solace ::: v. t. --> Comfort in grief; alleviation of grief or anxiety; also, that which relieves in distress; that which cheers or consoles; relief.
Rest; relaxation; ease. ::: n. --> To cheer in grief or under calamity; to comfort; to relieve in affliction, solitude, or discomfort; to console; -- applied to




QUOTES [2 / 2 - 116 / 116]


KEYS (10k)

   1 Bede
   1 The Mother

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   7 Blaise Pascal
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   2 Mokokoma Mokhonoana
   2 mile Zola
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1:And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, so that in this way the Wisdom of God, who consoles us as a mother, may refresh us from that very same bread [of the angels] and lead us through the sacraments of the incarnation to the knowledge and vision of divine splendor. ~ Bede,
2:The Supreme Discovery
   IF WE want to progress integrally, we must build within our conscious being a strong and pure mental synthesis which can serve us as a protection against temptations from outside, as a landmark to prevent us from going astray, as a beacon to light our way across the moving ocean of life.
   Each individual should build up this mental synthesis according to his own tendencies and affinities and aspirations. But if we want it to be truly living and luminous, it must be centred on the idea that is the intellectual representation symbolising That which is at the centre of our being, That which is our life and our light.
   This idea, expressed in sublime words, has been taught in various forms by all the great Instructors in all lands and all ages.
   The Self of each one and the great universal Self are one. Since all that is exists from all eternity in its essence and principle, why make a distinction between the being and its origin, between ourselves and what we place at the beginning?
   The ancient traditions rightly said:
   "Our origin and ourselves, our God and ourselves are one."
   And this oneness should not be understood merely as a more or less close and intimate relationship of union, but as a true identity.
   Thus, when a man who seeks the Divine attempts to reascend by degrees towards the inaccessible, he forgets that all his knowledge and all his intuition cannot take him one step forward in this infinite; neither does he know that what he wants to attain, what he believes to be so far from him, is within him.
   For how could he know anything of the origin until he becomes conscious of this origin in himself?
   It is by understanding himself, by learning to know himself, that he can make the supreme discovery and cry out in wonder like the patriarch in the Bible, "The house of God is here and I knew it not."
   That is why we must express that sublime thought, creatrix of the material worlds, and make known to all the word that fills the heavens and the earth, "I am in all things and all beings."When all shall know this, the promised day of great transfigurations will be at hand. When in each atom of Matter men shall recognise the indwelling thought of God, when in each living creature they shall perceive some hint of a gesture of God, when each man can see God in his brother, then dawn will break, dispelling the darkness, the falsehood, the ignorance, the error and suffering that weigh upon all Nature. For, "all Nature suffers and laments as she awaits the revelation of the Sons of God."
   This indeed is the central thought epitomising all others, the thought which should be ever present to our remembrance as the sun that illumines all life.
   That is why I remind you of it today. For if we follow our path bearing this thought in our hearts like the rarest jewel, the most precious treasure, if we allow it to do its work of illumination and transfiguration within us, we shall know that it lives in the centre of all beings and all things, and in it we shall feel the marvellous oneness of the universe.
   Then we shall understand the vanity and childishness of our meagre satisfactions, our foolish quarrels, our petty passions, our blind indignations. We shall see the dissolution of our little faults, the crumbling of the last entrenchments of our limited personality and our obtuse egoism. We shall feel ourselves being swept along by this sublime current of true spirituality which will deliver us from our narrow limits and bounds.
   The individual Self and the universal Self are one; in every world, in every being, in every thing, in every atom is the Divine Presence, and man's mission is to manifest it.
   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!
   On this a sage has said:
   "I would like each one of us to come to the point where he perceives the inner God who dwells even in the vilest of human beings; instead of condemning him we would say, 'Arise, O resplendent Being, thou who art ever pure, who knowest neither birth nor death; arise, Almighty One, and manifest thy nature.'"
   Let us live by this beautiful utterance and we shall see everything around us transformed as if by miracle.
   This is the attitude of true, conscious and discerning love, the love which knows how to see behind appearances, understand in spite of words, and which, amid all obstacles, is in constant communion with the depths.
   What value have our impulses and our desires, our anguish and our violence, our sufferings and our struggles, all these inner vicissitudes unduly dramatised by our unruly imagination - what value do they have before this great, this sublime and divine love bending over us from the innermost depths of our being, bearing with our weaknesses, rectifying our errors, healing our wounds, bathing our whole being with its regenerating streams?
   For the inner Godhead never imposes herself, she neither demands nor threatens; she offers and gives herself, conceals and forgets herself in the heart of all beings and things; she never accuses, she neither judges nor curses nor condemns, but works unceasingly to perfect without constraint, to mend without reproach, to encourage without impatience, to enrich each one with all the wealth he can receive; she is the mother whose love bears fruit and nourishes, guards and protects, counsels and consoles; because she understands everything, she can endure everything, excuse and pardon everything, hope and prepare for everything; bearing everything within herself, she owns nothing that does not belong to all, and because she reigns over all, she is the servant of all; that is why all, great and small, who want to be kings with her and gods in her, become, like her, not despots but servitors among their brethren.
   How beautiful is this humble role of servant, the role of all who have been revealers and heralds of the God who is within all, of the Divine Love that animates all things....
   And until we can follow their example and become true servants even as they, let us allow ourselves to be penetrated and transformed by this Divine Love; let us offer Him, without reserve, this marvellous instrument, our physical organism. He shall make it yield its utmost on every plane of activity.
   To achieve this total self-consecration, all means are good, all methods have their value. The one thing needful is to persevere in our will to attain this goal. For then everything we study, every action we perform, every human being we meet, all come to bring us an indication, a help, a light to guide us on the path.
   Before I close, I shall add a few pages for those who have already made apparently fruitless efforts, for those who have encountered the pitfalls on the way and seen the measure of their weakness, for those who are in danger of losing their self-confidence and courage. These pages, intended to rekindle hope in the hearts of those who suffer, were written by a spiritual worker at a time when ordeals of every kind were sweeping down on him like purifying flames.
   You who are weary, downcast and bruised, you who fall, who think perhaps that you are defeated, hear the voice of a friend. He knows your sorrows, he has shared them, he has suffered like you from the ills of the earth; like you he has crossed many deserts under the burden of the day, he has known thirst and hunger, solitude and abandonment, and the cruellest of all wants, the destitution of the heart. Alas! he has known too the hours of doubt, the errors, the faults, the failings, every weakness.
   But he tells you: Courage! Hearken to the lesson that the rising sun brings to the earth with its first rays each morning. It is a lesson of hope, a message of solace.
   You who weep, who suffer and tremble, who dare not expect an end to your ills, an issue to your pangs, behold: there is no night without dawn and the day is about to break when darkness is thickest; there is no mist that the sun does not dispel, no cloud that it does not gild, no tear that it will not dry one day, no storm that is not followed by its shining triumphant bow; there is no snow that it does not melt, nor winter that it does not change into radiant spring.
   And for you too, there is no affliction which does not bring its measure of glory, no distress which cannot be transformed into joy, nor defeat into victory, nor downfall into higher ascension, nor solitude into radiating centre of life, nor discord into harmony - sometimes it is a misunderstanding between two minds that compels two hearts to open to mutual communion; lastly, there is no infinite weakness that cannot be changed into strength. And it is even in supreme weakness that almightiness chooses to reveal itself!
   Listen, my little child, you who today feel so broken, so fallen perhaps, who have nothing left, nothing to cover your misery and foster your pride: never before have you been so great! How close to the summits is he who awakens in the depths, for the deeper the abyss, the more the heights reveal themselves!
   Do you not know this, that the most sublime forces of the vasts seek to array themselves in the most opaque veils of Matter? Oh, the sublime nuptials of sovereign love with the obscurest plasticities, of the shadow's yearning with the most royal light!
   If ordeal or fault has cast you down, if you have sunk into the nether depths of suffering, do not grieve - for there indeed the divine love and the supreme blessing can reach you! Because you have passed through the crucible of purifying sorrows, the glorious ascents are yours.
   You are in the wilderness: then listen to the voices of the silence. The clamour of flattering words and outer applause has gladdened your ears, but the voices of the silence will gladden your soul and awaken within you the echo of the depths, the chant of divine harmonies!
   You are walking in the depths of night: then gather the priceless treasures of the night. In bright sunshine, the ways of intelligence are lit, but in the white luminosities of the night lie the hidden paths of perfection, the secret of spiritual riches.
   You are being stripped of everything: that is the way towards plenitude. When you have nothing left, everything will be given to you. Because for those who are sincere and true, from the worst always comes the best.
   Every grain that is sown in the earth produces a thousand. Every wing-beat of sorrow can be a soaring towards glory.
   And when the adversary pursues man relentlessly, everything he does to destroy him only makes him greater.
   Hear the story of the worlds, look: the great enemy seems to triumph. He casts the beings of light into the night, and the night is filled with stars. He rages against the cosmic working, he assails the integrity of the empire of the sphere, shatters its harmony, divides and subdivides it, scatters its dust to the four winds of infinity, and lo! the dust is changed into a golden seed, fertilising the infinite and peopling it with worlds which now gravitate around their eternal centre in the larger orbit of space - so that even division creates a richer and deeper unity, and by multiplying the surfaces of the material universe, enlarges the empire that it set out to destroy.
   Beautiful indeed was the song of the primordial sphere cradled in the bosom of immensity, but how much more beautiful and triumphant is the symphony of the constellations, the music of the spheres, the immense choir that fills the heavens with an eternal hymn of victory!
   Hear again: no state was ever more precarious than that of man when he was separated on earth from his divine origin. Above him stretched the hostile borders of the usurper, and at his horizon's gates watched jailers armed with flaming swords. Then, since he could climb no more to the source of life, the source arose within him; since he could no more receive the light from above, the light shone forth at the very centre of his being; since he could commune no more with the transcendent love, that love offered itself in a holocaust and chose each terrestrial being, each human self as its dwelling-place and sanctuary.
   That is how, in this despised and desolate but fruitful and blessed Matter, each atom contains a divine thought, each being carries within him the Divine Inhabitant. And if no being in all the universe is as frail as man, neither is any as divine as he!
   In truth, in truth, in humiliation lies the cradle of glory! 28 April 1912 ~ The Mother, Words Of Long Ago, The Supreme Discovery,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:A mere trifle consoles us, for a mere trifle distresses us. ~ blaise-pascal, @wisdomtrove
2:Distraction is the only thing that consoles us for our miseries. Yet it is itself the greatest of our miseries. ~ blaise-pascal, @wisdomtrove
3:Day by day, we are becoming what we shall be eternally. The spirit who convicts us is also the spirit who consoles. ~ charles-spurgeon, @wisdomtrove
4:The only thing that ever consoles man for the stupid things he does is the praise he always gives himself for doing them. ~ oscar-wilde, @wisdomtrove
5:We have in England a curious belief in first-rate people meaning all the people we do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable second-rateness of the people we do know. ~ george-bernard-shaw, @wisdomtrove
6:The only thing which consoles for our miseries is diversion, and yet this is the greatest of our miseries. For it is this which principally hinders us from reflecting upon ourselves and which makes us imperceptibly ruin ourselves. ~ blaise-pascal, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Anything that consoles is fake. ~ Iris Murdoch,
2:Nothing consoles like the blues. ~ Hanif Kureishi,
3:A trifle consoles us, for a trifle distresses us. ~ Blaise Pascal,
4:A mere trifle consoles us, for a mere trifle distresses us. ~ Blaise Pascal,
5:The architecture we remember is that which never consoles or comforts us. ~ Peter Eisenman,
6:Vice stings us even in our pleasures, but virtue consoles us even in our pains. ~ William Cowper,
7:A wise Providence consoles our present afflictions by joys borrowed from the future. ~ Hosea Ballou,
8:The discovery that heartbreak is indeed heartbreaking consoles us about our humanity. ~ Lionel Shriver,
9:What consoles one nowadays is not repentance but pleasure. Repentance is quite out of date. ~ Oscar Wilde,
10:The thought of eternity consoles for the shortness of life. ~ Guillaume Chretien de Lamoignon de Malesherbes,
11:As a result, we will continue to see more innovation on the Internet and on mobile phones than on consoles. ~ Trip Hawkins,
12:Distraction is the only thing that consoles us for miseries and yet it is itself the greatest of our miseries. ~ Blaise Pascal,
13:Be He nowhere else, God is in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles. ~ James Russell Lowell,
14:Distraction is the only thing that consoles us for our miseries. Yet it is itself the greatest of our miseries. ~ Blaise Pascal,
15:You have to let other people be right' was his answer to their insults. 'It consoles them for not being anything else. ~ Andr Gide,
16:You have to let other people be right’ was his answer to their insults. ‘It consoles them for not being anything else. ~ Andr Gide,
17:You have to let other people be right' was his answer to their insults. 'It consoles them for not being anything else. ~ Andre Gide,
18:home videogame consoles had already made most coin-op games obsolete. After the OASIS went online, they stopped making ~ Ernest Cline,
19:Day by day, we are becoming what we shall be eternally. The spirit who convicts us is also the spirit who consoles. ~ Charles Spurgeon,
20:The only thing that ever consoles man for the stupid things he does is the praise he always gives himself for doing them. ~ Oscar Wilde,
21:Im interested in existential films: I love movies that console you in the same way that a person consoles a weeping child. ~ Louis Garrel,
22:One must allow other people to be right," he used to say when he was insulted, "It consoles them for not being anything else. ~ Andr Gide,
23:It is people's movement that consoles us. If the leaves of a tree did not move, how sad would be the tree - and so should we. ~ Edgar Degas,
24:God is that inner presence which makes us admire the beautiful and consoles us for not sharing the happiness of the wicked. ~ Eugene Delacroix,
25:Then God sends us such a messenger who appears to us in spirit, warns us, consoles us, teaches us, and brings us His good tidings. ~ Paracelsus,
26:Old people are fond of giving good advice; it consoles them for no longer being capable of setting a bad example. ~ Francois de La Rochefoucauld,
27:I have seen some very beautiful things through my anger, and what consoles me a little, is that through my anger I do not stop looking... ~ Edgar Degas,
28:A goal of Twitch is to be wherever gamers are, whether its on laptops and handheld devices or integrated into gaming consoles and software. ~ Emmett Shear,
29:Thought consoles us for all, and heals all. If at times it does you ill, ask it for the remedy for that ill and it will give it to you. ~ Nicolas Chamfort,
30:Other than the promise of life after death, nothing consoles the poor better than the fact that rich people are also subject to death. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,
31:1828 Turns forty. ‘After his fortieth year,’ he consoles himself, ‘any man of merit … will hardly be free from a certain touch of misanthropy. ~ Alain de Botton,
32:I made so many recordings with junky mics and crappy mixing consoles, you have to use what your tools are and in some ways that's been inspirational. ~ Butch Vig,
33:Thus even tragedy can be accompanied by a trace of relief. The discovery that heartbreak is indeed heartbreaking consoles us about our humanity. ~ Lionel Shriver,
34:And God consoles Himself with the thought that all creation necessarily ends in this: Creators, powerless, fleeing from the things they have wrought. ~ David Eagleman,
35:There are some truths about life that can be expressed only as stories, or songs, or images. Art delights, instructs, consoles. It educates our emotions. ~ Dana Gioia,
36:What I didn't foresee in 2005 was the rise of the post-PC, which are all these tablets now. These are the things that actually will probably be the end of the consoles. ~ John Romero,
37:Everybody's saturated with the marketing hype of next-generation consoles. They are wonderful, but the truth is that they are as powerful as a high end PC is right now. ~ John Carmack,
38:Whenever he realizes that a female is more gifted than him, the average man subconsciously consoles himself with the fact that she does not have even a tiny penis. ~ Mokokoma Mokhonoana,
39:O Thou whose Name is sweetest remedy
And whose remembrance heals our soul’s disease
With Thee each moment is Eternity
A drop from Heaven that consoles and frees. ~ Frithjof Schuon,
40:Science neither cares to please nor to displease. She is inhuman. It is not science but poetry that charms and consoles. And that is why poetry is more necessary than science. ~ Anatole France,
41:Tell him that riches will not procure for you a single moment of happiness. Luxury consoles poverty alone, and at that only for a short time, until one becomes accustomed to it. ~ Alexander Pushkin,
42:We have in England a curious belief in first-rate people, meaning all the people we do not know; and this consoles us for the undeniable second-rateness of the people we do know. ~ George Bernard Shaw,
43:Frey, Freyda’s son, was walking around the consoles twirling the light saber. He’d picked that up from some obscure group of galactic-wide do-gooders from near the end of his backtime limits. ~ L E Modesitt Jr,
44:Life is still life, whatever its pangs; our eyes and ears and their use remain with us, though the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what consoles must be silenced. ~ Charlotte Bront,
45:The greatest gift is a passion for reading. It is cheap, it consoles, it distracts, it excites, it gives you knowledge of the world and experience of a wide kind. It is a moral illumination. ~ Elizabeth Hardwick,
46:Life is still life, whatever its pangs; our eyes and ears and their use remain with us, though the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what consoles must be silenced. ~ Charlotte Bronte,
47:I suppose I do believe that the greatest art consoles a wound that it creates, that art can give you the capacity to endure and respond to the pain it forces you to feel. Psychological pain, I mean. ~ Christian Wiman,
48:Christianity, above all, consoles; but there are naturally happy souls who do not need consolation. Consequently Christianity begins by making such souls unhappy, for otherwise it would have no power over them. ~ Andre Gide,
49:Licklider believed that computers could one day change the world for the better. He envisioned “home computer consoles,” with people sitting in front of them, learning just about anything they wanted to. He ~ Annie Jacobsen,
50:Only in bad novels people always think the right thing, always say the right thing, every effect has its cause, there are the likable ones and the unlikable, the good and the bad, everything in the end consoles you. ~ Elena Ferrante,
51:Programmers who have worked with (or even just seen applications developed in) libraries such as Borland’s TurboWindows (for DOS) will be familiar with how many of these features can look very attractive in text-​mode consoles. ~ Anonymous,
52:Regardless of its textual component, Noh is ultimately indescribable, like sexual ecstasy; what consoles me for my failure of language is the fact that so is everything else. Moreover, Noh aspires to indescribability. ~ William T Vollmann,
53:The only thing which consoles for our miseries is diversion, and yet this is the greatest of our miseries. For it is this which principally hinders us from reflecting upon ourselves and which makes us imperceptibly ruin ourselves. ~ Blaise Pascal,
54:At home I mostly stick to online Scrabble, or chess or Risk - games I find far less addictive than the spectacular games created for consoles these days. But, whenever I get the chance I head over to my friend Kyri’s house to play his PS3. ~ Beau Willimon,
55:I thought then, and indeed have thought ever since, what a wonderful person Max is. He is so quiet, so sparing with words of commiseration. He does things. He does just the things you want done and that consoles you more than anything else could. ~ Agatha Christie,
56:Caligula - And what has Nature done for you?

Scipio - It consoles me for not being. Ceasar.

Caligula - Really? And do you think Nature could console me for being Ceasar?

Scipio - Why not? Nature has healed worse wounds than that. ~ Albert Camus,
57:This pious practice, by which the Blessed Virgin Mary is honored and the Christian people enriched with spiritual gifts, gladdens and consoles us. Mary remains ever the path that leads to Christ. Every encounter with her can only result in an encounter with Christ himself ~ Pope Paul VI,
58:When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me. Indeed, as any one who knows me intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink. At the present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins. ~ Oscar Wilde,
59:The hate of favourites is only a love of favour. The envy of NOT possessing it, consoles and softens its regrets by the contempt it evinces for those who possess it, and we refuse them our homage, not being able to detract from them what attracts that of the rest of the world. ~ Francois de La Rochefoucauld,
60:When there’s too much silence, she said, so many ideas come to mind, I don’t pay attention. Only in bad novels people always think the right thing, always say the right thing, every effect has its cause, there are the likable ones and the unlikable, the good and the bad, everything in the end consoles ~ Elena Ferrante,
61:You know what is a failure? That our audiences still believe a game as Destiny is not a risky proposition. Five hundred million dollars, assigned to a project that is an entirely unproven property years ago, with a projected dependency on non-existent internet infrastructure, for consoles that didn’t even exist back then. ~ Anonymous,
62:Only music clarifies, reconciles, and consoles. But it is not a straw just barely clutched at. It is a faithful friend, protector, and comforter, and for its sake alone, life in this world is worth living. Who knows, perhaps in heaven there will be no music. So let us live on the earth while we still have life! ~ Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky,
63:I've had a lot of consoles as a kid so there has always been something that I've done as a pastime or with friends and for personal enjoyment. I don't play many sports so it gives me an opportunity to have that same competitive feeling and the same reward when you win but using different techniques. It's much more mental. ~ Asa Butterfield,
64:The idea that the world we experience is a solipsistic delusion projected from the interior of our mind consoles rather than disturbs us, since it conforms with our infantile fantasies of omnipotence; but the thought that our so-called interiority owe its existence to a fictionalized consensus will always carry an uncanny charge. ~ Mark Fisher,
65:There is within me a friend who consoles me every time that troubles overwhelm me and misfortunes afflict me. The man who does not feel friendship towards himself is a public enemy, and he who finds no confidant within himself will die of despair. For life streams out of man's inner self and in no way from what surrounds him. ~ Khalil Gibran,
66:No time must be lost, and no opportunity missed. However trifling it be, part of life’s ultimate success depends upon the diligence with which I examine the world and make it more perfect in my own self. Awareness of this task spurs me on, and at the same time consoles me for my insignificance and obscurity. ~ Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Cosmic Life,
67:The modern recording studio, with its well-trained engineers, 24-track machines and shiny new recording consoles, encourages the artist to get involved with sound. And there have always been artists who could make the equipment serve their needs in a highly personal way - I would single out the Beatles, Phil Spector, the Beach Boys and Thom Bell. ~ Jon Landau,
68:I Sometimes Drop It, For A Quick
708
I sometimes drop it, for a Quick—
The Thought to be alive—
Anonymous Delight to know—
And Madder—to conceive—
Consoles a Woe so monstrous
That did it tear all Day,
Without an instant's Respite—
'Twould look too far—to Die—
~ Emily Dickinson,
69:We passed a boy’s room, decorated with a space theme. Jackson’s light shone over wallpaper depicting the galaxy and intricate mobiles of the planets dangling from the ceiling. Space shuttle posters adorned the walls. High-tech-looking computers and video game consoles were neatly organized.

Jackson gave a harsh laugh. “I’ve never been in a nerdery before. ~ Kresley Cole,
70:We cannot really love the dead. We love a fantasm that secretly consoles. What love sometimes mistakes for death is a kind of intense suffering, a pain that can be endured and absorbed. But the idea of a real ending, that cannot be envisaged . . . Indeed, in the language of love the concept of an ending is devoid of sense. (So we must go beyond love or utterly change it.) ~ Iris Murdoch,
71:The only thing that consoles us for our miseries is diversion. And yet it is the greatest of our miseries. For it is that above all which prevents us thinking about ourselves and leads is imperceptibly to destruction. But for that we should be bored, and boredom would drive us to seek some more solid means of escape, but diversion passes our time and brings us imperceptibly to our death. ~ Blaise Pascal,
72:Woman makes half the sorrows which she boasts the privilege to sooth. Woman consoles us, it is true, while we are young and handsome; when we are old and ugly, woman snubs and scolds us. On the whole, then, woman in this scale, the weed in that. Jupiter! Hang out thy balance, and weigh them both; and if thou give the preference to woman, all I can say is, the next time Juno ruffles thee, O Jupiter, try the weed. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton 1st Baron Lytton,
73:It is for this reason that art, true art, the one that comes from the soul, is so important in our lives. Art consoles us, it lifts us and directs us. Art cures us. We are not only that which we eat and the air that we breathe. We are also the stories we have heard, the tales we fell asleep listening to when we were children, the books we have read, the music we heard and the emotions that a painting, a statue, or a poem have given us. ~ Tiziano Terzani,
74:I learned in that moment that there are different darknesses. That there is ordinary darkness, like the night in the countryside, where, even on a night with no moon, as you stare things loom, take form; and there is another darkness, a darkness so profound you cannot begin to imagine it, cannot conjure it up in your mind. A darkness that blots out all you remember or hope for. A darkness that teaches that all that consoles you is false. ~ Margaret Leroy,
75:Have you never been moved by poor men's fidelity, the image of you they form in their simple minds? Why should you always talk of their envy, without understanding that what they ask of you is not so much your worldly goods, as something very hard to define, which they themselves can put no name to; yet at times it consoles their loneliness; a dream of splendor, of magnificence, a tawdry dream, a poor man's dream -and yet God blesses it! ~ Georges Bernanos,
76:Since it is likely that, being men, they would sin every day, St. Paul consoles his hearers by saying ‘renew yourselves’ from day to day. This is what we do with houses: we keep constantly repairing them as they wear old. You should do the same thing to yourself. Have you sinned today? Have you made your soul old? Do not despair, do not despond, but renew your soul by repentance, and tears, and Confession, and by doing good things. And never cease doing this. ~ John Chrysostom,
77:Since it is likely that, being men, they would sin every day, St. Paul consoles his hearers by saying 'renew yourselves' from day to day. This is what we do with houses: we keep constantly repairing them as they wear old. You should do the same thing to yourself. Have you sinned today? Have you made your soul old? Do not despair, do not despond, but renew your soul by repentance, and tears, and Confession, and by doing good things. And never cease doing this. ~ Saint John Chrysostom,
78:Since it is likely that, being men, they would sin every day, St. Paul consoles his hearers by saying ‘renew yourselves’ from day to day. This is what we do with houses: we keep constantly repairing them as they wear old. You should do the same thing to yourself. Have you sinned today? Have you made your soul old? Do not despair, do not despond, but renew your soul by repentance, and tears, and Confession, and by doing good things. And never cease doing this. ~ Saint John Chrysostom,
79:We sit at our consoles and play "Gears of War", but we don't see images from war. We don't turn on the news and see the evidence of war, the result of war. Maybe twice a year, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, we'll go out, we'll hang our flags, we'll try to inculcate in our children some sense of national honor for the fallen. But really, we don't see it. We just don't see the pictures. There's no drive-by on the freeway of death up close. So we don't really see bravery. ~ Jamie Lee Curtis,
80:His touch both consoles and devastates me; I feel my heart pulse, then wither, naked as a stone on the roaring mattress while the lovely, moony night slides through the window to dapple the flanks of this innocent who makes cages to keep the sweet birds in. Eat me, drink me; thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden, I go back and back to him to have his fingers strip the tattered skin away and clothe me in his dress of water, this garment that drenches me, its slithering odour, its capacity for drowning. ~ Angela Carter,
81:To a child who dies, and to the parents of this child, will you speak, if religion consoles them, in praise of atheism? That one does not mistake: that, to my mind, does not prove anything against atheism and much against religion. "The heart of a heartless world, said Marx, the soul of soulless conditions." It is misery that makes religion, and it is why this one is miserable. Who would prohibit opium to a dying man? And what are we, out of oblivion or entertainment, anything else but dying? ~ Andre Comte Sponville,
82:The late '60s and the '70s, a lot of this really beautiful equipment was being made and installed into studios around the world and the Neve boards were considered like the Cadillacs of recording consoles. They're these really big, behemoth-looking recording desks; they kind of look like they're from the Enterprise in Star Trek or something like that. They're like a grayish color, sort of like an old Army tank with lots of knobs, and to any studio geek or gear enthusiast it's like the coolest toy in the world. ~ Dave Grohl,
83:When you realized that you would have to ask for help, you did not feel humiliated. And when you learned that someone needed help, you showed them all that you had learned without fearing that you might be revealing secrets or being used by others.
To he who knocks, the door will open.
He who asks will receive.
He who consoles knows that he will be consoled.
Even if none of these things happens when you are expecting it to, sooner or later you will see the fruits of the thing you shared with such generosity. ~ Paulo Coelho,
84:a professor of computer science at MIT named Joseph Weizenbaum writes of a malady he calls “the compulsion to program.” He describes the afflicted as “bright young men of disheveled appearance, often with sunken, glowing eyes,” who play out “megalomaniacal fantasies of omnipotence” at computer consoles; they sit at their machines, he writes, “their arms tensed and waiting to fire their fingers, already poised to strike, at the buttons and keys on which their attention seems to be as riveted as a gambler’s on the rolling dice. ~ Tracy Kidder,
85:or the pilots doing nine-to-five jobs at computer consoles in Nevada killing people in Iraq and Afghanistan with drones and commuting to and from their homes like any other commuters. Imagine the psychic split that must ensue from bringing in death and destruction from the sky on a group of terrorists—young men who have mothers and a misplaced idealism that has led them into horrible criminal acts, but nevertheless young and brave men—and then driving home from the base to dinner with the spouse and kids. “Have a nice day at the office, hon? ~ Karl Marlantes,
86:Happiness can come in a single moment. And in a single moment it can go again. But a single moment does not create it. Happiness is created through countless choices made and then made again throughout a lifetime. You are its host as well as its guest. You give it form, shape, individuality, texture, tone. And what it allows you to give can change your world. Happiness can be stillness. But it isn't still. It wraps, enchants, heals, consoles, soothes, delights, calms, inspires and connects. It is on your face and in your body. It is in your life and being. ~ Stephanie Dowrick,
87:In a book called Computer Power and Human Reason, a professor of computer science at MIT named Joseph Weizenbaum writes of a malady he calls “the compulsion to program.” He describes the afflicted as “bright young men of disheveled appearance, often with sunken, glowing eyes,” who play out “megalomaniacal fantasies of omnipotence” at computer consoles; they sit at their machines, he writes, “their arms tensed and waiting to fire their fingers, already poised to strike, at the buttons and keys on which their attention seems to be as riveted as a gambler’s on the rolling dice. ~ Tracy Kidder,
88:Once, when I was puzzled to know why there were so many religions, he said: "There is one universal religion, Helen- the religion of love. Love your heavenly father with your whole heart and soul, love every child of God as much as you ever can, and remember that the possibilities of good are greater than the possibilities of evil; and you have the key to heaven." And his life was a happy illustration of this great truth. In this noble soul love and widest knowledge were blended with faith that had become insight. He saw God in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens and consoles. ~ Helen Keller,
89:The Death of the Poor”, by Baudelaire; that helped me enormously.’ The sublime verses came back to me immediately, as if they had always been present in a corner of my consciousness, as if my whole life had only been a more or less explicit commentary on them: Death, alas! consoles and brings to life; The end of it all, the solitary hope; We, drunk on death’s elixir, face the strife, Take heart, and climb till dusk the weary slope. All through the storm, the frost, and the snow, Death on our black horizon pulses clear; Death is the famous inn that we all know, Where we can rest and sleep and have good cheer. ~ Michel Houellebecq,
90:Rashid did not give in. "Look how his hands move on the contols," he told her. "In those worlds left-handedness does not impede him. Amazingly, he is almost ambidextrous." Soraya snorted with annoyance. "Have you seen his handwriting?" she said. "Will his hedgehogs and plumbers help with that? Will his 'pisps' and 'wees' get him through school? Such names! They sound like going to the bathroom or what." Rashid began to smile placatingly. "The term is consoles," he began but Soraya turned on her heel and walked away, waving one hand high above her head. "Do not speak to me of such things," she said over her shoulder, speaking in her grandest voice. "I am in-console-able. ~ Salman Rushdie,
91:As soon as I recognized the difference between the two hands of the father, a new world of meaning opened up for me. The Father is not simply a great patriarch. He is mother as well as father. He touches the son with a masculine hand and a feminine hand. He holds, and she caresses. He confirms and she consoles. He is, indeed, God, in whom both manhood and womanhood, fatherhood and motherhood, are fully present. That gentle caressing right hand echoes for me the words of the prophet Isaiah: “Can a woman forget her baby at the breast, feel no pity for the child she has borne? Even if these were to forget, I shall not forget you. Look, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands. ~ Henri J M Nouwen,
92:Angel Bob: Doctor? Excuse me, hello, Doctor? Angel Bob here, sir.
The Doctor: Ah, there you are, Angel Bob. How's life? Sorry, bad subject.
Angel Bob: The Angels are wondering what you hope to achieve.
The Doctor: Achieve? We're not achieving anything. We're just hanging, it's nice in here: consoles; comfy chairs; a forest... how's things with you?
Angel Bob: The Angels are feasting, sir. Soon we will be able to absorb enough power to consume this vessel, this world, and all the stars and worlds beyond.
The Doctor: Yeah, but we've got comfy chairs. Did I mention?
Angel Bob: We have no need for comfy chairs.
The Doctor: [amused] I made him say 'comfy chairs'. ~ Steven Moffat,
93:Once you can sell computing to consumers directly, and once you get computing into products that become part of their everyday lives, the volumes become transformative. Consider this: According to researchers at the Gartner Group, 355 million personal computers—servers, desktop PCs, and laptops—were sold around the world in 2011. Some 1.8 billion cellphones were sold the same year. And that’s a number that doesn’t include all the other kinds of computing-based or networkable devices that might become part of a consumer’s life, including video game consoles, audio players, radios, thermostats, car navigation systems, and anything else that can become smarter through the power of connected computing. ~ Brent Schlender,
94:Bottom
Reality being too thorny for my great personality.
--I found myself nevertheless at my lady's,
an enormous gray-blue bird soaring toward the moldings
of the ceiling and trailing my wings
through the shadows of the evening.
At the foot of the canopy supporting her adored gems
and her physical masterpieces, I was a great bear
with violet gums, fur hoary with sorrow,
eyes on the silver and crystal of the consoles.
Everything became shadow and ardent aquarium.
In the morning,-- bellicose dawn of June,-a donkey, I rushed into the fields,
braying and brandishing my grievance,
until the Sabine women of the suburbs
came and threw themselves on my neck.
~ Arthur Rimbaud,
95:Every man who begets a free act projects his personality into the infinite. If he gives a poor man a penny grudgingly, that penny pierces the poor man’s hand, falls, pierces the earth, bores holes in suns, crosses the firmament and compromises the universe. If he begets an impure act, he perhaps darkens thousands of hearts whom he does not know, who are mysteriously linked to him, and who need this man to be pure as a traveler dying of thirst needs the Gospel’s draught of water. A charitable act, an impulse of real pity sings for him the divine praises, from the time of Adam to the end of the ages; it cures the sick, consoles those in despair, calms storms, ransoms prisoners, converts the infidel and protects mankind ~ L on Bloy,
96:Every man who begets a free act projects his personality into the infinite. If he gives a poor man a penny grudgingly, that penny pierces the poor man’s hand, falls, pierces the earth, bores holes in suns, crosses the firmament and compromises the universe. If he begets an impure act, he perhaps darkens thousands of hearts whom he does not know, who are mysteriously linked to him, and who need this man to be pure as a traveller dying of thirst needs the Gospel’s draught of water. A charitable act, an impulse of real pity sings for him the divine praises, from the time of Adam to the end of the ages; it cures the sick, consoles those in despair, calms storms, ransoms prisoners, converts the infidel and protects mankind ~ L on Bloy,
97:It is for this reason that art, true art, the one that comes from the soul, is so important in our lives. Art consoles us, it lifts us and directs us. Art cures us. We are not only that which we eat and the air that we breathe. We are also the stories we have heard, the tales we fell asleep listening to when we were children, the books we have read, the music we heard and the emotions that a painting, a statue, or a poem have given us.

Noi non siamo solo quello che mangiamo e l’aria che respiriamo. Siamo anche le storie che abbiamo sentito, le favole con cui ci siamo addormentati da bambini, I libri che abbiamo letto, la music che abbiamo ascoltato e le emozioni che un quadro, una statua, una poesia ci hanno dato. ~ Tiziano Terzani,
98:From the inaccessible mountains, across the desert which no mortal foot has trod, far as the confines of the unknown ocean, breathes the spirit of the eternal Creator; and every atom to which he has given existence finds favour in his sight. Ah, how often at that time has the flight of a bird, soaring above my head, inspired me with the desire of being transported to the shores of the immeasurable waters, there to quaff the pleasures of life from the foaming goblet of the Infinite, and to partake, if but for a moment even, with the confined powers of my soul, the beatitude of that Creator who accomplishes all things in himself, and through himself! My dear friend, the bare recollection of those hours still consoles me. Even this effort to recall those ineffable sensations, and give them utterance, exalts my soul above itself, and makes me doubly feel the intensity of my present anguish. It ~ William Allan Neilson,
99:... bright young men of disheveled appearance, often with
sunken glowing eyes, can be seen sitting at computer consoles,
their arms tensed and waiting to fire their fingers, already poised
to strike, at the buttons and keys on which their attention seems
to be riveted as a gambler’s on the rolling dice. When not so
transfixed, they often sit at tables strewn with computer printouts
over which they pore like possessed students of a cabbalistic
text. They work until they nearly drop, twenty, thirty hours
at a time. Their food, if they arrange it, is brought to them:
coffee, Cokes, sandwiches. If possible, they sleep on cots near
the printouts. Their rumpled clothes, their unwashed and
unshaven faces, and their uncombed hair all testify that they are
oblivious to their bodies and to the world in which they move.
These are computer bums, compulsive programmers ... ~ Joseph Weizenbaum,
100:It is for this reason that art, true art, the one that comes from the soul, is so important in our lives. Art consoles us, it lifts us and directs us. Art cures us. We are not only that which we eat and the air that we breathe. We are also the stories we have heard, the tales we fell asleep listening to when we were children, the books we have read, the music we heard and the emotions that a painting, a statue, or a poem have given us.

L'arte, quella vera, quella che viene dall'anima, è così importante nella nostra vita. L'arte ci consola, ci solleva, l'arte ci orienta. L'arte ci cura. Noi non siamo solo quello che mangiamo e l'aria che respiriamo. Siamo anche le storie che abbiamo sentito, le favole con cui ci hanno addormentato da bambini, i libri che abbiamo letto, la musica che abbiamo ascoltato e le emozioni che un quadro, una statua, una poesia ci hanno dato.

(La fine è il Mio Inizio) ~ Tiziano Terzani,
101:The large drawing-room was an immense, long room, with a sort of gallery that ran from one pavilion to the other, taking up the whole of the façade on the garden side. A large French window opened on to the steps. This gallery glittered with gold. The ceiling, gently arched, had fanciful scrolls winding round great gilt medallions, that shone like bucklers. Bosses and dazzling garlands encircled the arch; fillets of gold, resembling threads of molten metal, ran round the walls, framing the panels, which were hung with red silk; festoons of roses, topped with tufts of full-blown blossoms, hung down along the sides of the mirrors. An Aubusson carpet spread its purple flowers over the polished flooring. The furniture of red silk damask, the door-hangings and window-curtains of the same material, the huge ormolu clock on the mantel-piece, the porcelain vases standing on the consoles, the legs of the two long tables ~ mile Zola,
102:... Have you ever reflected that posterity may not be the faultless dispenser of justice that we dream of? One consoles oneself for being insulted and denied, by reyling on the equity of the centuries to come; just as the faithful endure all the abominations of this earth in the firm belief of another life, in which each will be rewarded according to his deserts. But suppose Paradise exists no more for the artist than it does for the Catholic, suppose that future generations prolong the misunderstanding and prefer amiable little trifles to vigorous works! Ah! What a sell it would be, eh? To have led a convict's life - to have screwed oneself down to one's work - all for a mere delusion!...

"Bah! What does it matter? Well, there's nothing hereafter. We are even madder than the fools who kill themselves for a woman. When the earth splits to pieces in space like a dry walnut, our works won't add one atom to its dust. ~ mile Zola,
103:(I) went to see the noble knights of Holy Anocracy.
By the time they assembled, the inn finished assimilating the new gaming consoles. I waved my hand and three huge flat screen opened in the stone walls of the vampire quarters. Wall spat out sets of controllers.
“Greetings,” I said. “House Krah, House Sabla and House Vorga, may I present Call of Duty.”
The three screens ignited simultaneously, playing the opening of the Call of Duty: Advanced Warfare. Soldiers in high tech armor shot at target, flew across the screen from bomb impacts, and walked dramatically in slow motion. Vehicles roared, Marines roared louder, and Kevin Spacey informed us that politicians didn’t know how to solve problems but he did.
The vampires stared at the screens.
“This is a game of cooperative action,” I said, “Where a small elite force can triumph against overwhelming odds.”
At the word elite, they perked up like wild dogs who heard a rabbit cry.
“The game will teach you how to play it. May the best House triumph over their opponents. ~ Ilona Andrews,
104:He who does not see the vanity of the world is himself very vain. Indeed who do not see it but youths who are absorbed in fame, diversion, and the thought of the future? But take away diversion, and you will see them dried up with weariness. They feel then their nothingness without knowing it; for it is indeed to be unhappy to be in insufferable sadness as soon as we are reduced to thinking of self, and have no diversion.”

If our condition were truly happy, we would not need diversion from thinking of it in order to make ourselves happy.

As men are not able to fight against death, misery, ignorance, they have taken it into their heads, in order to be happy, not to think of them at all.

The only thing which consoles us for our miseries is diversion, and yet this it the greatest of our miseries. For it is this which principally hinders us from reflecting upon ourselves, and which makes us insensibly ruin ourselves. Without this we should be in a state of weariness, and this weariness would spur us to seek a more solid means of escaping from it. But diversion amuses us, and leads us unconsciously to death ~ Blaise Pascal,
105:The Voice
I was the height of a folio, my bed just
backed on the bookcases’ sombre Babel,
everything, Latin ashes, Greek dust
jumbled together: novel, science, fable.
Two voices spoke to me. One, firmly, slyly,
said: ‘The Earth’s a cake filled with sweetness:
I can give you (and your pleasure will be
endless!) an appetite of comparable vastness.’
The other said: ‘Come! Come voyage in dream,
beyond the known, beyond the possible!’
And that one sang like the ocean breeze,
phantom, from who knows where, its wail
caressing the ear, and yet still frightening.
You I answered: ‘Yes! Gentle voice!’ My
wound and what, I’d call my fatality, begins
alas, from then. From behind the scenery
of vast existence, in voids without light,
I see the strangest worlds distinctly:
ecstatic victim of my second sight,
snakes follow me striking at my feet.
Since then, like the prophets, I greet
the desert and the sea with tenderness:
I laugh at funerals, I cry at feasts,
wine tastes smooth that’s full of bitterness:
and, eyes on the sky, I fall into holes,
and frequently I take facts for lies.
But ‘Keep your dreams!’ the Voice consoles,
‘Madmen have sweeter ones than the wise!’
~ Charles Baudelaire,
106:disrupted by the electromagnetic pulse of a nuclear weapon. If Green Pine was knocked out, SAC brought online in October 1967 the first of twelve Emergency Rocket Communication Systems (ERCS) at Missouri’s Whiteman Air Force Base. Instead of a warhead, the special ERCS Minuteman missiles contained a powerful UHF transmitter that would broadcast launch orders to U.S. forces along the missile’s trajectory, creating, in effect, a high-flying radio broadcasting tower. The launch capsules of the 510th were retrofitted with large, floor-mounted telephone consoles that the crews quickly dubbed “knee knockers,” since they hit their knees on it whenever turning their chairs. With the arrival of ERCS, the very last remnants of the U.S. government in a nuclear war would have likely been the voices of the missileers of Whiteman’s 510th Missile Squadron. In an emergency, the crews would use the console to record launch orders onto the ERCS transmitter (the airborne command posts could record an Emergency Action Message remotely). Then either the capsule crew or an airborne command post would have launched the missiles, each set on a different trajectory to blast in a different direction. For thirty minutes after launch, ERCS-equipped Minutemans would broadcast “go codes” to any bomber, submarine, or missile silo along its path, the last communication of a destroyed ~ Garrett M Graff,
107:Emptiness was an index. It recorded the incomprehensible chronicle of the metropolis, the demographic realities, how money worked, the cobbled-together lifestyles and roosting habits. The population remained at a miraculous density, it seemed to him, for the empty rooms brimmed with evidence, in the stragglers they did or did not contain, in the busted barricades, in the expired relatives on the futon beds, arms crossed over their chests in ad hoc rites. The rooms stored anthropological clues re: kinship rituals and taboos. How they treated their dead.

The rich tended to escape. Entire white-glove buildings were devoid, as Omega discovered after they worried the seams of and then shattered the glass doors to the lobby (no choice, despite the No-No Cards). The rich fled during the convulsions of the great evacuation, dragging their distilled possessions in wheeled luggage of European manufacture, leaving their thousand-dollar floor lamps to attract dust to their silver surfaces and recount luxury to later visitors, bowing like weeping willows over imported pile rugs. A larger percentage of the poor tended to stay, shoving layaway bureaus and media consoles up against the doors. There were those who decided to stay, willfully uncomprehending or stupid or incapacitated by the scope of the disaster, and those who could not leave for a hundred other reasons - because they were waiting for their girlfriend or mother or soul mate to make it home first, because their mobility was compromised or a relative was debilitated, crutched, too young. Because it was too impossible, the enormity of the thought: This is the end. He knew them all from their absences. ~ Colson Whitehead,
108:En Cossirer E En Esmai
En cossirer et en esmai
sui d'un amor que.m lass'e.m te,
que tan no vau ni sai ni lai
qu'ilh ades no.m tenh' en so fre,
c' aras m'a dat cor e talen
qu' eu enqueses, si podia,
tal que, si.l reis l'enqueria,
auria faih gran ardimen.
Ai las, chaitius! e que.m farai?
ni cal cosselh penrai de me?
Qu'ela no sap lo mal qu'eu trai
ni eu aus clamar merce.
Fol nesci! ben as pauc de sen,
qu'ela nonca t' amaria
per nom que per drudaria,
c'ans no.t laisses levar al ven!
E doncs, pois atressi.m morrai,
dirai li l'afan que m'en ve?
Vers es c'ades lo li dirai.
no farai, a la mia fe.
si sabia c'a un tenen
en fos tot' Espanha mia;
mais vol morir de feunia
car anc me venc en pessamen.
Pois messatger trametrai
ni a me dire no.s cove,
negu cosselh de me no sai;
mais d'una re me conort be:
ela sap letras et enten,
et agrada.m qu'eu escria
los motz, e s'a leis plazia,
legis los al meu sauvamen.
(In anguish and torment am I because of a love that grips and holds me so that I
can go neither here nor there without her holding me in her harness. And now I
have courage and desire to court, if I can, one who, if the King himself were to
11
pursue her, he would show great audacity.
Alas, unhappy one that I am! What shall I do? What counsel shall I take? For she
does not know the sorrow that I bear, nor do I dare beg her for mercy. Fool, you
have little understanding, since she will never love you, neither in name nor
through intimacy. Let yourself be blown away by the wind. And so, since I must
die, shall I confess to her my sorrow? Truly, I should do it right away. I won't do
it, by my faith, even if I knew that all Spain would be mine. I would rather die of
shame than to have entertained such a thought.
Since I shall not send her a messenger, and it is not fitting for me to speak
myself, I don't know how to advise myself. But one thing consoles me: she
knows the alphabet, and how to read, and I enjoy writing words, and if she
pleases, may she read them so that I may be saved.)
~ Bernard de Ventadorn,
109:To The Comet Of 1843
Thy purpose, heavenly stranger, who may tell
But Him, who linked thee to the starry whole?
Wherefore, in this our darkness, be it ours
To must upon thee in thy high career,
As of some wandering symphony from amidst
Those highest stellar harmonies that track
Through infinite space and the great rounds of time
The mighty marches of creation.
Behold, how high thou travellest in heaven!
Myriads of wondering human spirits here,
Duly each night with upturned looks seek out
The mystery of thy advent.
In thy last
Bright visitation, even thus thou saw’st
The young, the lovely, and the wise of earth—
A buried generation—crowding out,
With looks upturned, to see thee passing forth
Beyond the signs of time—and then to know,
In all the awful vastness of the heaven,
Thy place no more! And when the flaming steps
Of thy unspeakable speed, which of itself
Blows back the long strands of thy burning hair
Through half the arch of night, shall lead thee forth
Into the dim of the inane, beyond
Our utmost vision; all the eloquent eyes
Now opened wide with welcome and with wonder—
Eyes tender as the turtle’s, or that speak
The fervent soul and the majestic mind;
All these, alas!—all these, ere thou once more
Shalt drive thus fulgently around the sun
Thy chariot of fire, fast closed in dust
And mortal darkness, shall have given for aye
Their lustre to the grave.
But human eyes
As many and beautiful—yea, more sublime
And radiant in their passion, from a more
Enlarged communion with the spirit of truth,—
Shall welcome thee instead, mysterious stranger,
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When thou return’st anew.
And thus to think
Consoles us, even while we watch thee pass
Out of our times for ever; yea, although
Some selfish entertainment of a truth
At all times mournful, whisper us the while:
So shall it be indeed, for God abides,
And nature, born of His eternal power,
Must share its dateless energy as well.
Yea, all that flows from the Eternal must,
If from divine necessity alone,
Work with its cause for ever—still, alas!
Though thence derived, how fugitive and swift,
How vague and shadow-like, this life of Man!
~ Charles Harpur,
110:There is a change underway, however. Our society used to be a ladder on which people generally climbed upward. More and more now we are going to a planetary structure, in which the great dominant lower middle class, the class that determines our prevailing values and organizational structures in education, government, and most of society, are providing recruits for the other groups — sideways, up, and even down, although the movement downward is relatively small. As the workers become increasingly petty bourgeois and as middle-class bureaucratic and organizational structures increasingly govern all aspects of our society, our society is increasingly taking on the characteristics of the lower middle class, although the poverty culture is also growing. The working class is not growing. Increasingly we are doing things with engineers sitting at consoles, rather than with workers screwing nuts on wheels. The workers are a diminishing, segment of society, contrary to Marx’s prediction that the proletariat would grow and grow. I have argued elsewhere that many people today are frustrated because we are surrounded by organizational structures and artifacts. Only the petty bourgeoisie can find security and emotional satisfaction in an organizational structure, and only a middle-class person can find them in artifacts, things that men have made, such as houses, yachts, and swimming pools. But human beings who are growing up crave sensation and experience. They want contact with other people, moment-to-moment, intimate contact. I’ve discovered, however, that the intimacy really isn’t there. Young people touch each other, often in an almost ritual way; they sleep together, eat together, have sex together. But I don’t see the intimacy. There is a lot of action, of course, but not so much more than in the old days, I believe, because now there is a great deal more talk than action. This group, the lower middle class, it seems to me, holds the key to the future. I think probably they will win out. If they do, they will resolutely defend our organizational structures and artifacts. They will cling to the automobile, for instance; they will not permit us to adopt more efficient methods of moving people around. They will defend the system very much as it is and, if necessary, they will use all the force they can command. Eventually they will stop dissent altogether, whether from the intellectuals, the religious, the poor, the people who run the foundations, the Ivy League colleges, all the rest. The colleges are already becoming bureaucratized, anyway. I can’t see the big universities or the foundations as a strong progressive force. The people who run Harvard and the Ford Foundation look more and more like lower-middle-class bureaucrats who pose no threat to the established order because they are prepared to do anything to defend the system. ~ Carroll Quigley,
111:Lancan Vei Per Mei La Landa
Lancan vei per mei la landa
dels arbres chazer la fòlha,
ans frejura s'espanda
ni.l gens termini s'esconda,
m'es bel que si' auzitz mos chans,
qu'estat n' aurai mais de dos ans,
e cové que.n fass' esmenda.
Mout m'es greu que ja reblanda
celeis que vas me s'orgòlha
car si mos cors demanda,
platz que mot m'i responda.
Be m'auci mos nescis talans,
car sec d' amor los bels semblans
e no ve c' amors lh' atenda.
Deus, que tot lo mon garanda,
li met' en cor que m'acòlha,
c' a me no te pro vianda
ni negus bes no.m aonda.
Tan sui vas la bela doptans,
per qu' e.m ren a leis merceyans:
platz, que.m don o que.m venda!
Mal o fara, si no.m manda
venir lai on se despòlha,
qu'eu sia per sa comanda
pres del leih, josta l'esponda,
sotlars be chaussans,
a genolhs e umilians,
platz que sos pes me tenda.
Faihz es lo vers tot a randa,
si que motz no.i deschapdòlha,
outra la terra normanda,
part la fera mar prionda;
e si.m sui de midons lonhans,
vas se.m tira com azimans
la bela cui Deus defenda.
17
Si.l reis engles e.l ducs normans
o vol, eu la veira abans
que l'iverns nos sobreprenda.
(parlé)Pel rei sui engles e normans,
e si no fos Mos Azimans,
restera tro part calenda.
(When I see the leaves of the trees fall off in the middle of the fields, before the
cold spreads and the good season disappears, it seems good to me that my song
be heard, for I have not done so in over two years, and I should atone for that.
It is painful for me to serve still the one who is so haughty towards me, for if my
heart demands something of her she doesn't wish to speak even a word. My
foolish desire kills me, because it pursues the fair appearance of love, and does
not see that love awaits.
May God, who guards the universe, place in her heart a welcome for me, for no
food is of benefit to me, and no bounty consoles me. I am so uncertain
concerning the fair one that I deliver myself, pleading for mercy, to her. So if she
wishes, she can give me away, or sell me.
She would do a wrong if she did not invite me to come to the place where she
undresses, so that I may be at her command, next to her, at the edge of the
bed, and I would take off her graceful slippers, on my knees and humble, if it
pleased her to extend to me her feet.
This poem is perfectly made, without a single badly-made word, beyond the land
of Normandy, beyound the wild and deep sea. And although I am far from my
lady, I am drawn to her like a magnet, she whom God may protect.
If the English king and the Norman duke wish it, I shall see her before the winter
takes us by surprise. By grace of the king I am English, and Norman, and if it
were not for My Magnet, I would remain here until after Christmas.)
~ Bernard de Ventadorn,
112:Tout Entière (All Of Her)
Le Démon, dans ma chambre haute
Ce matin est venu me voir,
Et, tâchant à me prendre en faute
Me dit: «Je voudrais bien savoir
Parmi toutes les belles choses
Dont est fait son enchantement,
Parmi les objets noirs ou roses
Qui composent son corps charmant,
Quel est le plus doux.» — Ô mon âme!
Tu répondis à l'Abhorré:
«Puisqu'en Elle tout est dictame
Rien ne peut être préféré.
Lorsque tout me ravit, j'ignore
Si quelque chose me séduit.
Elle éblouit comme l'Aurore
Et console comme la Nuit;
Et l'harmonie est trop exquise,
Qui gouverne tout son beau corps,
Pour que l'impuissante analyse
En note les nombreux accords.
Ô métamorphose mystique
De tous mes sens fondus en un!
Son haleine fait la musique,
Comme sa voix fait le parfum!»
All of Her
The Devil into my high room
This morning came to pay a call,
And trying to find me in fault
Said: 'I should like to know,
Among all the beautiful things
Which make her an enchantress,
492
Among the objects black or rose
That compose her charming body,
Which is the sweetest.' — O my soul!
You answered the loathsome Creature:
'Since in Her all is dittany,
No single thing can be preferred.
When all delights me, I don't know
If some one thing entrances me.
She dazzles like the Dawn
And consoles like the Night;
And the harmony that governs
Her whole body is too lovely
For impotent analysis
To note its numerous accords.
O mystic metamorphosis
Of all my senses joined in one!
Her breath makes music,
And her voice makes perfume!'
— Translated by William Aggeler
All in One
The Demon called on me this morning,
In my high room. As is his way,
Thinking to catch me without warning,
He put this question: 'Tell me, pray,
Of all the beauties that compose,
The strange enchantment of her ways,
Amongst the wonders black or rose,
Which object most excites your praise,
And is the climax in her litany?'
My soul, you answered the Abhorred,
'Since she is fashioned, all, of dittany,
No part is most to be adored.
493
Since I am ravished, I ignore a
Degree of difference in delight.
She dazzles me like the aurora
And she consoles me like the night.
The harmony's so exquisite
That governs her, it is in vain
Analysis would try to split
The unity of such a strain.
O mystic fusion that, enwreathing
My senses, fuses each in each,
To hear the music of her breathing
And breathe the perfume of her speech.'
— Translated by Roy Campbell
All, All
The Devil up my attic stair
Came tiptoeing a while ago
And, trying to catch me unaware,
Said laughing, 'I should like to know,
'Of all her many charms, what springs
Most often to your mind? Of all
The rose-colored and shadowy things
Whereby her beauty may enthrall,
'Which is the sweetest?' — O my soul,
You answered the abhorrèd Guest:
'Her beauty is complete and whole.
No single part is loveliest.
'When she is near, I cannot say
What gives me such intense delight.
She dazzles like the break of day,
She comforts like the fall of night.
'My senses seem to merge in one;
494
The harmony that rules her being
Is all my knowledge — I have none
Of hearing, smelling, touching, seeing.
'No, no. I cannot make a choice
In this sublime bewilderment.
Perhaps the music of her scent!
Perhaps the perfume of her voice!'
— Translated by George Dillon
Tout entière
this morning, to my chamber bare
and high, the Devil came to call,
and fain to trap me in a snare,
inquired: 'I would know, of all
— of all the beauties that compose
her spell profound, her subtle sway,
— of all the bits of black or rose
that form her lovely body, say
which is the sweetest?' — o my soul,
thou didst reply to the Abhorred:
naught can be taken from the whole
for every part is a perfect chord.
when all to me is ravishing,
I know not which gives most delight.
like dawn she is a dazzling thing,
yet she consoles me like the night;
too exquisite the harmonies
that all her lovely flesh affords,
for my poor mind to analyse
and note its many rhythmic chords.
o mystic interchange, whereby
my senses all are blent in one!
her breath is like a lullaby
495
and through her voice rich perfumes run!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
~ Charles Baudelaire,
113:Moesta Et Errabunda (Grieving And Wandering)
Dis-moi ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe,
Loin du noir océan de l'immonde cité
Vers un autre océan où la splendeur éclate,
Bleu, clair, profond, ainsi que la virginité?
Dis-moi, ton coeur parfois s'envole-t-il, Agathe?
La mer la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!
Quel démon a doté la mer, rauque chanteuse
Qu'accompagne l'immense orgue des vents grondeurs,
De cette fonction sublime de berceuse?
La mer, la vaste mer, console nos labeurs!
Emporte-moi wagon! enlève-moi, frégate!
Loin! loin! ici la boue est faite de nos pleurs!
— Est-il vrai que parfois le triste coeur d'Agathe
Dise: Loin des remords, des crimes, des douleurs,
Emporte-moi, wagon, enlève-moi, frégate?
Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé,
Où sous un clair azur tout n'est qu'amour et joie,
Où tout ce que l'on aime est digne d'être aimé,
Où dans la volupté pure le coeur se noie!
Comme vous êtes loin, paradis parfumé!
Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,
Les courses, les chansons, les baisers, les bouquets,
Les violons vibrant derrière les collines,
Avec les brocs de vin, le soir, dans les bosquets,
— Mais le vert paradis des amours enfantines,
L'innocent paradis, plein de plaisirs furtifs,
Est-il déjà plus loin que l'Inde et que la Chine?
Peut-on le rappeler avec des cris plaintifs,
Et l'animer encor d'une voix argentine,
L'innocent paradis plein de plaisirs furtifs?
Grieving and Wandering
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha,
381
Far from the black ocean of the filthy city,
Toward another ocean where splendor glitters,
Blue, clear, profound, as is virginity?
Tell me, does your heart sometimes fly away, Agatha?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
What demon endowed the sea, that raucous singer,
Whose accompanist is the roaring wind,
With the sublime function of cradle-rocker?
The sea, the boundless sea, consoles us for our toil!
Take me away, carriage! Carry me off, frigate!
Far, far away! Here the mud is made with our tears!
— Is it true that sometimes the sad heart of Agatha
Says: Far from crimes, from remorse, from sorrow,
Take me away, carriage, carry me off, frigate?
How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise,
Where under clear blue sky there's only love and joy,
Where all that one loves is worthy of love,
Where the heart is drowned in sheer enjoyment!
How far away you are, O perfumed Paradise!
But the green Paradise of childhood loves
The outings, the singing, the kisses, the bouquets,
The violins vibrating behind the hills,
And the evenings in the woods, with jugs of wine
— But the green Paradise of childhood loves,
That sinless Paradise, full of furtive pleasures,
Is it farther off now than India and China?
Can one call it back with plaintive cries,
And animate it still with a silvery voice,
That sinless Paradise full of furtive pleasures?
— Translated by William Aggeler
Moesta et Errabunda
Agatha, does your heart rise up and fly,
Far from the city's black and sordid sea
382
Towards a sea that's blue as any sky,
And clear and deep as pure virginity?
Agatha, does your heart rise up and fly?
The sea, the mighty sea, consoles our labour.
What demon taught the sea with raucous verse
To choir the organ which the winds belabour
And lullaby our sorrows like a nurse?
The sea, the mighty sea, consoles our labour.
Train, bear me; take me, ship, to other climes!
Far, far! For here the mud is made of tears.
— Does Agatha's sad heart not say, at times,
'Far from remorses, sorrows, crimes, and fears,
Train, bear me; take me, ship, to other climes'?
How distant is that perfumed paradise!
Where all is joy and love with azure crowned,
Where all one loves is truly worth the price,
And hearts in pure voluptuousness are drowned.
How distant is that perfumed paradise!
But the green paradise of childish love,
Of races, songs, and kisses, and bouquets,
Of fiddles shrilling in the hills above,
And jars of wine, and woods, and dying rays —
But the green paradise of childish love,
innocent paradise of furtive joys,
Is it far off as India or Hong Kong?
Could it be conjured by a plaintive voice
Or animated by a silver song —
That far off paradise of furtive joys?
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Moesta Et Errabunda
Agatha, tell me, thy heart — does it sometimes fly away,
Far from the vast dark ocean of the mournful town,
Toward one still vaster, mirroring the blue, blue day,
383
Mindless and deep: a flood wherein all sorrows drown?
Agatha, tell me, thy heart — does it sometimes fly away?
The sea, the enormous sea has rest for our desires:
By what demoniac irony can that fierce thing,
That raucous howler to the winds' untuneful choirs,
Assuage our deepest woe with its wild clarnouring?
The sea, the enormous sea has rest for our desires.
Carry me off, loud trains! Abstract me, silent ships,
Far, far! Here even the earth is miry with our tears!
Is it not true that sometimes Agatha's sweet lips
Murmur: 'Far from regrets, from griefs, from cruel fears,
Carry me off, loud trains! Abstract me, silent ships!'
How far, how far away, that paradise above,
Wbere all our ills supposedly are put to rest,
Where everything we love is worthy of our love,
And the unburdened heart lies weightless in the breast
How far, how far away, that paradise above!
But the green, earthly paradise of childhood, even,
The songs, the furtive kisses, the dances, the bouquets,
The picnics on the hillside — that unpretentious heaven
Of summer twilights where a distant music plays:
But the green, earthly paradise of childhood, even,
Where all our cares are mended in small secret joys —
Is it already farther than Shanghai or Ceylon?
Or has the heart some kingdom no suffering destroys,
Where those young voices laugh, where those old tunes play on
Where all our cares are mended in small secret joys?
— Translated by George Dillon
Moesta et errabunda
say, Agatha, dost thou in dreams delight
— far, far from Paris, black and miry sea —
to rove where other oceans burst in light,
blue, deep, and crystal-clear as chastity?
384
say, Agatha, dost thou in dreams delight?
the vast, vast ocean is our comforter!
what demon gave the hoarse resounding sea
— and the gruff winds' great organ made for her —
that siren voice to soothe our misery?
the vast, vast ocean is our comforter!
bear me away, swift car and frigate smart!
afar! — afar! this mire is made of tears!
— Agatha, truly does thy mournful heart
cry out: afar from sin, remorse and fears,
bear me away, swift car and frigate smart!
how far from us that fragrant Eden lies,
where all is azure clear and love and joy,
where all we loved was worthy in love's eyes,
where hearts were drowned in bliss without alloy!
how far from us that fragrant Eden lies!
but the green Eden of our earliest loves
— songs, roses, races, with a kiss to win,
the jugs of wine at dusk in shadowy groves
where died, afar, a quivering violin,
— but the green Eden of our earliest loves,
our Eden of pure tremulous joy and bliss
— is it now farther than the Asian shore?
can tears or cries recall each magic kiss,
or prayers or silvery words some eve restore
our Eden of pure tremulous joy and bliss?
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
~ Charles Baudelaire,
114:The Supreme Discovery
   IF WE want to progress integrally, we must build within our conscious being a strong and pure mental synthesis which can serve us as a protection against temptations from outside, as a landmark to prevent us from going astray, as a beacon to light our way across the moving ocean of life.
   Each individual should build up this mental synthesis according to his own tendencies and affinities and aspirations. But if we want it to be truly living and luminous, it must be centred on the idea that is the intellectual representation symbolising That which is at the centre of our being, That which is our life and our light.
   This idea, expressed in sublime words, has been taught in various forms by all the great Instructors in all lands and all ages.
   The Self of each one and the great universal Self are one. Since all that is exists from all eternity in its essence and principle, why make a distinction between the being and its origin, between ourselves and what we place at the beginning?
   The ancient traditions rightly said:
   "Our origin and ourselves, our God and ourselves are one."
   And this oneness should not be understood merely as a more or less close and intimate relationship of union, but as a true identity.
   Thus, when a man who seeks the Divine attempts to reascend by degrees towards the inaccessible, he forgets that all his knowledge and all his intuition cannot take him one step forward in this infinite; neither does he know that what he wants to attain, what he believes to be so far from him, is within him.
   For how could he know anything of the origin until he becomes conscious of this origin in himself?
   It is by understanding himself, by learning to know himself, that he can make the supreme discovery and cry out in wonder like the patriarch in the Bible, "The house of God is here and I knew it not."
   That is why we must express that sublime thought, creatrix of the material worlds, and make known to all the word that fills the heavens and the earth, "I am in all things and all beings."When all shall know this, the promised day of great transfigurations will be at hand. When in each atom of Matter men shall recognise the indwelling thought of God, when in each living creature they shall perceive some hint of a gesture of God, when each man can see God in his brother, then dawn will break, dispelling the darkness, the falsehood, the ignorance, the error and suffering that weigh upon all Nature. For, "all Nature suffers and laments as she awaits the revelation of the Sons of God."
   This indeed is the central thought epitomising all others, the thought which should be ever present to our remembrance as the sun that illumines all life.
   That is why I remind you of it today. For if we follow our path bearing this thought in our hearts like the rarest jewel, the most precious treasure, if we allow it to do its work of illumination and transfiguration within us, we shall know that it lives in the centre of all beings and all things, and in it we shall feel the marvellous oneness of the universe.
   Then we shall understand the vanity and childishness of our meagre satisfactions, our foolish quarrels, our petty passions, our blind indignations. We shall see the dissolution of our little faults, the crumbling of the last entrenchments of our limited personality and our obtuse egoism. We shall feel ourselves being swept along by this sublime current of true spirituality which will deliver us from our narrow limits and bounds.
   The individual Self and the universal Self are one; in every world, in every being, in every thing, in every atom is the Divine Presence, and man's mission is to manifest it.
   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!
   On this a sage has said:
   "I would like each one of us to come to the point where he perceives the inner God who dwells even in the vilest of human beings; instead of condemning him we would say, 'Arise, O resplendent Being, thou who art ever pure, who knowest neither birth nor death; arise, Almighty One, and manifest thy nature.'"
   Let us live by this beautiful utterance and we shall see everything around us transformed as if by miracle.
   This is the attitude of true, conscious and discerning love, the love which knows how to see behind appearances, understand in spite of words, and which, amid all obstacles, is in constant communion with the depths.
   What value have our impulses and our desires, our anguish and our violence, our sufferings and our struggles, all these inner vicissitudes unduly dramatised by our unruly imagination - what value do they have before this great, this sublime and divine love bending over us from the innermost depths of our being, bearing with our weaknesses, rectifying our errors, healing our wounds, bathing our whole being with its regenerating streams?
   For the inner Godhead never imposes herself, she neither demands nor threatens; she offers and gives herself, conceals and forgets herself in the heart of all beings and things; she never accuses, she neither judges nor curses nor condemns, but works unceasingly to perfect without constraint, to mend without reproach, to encourage without impatience, to enrich each one with all the wealth he can receive; she is the mother whose love bears fruit and nourishes, guards and protects, counsels and consoles; because she understands everything, she can endure everything, excuse and pardon everything, hope and prepare for everything; bearing everything within herself, she owns nothing that does not belong to all, and because she reigns over all, she is the servant of all; that is why all, great and small, who want to be kings with her and gods in her, become, like her, not despots but servitors among their brethren.
   How beautiful is this humble role of servant, the role of all who have been revealers and heralds of the God who is within all, of the Divine Love that animates all things....
   And until we can follow their example and become true servants even as they, let us allow ourselves to be penetrated and transformed by this Divine Love; let us offer Him, without reserve, this marvellous instrument, our physical organism. He shall make it yield its utmost on every plane of activity.
   To achieve this total self-consecration, all means are good, all methods have their value. The one thing needful is to persevere in our will to attain this goal. For then everything we study, every action we perform, every human being we meet, all come to bring us an indication, a help, a light to guide us on the path.
   Before I close, I shall add a few pages for those who have already made apparently fruitless efforts, for those who have encountered the pitfalls on the way and seen the measure of their weakness, for those who are in danger of losing their self-confidence and courage. These pages, intended to rekindle hope in the hearts of those who suffer, were written by a spiritual worker at a time when ordeals of every kind were sweeping down on him like purifying flames.
   You who are weary, downcast and bruised, you who fall, who think perhaps that you are defeated, hear the voice of a friend. He knows your sorrows, he has shared them, he has suffered like you from the ills of the earth; like you he has crossed many deserts under the burden of the day, he has known thirst and hunger, solitude and abandonment, and the cruellest of all wants, the destitution of the heart. Alas! he has known too the hours of doubt, the errors, the faults, the failings, every weakness.
   But he tells you: Courage! Hearken to the lesson that the rising sun brings to the earth with its first rays each morning. It is a lesson of hope, a message of solace.
   You who weep, who suffer and tremble, who dare not expect an end to your ills, an issue to your pangs, behold: there is no night without dawn and the day is about to break when darkness is thickest; there is no mist that the sun does not dispel, no cloud that it does not gild, no tear that it will not dry one day, no storm that is not followed by its shining triumphant bow; there is no snow that it does not melt, nor winter that it does not change into radiant spring.
   And for you too, there is no affliction which does not bring its measure of glory, no distress which cannot be transformed into joy, nor defeat into victory, nor downfall into higher ascension, nor solitude into radiating centre of life, nor discord into harmony - sometimes it is a misunderstanding between two minds that compels two hearts to open to mutual communion; lastly, there is no infinite weakness that cannot be changed into strength. And it is even in supreme weakness that almightiness chooses to reveal itself!
   Listen, my little child, you who today feel so broken, so fallen perhaps, who have nothing left, nothing to cover your misery and foster your pride: never before have you been so great! How close to the summits is he who awakens in the depths, for the deeper the abyss, the more the heights reveal themselves!
   Do you not know this, that the most sublime forces of the vasts seek to array themselves in the most opaque veils of Matter? Oh, the sublime nuptials of sovereign love with the obscurest plasticities, of the shadow's yearning with the most royal light!
   If ordeal or fault has cast you down, if you have sunk into the nether depths of suffering, do not grieve - for there indeed the divine love and the supreme blessing can reach you! Because you have passed through the crucible of purifying sorrows, the glorious ascents are yours.
   You are in the wilderness: then listen to the voices of the silence. The clamour of flattering words and outer applause has gladdened your ears, but the voices of the silence will gladden your soul and awaken within you the echo of the depths, the chant of divine harmonies!
   You are walking in the depths of night: then gather the priceless treasures of the night. In bright sunshine, the ways of intelligence are lit, but in the white luminosities of the night lie the hidden paths of perfection, the secret of spiritual riches.
   You are being stripped of everything: that is the way towards plenitude. When you have nothing left, everything will be given to you. Because for those who are sincere and true, from the worst always comes the best.
   Every grain that is sown in the earth produces a thousand. Every wing-beat of sorrow can be a soaring towards glory.
   And when the adversary pursues man relentlessly, everything he does to destroy him only makes him greater.
   Hear the story of the worlds, look: the great enemy seems to triumph. He casts the beings of light into the night, and the night is filled with stars. He rages against the cosmic working, he assails the integrity of the empire of the sphere, shatters its harmony, divides and subdivides it, scatters its dust to the four winds of infinity, and lo! the dust is changed into a golden seed, fertilising the infinite and peopling it with worlds which now gravitate around their eternal centre in the larger orbit of space - so that even division creates a richer and deeper unity, and by multiplying the surfaces of the material universe, enlarges the empire that it set out to destroy.
   Beautiful indeed was the song of the primordial sphere cradled in the bosom of immensity, but how much more beautiful and triumphant is the symphony of the constellations, the music of the spheres, the immense choir that fills the heavens with an eternal hymn of victory!
   Hear again: no state was ever more precarious than that of man when he was separated on earth from his divine origin. Above him stretched the hostile borders of the usurper, and at his horizon's gates watched jailers armed with flaming swords. Then, since he could climb no more to the source of life, the source arose within him; since he could no more receive the light from above, the light shone forth at the very centre of his being; since he could commune no more with the transcendent love, that love offered itself in a holocaust and chose each terrestrial being, each human self as its dwelling-place and sanctuary.
   That is how, in this despised and desolate but fruitful and blessed Matter, each atom contains a divine thought, each being carries within him the Divine Inhabitant. And if no being in all the universe is as frail as man, neither is any as divine as he!
   In truth, in truth, in humiliation lies the cradle of glory! 28 April 1912 ~ The Mother, Words Of Long Ago, The Supreme Discovery,
115:"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such a one as thyself."
   (David, Psalms 50.21)
['Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best,
Flat on his belly in the pit's much mire,
With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin.
And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush,
And feels about his spine small eft-things course,
Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh:
And while above his head a pompion-plant,
Coating the cave-top as a brow its eye,
Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard,
And now a flower drops with a bee inside,
And now a fruit to snap at, catch and crunch,
He looks out o'er yon sea which sunbeams cross
And recross till they weave a spider-web
(Meshes of fire, some great fish breaks at times)
And talks to his own self, howe'er he please,
Touching that other, whom his dam called God.
Because to talk about Him, vexesha,
Could He but know! and time to vex is now,
When talk is safer than in winter-time.
Moreover Prosper and Miranda sleep
In confidence he drudges at their task,
And it is good to cheat the pair, and gibe,
Letting the rank tongue blossom into speech.]

Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos!
'Thinketh, He dwelleth i' the cold o' the moon.

'Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match,
But not the stars; the stars came otherwise;
Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that:
Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon,
And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same.

'Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease:
He hated that He cannot change His cold,
Nor cure its ache. 'Hath spied an icy fish
That longed to 'scape the rock-stream where she lived,
And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine
O' the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid,
A crystal spike 'twixt two warm walls of wave;
Only, she ever sickened, found repulse
At the other kind of water, not her life,
(Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o' the sun)
Flounced back from bliss she was not born to breathe,
And in her old bounds buried her despair,
Hating and loving warmth alike: so He.

'Thinketh, He made thereat the sun, this isle,
Trees and the fowls here, beast and creeping thing.
Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech;
Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam,
That floats and feeds; a certain badger brown
He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye
By moonlight; and the pie with the long tongue
That pricks deep into oak warts for a worm,
And says a plain word when she finds her prize,
But will not eat the ants; the ants themselves
That build a wall of seeds and settled stalks
About their holeHe made all these and more,
Made all we see, and us, in spite: how else?
He could not, Himself, make a second self
To be His mate; as well have made Himself:
He would not make what He mislikes or slights,
An eyesore to Him, or not worth His pains:
But did, in envy, listlessness or sport,
Make what Himself would fain, in a manner, be
Weaker in most points, stronger in a few,
Worthy, and yet mere playthings all the while,
Things He admires and mocks too,that is it.
Because, so brave, so better though they be,
It nothing skills if He begin to plague.
Look, now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash,
Add honeycomb and pods, I have perceived,
Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss,
Then, when froth rises bladdery, drink up all,
Quick, quick, till maggots scamper through my brain;
Last, throw me on my back i' the seeded thyme,
And wanton, wishing I were born a bird.
Put case, unable to be what I wish,
I yet could make a live bird out of clay:
Would not I take clay, pinch my Caliban
Able to fly?for, there, see, he hath wings,
And great comb like the hoopoe's to admire,
And there, a sting to do his foes offence,
There, and I will that he begin to live,
Fly to yon rock-top, nip me off the horns
Of grigs high up that make the merry din,
Saucy through their veined wings, and mind me not.
In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle clay,
And he lay stupid-like,why, I should laugh;
And if he, spying me, should fall to weep,
Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong,
Bid his poor leg smart less or grow again,
Well, as the chance were, this might take or else
Not take my fancy: I might hear his cry,
And give the mankin three sound legs for one,
Or pluck the other off, leave him like an egg
And lessoned he was mine and merely clay.
Were this no pleasure, lying in the thyme,
Drinking the mash, with brain become alive,
Making and marring clay at will? So He.

'Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in Him,
Nor kind, nor cruel: He is strong and Lord.
'Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs
That march now from the mountain to the sea;
'Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first,
Loving not, hating not, just choosing so.
'Say, the first straggler that boasts purple spots
Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off;
'Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm,
And two worms he whose nippers end in red;
As it likes me each time, I do: so He.
Well then, 'supposeth He is good i' the main,
Placable if His mind and ways were guessed,
But rougher than His handiwork, be sure!
Oh, He hath made things worthier than Himself,
And envieth that, so helped, such things do more
Than He who made them! What consoles but this?
That they, unless through Him, do nought at all,
And must submit: what other use in things?
'Hath cut a pipe of pithless elder-joint
That, blown through, gives exact the scream o' the jay
When from her wing you twitch the feathers blue:
Sound this, and little birds that hate the jay
Flock within stone's throw, glad their foe is hurt:
Put case such pipe could prattle and boast forsooth
"I catch the birds, I am the crafty thing,
I make the cry my maker cannot make
With his great round mouth; he must blow through mine!'
Would not I smash it with my foot? So He.
But wherefore rough, why cold and ill at ease?
Aha, that is a question! Ask, for that,
What knows,the something over Setebos
That made Him, or He, may be, found and fought,
Worsted, drove off and did to nothing, perchance.
There may be something quiet o'er His head,
Out of His reach, that feels nor joy nor grief,
Since both derive from weakness in some way.
I joy because the quails come; would not joy
Could I bring quails here when I have a mind:
This Quiet, all it hath a mind to, doth.
'Esteemeth stars the outposts of its couch,
But never spends much thought nor care that way.
It may look up, work up,the worse for those
It works on! 'Careth but for Setebos
The many-handed as a cuttle-fish,
Who, making Himself feared through what He does,
Looks up, first, and perceives he cannot soar
To what is quiet and hath happy life;
Next looks down here, and out of very spite
Makes this a bauble-world to ape yon real,
These good things to match those as hips do grapes.
'Tis solace making baubles, ay, and sport.
Himself peeped late, eyed Prosper at his books
Careless and lofty, lord now of the isle:
Vexed, 'stitched a book of broad leaves, arrow-shaped,
Wrote thereon, he knows what, prodigious words;
Has peeled a wand and called it by a name;
Weareth at whiles for an enchanter's robe
The eyed skin of a supple oncelot;
And hath an ounce sleeker than youngling mole,
A four-legged serpent he makes cower and couch,
Now snarl, now hold its breath and mind his eye,
And saith she is Miranda and my wife:
'Keeps for his Ariel a tall pouch-bill crane
He bids go wade for fish and straight disgorge;
Also a sea-beast, lumpish, which he snared,
Blinded the eyes of, and brought somewhat tame,
And split its toe-webs, and now pens the drudge
In a hole o' the rock and calls him Caliban;
A bitter heart that bides its time and bites.
'Plays thus at being Prosper in a way,
Taketh his mirth with make-believes: so He.
His dam held that the Quiet made all things
Which Setebos vexed only: 'holds not so.
Who made them weak, meant weakness He might vex.
Had He meant other, while His hand was in,
Why not make horny eyes no thorn could prick,
Or plate my scalp with bone against the snow,
Or overscale my flesh 'neath joint and joint
Like an orc's armour? Ay,so spoil His sport!
He is the One now: only He doth all.
'Saith, He may like, perchance, what profits Him.
Ay, himself loves what does him good; but why?
'Gets good no otherwise. This blinded beast
Loves whoso places flesh-meat on his nose,
But, had he eyes, would want no help, but hate
Or love, just as it liked him: He hath eyes.
Also it pleaseth Setebos to work,
Use all His hands, and exercise much craft,
By no means for the love of what is worked.
'Tasteth, himself, no finer good i' the world
When all goes right, in this safe summer-time,
And he wants little, hungers, aches not much,
Than trying what to do with wit and strength.
'Falls to make something: 'piled yon pile of turfs,
And squared and stuck there squares of soft white chalk,
And, with a fish-tooth, scratched a moon on each,
And set up endwise certain spikes of tree,
And crowned the whole with a sloth's skull a-top,
Found dead i' the woods, too hard for one to kill.
No use at all i' the work, for work's sole sake;
'Shall some day knock it down again: so He.
'Saith He is terrible: watch His feats in proof!
One hurricane will spoil six good months' hope.
He hath a spite against me, that I know,
Just as He favours Prosper, who knows why?
So it is, all the same, as well I find.
'Wove wattles half the winter, fenced them firm
With stone and stake to stop she-tortoises
Crawling to lay their eggs here: well, one wave,
Feeling the foot of Him upon its neck,
Gaped as a snake does, lolled out its large tongue,
And licked the whole labour flat: so much for spite.
'Saw a ball flame down late (yonder it lies)
Where, half an hour before, I slept i' the shade:
Often they scatter sparkles: there is force!
'Dug up a newt He may have envied once
And turned to stone, shut up Inside a stone.
Please Him and hinder this?What Prosper does?
Aha, if He would tell me how! Not He!
There is the sport: discover how or die!
All need not die, for of the things o' the isle
Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees;
Those at His mercy,why, they please Him most
When . . . when . . . well, never try the same way twice!
Repeat what act has pleased, He may grow wroth.
You must not know His ways, and play Him off,
Sure of the issue. 'Doth the like himself:
'Spareth a squirrel that it nothing fears
But steals the nut from underneath my thumb,
And when I threat, bites stoutly in defence:
'Spareth an urchin that contrariwise,
Curls up into a ball, pretending death
For fright at my approach: the two ways please.
But what would move my choler more than this,
That either creature counted on its life
To-morrow and next day and all days to come,
Saying, forsooth, in the inmost of its heart,
"Because he did so yesterday with me,
And otherwise with such another brute,
So must he do henceforth and always."Ay?
Would teach the reasoning couple what "must" means!
'Doth as he likes, or wherefore Lord? So He.
'Conceiveth all things will continue thus,
And we shall have to live in fear of Him
So long as He lives, keeps His strength: no change,
If He have done His best, make no new world
To please Him more, so leave off watching this,
If He surprise not even the Quiet's self
Some strange day,or, suppose, grow into it
As grubs grow butterflies: else, here are we,
And there is He, and nowhere help at all.
'Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop.
His dam held different, that after death
He both plagued enemies and feasted friends:
Idly! He doth His worst in this our life,
Giving just respite lest we die through pain,
Saving last pain for worst,with which, an end.
Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire
Is, not to seem too happy. 'Sees, himself,
Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink,
Bask on the pompion-bell above: kills both.
'Sees two black painful beetles roll their ball
On head and tail as if to save their lives:
Moves them the stick away they strive to clear.
Even so, 'would have Him misconceive, suppose
This Caliban strives hard and ails no less,
And always, above all else, envies Him;
Wherefore he mainly dances on dark nights,
Moans in the sun, gets under holes to laugh,
And never speaks his mind save housed as now:
Outside, 'groans, curses. If He caught me here,
O'erheard this speech, and asked "What chucklest at?"
'Would, to appease Him, cut a finger off,
Or of my three kid yearlings burn the best,
Or let the toothsome apples rot on tree,
Or push my tame beast for the orc to taste:
While myself lit a fire, and made a song
And sung it, "What I hate, be consecrate
To celebrate Thee and Thy state, no mate
For Thee; what see for envy in poor me?"
Hoping the while, since evils sometimes mend,
Warts rub away and sores are cured with slime,
That some strange day, will either the Quiet catch
And conquer Setebos, or likelier He
Decrepit may doze, doze, as good as die.
NOTES



Form:
unrhyming

1.
The motto is from Psalms 1: 21. For the title character,
see The Tempest, I, ii. The subtitle and the motto
indicate much of Browning's intention in the poem. "Natural
theology" is distinguished from (and here opposed to)
"revealed theology"\; natural theology being that system
of thought about God which man arrives at through the
unaided use of his natural reason. To the Victorian secularists,
all theology was "natural theology"--that is, man-made.
Their favourite theory was that all religion was a projection
by man of his own qualities. This is the theory which the
text chosen as motto condemns, and which Caliban's musings
illustrate. Throughout he looks at his own characteristics,
and then ascribes them to his god, Setebos: "So he." What is
conspicuous in the poem is that there is no glimpse of what
to Browning is true theology: the theology of a God of Love.
This comes to man (as to David in Saul) by revelation.
The highest conception Caliban can achieve by natural reason
is of the Quiet--an indifferent, absentee, Epicurean God. His
Setebos is merely a God of arbitrary and jealous power. It is
also noteworthy that Browning includes in Caliban's theology
not merely most of the doctrines of primitive religions, but also
some elements associated with branches of Christianity,
particularly the narrower kind of Calvinist sect. He is by implication
rejecting these elements as part of his own definition of true
Christianity in terms of a God of Love. The passages in brackets
at the beginning and end of the poem represent Caliban's silent
thoughts. The main part of the poem is spoken aloud, and
presents his attempt at a system. He is very much the "natural"
man, but Browning gives him not only a quick and vivid
imagination, but a mind that follows the general systematic
pattern of thought used by writers on natural religion. He
starts with the relation of his god to the universe, and the
problem of cosmology, and then moves systematically to
consider his god's attributes, and to try to evolve rules for
worship and service. Caliban throughout speaks of himself
in the third person, usually without the pronoun. Browning
indicates the omission of the pronoun by an apostrophe.


~ Robert Browning, Caliban upon Setebos or, Natural Theology in the Island
,
116:Last Instructions To A Painter
After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.
The painter so, long having vexed his cloth-Of his hound's mouth to feign the raging froth-His desperate pencil at the work did dart:
His anger reached that rage which passed his art;
Chance finished that which art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his dog did grin.
So mayst thou pérfect by a lucky blow
What all thy softest touches cannot do.
Paint then St Albans full of soup and gold,
The new court's pattern, stallion of the old.
Him neither wit nor courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure salt.
Paint him with drayman's shoulders, butcher's mien,
Membered like mules, with elephantine chine.
Well he the title of St Albans bore,
For Bacon never studied nature more.
But age, allayed now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at cards and treat.
80
Draw no commission lest the court should lie,
That, disavowing treaty, asks supply.
He needs no seal but to St James's lease,
Whose breeches wear the instrument of peace;
Who, if the French dispute his power, from thence
Can straight produce them a plenipotence..
Nor fears he the Most Christian should trepan
Two saints at once, St Germain, St Alban,
But thought the Golden Age was now restored,
When men and women took each other's word.
Paint then again Her Highness to the life,
Philosopher beyond Newcastle's wife.
She, nak'd, can Archimedes self put down,
For an experiment upon the crown,
She pérfected that engine, oft assayed,
How after childbirth to renew a maid,
And found how royal heirs might be matured
In fewer months than mothers once endured.
Hence Crowther made the rare inventress free
Of's Higness's Royal Society-Happiest of women, if she were but able
To make her glassen Dukes once malleáble!
Paint her with oyster lip and breath of fame,
Wide mouth that 'sparagus may well proclaim;
With Chancellor's belly and so large a rump,
There--not behind the coach--her pages jump.
Express her study now if China clay
Can, without breaking, venomed juice convey,
Or how a mortal poison she may draw
Out of the cordial meal of the cacao.
Witness, ye stars of night, and thou the pale
Moon, that o'ercame with the sick steam didst fail;
Ye neighboring elms, that your green leaves did shed,
And fawns that from the womb abortive fled;
Not unprovoked, she tries forbidden arts,
But in her soft breast love's hid cancer smarts,
While she resoloves, at once, Sidney's disgrace
And her self scorned for emulous Denham's face,
And nightly hears the hated guards, away
Galloping with the Duke to other prey.
81
Paint Castlemaine in colours that will hold
(Her, not her picture, for she now grows old):
She through her lackey's drawers, as he ran,
Discerned love's cause and a new flame began.
Her wonted joys thenceforth and court she shuns,
And still within her mind the footman runs:
His brazen calves, his brawny thighs--the face
She slights--his feet shaped for a smoother race.
Poring within her glass she readjusts
Her looks, and oft-tried beauty now distrusts,
Fears lest he scorn a woman once assayed,
And now first wished she e'er had been a maid.
Great Love, how dost thou triumph and how reign,
That to a groom couldst humble her disdain!
Stripped to her skin, see how she stooping stands,
Nor scorns to rub him down with those fair hands,
And washing (lest the scent her crime disclose)
His sweaty hooves, tickles him 'twixt the toes.
But envious Fame, too soon, began to note
More gold in's Fob, more lace upon his coat;
And he, unwary, and of tongue too fleet,
No longer could conceal his fortune sweet.
Justly the rogue was shipped in porter's den,
And Jermyn straight has leave to come again.
Ah, Painter, now could Alexander live,
And this Campaspe thee, Apelles, give!
Draw next a pair of tables opening, then
The House of Commons clattering like the men.
Describe the Court and Country, both set right
On opp'site points, the black against the white.
Those having lost the nation at tric-trac,
These now adventuring how to win it back.
The dice betwixt them must the fate divide
(As chance doth still in multitudes decide).
But here the Court does its advantage know,
For the cheat Turner for them both must throw.
As some from boxes, he so from the chair
Can strike the die and still with them goes share.
Here, Painter, rest a little, and survey
With what small arts the public game they play.
82
For so too Rubens, with affairs of state,
His labouring pencil oft would recreate.
The close Cabal marked how the Navy eats,
And thought all lost that goes not to the cheats,
So therefore secretly for peace decrees,
Yet as for war the Parliament should squeeze,
And fix to the revénue such a sum
Should Goodrick silence and strike Paston dumb,
Should pay land armies, should dissolve the vain
Commons, and ever such a court maintain;
Hyde's avarice, Bennet's luxury should suffice,
And what can these defray but the Excise?
Excise a monster worse than e'er before
Frighted the midwife and the mother tore.
A thousand hands she has and thousand eyes,
Breaks into shops and into cellars pries,
And on all trade like cassowar she feeds:
Chops off the piece wheres'e'er she close the jaw,
Else swallows all down her indented maw.
She stalks all day in streets concealed from sight
And flies, like bats with leathern wings, by night;
She wastes the country and on cities preys.
Her, of a female harpy, in dog days,
Black Birch, of all the earth-born race most hot
And most rapacious, like himself, begot,
And, of his brat enamoured, as't increased,
Buggered in incest with the mongrel beast.
Say, Muse, for nothing can escape thy sight
(And, Painter, wanting other, draw this fight),
Who, in an English senate, fierce debate
Could raise so long for this new whore of state.
Of early wittols first the troop marched in-For diligence renowned and discipline-In loyal haste they left young wives in bed,
And Denham these by one consent did head.
Of the old courtiers, next a squadron came,
That sold their master, led by Ashburnham.
To them succeeds a desipicable rout,
But know the word and well could face about;
83
Expectants pale, with hopes of spoil allured,
Though yet but pioneers, and led by Stew'rd.
Then damning cowards ranged the vocal plain,
Wood these command, the Knight of the Horn and Cane.
Still his hook-shoulder seems the blow to dread,
And under's armpit he defends his head.
The posture strange men laughed at of his poll,
Hid with his elbow like the spice he stole.
Headless St Denys so his head does bear,
And both of them alike French martyrs were.
Court officers, as used, the next place took,
And followed, Fox, but with disdainful look.
His birth, his youth, his brokage all dispraise
In vain, for always he commands that pays.
Then the procurers under Progers filed-Gentlest of men-- and his lieutenant mild,
Brounker--Love's squire--through all the field arrayed,
No troop was better clad, nor so well paid.
Then marched the troop of Clarendon, all full
Haters of fowl, to teal preferring bull:
Gross bodies, grosser minds, and grossest cheats,
And bloated Wren conducts them to their seats.
Charlton advances next, whose coif does awe
The Mitre troop, and with his looks gives law.
He marched with beaver cocked of bishop's brim,
And hid much fraud under an aspect grim.
Next the lawyers' merecenary band appear:
Finch in the front, and Thurland in the rear.
The troop of privilege, a rabble bare
Of debtors deep, fell to Trelawney's care.
Their fortune's error they supplied in rage,
Nor any further would than these engage.
Then marched the troop, whose valiant acts before
(Their public acts) obliged them still to more.
For chimney's sake they all Sir Pool obeyed,
Or in his absence him that first it laid.
Then comes the thrifty troop of privateers,
Whose horses each with other interfered.
Before them Higgons rides with brow compact,
Mourning his Countess, anxious for his Act.
Sir Frederick and Sir Solomon draw lots
For the command of politics or sots,
84
Thence fell to words, but quarrel to adjourn;
Their friends agreed they should command by turn.
Carteret the rich did the accountants guide
And in ill English all the world defied.
The Papists--but of these the House had none
Else Talbot offered to have led them on.
Bold Duncombe next, of the projectors chief,
And old Fitz-harding of the Eaters Beef.
Late and disordered out the drinkers drew,
Scarce them their leaders, they their leaders knew.
Before them entered, equal in command,
Apsley and Brod'rick, marching hand in hand.
Last then but one, Powell that could not ride,
Led the French standard, weltering in his stride.
He, to excuse his slowness, truth confessed
That 'twas so long before he could be dressed.
The Lord's sons, last, all these did reinforce:
Cornb'ry before them managed hobby-horse.
Never before nor since, an host so steeled
Trooped on to muster in the Tothill Field:
Not the first cock-horse that with cork were shod
To rescue Albemarle from the sea-cod,
Nor the late feather-men, whom Tomkins fierce
Shall with one breath, like thistledown disperse.
All the two Coventrys their generals chose
For one had much, the other nought to lose;
Nor better choice all accidents could hit,
While Hector Harry steers by Will the Wit.
They both accept the charge with merry glee,
To fight a battle, from all gunshot free.
Pleased with their numbers, yet in valour wise,
They feign a parley, better to surprise;
They that ere long shall the rude Dutch upbraid,
Who in the time of treaty durst invade.
Thick was the morning, and the House was thin,
The Speaker early, when they all fell in.
Propitious heavens, had not you them crossed,
Excise had got the day, and all been lost.
For the other side all in loose quarters lay,
Without intelligence, command, or pay:
85
A scattered body, which the foe ne'er tried,
But oftener did among themselves divide.
And some ran o'er each night, while others sleep,
And undescried returned ere morning peep.
But Strangeways, that all night still walked the round
(For vigilance and courage both renowned)
First spied he enemy and gave the 'larm,
Fighting it single till the rest might arm.
Such Romand Cocles strid before the foe,
The falling bridge behind, the stream below.
Each ran, as chance him guides to several post,
And all to pattern his example boast.
Their former trophies they recall to mind
And to new edge their angry courage grind.
First entered forward Temple, conqueror
Of Irish cattle and Solicitor;
Then daring Seymour, that with spear and shield
Had stretched the Monster Patent on the field;
Keen Whorwood next, in aid of damsel frail,
That pierced the giant Mordaunt through his mail;
And surly Williams, the accountants' bane;
And Lovelace young, of chimney-men the cane.
Old Waller, trumpet-general, swore he'd write
This combat truer than the naval fight.
How'rd on's birth, wit, strength, courage much presumes
And in his breast wears many Montezumes.
These and some more with single valour stay
The adverse troops, and hold them all at bay.
Each thinks his person represents the whole,
And with that thought does multiply his soul,
Believes himself an army, theirs, one man
As easily conquered, and believing can,
With heart of bees so full, and head of mites,
That each, though duelling, a battle fights.
Such once Orlando, famous in romance,
Broached whole brigades like larks upon his lance.
But strength at last still under number bows,
And the faint sweat trickled down Temple's brows.
E'en iron Strangeways, chafing, yet gave back,
Spent with fatigue, to breathe a while toback.
86
When marching in, a seasonable recruit
Of citizens and merchants held dispute;
And, charging all their pikes, a sullen band
Of Presyterian Switzers made a stand.
Nor could all these the field have long maintained
But for th' unknown reserve that still remained:
A gross of English gentry, nobly born,
Of clear estates, and to no faction sworn,
Dear lovers of their king, and death to meet
For country's cause, that glorious think and sweet;
To speak not forward, but in action brave,
In giving generous, but in counsel grave;
Candidly credulous for once, nay twice,
But sure the Devil cannot cheat them thrice.
The van and battle, though retiring, falls
Without dosorder in their intervals.
Then, closing all in equal front, fall on,
Led by great Garway and great Littleton.
Lee, ready to obey or to command,
Adjutant-general, was still at hand.
The martial standard, Sandys displaying, shows
St Dunstan in it, tweaking Satan's nose.
See sudden chance of war! To paint or write
Is longer work and harder than to fight.
At the first charge the enemy give out,
And the Excise receives a total rout.
Broken in courage, yet the men the same
Resolve henceforth upon their other game:
Where force had failed, with stratagem to play,
And what haste lost, recover by delay.
St Albans straight is sent to, to forbear,
Lest the sure peace, forsooth, too soon appear.
The seamen's clamour to three ends they use:
To cheat their pay, feign want, the House accuse.
Each day they bring the tale, and that too true,
How strong the Dutch their equipage renew.
Meantime through all the yards their orders run
To lay the ships up, cease the keels begun.
The timber rots, and useless axe doth rust,
Th' unpracticed saw lies buried in its dust,
87
The busy hammer sleeps, the ropes untwine,
The stores and wages all are mine and thine.
Along the coast and harbours they make care
That money lack, nor forts be in repair.
Long thus they could against the House conspire,
Load them with envy, and with sitting tire.
And the loved King, and never yet denied,
Is brought to beg in public and to chide;
But when this failed, and months enow were spent,
They with the first day's proffer seem content,
And to Land-Tax from the Excise turn round,
Bought off with eighteen-hundred-thousand pound.
Thus like fair theives, the Commons' purse they share,
But all the members' lives, consulting, spare.
Blither than hare that hath escaped the hounds,
The House prorogued, the Chancellor rebounds.
Not so decrepit Aeson, hashed and stewed,
With bitter herbs, rose from the pot renewed,
And with fresh age felt his glad limbs unite;
His gout (yet still he cursed) had left him quite.
What frosts to fruit, what arsenic to the rat,
What to fair Denham, mortal chocolate,
What an account to Carteret, that, and more,
A Parliament is to the Chancellor.
So the Sad-tree shrinks from the morning's eye,
But blooms all night and shoots its branches high.
So, at the sun's recess, again returns
The comet dread, and earth and heaven burns.
Now Mordaunt may, within his castle tower,
Imprison parents, and the child deflower.
The Irish herd is now let loose and comes
By millions over, not by hecatombs;
And now, now the Canary Patent may
Be broached again for the great holiday.
See how he reigns in his new palace culminant,
And sits in state divine like Jove the fulminant!
First Buckingham, that durst to him rebel,
Blasted with lightning, struck wtih thunder, fell.
Next the twelve Commons are condemned to groan
88
And roll in vain at Sisyphus's stone.
But still he cared, while in revenge he braved
That peace secured and money might be saved:
Gain and revenge, revenge and gain are sweet
United most, else when by turns they meet.
France had St Albans promised (so they sing),
St Albans promised him, and he the King:
The Count forthwith is ordered all to close,
To play for Flanders and the stake to lose,
While, chained together, two ambassadors
Like slaves shall beg for peace at Holland's doors.
This done, among his Cyclops he retires
To forge new thunder and inspect their fires.
The court as once of war, now fond of peace,
All to new sports their wanton fears release.
From Greenwich (where intelligence they hold)
Comes news of pastime martial and old,
A punishment invented first to awe
Masculine wives transgressing Nature's law,
Where, when the brawny female disobeys,
And beats the husband till for peace he prays,
No concerned jury for him damage finds,
Nor partial justice her behavior binds,
But the just street does the next house invade,
Mounting the neighbour couple on lean jade,
The distaff knocks, the grains from kettle fly,
And boys and girls in troops run hooting by:
Prudent antiquity, that knew by shame,
Better than law, domestic crimes to tame,
And taught youth by spectácle innocent!
So thou and I, dear Painter, represent
In quick effigy, others' faults, and feign
By making them ridiculous, to restrain.
With homely sight they chose thus to relax
The joys of state, for the new Peace and Tax.
So Holland with us had the mastery tried,
And our next neighbours, France and Flanders, ride.
But a fresh news the great designment nips,
Of, at the Isle of Candy, Dutch and ships!
Bab May and Arlington did wisely scoff
89
And thought all safe, if they were so far off.
Modern geographers, 'twas there, they thought,
Where Venice twenty years the Turk had fought,
While the first year our navy is but shown,
The next divided, and the third we've none.
They, by the name, mistook it for that isle
Where Pilgrim Palmer travelled in exile
With the bull's horn to measure his own head
And on Pasiphaë's tomb to drop a bead.
But Morice learn'd demónstrates, by the post,
This Isle of Candy was on Essex' coast.
Fresh messengers still the sad news assure;
More timorous now we are than first secure.
False terrors our believing fears devise,
And the French army one from Calais spies.
Bennet and May and those of shorter reach
Change all for guineas, and a crown for each,
But wiser men and well foreseen in chance
In Holland theirs had lodged before, and France.
Whitehall's unsafe; the court all meditates
To fly to Windsor and mure up the gates.
Each does the other blame, and all distrust;
(That Mordaunt, new obliged, would sure be just.)
Not such a fatal stupefaction reigned
At London's flame, nor so the court complained.
The Bloodworth_Chancellor gives, then does recall
Orders; amazed, at last gives none at all.
St Alban's writ to, that he may bewail
To Master Louis, and tell coward tale
How yet the Hollanders do make a noise,
Threaten to beat us, and are naughty boys.
Now Dolman's dosobedient, and they still
Uncivil; his unkindness would us kill.
Tell him our ships unrigged, our forts unmanned,
Our money spent; else 'twere at his command.
Summon him therefore of his word and prove
To move him out of pity, if not love;
Pray him to make De Witt and Ruyter cease,
And whip the Dutch unless they'll hold their peace.
But Louis was of memory but dull
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And to St Albans too undutiful,
Nor word nor near relation did revere,
But asked him bluntly for his character.
The gravelled Count did with the answer faint-His character was that which thou didst paint-Trusses his baggage and the camp does fly.
Yet Louis writes and, lest our heart should break,
Consoles us morally out of Seneque.
Two letters next unto Breda are sent:
In cipher one to Harry Excellent;
The first instructs our (verse the name abhors)
Plenipotentiary ambassadors
To prove by Scripture treaty does imply
Cessation, as the look adultery,
And that, by law of arms, in martial strife,
Who yields his sword has title to his life.
Presbyter Holles the first point should clear,
The second Coventry the Cavalier;
But, whould they not be argued back from sea,
Then to return home straight, infecta re.
But Harry's ordered, if they won't recall
Their fleet, to threaten--we will grant them all.
The Dutch are then in proclamation shent
For sin against th' eleventh commandment.
Hyde's flippant style there pleasantly curvets,
Still his sharp wit on states and princes whets
(So Spain could not escape his laughter's spleen:
None but himsef must choose the King a Queen),
But when he came the odious clause to pen
That summons up the Parliament again,
His writing master many a time he banned
And wished himself the gout to seize his hand.
Never old lecher more repugnance felt,
Consenting, for his rupture, to be gelt;
But still then hope him solaced, ere they come,
To work the peace and so to send them home,
Or in their hasty call to find a flaw,
Their acts to vitiate, and them overawe;
But most relied upon this Dutch pretence
To raise a two-endged army for's defence.
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First then he marched our whole militia's force
(As if indeed we ships or Dutch had horse);
Then from the usual commonplace, he blames
These, and in standing army's praise declaims;
And the wise court that always loved it dear,
Now thinks all but too little for their fear.
Hyde stamps, and straight upon the ground the swarms
Of current Myrmidons appear in arms,
And for their pay he writes, as from the King-With that cursed quill plucked from a vulture's wing-Of the whole nation now to ask a loan
(The eighteen-hundred-thousand pound was gone).
This done, he pens a proclamation stout,
In rescue of the banquiers banquerout,
His minion imps that, in his secret part,
Lie nuzzling at the sacremental wart,
Horse-leeches circling at the hem'rrhoid vein:
He sucks the King, they him, he them again.
The kingdom's farm he lets to them bid least
(Greater the bribe, and that's at interest).
Here men, induced by safety, gain, and ease,
Their money lodge; confiscate when he please.
These can at need, at instant, with a scrip
(This liked him best) his cash beyond sea whip.
When Dutch invade, when Parliament prepare,
How can he engines so convenient spare?
Let no man touch them or demand his own,
Pain of displeasure of great Clarendon.
The state affairs thus marshalled, for the rest
Monck in his shirt against the Dutch is pressed.
Often, dear Painter, have I sat and mused
Why he should still be 'n all adventures used,
If they for nothing ill, like ashen wood,
Or think him, like Herb John for nothing good;
Whether his valour they so much admire,
Or that for cowardice they all retire,
As heaven in storms, they call in gusts of state
On Monck and Parliament, yet both do hate.
All causes sure concur, but most they think
Under Hercúlean labours he may sink.
92
Soon then the independent troops would close,
And Hyde's last project would his place dispose.
Ruyter the while, that had our ocean curbed,
Sailed now among our rivers undistrubed,
Surveyed their crystal streams and banks so green
And beauties ere this never naked seen.
Through the vain sedge, the bashful nymphs he eyed:
Bosoms, and all which from themselves they hide.
The sun much brighter, and the skies more clear,
He finds the air and all things sweeter here.
The sudden change, and such a tempting sight
Swells his old veins with fresh blood, fresh delight.
Like am'rous victors he begins to shave,
And his new face looks in the English wave.
His sporting navy all about him swim
And witness their complacence in their trim.
Their streaming silks play through the weather fair
And with inveigling colours court the air,
While the red flags breathe on their topmasts high
Terror and war, but want an enemy.
Among the shrouds the seamen sit and sing,
And wanton boys on every rope do cling.
Old Neptune springs the tides and water lent
(The gods themselves do help the provident),
And where the deep keel on the shallow cleaves,
With trident's lever, and great shoulder heaves.
&Aelig;olus their sails inspires with eastern wind,
Puffs them along, and breathes upon them kind.
With pearly shell the Tritons all the while
Sound the sea-march and guide to Sheppey Isle.
So I have seen in April's bud arise
A fleet of clouds, sailing along the skies;
The liquid region with their squadrons filled,
Their airy sterns the sun behind does gild;
And gentle gales them steer, and heaven drives,
When, all on sudden, their calm bosom rives
With thunder and lightning from each armèd cloud;
Shepherds themselves in vain in bushes shroud.
Such up the stream the Belgic navy glides
And at Sheerness unloads its stormy sides.
93
Spragge there, though practised in the sea command,
With panting heart lay like a fish on land
And quickly judged the fort was not tenáble-Which, if a house, yet were not tenantáble-No man can sit there safe: the cannon pours
Thorough the walls untight and bullet showers,
The neighbourhood ill, and an unwholesome seat,
So at the first salute resolves retreat,
And swore that he would never more dwell there
Until the city put it in repair.
So he in front, his garrison in rear,
March straight to Chatham to increase the fear.
There our sick ships unrigged in summer lay
Like moulting fowl, a weak and easy prey,
For whose strong bulk earth scarce could timber find,
The ocean water, or the heavens wind-Those oaken giants of the ancient race,
That ruled all seas and did our Channel grace.
The conscious stag so, once the forest's dread,
Flies to the wood and hides his armless head.
Ruyter forthwith a squadron does untack;
They sail securely through the river's track.
An English pilot too (O shame, O sin!)
Cheated of pay, was he that showed them in.
Our wretched ships within their fate attend,
And all our hopes now on frail chain depend:
(Engine so slight to guard us from the sea,
It fitter seemed to captivate a flea).
A skipper rude shocks it without respect,
Filling his sails more force to re-collect.
Th' English from shore the iron deaf invoke
For its last aid: `Hold chain, or we are broke.'
But with her sailing weight, the Holland keel,
Snapping the brittle links, does thorough reel,
And to the rest the opened passage show;
Monck from the bank the dismal sight does view.
Our feathered gallants, which came down that day
To be spectators safe of the new play,
Leave him alone when first they hear the gun
(Cornb'ry the fleetest) and to London run.
94
Our seamen, whom no danger's shape could fright,
Unpaid, refuse to mount our ships for spite,
Or to their fellows swim on board the Dutch,
Which show the tempting metal in their clutch.
Oft had he sent of Duncombe and of Legge
Cannon and powder, but in vain, to beg;
And Upnor Castle's ill-deserted wall,
Now needful, does for ammunition call.
He finds, wheres'e'er he succor might expect,
Confusion, folly, treach'ry, fear, neglect.
But when the Royal Charles (what rage, what grief)
He saw seized, and could give her no relief!
That sacred keel which had, as he, restored
His exiled sovereign on its happy board,
And thence the British Admiral became,
Crowned, for that merit, with their master's name;
That pleasure-boat of war, in whose dear side
Secure so oft he had this foe defied,
Now a cheap spoil, and the mean victor's slave,
Taught the Dutch colours from its top to wave;
Of former glories the reproachful thought
With present shame compared, his mind destraught.
Such from Euphrates' bank, a tigress fell
After the robber for her whelps doth yell;
But sees enraged the river flow between,
Frustrate revenge and love, by loss more keen,
At her own breast her useless claws does arm:
She tears herself, since him she cannot harm.
The guards, placed for the chain's and fleet's defence,
Long since were fled on many a feigned pretence.
Daniel had there adventured, man of might,
Sweet Painter, draw his picture while I write.
Paint him of person tall, and big of bone,
Large limbs like ox, not to be killed but shown.
Scarce can burnt ivory feign an hair so black,
Or face so red, thine ocher and thy lac.
Mix a vain terror in his martial look,
And all those lines by which men are mistook;
But when, by shame constrained to go on board,
He heard how the wild cannon nearer roared,
And saw himself confined like sheep in pen,
95
Daniel then thought he was in lion's den.
And when the frightful fireships he saw,
Pregnant with sulphur, to him nearer draw,
Captain, lieutenant, ensign, all make haste
Ere in the fiery furnace they be cast-Three children tall, unsinged, away they row,
Like Shadrack, Meschack, and Abednego.
Not so brave Douglas, on whose lovely chin
The early down but newly did begin,
And modest beauty yet his sex did veil,
While envious virgins hope he is a male.
His yellow locks curl back themselves to seek,
Nor other courtship knew but to his cheek.
Oft, as he in chill Esk or Seine by night
Hardened and cooled his limbs, so soft, so white,
Among the reeds, to be espied by him,
The nymphs would rustle; he would forward swim.
They sighed and said, `Fond boy, why so untame
That fliest love's fires, reserved for other flame?'
Fixed on his ship, he faced that horrid day
And wondered much at those that ran away.
Nor other fear himself could comprehend
Then, lest heaven fall ere thither he ascend,
But entertains the while his time too short
With birding at the Dutch, as if in sport,
Or waves his sword, and could he them conjúre
Within its circle, knows himself secure.
The fatal bark him boards with grappling fire,
And safely through its port the Dutch retire.
That precious life he yet disdains to save
Or with known art to try the gentle wave.
Much him the honours of his ancient race
Inspire, nor would he his own deeds deface,
And secret joy in his calm soul does rise
That Monck looks on to see how Douglas dies.
Like a glad lover, the fierce flames he meets,
And tries his first embraces in their sheets.
His shape exact, which the bright flames enfold,
Like the sun's statue stands of burnished gold.
Round the transparent fire about him flows,
As the clear amber on the bee does close,
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And, as on angels' heads their glories shine,
His burning locks adorn his face divine.
But when in this immortal mind he felt
His altering form and soldered limbs to melt,
Down on the deck he laid himself and died,
With his dear sword reposing by his side,
And on the flaming plank, so rests his head
As one that's warmed himself and gone to bed.
His ship burns down, and with his relics sinks,
And the sad stream beneath his ashes drinks.
Fortunate boy, if either pencil's fame,
Or if my verse can propagate thy name,
When Oeta and Alcides are forgot,
Our English youth shall sing the valiant Scot.
Each doleful day still with fresh loss returns:
The Loyal London now the third time burns,
And the true Royal Oak and Royal James,
Allied in fate, increase, with theirs, her flames.
Of all our navy none should now survive,
But that the ships themselves were taught to dive,
And the kind river in its creek them hides,
Fraughting their piercèd keels with oozy tides.
Up to the bridge contagious terror struck:
The Tower itself with the near danger shook,
And were not Ruyter's maw with ravage cloyed,
E'en London's ashes had been then destroyed.
Officious fear, however, to prevent
Our loss does so much more our loss augment:
The Dutch had robbed those jewels of the crown;
Our merchantmen, lest they be burned, we drown.
So when the fire did not enough devour,
The houses were demolished near the Tower.
Those ships that yearly from their teeming hole
Unloaded here the birth of either Pole-Furs from the north and silver from the west,
Wines from the south, and spices from the east;
From Gambo gold, and from the Ganges gems-Take a short voyage underneath the Thames,
Once a deep river, now with timber floored,
And shrunk, least navigable, to a ford.
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Now (nothing more at Chatham left to burn),
The Holland squadron leisurely return,
And spite of Ruperts and of Albemarles,
To Ruyter's triumph lead the captive Charles.
The pleasing sight he often does prolong:
Her masts erect, tough cordage, timbers strong,
Her moving shapes, all these he does survey,
And all admires, but most his easy prey.
The seamen search her all within, without:
Viewing her strength, they yet their conquest doubt;
Then with rude shouts, secure, the air they vex,
With gamesome joy insulting on her decks.
Such the feared Hebrew, captive, blinded, shorn,
Was led about in sport, the public scorn.
Black day accursed! On thee let no man hale
Out of the port, or dare to hoist a sail,
Nor row a boat in thy unlucky hour.
Thee, the year's monster, let thy dam devour,
And constant time, to keep his course yet right,
Fill up thy space with a redoubled night.
When agèd Thames was bound with fetters base,
And Medway chaste ravished before his face,
And their dear offspring murdered in their sight,
Thou and thy fellows held'st the odious light.
Sad change since first that happy pair was wed,
When all the rivers graced their nuptial bed,
And Father Neptune promised to resign
His empire old to their immortal line!
Now with vain grief their vainer hopes they rue,
Themselves dishonoured, and the gods untrue,
And to each other, helpless couple, moan,
As the sad tortoise for the sea does groan.
But most they for their darling Charles complain,
And were it burnt, yet less would be their pain.
To see that fatal pledge of sea command
Now in the ravisher De Ruyter's hand,
The Thames roared, swooning Medway turned her tide,
And were they mortal, both for grief had died.
The court in farthing yet itself does please,
98
(And female Stuart there rules the four seas),
But fate does still accumulate our woes,
And Richmond her commands, as Ruyter those.
After this loss, to relish discontent,
Someone must be accused by punishment.
All our miscarriages on Pett must fall:
His name alone seems fit to answer all.
Whose counsel first did this mad war beget?
Who all commands sold through the navy? Pett.
Who would not follow when the Dutch were beat?
Who treated out the time at Bergen? Pett.
Who the Dutch fleet with storms disabled met,
And rifling prizes, them neglected? Pett.
Who with false news prevented the Gazette,
The fleet divided, writ for Rupert? Pett.
Who all our seamen cheated of their debt,
And all our prizes who did swallow? Pett.
Who did advise no navy out to set,
And who the forts left unrepairèd? Pett.
Who to supply with powder did forget
Languard, Sheerness, Gravesend and Upnor? Pett.
Who should it be but the Fanatic Pett?
Pett, the sea-architect, in making ships
Was the first cause of all these naval slips:
Had he not built, none of these faults had been;
If no creation, there had been no sin.
But his great crime, one boat away he sent,
That lost our fleet and did our flight prevent.
Then (that reward might in its turn take place,
And march with punishment in equal pace),
Southhampton dead, much of the Treasure's care
And place in council fell to Dunscombe's share.
All men admired he to that pitch could fly:
Powder ne'er blew man up so soon so high,
But sure his late good husbandry in petre
Showed him to manage the Exchequer meeter;
And who the forts would not vouchsafe a corn,
To lavish the King's money more would scorn.
Who hath no chimneys, to give all is best,
And ablest Speaker, who of law has least;
99
Who less estate, for Treasurer most fit,
And for a couns'llor, he that has least wit.
But the true cause was that, in's brother May,
The Exchequer might the Privy Purse obey.
But now draws near the Parliament's return;
Hyde and the court again begin to mourn:
Frequent in council, earnest in debate,
All arts they try how to prolong its date.
Grave Primate Sheldon (much in preaching there)
Blames the last session and this more does fear:
With Boynton or with Middleton 'twere sweet,
But with a Parliament abohors to meet,
And thinks 'twill ne'er be well within this nation,
Till it be governed by Convocation.
But in the Thames' mouth still De Ruyter laid;
The peace not sure, new army must be paid.
Hyde saith he hourly waits for a dispatch;
Harry came post just as he showed his watch,
All to agree the articles were clear-The Holland fleet and Parliament so near-Yet Harry must job back, and all mature,
Binding, ere the Houses meet, the treaty sure,
And 'twixt necessity and spite, till then,
Let them come up so to go down again.
Up ambles country justice on his pad,
And vest bespeaks to be more seemly clad.
Plain gentlemen in stagecoach are o'erthrown
And deputy-lieutenants in their own.
The portly burgess through the weather hot
Does for his corporation sweat and trot;
And all with sun and choler come adust
And threaten Hyde to raise a greater dust.
But fresh as from the Mint, the courtiers fine
Salute them, smiling at their vain design,
And Turner gay up to his perch does march
With face new bleached, smoothened and stiff with starch;
Tells them he at Whitehall had took a turn
And for three days thence moves them to adjourn.
`Not so!' quoth Tomkins, and straight drew his tongue,
Trusty as steel that always ready hung,
100
And so, proceeding in his motion warm,
The army soon raised, he doth as soon disarm.
True Trojan! While this town can girls afford,
And long as cider lasts in Herford,
The girls shall always kiss thee, though grown old,
And in eternal healths thy name be trolled.
Meanwhile the certain news of peace arrives
At court, and so reprieves their guilty lives.
Hyde orders Turner that he should come late,
Lest some new Tomkins spring a fresh debate.
The King that day raised early from his rest,
Expects (as at a play) till Turner's dressed.
At last together Ayton come and he:
No dial more could with the sun agree.
The Speaker, summoned, to the Lords repairs,
Nor gave the Commons leave to say their prayers,
But like his prisoners to the bar them led,
Where mute they stand to hear their sentence read.
Trembling with joy and fear, Hyde them prorogues,
And had almost mistook and called them rogues.
Dear Painter, draw this Speaker to the foot;
Where pencil cannot, there my pen shall do't:
That may his body, this his mind explain.
Paint him in golden gown, with mace's brain,
Bright hair, fair face, obscure and dull of head,
Like knife with ivory haft and edge of lead.
At prayers his eyes turn up the pious white,
But all the while his private bill's in sight.
In chair, he smoking sits like master cook,
And a poll bill does like his apron look.
Well was he skilled to season any question
And made a sauce, fit for Whitehall's digestion,
Whence every day, the palate more to tickle,
Court-mushrumps ready are, sent in in pickle.
When grievance urged, he swells like squatted toad,
Frisks like a frog, to croak a tax's load;
His patient piss he could hold longer than
An urinal, and sit like any hen;
At table jolly as a country host
And soaks his sack with Norfolk, like a toast;
101
At night, than Chanticleer more brisk and hot,
And Sergeant's wife serves him for Pertelotte.
Paint last the King, and a dead shade of night
Only dispersed by a weak taper's light,
And those bright gleams that dart along and glare
From his clear eyes, yet these too dark with care.
There, as in the calm horror all alone
He wakes, and muses of th' uneasy throne;
Raise up a sudden shape with virgin's face,
(Though ill agree her posture, hour, or place),
Naked as born, and her round arms behind
With her own tresses, interwove and twined;
Her mouth locked up, a blind before her eyes,
Yet from beneath the veil her blushes rise,
And silent tears her secret anguish speak
Her heart throbs and with very shame would break.
The object strange in him no terror moved:
He wondered first, then pitied, then he loved,
And with kind hand does the coy vision press
(Whose beauty greater seemed by her distress),
But soon shrunk back, chilled with her touch so cold,
And th' airy picture vanished from his hold.
In his deep thoughts the wonder did increase,
And he divined 'twas England or the Peace.
Express him startling next with listening ear,
As one that some unusual noise does hear.
With cannon, trumpets, drums, his door surround-But let some other painter draw the sound.
Thrice did he rise, thrice the vain tumult fled,
But again thunders, when he lies in bed.
His mind secure does the known stroke repeat
And finds the drums Louis's march did beat.
Shake then the room, and all his curtains tear
And with blue streaks infect the taper clear,
While the pale ghosts his eye does fixed admire
Of grandsire Harry and of Charles his sire.
Harry sits down, and in his open side
The grisly wound reveals of which he died,
And ghastly Charles, turning his collar low,
102
The purple thread about his neck does show,
Then whispering to his son in words unheard,
Through the locked door both of them disappeared.
The wondrous night the pensive King revolves,
And rising straight on Hyde's disgrace resolves.
At his first step, he Castlemaine does find,
Bennet, and Coventry, as 't were designed;
And they, not knowing, the same thing propose
Which his hid mind did in its depths enclose.
Through their feigned speech their secret hearts he knew:
To her own husband, Castlemaine untrue;
False to his master Bristol, Arlington;
And Coventry, falser than anyone,
Who to the brother, brother would betray,
Nor therefore trusts himself to such as they.
His Father's ghost, too, whispered him one note,
That who does cut his purse will cut his throat,
But in wise anger he their crimes forbears,
As thieves reprived for executioners;
While Hyde provoked, his foaming tusk does whet,
To prove them traitors and himself the Pett.
Painter, adieu! How well our arts agree,
Poetic picture, painted poetry;
But this great work is for our Monarch fit,
And henceforth Charles only to Charles shall sit.
His master-hand the ancients shall outdo,
Himself the painter and the poet too.
To the King
So his bold tube, man to the sun applied
And spots unknown to the bright star descried,
Showed they obscure him, while too near they please
And seem his courtiers, are but his disease.
Through optic trunk the planet seemed to hear,
And hurls them off e'er since in his career.
And you, Great Sir, that with him empire share,
Sun of our world, as he the Charles is there,
Blame not the Muse that brought those spots to sight,
103
Which in you splendour hid, corrode your light:
(Kings in the country oft have gone astray
Nor of a peasant scorned to learn the way.)
Would she the unattended throne reduce,
Banishing love, trust, ornament, and use,
Better it were to live in cloister's lock,
Or in fair fields to rule the easy flock.
She blames them only who the court restrain
And where all England serves, themselves would reign.
Bold and accursed are they that all this while
Have strove to isle our Monarch from his isle,
And to improve themselves, on false pretence,
About the Common-Prince have raised a fence;
The kingdom from the crown distinct would see
And peel the bark to burn at last the tree.
(But Ceres corn, and Flora is the spring,
Bacchus is wine, the country is the King.)
Not so does rust insinuating wear,
Nor powder so the vaulted bastion tear,
Nor earthquake so an hollow isle o'er whelm
As scratching courtiers undermine a realm,
And through the palace's foundations bore,
Burrowing themselves to hoard their guilty store.
The smallest vermin make the greatest waste,
And a poor warren once a city rased.
But they, whom born to virtue and to wealth,
Nor guilt to flattery binds, nor want to wealth,
Whose generous conscience and whose courage high
Does with clear counsels their large souls supply;
That serve the King with their estates and care,
And, as in love, on Parliaments can stare,
(Where few the number, choice is there less hard):
Give us this court, and rule without a guard.
~ Andrew Marvell,

IN CHAPTERS [19/19]



   8 Integral Yoga
   3 Christianity
   2 Yoga
   2 Science
   1 Poetry


   5 The Mother
   3 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   2 Sri Ramana Maharshi
   2 Sri Ramakrishna
   2 Satprem
   2 Pierre Teilhard de Chardin


   2 The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna
   2 Talks
   2 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 04


0 1966-12-20, #Agenda Vol 07, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   Mother, That alone exists. That consoles me for everything.
   I am your child with loveyes, you exist, so all the rest is secondary.

0 1969-05-24, #Agenda Vol 10, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   The only thing that really consoles it (but not for long) is the idea, What you are doing is useful for all; what you are doing isnt for you, a stupid little person, its for the whole entire creation to profit by it. Thats what gives it patience.
   But when there are people with, you know, a great goodwill (with perhaps a little ambition) to do some work too, I tell them, If it comes, take it, but dont pull it to you. A part of the creation had to do the work for the whole (thats obviousobvious), and, well, what speaks [i.e., Mother] happens to be at least a part. There had to be someone. Thats good; its like that, so its like that; theres no point being Its like that, so its like that.

05.02 - Physician, Heal Thyself, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 03, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   He consoles and comforts himself, lays the flattering unction to his soul by taking to a less exacting ideal, a substitute without tears, as it were. Therefore he looks outside, seeks to reform society, changing its laws and constitution, and wants to believe that in that way society can be remodelled and mankind transformed.
   It should have been proved beyond doubt by now that the fact is not so. The only way to cure the world outside is to cure oneself first inside. The ancient proverb still holds good: the macrocosm is only an enlargement of the microcosm, the microcosm is the macrocosm in miniature. The universe is a transcript, a projection on a large scale of the individual nature within. What is there is here and what is not here is not found there. When we see some wrong in the world, something that has got to be set right, instead of rushing out and trying to tackle it in the external field, if one were to hold oneself back and look within, one would surely find, perhaps to his surprise I and enlightenment, a very similar movement, often an exact I replica in one's own consciousness and character of what one finds in the larger anonymous movements of nature and society. Now it may be admitted that one has no control or almost none over one's nature; the outside world is beyond our reach and we cannot order or mould it as we like. But the smaller world which is ourselves is not too far or too great for us; our own individual nature and character is ours and we have been given sufficient freedom and power to reform, renew and remake it. That is the secret, although it seems to be a very simple truth, almost a truism.

10.23 - Prayers and Meditations of the Mother, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 04, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   I am Thy puissant arms of mercy. I am the vast bosom of Thy limitless love. The arms have enfolded the sorrowful earth and tenderly press it to the generous heart; slowly a kiss of supreme benediction settles on this atom in conflict: the kiss of the Mother that consoles and heals.
   All the earth is in our arms like a sick child who must be cured and for whom one has a special affection because of his very weakness.

10.24 - Savitri, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 04, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   The Divine glory manifests itself for a moment to the earthly consciousness but man refuses to be pulled out of its pigsty. The Grace with draws but in its Supreme Consciousness of unity and love consoles the fallen creature and gives it the assurance:
   One day I will return , a bringer of strength. .||122.42||

1.05 - The Activation of Human Energy, #Let Me Explain, #Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, #Christianity
  not go on at all! Man the individual consoles himself for his
  passing with the thought of the offspring or the works which

1.06 - LIFE AND THE PLANETS, #The Future of Man, #Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, #Christianity
  at all! Man the individual consoles himself for his passing with the
  thought of the offspring or the works which he leaves behind. But

1.07 - On mourning which causes joy., #The Ladder of Divine Ascent, #Saint John of Climacus, #unset
  When I consider the actual nature of compunction I am amazed at how that which is called mourning and grief should contain joy and gladness interwoven within it like honey in the comb. What then are we to learn from this? That such compunction is in a special sense a gift of the Lord. There is then in the soul no pleasureless pleasure, for God consoles those who are contrite in heart in a secret way. But as an inducement to most splendid mourning and profitable sorrow, let us hear a soul-profiting and most pitiful story.
  There lived here a certain Stephen who had embraced an eremitic and solitary life, and had spent many years in the monastic training. His soul was especially adorned with tears and fasting, and was bedecked with other good achievements. He had a cell on the slope of this holy mountain where the holy prophet and seer Elijah once lived. But later this famous man resolved upon a more effective, austere and stricter repentance, and went to a place of hermits called Siddim. There he spent several

1.08 - The Depths of the Divine, #Sex Ecology Spirituality, #Ken Wilber, #Philosophy
  We are, of course, perfectly free to identify with nature, and to find a geocentric earth-religion that consoles us in our passing miseries. We are free to identify with a finite, limited, mortal Earth; we are not free to call it infinite, unlimited, immortal, eternal.
  That Spirit which is within and beyond the Earth, which is prior to the Earth but not other to the Earth, that Spirit which is source and support and goal of all-that Spirit is intuited at the psychic and comes to the fore in the subtle stage of consciousness evolution, utterly including the previous stages, utterly outshining them. Let the Earth and

1.08 - The Supreme Discovery, #Words Of Long Ago, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  For the inner Godhead never imposes herself, she neither demands nor threatens; she offers and gives herself, conceals and forgets herself in the heart of all beings and things; she never accuses, she neither judges nor curses nor condemns, but works unceasingly to perfect without constraint, to mend without reproach, to encourage without impatience, to enrich each one with all the wealth he can receive; she is the mother whose love bears fruit and nourishes, guards and protects, counsels and consoles; because she understands everything, she can endure everything, excuse and pardon everything, hope and prepare for everything; bearing everything within herself, she owns nothing that does not belong to all, and because she reigns over all, she is the servant of all; that is why all, great and small, who want to be kings with her and gods in her, become, like her, not despots but servitors among their brethren.
  How beautiful is this humble role of servant, the role of all who have been revealers and heralds of the God who is within all, of the Divine Love that animates all things.

1.09 - ADVICE TO THE BRAHMOS, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
  Master consoles a bereaved father
  Then he said: "What can you do? Be ready for Death. Death has entered the house.

1.240 - 1.300 Talks, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  Vasishta, V. Ch. 20, where Punya consoles Papa on the death of their parents and turns him to realising the Self. Further, creation is to be considered in its two aspects, Isvara srishti (God's creation) and jiva srishti (individual's creation). Of these two, the universe is the former, and its relation to the individual is the latter. It is the latter which gives rise to pain and pleasure, irrespective of the former. A story was mentioned from Panchadasi. There were two young men in a village in South India. They went on a pilgrimage to North India. One of them died. The survivor, who was earning something, decided to return only after some months. In the meantime he came across a wandering pilgrim whom he asked to convey the information regarding himself and his dead companion to the village in South India. The wandering pilgrim did so, but by mistake changed the names. The result was that the dead man's parents rejoiced in his safety and the living one's parents were in grief. Thus, you see, pain or pleasure has no reference to facts but
  243

1.240 - Talks 2, #Talks, #Sri Ramana Maharshi, #Hinduism
  Vasishta, V. Ch. 20, where Punya consoles Papa on the death of their parents and turns him to realising the Self. Further, creation is to be considered in its two aspects, Isvara srishti (Gods creation) and jiva srishti (individuals creation). Of these two, the universe is the former, and its relation to the individual is the latter. It is the latter which gives rise to pain and pleasure, irrespective of the former. A story was mentioned from Panchadasi. There were two young men in a village in South India. They went on a pilgrimage to North India. One of them died. The survivor, who was earning something, decided to return only after some months. In the meantime he came across a wandering pilgrim whom he asked to convey the information regarding himself and his dead companion to the village in South India. The wandering pilgrim did so, but by mistake changed the names. The result was that the dead mans parents rejoiced in his safety and the living ones parents were in grief. Thus, you see, pain or pleasure has no reference to facts but
  Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi to mental conceptions. Jiva Srishti is responsible for it. Kill the jiva and there is no pain or pleasure but the mental bliss persists forever. Killing the jiva is to abide in the Self.

1916 12 30p, #Prayers And Meditations, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   I feel, I see my soul living deep within my being, and my soul sees Thee, recognises Thee and loves Thee in all things, in everything that is; it is fully conscious of this, and as the outer being is surrendered to it, it too is conscious; the mind knows and never forgets; the purified vital being no longer has any attractions and repulsions, and more and more does it taste of the joy of Thy Presence in all things and always. But the heart seems to have fallen asleep in a slumber of exhaustion, and the soul no longer finds sufficient activity within it to respond fully to its impulsion. Why? Was it so poor that the struggle could thus wear it out, or so deeply wounded that it has become quite stiff? And yet it would like to answer the inner call; it wants this with a faith and ardour which have never wavered; but it is like an old man smiling benevolently at the games of youth but unable to take part in them. And yet it is full of joy and confidence, it overflows with gratitude for all the treasures of affection which Nature has so generously lavished upon it; it would like, in exchange for these precious gifts, to pour out in inexhaustible streams the golden wine of tenderness which restores and fortifies, enlivens and consoles, the true wine of life for human beings. It would like to and tries but how poor is what it does beside what it dreams of doing, how mediocre what it is able to do beside what it hopes, for it hopes always. It knows that Thy call is never heard in vain, and it has no doubt it can one day realise the splendours of which Thou hast given it a glimpse.
   Who will open these closed flood-gates?

1951-03-01 - Universe and the Divine - Freedom and determinism - Grace - Time and Creation- in the Supermind - Work and its results - The psychic being - beauty and love - Flowers- beauty and significance - Choice of reincarnating psychic being, #Questions And Answers 1950-1951, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
   The only thing which consoles me is that everything continues always, infinitely, that there is always something new to be done.
   Whatever be the goal attained, it is only a beginning.

1.rb - Caliban upon Setebos or, Natural Theology in the Island, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
   Than He who made them! What consoles but this?
   That they, unless through Him, do nought at all,

2.18 - SRI RAMAKRISHNA AT SYAMPUKUR, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
  Master consoles Surendra
  Surendra arrived and sat down. The Divine Mother had been worshipped at his house for the past three days. Sri Ramakrishna had not been able to go there on account of his illness, but he had sent some of his disciples. Surendra was in a very unhappy mood because on this day the image of the Mother was to be immersed in the water.

BOOK V. - Of fate, freewill, and God's prescience, and of the source of the virtues of the ancient Romans, #City of God, #Saint Augustine of Hippo, #Christianity
  But in the following verse he consoles him in his unhappiness, saying,
  "His country's love shall all o'erbear."

Liber 46 - The Key of the Mysteries, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
     Progress explains ruins, and consoles the weeping of Jeremiah.
     Nations succeed each other like men; and nothing is stable, because

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun console

The noun console has 4 senses (no senses from tagged texts)
                  
1. console table, console ::: (a small table fixed to a wall or designed to stand against a wall)
2. console ::: (a scientific instrument consisting of displays and an input device that an operator can use to monitor and control a system (especially a computer system))
3. console ::: (an ornamental scroll-shaped bracket (especially one used to support a wall fixture); "the bust of Napoleon stood on a console")
4. cabinet, console ::: (housing for electronic instruments, as radio or television)

--- Overview of verb console

The verb console has 1 sense (first 1 from tagged texts)
                    
1. (1) comfort, soothe, console, solace ::: (give moral or emotional strength to)


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

4 senses of console                          

Sense 1
console table, console
   => table
     => furniture, piece of furniture, article of furniture
       => furnishing
         => instrumentality, instrumentation
           => artifact, artefact
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity

Sense 2
console
   => scientific instrument
     => instrument
       => device
         => instrumentality, instrumentation
           => artifact, artefact
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity

Sense 3
console
   => bracket, wall bracket
     => support
       => device
         => instrumentality, instrumentation
           => artifact, artefact
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity

Sense 4
cabinet, console
   => housing
     => protective covering, protective cover, protection
       => covering
         => artifact, artefact
           => whole, unit
             => object, physical object
               => physical entity
                 => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun console
                                    


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

4 senses of console                          

Sense 1
console table, console
   => table

Sense 2
console
   => scientific instrument

Sense 3
console
   => bracket, wall bracket

Sense 4
cabinet, console
   => housing




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun console

4 senses of console                          

Sense 1
console table, console
  -> table
   => altar, communion table, Lord's table
   => booth
   => breakfast table
   => card table
   => card table
   => coffee table, cocktail table
   => conference table, council table, council board
   => console table, console
   => counter
   => desk
   => dressing table, dresser, vanity, toilet table
   => drop-leaf table
   => gaming table
   => gueridon
   => kitchen table
   => operating table
   => Parsons table
   => pedestal table
   => pier table
   => platen
   => pool table, billiard table, snooker table
   HAS INSTANCE=> Round Table, King Arthur's Round Table
   => stand
   => table-tennis table, ping-pong table, pingpong table
   => tea table
   => trestle table
   => worktable, work table

Sense 2
console
  -> scientific instrument
   => accelerator, particle accelerator, atom smasher
   => console
   => hodoscope
   => kicksorter, pulse height analyzer
   => kymograph, cymograph
   => magnetograph
   => magnifier
   => microtome
   => stroboscope, strobe, strobe light
   => tachistoscope, t-scope
   => telemeter

Sense 3
console
  -> bracket, wall bracket
   => angle bracket, angle iron
   => console
   => corbel, truss
   => modillion
   => sconce
   => shelf bracket

Sense 4
cabinet, console
  -> housing
   => binnacle
   => cabinet, console
   => crankcase
   => distributor housing
   => journal box
   => lamp house, lamphouse, lamp housing
   => radome, radar dome
   => shell, case, casing




--- Grep of noun console
console
console table



IN WEBGEN [10000/654]

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Final Fantasy: Legend of the Crystals (1994 - 1998) - Final Fantasy: Legend of the Crystals was an anime original video animation (OVA) based on the Final Fantasy series of console role-playing games. It was released in Japan in 1994 and distributed by Urban Vision Entertainment in 1998 in North America. Urban Vision no longer holds the license to this...
Jackie (2016) ::: 6.7/10 -- R | 1h 40min | Biography, Drama, History | 2 December 2016 (USA) -- Following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy fights through grief and trauma to regain her faith, console her children, and define her husband's historic legacy. Director: Pablo Larran Writer:
The Prisoner of Second Avenue (1975) ::: 6.7/10 -- PG | 1h 38min | Comedy | 5 May 1975 (Sweden) -- A suddenly-unemployed company executive suffers a nervous breakdown, and his supporting wife tries everything to console him and pick up the slack. Director: Melvin Frank Writers:
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Bartender -- -- Palm Studio -- 11 eps -- Manga -- Drama Seinen Slice of Life -- Bartender Bartender -- Hidden in the backstreets of the Ginza district is Eden Hall, a lone bar operated by Ryuu Sasakura, the prodigy bartender who is said to mix the most incredible cocktails anyone has ever tasted. However, not just anyone can find Eden Hall; rather, it is Eden Hall that must find you. Customers of varying backgrounds, each plagued with their own troubles, wander into this bar. Nevertheless, Ryuu always knows the ideal cocktail to console and guide each distraught soul. -- -- TV - Oct 15, 2006 -- 73,299 7.37
Moonrise -- -- Wit Studio -- ? eps -- Original -- Sci-Fi Space -- Moonrise Moonrise -- "Moonrise" will portray the lives of two men, Jack and Al, as they confront various hardships in the vast world of outer space. -- -- (Source: Amazon) -- - - ??? ??, ???? -- 1,147 N/A -- -- Mugen Kouro -- -- Gonzo, Production I.G -- 4 eps -- Game -- Action Sci-Fi Space -- Mugen Kouro Mugen Kouro -- The software developers Platinum Games and Sega have scheduled their Mugen Kōro - Infinite Space science-fiction roleplaying game for the Nintendo DS portable console next spring and announced the October launch of animated short films for the project. The game centers around Yūrī, a young man who journeys across lawless space and becomes a spaceship captain. The animation studios GONZO and Production I.G are producing short movies to promote the game and develop its world and storyline. The first of the movies will premiere at the Tokyo Game Show on October 9 and then will run on the game's official website on October 17. -- -- (Source: ANN) -- ONA - Oct 9, 2008 -- 1,139 5.14
Shoujo Kakumei Utena -- -- J.C.Staff -- 39 eps -- Original -- Comedy Drama Fantasy Mystery Psychological Shoujo -- Shoujo Kakumei Utena Shoujo Kakumei Utena -- After meeting a traveling prince who consoled her after the deaths of her parents, Utena Tenjou vowed to become a prince herself. The prince left Utena only with a ring bearing a strange rose crest and a promise that she would meet him again some day. -- -- A few years later, Utena attends Ootori Academy, where she is drawn into a dangerous game. Duelists with rings matching Utena's own compete for a unique prize: the Rose Bride, Anthy Himemiya, and her mysterious powers. When Utena wins Anthy in a duel, she realizes that if she is to free Anthy and discover the secrets behind Ootori Academy, she has only one option: to revolutionize the world. -- -- Shoujo Kakumei Utena blends surrealist imagery and ideas with complex allegories and metaphors to create a unique coming-of-age story with themes including idealism, illusions, adulthood, and identity. -- -- 162,010 8.20
Shoujo Kakumei Utena -- -- J.C.Staff -- 39 eps -- Original -- Comedy Drama Fantasy Mystery Psychological Shoujo -- Shoujo Kakumei Utena Shoujo Kakumei Utena -- After meeting a traveling prince who consoled her after the deaths of her parents, Utena Tenjou vowed to become a prince herself. The prince left Utena only with a ring bearing a strange rose crest and a promise that she would meet him again some day. -- -- A few years later, Utena attends Ootori Academy, where she is drawn into a dangerous game. Duelists with rings matching Utena's own compete for a unique prize: the Rose Bride, Anthy Himemiya, and her mysterious powers. When Utena wins Anthy in a duel, she realizes that if she is to free Anthy and discover the secrets behind Ootori Academy, she has only one option: to revolutionize the world. -- -- Shoujo Kakumei Utena blends surrealist imagery and ideas with complex allegories and metaphors to create a unique coming-of-age story with themes including idealism, illusions, adulthood, and identity. -- -- -- Licensor: -- Central Park Media, Nozomi Entertainment -- 162,010 8.20
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https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_21
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_22
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_23
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_24
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_25
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_26
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_27
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_28
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_29
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_3
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_30
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_31
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_32
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_33
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_34
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_35
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_36
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_4
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_5
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_6
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_7
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_8
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/List_of_applications#Console_9
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Special:Search?search=akonadiconsole
https://wiki.archlinux.org/index.php/Working_with_the_serial_console
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