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--- OBJECT INSTANCES [0]

TOPICS


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--- PRIMARY CLASS


place

--- SEE ALSO


--- SIMILAR TITLES [1]


1.25 - DUNGEON
1.rt - Dungeon
Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2E
DanMachi Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon
dungeon
Dungeons and Dragons
the Entrance to the Dungeon
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--- DICTIONARIES (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)


dungeon ::: a dark, often underground chamber or cell used to confine prisoners. (Sri Aurobindo employs the word as an adjective.) :::

dungeon ::: n. --> A close, dark prison, common/, under ground, as if the lower apartments of the donjon or keep of a castle, these being used as prisons. ::: v. t. --> To shut up in a dungeon.

Dungeon
{Zork}

dungeon ::: n. --> A close, dark prison, common/, under ground, as if the lower apartments of the donjon or keep of a castle, these being used as prisons. ::: v. t. --> To shut up in a dungeon.

dungeon ::: a dark, often underground chamber or cell used to confine prisoners. (Sri Aurobindo employs the word as an adjective.) :::


--- QUOTES [10 / 10 - 500 / 600] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)



KEYS (10k)

   4 Gary Gygax
   2 Manly P Hall
   1 Naropa
   1 Joseph Goodman
   1 Jorge Luis Borges
   1 Dungeons and Dragons Players Handbook.

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

   15 J K Rowling

   12 Cassandra Clare

   11 Terry Pratchett

   8 John Milton

   8 Emily Dickinson

   7 Robert Green Ingersoll

   7 Kate DiCamillo

   6 Victor Hugo

   6 Sherwood Smith

   6 Charles Haddon Spurgeon

   6 Alexandre Dumas

   5 William Shakespeare

   5 Nathaniel Hawthorne

   5 Kresley Cole

   5 James Baldwin

   5 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

   5 Anne Brontë

   4 Rumi

   4 Robert G Ingersoll

   4 Robert A Heinlein

   4 Rene Denfeld

   4 George MacDonald

   4 Gary Gygax

   4 Gary Gygax
   4 C S Lewis

   4 Anonymous

   3 Various

   3 Thomas Harris

   3 Rick Riordan

   3 Rachel Hawkins

   3 Mitch Albom

   3 Mark Twain

   3 Marcel Proust

   3 Manly P Hall
   3 J R R Tolkien

   3 Jen Turano

   3 Jack Kerouac

   3 Frances Hodgson Burnett

   3 Emily Jane Brontë

   3 Charlotte Bront

   3 Catherynne M Valente

   2 Vladimir Nabokov

   2 Upton Sinclair

   2 Umberto Eco

   2 Thomas Ligotti

   2 Thomas Bernhard

   2 Ted Dekker

   2 Susan Stoker

   2 Richelle Mead

   2 Richard Matheson

   2 Peter Enns

   2 Parley P Pratt

   2 Nicol s G mez D vila

   2 Mindy Kaling

   2 Michael J Sullivan

   2 Martin Luther King Jr

   2 Marilyn Manson

   2 Mandy Hubbard

   2 Lord Byron

   2 Kristin Cashore

   2 Kevin Hearne

   2 John Kennedy Toole

   2 John Bunyan

   2 Jean Jacques Rousseau

   2 James A Baldwin

   2 Haruki Murakami

   2 G K Chesterton

   2 George Bernard Shaw

   2 George Berkeley

   2 G A Aiken

   2 Fiona Paul

   2 Ernest Cline

   2 Daphne du Maurier

   2 Clive Staples Lewis

   2 Charles Dickens

   2 Carolina De Robertis

   2 Beth Fantaskey

   2 Anne Rice

   2 Andrew Lang

   2 Alice Walker


1:Role-playing isn't storytelling. If the dungeon master is directing it, it's not a game. ~ Gary Gygax,
2:Samsara is the tendency to find fault with others, an unbearable fire-bowl, a dungeon dark, a deep swamp of three poisons, a fearful wave of evil lives. ~ Naropa,
3:The most immediate influences upon AD&D were probably de Camp & Pratt, R. E. Howard, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, H P Lovecraft, and A. Merritt. ~ Gary Gygax, Writing in Appendix N AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide (1979),
4:In a staggering display of power, the caster causes all portals within 1 mile to blast open in a violent burst. [...] Moreover, normal fasteners and stoppers are loosened or dislodged, such that wine corks fizz open, lids fall off dinner pots, shoelaces unlace, snaps loosen, belts unbuckle, and so on. ~ Joseph Goodman, Dungeon Crawl Classics Role Playing Game ,
5:Your character grows as the game continues. Each monster defeated, each adventure completed, and each treasure recovered not only adds to your continuing story, but also earns your character new abilities. This increase in power is reflected by your character's level; as you continue to play, your character gains more experience, rising in level and mastering new and more powerful abilities. ~ Dungeons and Dragons Players Handbook.,
6:The new D&D is too rule intensive. It's relegated the Dungeon Master to being an entertainer rather than master of the game. It's done away with the archetypes, focused on nothing but combat and character power, lost the group cooperative aspect, bastardized the class-based system, and resembles a comic-book superheroes game more than a fantasy RPG where a player can play any alignment desired, not just lawful good. ~ Gary Gygax, GameSpy interview Pt. 2 (16 August 2004),
7:You are not entering this world in the usual manner, for you are setting forth to be a Dungeon Master. Certainly there are stout fighters, mighty magic-users, wily thieves, and courageous clerics who will make their mark in the magical lands of D&D adventure. You however, are above even the greatest of these, for as DM you are to become the Shaper of the Cosmos. It is you who will give form and content to the all the universe. You will breathe life into the stillness, giving meaning and purpose to all the actions which are to follow. ~ Gary Gygax,
8:The spirit, while superior to all of its bodies, is incapable of manifesting without its chain of vehicles. This divine spark must always be limited by the quality of its bodies. In all too many cases, it is the servant of its own dependencies. Instead of ruling its world by apostolic succession, the spirit is generally bowed and broken by the endless demands of the lower nature. The appetites, desires, and selfish propensities cast the spirit into a dungeon, while a false and cruel monarch rules the empire in his stead. ~ Manly P Hall, Magic: A Treatise on Esoteric Ethics ,
9:When man's thoughts rise upon the wings of aspiration, when he pushes back the darkness with the strength of reason and logic, then indeed the builder is liberated from his dungeon and the light pours in, bathing him with life and power. This light enables us to seek more clearly the mystery of creation and to find with greater certainty our place in the Great Plan, for as man unfolds his bodies he gains talents with which he can explore the mysteries of Nature and search for the hidden workings of the Divine. Through these powers the Builder is liberated and his consciousness goes forth conquering and to conquer. These higher ideals, these spiritual concepts, these altruistic, philanthropic, educative applications of thought power glorify the Builder; for they give the power of expression and those who can express themselves are free. When man can mold his thoughts, his emotions, and his actions into faithful expressions of his highest ideals then liberty is his, for ignorance is the darkness of Chaos and knowledge is the light of Cosmos. ~ Manly P Hall,
10:The PalaceThe Palace is not infinite.The walls, the ramparts, the gardens, the labyrinths, the staircases, the terraces, the parapets, the doors, the galleries, the circular or rectangular patios, the cloisters, the intersections, the cisterns, the anterooms, the chambers, the alcoves, the libraries, the attics, the dungeons, the sealed cells and the vaults, are not less in quantity than the grains of sand in the Ganges, but their number has a limit. From the roofs, towards sunset, many people can make out the forges, the workshops, the stables, the boatyards and the huts of the slaves.It is granted to no one to traverse more than an infinitesimal part of the palace. Some know only the cellars. We can take in some faces, some voices, some words, but what we perceive is of the feeblest. Feeble and precious at the same time. The date which the chisel engraves in the tablet, and which is recorded in the parochial registers, is later than our own death; we are already dead when nothing touches us, neither a word nor a yearning nor a memory. I know that I am not dead. ~ Jorge Luis Borges, The Book of Sand ,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:I was deep in the poo poo dungeon. ~ Sam Cheever
2:The dungeon was a miserable place. ~ Chris Colfer
3:Harsh words live in the dungeon of the heart ~ Norman Mailer
4:Lovely. Imprisoned in a nursery school dungeon. ~ Rick Riordan
5:War was a dungeon for the spiritually condemned ~ Dylan Saccoccio
6:Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know. ~ J K Rowling
7:If anyone locked me in a dungeon, there'd be screams. ~ Terry Pratchett
8:Parking complexes are like modern-day dungeons. ~ Gina Marinello Sweeney
9:Reality seemed so paltry next to castles—dungeons—in the air. ~ Pico Iyer
10:Your worst dungeon might be the room with the most windows. ~ Rene Denfeld
11:No, Kara was the one with the Dungeons and Dragons mini dress. ~ Penny Reid
12:There's gotta be a way out of this dungeon."- G. Gygax ~ Robert Lynn Asprin
13:Far over the misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim ~ Anonymous
14:We are all serving a life sentence in the dungeon of the self. ~ Cyril Connolly
15:Both creators of Dungeons & Dragons were devout Christians. ~ Joseph Laycock
16:God's smile—and a dungeon—are enough for a true heart! ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
17:Anyone wanna play Dungeons & Dragons for the next quadrillion years? ~ Gary Gygax
18:I've always been a gamer. I play a version of Dungeons & Dragons. ~ Thomas Middleditch
19:How clear everything becomes when you look from the darkness of a dungeon! ~ Umberto Eco
20:How clear everything becomes when you look from the darkness of a dungeon. ~ Umberto Eco
21:If I were to lock you up in a dungeon, I guarantee you would not be bored. ~ Priya Ardis
22:The feast I ate was rotten,
What I thought was a palace was a dungeon. ~ Stephen King
23:The love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self. ~ George MacDonald
24:The very time I thought I was lost, my dungeon shook and my chains fell off. ~ James Baldwin
25:I was a huge fantasy geek growing up. I was the dungeon master in my D&D game. ~ David Benioff
26:There is peace in dungeons, but is that enough to make dungeons desirable? ~ Jean Jacques Rousseau
27:No interruptions, stereos pumpin from the dungeon, coming live from Flatbush Junction ~ Capital STEEZ
28:Role-playing isn't storytelling. If the dungeon master is directing it, it's not a game. ~ Gary Gygax
29:One may live tranquilly in a dungeon; but does life consist in living quietly? ~ Jean Jacques Rousseau
30:Role-playing isn't storytelling. If the dungeon master is directing it, it's not a game. ~ Gary Gygax,
31:I'm just not fond of cages,' she said, 'and this place looks like one giant dungeon. ~ Stephanie Garber
32:The biggest trap, the biggest dungeon in life isn't laziness or bad luck, it's comfort. ~ Robert Kiyosaki
33:I bear the dungeon within me; within me is winter, ice, despair; I have darkness in my soul. ~ Victor Hugo
34:I come to dungeon for good time—which maybe is problem, I admit—but I get bad time instead. ~ Kevin Hearne
35:In one way, I fear all Damascus is a dungeon. Or do you have to live here to appreciate that? ~ Robert Fisk
36:that dismal prison house within whose dungeons so many young faces put on the wrinkles of age, ~ Mark Twain
37:I bear the dungeon within me; within me is winter, ice, and despair; I have darkness in my soul. ~ Victor Hugo
38:Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know.” He then sank to the floor in a dead faint. ~ J K Rowling
39:Faerie is a perilous land, and in it are pitfalls for the unwary, and dungeons for the overbold. ~ J R R Tolkien
40:Sin thrives in the dungeon, but slap it on the table for all to see, and it withers rather quickly. ~ Ted Dekker
41:What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so inexorable as one's self! ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
42:What other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart! What jailer so in exorable as one's self! ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
43:A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down. ~ Joanna Baillie
44:It was as good as sealing yourself into a dungeon. Walled in, with nowhere to go but your own doom. ~ Haruki Murakami
45:A candle can bring light to a dungeon but it can also be used to light a deadly marijuana cigarette. ~ Eleanor Roosevelt
46:A path cleared itself for Lord Vetinari, as paths do for men known to have dungeons in their basement. ~ Terry Pratchett
47:If you are not careful, soon you will have men locking themselves in dungeons so that you can rescue them. ~ R L LaFevers
48:Remember how before, I was talking about Dungeons and Dragons?
Vividly, Jace said. It was a dark time. ~ Cassandra Clare
49:Oh God, this was so stupid; he’s going to kill me.
Or throw me in that dungeon I’m still convinced he has… ~ Mandy Hubbard
50:James Baldwin’s “My Dungeon Shook—Letter to My Nephew on the One Hundredth Anniversary of Emancipation, ~ Carolina De Robertis
51:Nobleness and generosity are the soul's ethereal firmament; without them, one looks at an insect in a dungeon. ~ Sri Aurobindo
52:Capital punishment turns the state into a murderer. But imprisonment turns the state into a gay dungeon-master. ~ Jesse Jackson
53:Before they could say more than “fine,” the dungeon door opened and Slughorn’s belly preceded him out of the door. ~ J K Rowling
54:Its like a sort of internet Ren Fair. Its like Dungeons & Dragons but for cool people who have got friends. ~ Craig Ferguson
55:Lawful good to lawful evil!" said Simon, pleased. "He's quoting Dungeons and Dragons," said Clary. "Ignore him. ~ Cassandra Clare
56:Modern man is a prisoner who thinks he is free because he refrains from touching the walls of his dungeon. ~ Nicol s G mez D vila
57:to know, and by knowledge to lift up the mind from the dungeon of the body to the enjoying his own divine essence ~ Philip Sidney
58:It might be a dungeon
of suffering and pain full
yet this life is worth living
and this world is beautiful. ~ Jyoti Arora
59:It was like some horrible crime committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of sight and of memory. ~ Upton Sinclair
60:Lawful good to lawful evil!" said Simon, pleased.
"He's quoting Dungeons and Dragons," said Clary. "Ignore him. ~ Cassandra Clare
61:Modern man is a prisoner who thinks he is free because he refrains from touching the
walls of his dungeon. ~ Nicol s G mez D vila
62:Though the dungeon, the scourge, and the executioner be absent, the guilty mind can apply the goad and scorch with blows. ~ Lucretius
63:O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! ~ John Milton
64:I came ready to fight Genghis Khan and I walk in on a shut-in playing the biggest Dungeons and Dragons game in history. ~ Richard Kadrey
65:(These “wise men” apparently thought setting up a small shop in the middle of a monster-infested dungeon was a fine idea.) ~ Ernest Cline
66:I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses. ~ William Shakespeare
67:There's a lot of things I nerd out over. Quantum Mechanics. I also love Dungeons and Dragons. I want to be an astronaut. ~ Analeigh Tipton
68:This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my captivity. ~ Alexandre Dumas
69:I had rather be a toad, and live upon the vapor of a dungeon, than keep a corner in the thing I love for others uses. ~ William Shakespeare
70:If you're demanding a rodeo jester be thrown in the dungeons for mocking the king, don't pretend you support a free country. ~ Steve Stockman
71:Dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri. ~ Parley P Pratt
72:Far over misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To find our long-forgotten gold. ~ J R R Tolkien
73:It is kind of dungeon-esque,” I murmured to her. “Who uses stone this dark for a wine cellar? I’d expect something more Tuscan. ~ Richelle Mead
74:This isn't Dungeon & Dragons, dude. Just because I'm wearing black doesn't mean I have the Find & Remive Traps skill. ~ John G Hartness
75:What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally the whole school knows. ~ J K Rowling
76:What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. ~ J K Rowling
77:Long have I dwelt forgotten here
In pining woe and dull despair;
This place of solitude and gloom
Must be my dungeon and my tomb. ~ Anne Bront
78:Not like those Dungeons and Dragons games. The real thing. He bought some of those tarot cards.” She pronounced it like carrot. Amateurs. ~ Jim Butcher
79:If you die, Lily ... I’ll steal your soul and take you to the Abyss, where I will keep you in my magical dungeon so you can never escape. ~ Nalini Singh
80:When a prisoner sees the door of his dungeon open, he dashes for it without stopping to think where he shall get his dinner outside. ~ George Bernard Shaw
81:She was trapped with a telepathic cat that wanted to go to the opera, in an elevator that had passed dungeon in favor of a lower floor - hell. ~ Nina Bangs
82:A slave will amuse himself in his dungeon; a free man must file through his chains and dig through his prison-walls before he can frolic. ~ George MacDonald
83:I can survive this. Whatever torture they inflict on me, I will survive, and I will plan, and I will escape. Then she entered the dungeon. ~ Lindsay Buroker
84:I have done most of my talking by post of late years--as people shut up in dungeons take up with scrawling mottoes on the walls. ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning
85:Miss Kane, I have been worried.

Sorry, I've been in a faery closet and a werewolf dungeon.

Business or pleasure?

Business. ~ Alexis Hall
86:He wore a tiny turquoise stud earring I always associated with Dungeons and Dragons types. Men who own ferrets and think magic tricks are cool. ~ Gillian Flynn
87:Your thief looks Exactly like the rest, or rather better; 'Tis only at the bar, and in the dungeon, That wise men know your felon by his features. ~ Lord Byron
88:Never build a dungeon you wouldn't be happy to spend the night in yourself. The world would be a happier place if more people remembered that. ~ Terry Pratchett
89:I have an idea," Simon said. "Remember how before, I was talking about Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Vividly," Jace said. "It was a dark time. ~ Cassandra Clare
90:Intellectual liberty is the air of the soul, the sunshine of the mind, and without it, the world is a prison, the universe is a dungeon. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
91:Against all odds, the Academy had come to feel like home. A slimy, moldy, dungeonlike home without working toilets, maybe, but home nonetheless. ~ Cassandra Clare
92:Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, “Pimply! Pimply! ~ J K Rowling
93:Samsara is the tendency to find fault with others, an unbearable fire-bowl, a dungeon dark, a deep swamp of three poisons, a fearful wave of evil lives. ~ Naropa,
94:I picked up the corpse and dragged it down and down the winding steps of the tower, into the stinking dungeon, and threw it to rot with the rest there. ~ Anne Rice
95:Simon grinned. "You've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?" "I've heard of dungeons," Jace said. "Also dragons. Although they're mostly extinct. ~ Cassandra Clare
96:I saw the Fall of Troy! World War Five! I was pushing boxes at the Boston Tea Party! Now I'm gonna die in a dungeon.... [disgustedly] in Cardiff! ~ Russell T Davies
97:Simon grinned. "You've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?"
"I've heard of dungeons," Jace said. "Also dragons. Although they're mostly extinct. ~ Cassandra Clare
98:A lord’s dungeon near Gulltown,” the smith replied. “A brigand, a barber, a beggar, two orphans, and a boy whore. With such do we defend the realms of men. ~ Anonymous
99:Albert, you are more highly privileged than ever I was. No one ever made me a nice dungeon when I was your age. I think I had better leave you where you are. ~ E Nesbit
100:Make your educational laws strict and your criminal ones can be gentle; but if you leave youth its liberty you will have to dig dungeons for ages. ~ Michel de Montaigne
101:Singularitarians are the munchkins of the real world. We just ignore all the usual dungeons and head straight for the cycle of infinite wish spells. ~ Eliezer Yudkowsky
102:Whene'er with haggard eyes I view This dungeon that I'm rotting in, I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U- Niversity of Gottingen. ~ George Canning
103:Really, I scolded myself, you should have known that you'd end up in a stone dungeon with no facilities. That's how these things always end up, isn't it? ~ Lilith Saintcrow
104:That kiss, I cannot describe. It was like a poem, a prayer, a homecoming unlooked-for. It was like dungeon walls crumbling to reveal a glimpse of sky. It ~ Jacqueline Carey
105:In the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and the revelry above may cause us to forget their existence. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
106:Si cada cigarro que fumas te quita siete minutos de tu vida, cada juego de Dungeons & Dragons que juegas retrasa la pérdida de tu virginidad siete horas. ~ Marilyn Manson
107:In the depths of every heart there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and the revelry above may cause us to forget their existence... ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
108:If every cigarette you smoke takes seven minutes off of your life, every game of Dungeons & Dragons you play delays the loss of your virginity by seven hours. ~ Marilyn Manson
109:They were like the man with the dungeon stone and gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining. ~ Jack Kerouac
110:His recent dungeon experience had persuaded him that opportunites for good things should be grabbed and not postponed. You never knew when you wouldn't be around anymore. ~ Jean Ferris
111:They were like the man with the dungeon stone and the gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining. ~ Jack Kerouac
112:I'm a computer freak. I'm on the Internet every night. Sometimes I play dungeons and dragons with 15-year-old boys who think I'm a 15-year-old boy with a weird vocabulary. ~ Jean Houston
113:Prisons! Prisons! Prisons, dungeons, blessed places where evil is impossible since they are the crossroads of all the malediction in the world. One cannot commit evil in evil. ~ Jean Genet
114:A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed; yet from those flames
No light; but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe ~ John Milton
115:Or was it running the world’s weirdest Turing-complete variant Dungeons & Dragons campaign using a rule set isomorphic with first-order transdimensional summoning algebra— ~ Charles Stross
116:Somebody said they threw their copy of Dungeons and Dragons into the fire, and it screamed. It's a game! The magic spells in it are as real as the gold. Try retiring on that stuff. ~ Gary Gygax
117:The door's locked," said the Fool. "There's all sorts of noises, but the door's locked."
"Well, it's a dungeon, isn't it?"
"They're not supposed to lock from the inside! ~ Terry Pratchett
118:Dweller in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noosing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curse? ~ Robert Burns
119:I was a founding member of the 'Dungeons and Dragons' club at my high school. I was in chorus, I was in swing choir. I was an outcast but I was an outcast among a group of outcasts. ~ John C Reilly
120:It's important for us to explain to our nation that life is important. It's not only life of babies, but it's life of children living in, you know, the dark dungeons of the Internet. ~ George W Bush
121:I had to spend my entire childhood in the Altensam dungeon like an inmate doing time for no comprehensible reason, for a crime he can't remember committing, a judicial error probably. ~ Thomas Bernhard
122:I had to spend my entire childhood in the Altensam dungeon like an inmate doing time for no comprehensible reason, for a crime he can’t remember committing, a judicial error probably. ~ Thomas Bernhard
123:The deep rumbling of discontent that we hear today is the thunder of disinherited masses rising from dungeons of oppression to the bright hills of freedom in one majestic chorus ~ Martin Luther King Jr
124:I always, always wanted to be the Dungeon Master because that's where the creativity lies - in thinking up places, characters and situations. If done well, a game can be a novel in itself. ~ Sharyn McCrumb
125:Mothers are like dungeons. Some really stink and you'll do anything to avoid them. And some are lush sanctuaries filled with gold, jewels, and butterscotch schnapps-spiked Nestle Nesquik. ~ Shelly Mazzanoble
126:A novel related in a dungeon, in the presence of death, cannot have the same meaning, the same consequences, as it would when read on the beach or in a meadow, in the shade of cherry trees. ~ Tahar Ben Jelloun
127:But society is ignorant and venomous, devoid of any trace of insight or understanding. It exalts knavery, and worships stupidity. It crucifies the intelligent, and puts the diseased in dungeons. ~ S S Van Dine
128:Remember the story of the Spanish prisoner. For many years he was confined in a dungeon... One day it occurred to him to push the door of his cell. It was open; and it had never been locked. ~ Winston Churchill
129:In the field of fantastic fiction, the question of world-building is not uncontroversial. But I grew up with 'Dungeons and Dragons,' so that whole world-building thing is very close to my heart. ~ China Mieville
130:He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon. ~ John Milton
131:He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon. ~ John Milton
132:I don’t know. After the downstairs, I assumed something creepier and dirtier.” I shrugged. “You didn’t have electricity down there.” “It’s for dramatic effect.” Loki gestured widely. “It’s a dungeon. ~ Amanda Hocking
133:Lack of understanding seemed as valuable to God as understanding. It required man to dip into the black hole of faith. But dipping into the hole was pretty much like walking through the dungeon at times. ~ Ted Dekker
134:Never build a dungeon you wouldn’t be happy to spend the night in yourself,’ said the Patrician, laying out the food on the cloth. ‘The world would be a happier place if more people remembered that. ~ Terry Pratchett
135:Never build a dungeon you wouldn’t be happy to spend the night in yourself,” said the Patrician, laying out the food on the cloth. “The world would be a happier place if more people remembered that. ~ Terry Pratchett
136:What a fool, quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle. ~ John Bunyan
137:Belle, so brave and noble—willing to take her father’s place as a prisoner in the castle dungeon. What sort of woman would do that—give up her life so easily, sacrificing her freedom for her father’s? ~ Serena Valentino
138:Jason wasn't sure what to expect at the end--a dungeon, a mad scientist’s lab, or maybe a sewer reservoir where all Porta-Potty sludge ends up, forming an evil toilet face large enough to swallow the world. ~ Rick Riordan
139:Of all men living [priests] are our greatest enemies. If it were possible, they would extinguish the very light of nature, turn the world into a dungeon, and keep mankind for ever in chains and darkness. ~ George Berkeley
140:The most immediate influences upon AD&D were probably de Camp & Pratt, R. E. Howard, Fritz Leiber, Jack Vance, H P Lovecraft, and A. Merritt. ~ Gary Gygax, Writing in Appendix N, AD&D Dungeon Masters Guide (1979), p. 224,
141:From that day on he learned to accept the
dungeon he existed in, neither seeking to escape with sudden derring-do nor beating his pate
bloody on its walls.
And, thus resigned, he returned to work. ~ Richard Matheson
142:she also apparently had a bona fide dungeon in her house. At least that’s what Inez told me when we arrived. Maude, overhearing as she passed by, rolled her eyes. “It’s not a dungeon, Inez. It’s a wine cellar. ~ Richelle Mead
143:Your solicitude overwhelms me,’ returned Ravenscar. ‘I own I had expected at least a loaf of bread and a jug of water in my dungeon – until I learned, of course, that you had some idea of starving me to death. ~ Georgette Heyer
144:What a fool I have been to lie in a stinking dungeon like this, when I could just as well walk free! I have a key in my pocket next to my heart called Promise that will, I am sure, open any lock in Doubting Castle. ~ John Bunyan
145:Cast me into a dungeon, burn me at the stake, crown me king of kings, I can ‘pursue happiness’ as long as my brain lives—but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can insure that I will catch it. ~ Robert A Heinlein
146:Never go into a book. Either it's a dimensional portal, which is bad, or it's some sort of Dungeons and Dragons-style mimic-thing, which is also bad, although in a less 'we'll never find your body' sort of a way. ~ Seanan McGuire
147:Cast me into a dungeon, burn me at the stake, crown me king of kings, I can 'pursue happiness' as long as my brain lives - but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can ensure that I will catch it. ~ Robert A Heinlein
148:Furlough?” He said.
“What?” said the first hood irritably.
Despereaux shuddered. His own brother was delivering him to the dungeon. His heart stopped beating and shrunk to a small, cold, disbelieving pebble. ~ Kate DiCamillo
149:We have 'Doctor Who' references on 'Futurama,' but we have a lot of science fiction references that I don't get; but in the staff we have experts on 'Star Trek,' 'Star Wars,' 'Doctor Who' and 'Dungeons and Dragons.' ~ Matt Groening
150:Cast me into a dungeon;, burn me at the state, crown me king of kings, I can 'pursue happiness' as long as my brain lives -- but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can insure that I will catch it. ~ Robert A Heinlein
151:Faith builds in the dungeon and lazarhouse its sublimest shrines; and up, through roofs of stone, that shut out the eye of heaven, ascends the ladder where the angels glide to and fro,--prayer. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton 1st Baron Lytton
152:People either build a castle or a dungeon. The former by their virtues, pull people into positive edifices with gainful impression. The later by their vices, push people into negative huts with painful oppression. ~ Israelmore Ayivor
153:An enlightened mind is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison till it thinks the walls of its dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of intelligence. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
154:Now and then a visitor wept, to be sure; but this slaughtering machine ran on, visitors or no visitors. It was like some horrible crime committed in a dungeon, all unseen and unheeded, buried out of sight and of memory. ~ Upton Sinclair
155:Yes, dimensional warping. Someone had to have done this for the first time in the past. I don’t know who they were, but they must have had a pair on them bigger than my dungeon to be messing around with forces like these. ~ Dakota Krout
156:Yes sir. Oh and this is Sunshine. She’s with…” He cut her off.
“And bring me back a cheese steak from Olley’s, extra meat, peppers, and onions” I feared if she messed up his sandwich, he would chain her to a dungeon floor ~ Elle Klass
157:My name is Earwig Dungeon. I come from Wichita, Kansas. My mom and I used to own a restaurant where we served human flesh. It was very popular. We were millionaires. I had a pony and a yacht. Now we are on the run from the FBI… ~ Rob Reger
158:To lead by force all you need is a greater army, but to lead by example, to be a city on a hill, you need an uncompromising respect for basic dignity. And you don't gain either of those things by breeding monsters in dungeons. ~ Jonathan Maas
159:. . . and then, from that dungeon in the West,
There rises up a melody, beguiling and forlorn.
It is the sweet, sad, self-deceiving murderer's song,
And it will not end 'til morn . . .'
-- Wheldrake, The Prisoners ~ Michael Moorcock
160:You will not address me as if I'm not even here--unless you want to join Lucius in the dungeons. And then we'll see how long you will last without blood, because you are two hundred years older and nowhere strong as my husband. ~ Beth Fantaskey
161:You wish to be free, but there is no such thing as freedom. You can redecorate dungeon to give illusion of freedom, but you are still in dungeon.” “I should’ve had the choice.” “Choice is illusion, same as happiness and freedom. ~ Carolyn Crane
162:I promptly forgot about him and prepared a blend of Creativi-Tea, since I had some fantasy role-players coming in for their weekly dungeon crawl, and the DM always wanted a little something extra to keep him on top of his players. ~ Kevin Hearne
163:To the one, nights spent in dancing had seemed made of minutes instead of hours; to the other, those selfsame nights had been like all other nights of dungeon life and seemed made of slow, dragging weeks instead of hours and minutes. ~ Mark Twain
164:You will not address me as if I'm not even here—unless you want to join Lucius in the dungeons. And then we'll see how long you last without blood, because you are two hundred years older and nowhere near as strong as my husband. ~ Beth Fantaskey
165:He surveyed the dimly lit space. She’d lured him directly into a large dungeon cell. And one he recognized, because he’d kept prisoners here when he was master and king of Castle Tornin. She’s trapped me in my own goddamned dungeon. ~ Kresley Cole
166:I’m an adult,” the boy says. “I got rights.”

“Everybody’s got rights. A man tied to a bed got rights. A man down in a dungeon got rights. A little screaming baby got rights. Yeah, you got rights. What you don’t got is power. ~ Justin Torres
167:God, I hope we don’t have to use that,” was all he said out loud. “Oh, come on, Quentina. We’re not looking for trouble. We just want to be ready if it comes.” Josh could hardly contain himself. “Dungeons & Dragons, motherfucker! ~ Lev Grossman
168:We live in two totally different worlds, Rhion.”
“Maybe. But, in yours, you’re living in the dungeons of what you could have done differently ... In my world, you saved me, you’re falling in love with me, and I’m refusing to let go. ~ Aly Martinez
169:But I also said it was up to you to decide what kind of monster you wanted to become. And what I saw that night in the dungeon, at the refugee camp, facing down Sarren...it gave me something I have not felt in a long time. It gave me hope. ~ Julie Kagawa
170:What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a lavatory seat. ~ J K Rowling
171:If you’re planning on stalking me, taking me out, trying to get me drunk, then taking me home to tie me up, throw me into a dungeon under your barn, and rape me then kill me…it’ll never work. I’ll take you down before you know what happened. ~ Susan Stoker
172:I simply await the day that they drag me to some air-conditioned dungeon and leave me there beneath the fluorescent lights and soundproofed ceiling to pay the price for scorning all that they hold dear within their little latex hearts. ~ John Kennedy Toole
173:I wish we could go to the movies."
I stared at him. "We're in a creepy dungeon. There's a chance I might die in the next few hours. You are going to die in the next few hours. And if you had one wish, it would be to catch a movie? ~ Rachel Hawkins
174:Beneath his fine skin the bold construction, the feudal architecture were apparent. His head made one think of those old dungeon keeps on which the disused battlements are still to be seen, although inside they have been converted into libraries. ~ Marcel Proust
175:In 1419, the Council issued the famously worded decree that Quidditch should not be played “anywhere near any place where there is the slightest chance that a Muggle might be watching or we’ll see how well you can play whilst chained to a dungeon wall. ~ J K Rowling
176:I suspect millions of people from my generation probably have comparable stories to tell: if not of sports simulations then of Dungeons & Dragons, or the geopolitical strategy of games like Diplomacy, a kind of chess superimposed onto actual history. ~ Steven Johnson
177:What a hell of horror, I thought, to wander alone, a bare existence never going out of itself, never widening its life in another life, but, bound with the cords of its poor peculiarities, lying an eternal prisoner in the dungeon of its own being! I ~ George MacDonald
178:We're in a world where there's famine and hunger and people are dodging bullets and having their nails pulled out in dungeons so it's very hard for me to place any high value on the work that I do to write a song. Yeah, I work hard but compared to what? ~ Leonard Cohen
179:Oh, those hateful sods will never make it to Heaven. They’re all on an express elevator to the gay spit-roast dungeon in Hell. Within five minutes of kicking the bucket, they’ll have demon balls swollen with fiery spunk slapping off their shapeless chins. ~ Michael Logan
180:Long ago I abandoned my masterpiece a roll of paper thirty yards long which I filled completely with minute handwriting in my dungeon years ago It vanished when the Bastille fell it vanished as everything written everything thought and planned will disappear ~ Peter Weiss
181:I wished Dean and Carlo were there—then I realized they’d be out of place and unhappy. They were like the man with the dungeon stone and the gloom, rising from the underground, the sordid hipsters of America, a new beat generation that I was slowly joining. The ~ Jack Kerouac
182:Dead. things, dead things. . ." I said. "Come no closer. Talking of madness and love, in this reeking place! And that old monster, Magnus, locking them up in his dungeon. How did he love them, his captives? The way boys love butterflies when they rip off their wings! ~ Anne Rice
183:I am apt to think, if we knew what it was to be an angel for one hour, we should return to this world, though it were to sit on the brightest throne in it, with vastly more loathing and reluctance than we would now descend into a loathsome dungeon or sepulchre. ~ George Berkeley
184:Asleep, he looks like a bleeding Prince Charming chained in the dungeon. When I was little, I always thought I’d be Cinderella, but I guess this makes me the wicked witch.
But then again, Cinderella didn’t live in a post-apocalyptic world invaded by avenging angels. ~ Susan Ee
185:Illustrious confessors of Jesus Christ, a Christian finds in prison the same joys as the prophets tasted in the desert. Call it not a dungeon, but a solitude. When the soul is in heaven, the body feels not the weight of fetters; it carries the whole man along with it. ~ Tertullian
186:I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon, In the round-tower of my heart, And there will I keep you forever, Yes, forever and a day, Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in the dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
187:The lambs will stop for now. But, Clarice, you judge yourself with all the mercy of the dungeon scales at Threave; you'll have to earn it again and again, the blessed silence. Because it's the plight that drives you, seeing the plight, and the plight will not end, ever. ~ Thomas Harris
188:Determined independence of spirit walks at freedom in a tyrant's Bastille, and defies a despot's hosts; but a mind enslaved by sin builds its own dungeon, forges its own fetters, and rivets on its chains. It is slavery indeed when the iron enters into the soul. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
189:Imagine that Dungeons and Dragons and an ’80s video arcade made hot, sweet love, and their child was raised in Azeroth. If you’re not already experiencing a nerdgasm at the thought, I don’t want to know you.” —John Scalzi, New York Times bestselling author of Old Man’s War ~ Ernest Cline
190:I think the biggest mistake you can make in creator owned work is having info-dumps like, "Here's how this world works!" it's just like someone playing dungeon master and boring me with the backstory of their fucking world. Just bring me into you story and get it cooking. ~ Rick Remender
191:You humans are always locking each other away. Cells. Dungeons. Some of your earliest jails were sewers, where men sloshed in their own waste. No other creature has this arrogance—to confine its own. Could you imagine a bird imprisoning another bird? A horse jailing a horse? ~ Mitch Albom
192:James Baldwin’s “My Dungeon Shook—Letter to My Nephew on the One Hundredth Anniversary of Emancipation,” published in The Fire Next Time in 1963 (the same year Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., penned another seminal and brilliant epistolary essay, “Letter from Birmingham ~ Carolina De Robertis
193:I'm not Mother Teresa. But I'm not Frank Bough, either. I am getting older and a bit more sensible. I'm not going to be popping up in dungeons every six months. If you catch me preaching fidelity while I am shagging chickens then throw the book at me. Otherwise, leave me alone. ~ Steve Coogan
194:I wandered through various public rooms, glory below, gloom above: for the look of lust always is gloomy; lust is never quite sure—even when the velvety victim is locked up in one’s dungeon—that some rival devil or influential god may still not abolish one’s prepared triumph ~ Vladimir Nabokov
195:They can keep men in here, under lock and key, deep in the dungeon until the final moments of their lives, so that men like York and me will never taste the rain. But they cannot keep us from passing our condensation on to the sky. They cannot keep us from raining down in China. ~ Rene Denfeld
196:Do you know what it means to be emphatic? I will tell you: It means that when you are being forcibly taken to a dungeon, when you have a large knife at your back, when you are trying to be brave, you are able, still, to think for a moment of the person who is holding the knife. ~ Kate DiCamillo
197:I wandered through various public rooms, glory below, gloom above: for the look of lust always is gloomy; lust is never quite sure--even when the velvety victim is locked up in one's dungeon--that some rival devil or influential god may still not abolish one's prepared triumph. ~ Vladimir Nabokov
198:Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against us, nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction ... nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it. ~ Abraham Lincoln
199:Hell is a state of mind -- ye never said a truer word. And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind -- is, in the end, Hell. But Heaven is not a state of mind. Heaven is reality itself. All that is fully real is Heavenly. ~ C S Lewis
200:We stood there for a long moment before he said, "You know, we still have like, half an hour down here. Seems a shame to waste it." I poked him in the ribs, and he gave an exaggerated wince. "No way, dude. My days of cellar, mill, and dungeon lovin' are over. Go castle or go home. ~ Rachel Hawkins
201:I am the spectre of an unfortunate man whom you locked up in the dungeons of the Château d’If. When this spectre finally emerged from its tomb, God put on it the mask of the Count of Monte Cristo and showered it with diamonds and gold so that you should not recognize it until today. ~ Alexandre Dumas
202:I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away. ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
203:I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon,
In the round-tower of my heart,
And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in the dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
204:The love of our neighbor is the only door out of the dungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks, and rubbing phosphorescences out of the walls, and blowing our own breath in our own nostrils, instead of issuing to the fair sunlight of God, the sweet winds of the universe. ~ George MacDonald
205:To call it a dungeon would be an insult. The women I played with came willingly, in more ways than one. It wasn’t a room out of a lame BDSM movie. The equipment was hidden in plain sight, and the room could look as innocent to an observer as it did dirty to someone who knew their shit. ~ Isabella Starling
206:Farewell” is not the word that you would like to hear from your mother as you are being led to the dungeon by 2 oversize mice in black hoods. Words that you would like to hear are “Take me instead, I will go to the dungeon in my sons place.” There is a great deal of comfort in those words. ~ Kate DiCamillo
207:He would stare down at us in our new world from a long-distant past--a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways, a past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of silent, exquisite courtesy. ~ Daphne du Maurier
208:Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, For there thy habitation is the heart-- The heart which love of thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd-- To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom. ~ Lord Byron
209:Farewell” is not the word that you would like to hear from your mother as you are being led to the dungeon by 2 oversize mice in black hoods.
Words that you would like to hear are “Take me instead, I will go to the dungeon in my sons place.” There is a great deal of comfort in those words. ~ Kate DiCamillo
210:Yes, indeed, I have often thought with a bitter joy that these riches, which would make the wealth of a dozen families, will be forever lost to those men who persecute me. This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my captivity. ~ Alexandre Dumas
211:The lady hasn’t lost it yet—the sound of freedom. When she laughs, you can hear the wind in the trees and the splash of water hitting pavement. You can sense the gentle caress of rain on your face and how laughter sounds in the open air, all the things those of us in this dungeon can never feel. ~ Rene Denfeld
212:A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end. ~ John Milton
213:In this [show] business you do something rock 'n' roll and then that's it, finished, heads roll. It's best not to take drugs, go to sex dungeons or cause controversy. And those who've done it - Russell Brand, Angus Deayton, whoever - they've really paid for it, even if what they've done is quite trivial. ~ Konnie Huq
214:And through our actions these guys may see the error of their ways, give up their lives of villainy, and return to the side of the angels?"
"You really believe that?" asked Cara.
"No, not in the slightest. I personally hope my father ends up in a very deep, dark dungeon for the rest of his life." - Ian ~ Sarwat Chadda
215:Darwin's theory of evolution is the last of the great nineteenth-century mystery religions. And as we speak it is now following Freudians and Marxism into the Nether regions, and I'm quite sure that Freud, Marx and Darwin are commiserating one with the other in the dark dungeon where discarded gods gather. ~ David Berlinski
216:Not only did I rise above my drooling-hunchback-in-the-dungeon status, but I also made our meeting seem like a chance encounter, one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs known to man. Thanks to chick flicks, the concept of true love being orchestrated by the rough, construction worker hands of fate is an easy sell. ~ Shane Kuhn
217:Such as are betrayed by their easy nature to be ordinary security for their friends leave so little to themselves, as their liberty remains ever after arbitrary at the will of others; experience having recorded many, whom their fathers had left elbowroom enough, that by suretyship have expired in a dungeon. ~ Frances Osborne
218:The sound of the tumblers in the locks of your apartment door puts you in mind of dungeons. The place is haunted. Just this morning you found a makeup brush beside the toilet. Memories lurk like dustballs at the backs of drawers. The stereo is a special model that plays only music fraught with poignant associations. ~ Jay McInerney
219:This power, this black power, originates in a view of the American galaxy taken from a dark and essential planet. Black power is the dungeon-side view of Monticello—which is to say, the view taken in struggle. And black power births a kind of understanding that illuminates all the galaxies in their truest colors. ~ Ta Nehisi Coates
220:Those darling byegone times, Mr Carker,' said Cleopatra, 'with their delicious fortresses, and their dear old dungeons, and their delightful places of torture, and their romantic vengeances, and their picturesque assaults and sieges, and everything that makes life truly charming! How dreadfully we have degenerated! ~ Charles Dickens
221:It is the divine attribute of the imagination, that it is irrepressible, unconfinable; that when the real world is shut out, it can create a world for itself, and with a necromantic power can conjure up glorious shapes and forms, and brilliant visions to make solitude populous, and irradiate the gloom of a dungeon. ~ Washington Irving
222:And now you have a small map of the princess's heart (hatred, sorrow, kindness, empathy), the heart that she carried down inside her as she went down the golden stairs and through the kitchen and, finally, just as the sky outside the castle began to lighten, down into the dark dungeon with the rat and the serving girl. ~ Kate DiCamillo
223:Talk With Prudence To A Beggar
119
Talk with prudence to a Beggar
Of "Potose," and the mines!
Reverently, to the Hungry
Of your viands, and your wines!
Cautious, hint to any Captive
You have passed enfranchised feet!
Anecdotes of air in Dungeons
Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!
~ Emily Dickinson
224:Ignorance has been well represented under the similitude of a dungeon, where, though it is full of life, yet darkness and silence reign. But in society the bars and locks have been broken; the dungeon itself is demolished; the prisoners are out; they are in the midst of us. We have no security but to teach and renovate them. ~ Horace Mann
225:Robe him in white," said Shinyun, "so the mark of the crimson hand will show upon him."
Magnus crossed his arms and raised his voice and his eyebrows. "You can poison me and throw me in a dungeon. You can beat me and even sacrifice me to a Greater Demon. But I draw the line at wearing a white suit for an evening event. ~ Cassandra Clare
226:Therein, ye gods, ye make the weak most strong;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat.
Nor stony wall, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit:
But life being weary of these worldly bars
Never lacks power to dismiss itself. ~ William Shakespeare
227:You humans are always locking each other away. Cells. Dungeons. Some of your earliest jails were sewers, where men sloshed in their own waste. No other creature has this arrogance—to confine its own. Could you imagine a bird imprisoning another bird? A horse jailing a horse? As a free form of expression, I will never understand it. ~ Mitch Albom
228:I was also a science fiction and fantasy fan, growing up, in games and books and movies. I love Tolkien and I love Dungeons & Dragons, so the opportunity to have a fantasy-based RTS, or real time strategy game, at that time, seemed cool. I started playing it, and the early games were simple, but fun and they had these great heroes. ~ Duncan Jones
229:Jonathan crouched on his hands and knees, panting in the blackness. He'd never seen such darkness before, total and suffocating. Down in the deepest dungeon, pinned beneath a prison of dark stone, there was hardly even the memory of light. His eyes gasped like the mouth of a fish yanked out of the water They found no light to breathe. ~ Dan Gemeinhart
230:How mercifully can our Creator treat His creatures, even in those conditions in which they seemed to be overwhelmed in destruction! How can He sweeten the bitterest providences, and give us cause to praise Him for dungeons and prisons! What a table was here spread for me in a wilderness where I saw nothing at first but to perish for hunger! ~ Daniel Defoe
231:I'm all right, Nic," Wolfe said, and finally looked at him. "We walked through the dungeons under Rome, survived Philadelphia, and this perfumed cage won't bring us to our knees. We're all stronger than that."
"All right," Santi said. "But don't ask me to stop standing next to you. Because you know I will, however much you shout about it. ~ Rachel Caine
232:It exasperated her to think that the dungeon in which she had languished for so many unhappy years had been unlocked all the time, and that the impulses she had so carefully struggled with and stifled for the sake of keeping well with society, were precisely those by which alone she could have come into any sort of sincere human contact. ~ George Bernard Shaw
233:In a staggering display of power, the caster causes all portals within 1 mile to blast open in a violent burst. [...] Moreover, normal fasteners and stoppers are loosened or dislodged, such that wine corks fizz open, lids fall off dinner pots, shoelaces unlace, snaps loosen, belts unbuckle, and so on. ~ Joseph Goodman, Dungeon Crawl Classics Role Playing Game,
234:Your words can unlock a life you love or one you loathe. It is up to you whether the self-fulfilling prophecies you articulate become a delight or a dungeon. Fortunately, as C. S. Lewis wrote, “The doors of hell are locked on the inside.” If you talked your way into your current mess, you can very likely talk your way out. One of my favorite Bible ~ Levi Lusko
235:When I became convinced that the universe is natural, that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell. The dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts and bars and manacles became dust. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
236:The miracle is that some have stepped out of the rags of the Republic's definition to assume the great burden and glory of their humanity and their responsibility for one another. It is an extraordinary achievement to be trapped in the dungeon of color and to dare to shake down its walls and to step out of it leaving the jailkeeper in the rubble. ~ James A Baldwin
237:What does it mean to still be ashamed of interests that so many other people openly celebrate? What does it mean to still be ashamed of the part of myself that has, in so many ways, bought me my entire career? If I had not been a fantasy reader, a video game player, a D&D dungeon master, I would probably not be a writer or an editor or a professor. ~ Matt Bell
238:Against all odds, the Academy had come to feel like home. A slimy, moldy, dungeonlike home without working toilets, maybe, but home nevertheless. He and George had even named the rats that lived behind their walls. Every night, they left Jon Cartwright Jr., III, and IV a piece of stale bread to nibble, in hopes they'd prefer the crumbs to human feet. ~ Cassandra Clare
239:Hell is a state of mind - ye never said a truer word. And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind - is, in the end, Hell. But Heaven is not a state of mind. Heaven is reality itself. All that is fully real is Heavenly. For all that can be shaken will be shaken and only the unshakeable remains. ~ C S Lewis
240:Hell is a state of mind—ye never said a truer word. And every state of mind, left to itself, every shutting up of the creature within the dungeon of its own mind—is, in the end, Hell. But Heaven is not a state of mind. Heaven is reality itself. All that is fully real is Heavenly. For all that can be shaken will be shaken and only the unshakeable remains.’ ‘But ~ C S Lewis
241:Mrs Cake? What is a Mrs Cake?"
"You have ... ghastly Things from the Dungeon Dimensions and things, yes? Terrible hazards of your ungodly profession?" said the Chief Priest.
"Yes."
"We have someone called Mrs Cake."
Ridcully gave him an inquiring look.
"Don't ask," said the priest, shuddering. "Just be grateful you'll never have to find out. ~ Terry Pratchett
242:I know it is more agreeable to walk upon carpets than to lie upon dungeon floors, I know it is pleasant to have all the comforts and luxuries of civilization; but he who cares only for these things is worth no more than a butterfly, contented and thoughtless, upon a morning flower; and who ever thought of rearing a tombstone to a last summer's butterfly? ~ Henry Ward Beecher
243:Siena was heading into the garden, both arms laden with parcels.
“What is all of that?” Cass asked. She glanced up at the thick glass window at the back of the villa to make sure no one was watching them.
“Were you planning to wear your favorite dress into the Doge’s dungeons?” Siena asked, stacking several of the wrapped packages on the bench next to Cass. ~ Fiona Paul
244:I have seen ministers of justice, clothed in magisterial robes and criminals arraigned before them, while life was suspended on a breath in the courts of England; I have witnessed a congress in solemn session to give laws to nations;...but dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains at midnight, in a dungeon, in an obscure village of Missouri. ~ Parley P Pratt
245:I'm not crazy."
"I'm not judging you, my dear. Some of my best friends are crazy." He nodded to the corner. "Take Wallace, for example. He's crazy as a loon, aren't you, Wallace?"
Valkyrie frowned. "Uh, there's... there's no one there."
Meritorious sighed. "That's what we long-term prisoners call dungeon humour. You learn to appreciate it after a few years. ~ Derek Landy
246:A distant, eerie howl had risen out of the floor, from far beneath. Silent, absolutely still, she waited, and at last it came again, indefinably closer, but muffled, as if layers of stone-rooms, dungeons, cellars-were between her and it. Not human. She crouched down with her ear to the stone slabs. Somewhere down there, unguessable levels below,something prowled. ~ Catherine Fisher
247:I always say artists must broaden their research. I go to casinos, fly fishing, to show apartments in new residential buildings, watch fairs, the football, ikebana courses, survival expeditions, Dungeons & Dragons nights, and it doesn't matter which of these I personally want to do — that is my job. That’s true research; otherwise, it would be a bit like masturbating. ~ Ryan Gander
248:Sorel's basic character flaws had all cemented by the age of fifteen, a fact which further elicited my sympathy. To have all the building blocks of your life in place by that age was, by any standard, a tragedy. It was as good as sealing yourself into a dungeon. Walled in, with nowhere to go but your own doom.
Walls.
A world completely surrounded by walls. ~ Haruki Murakami
249:The talk of pale, burning-eyed students, anarchists and utopians all, over tea and cigarettes in a locked room long past midnight, is next morning translated, with the literalness of utter innocence, into the throwing of the bomb, the shouting of the proud slogan, the dragging away of the young dreamer-doer, still smiling, to the dungeon and the firing squad. ~ Christopher Isherwood
250:To Garan's credit, the treatment of Dellian prisoners did change after that. One particularly laconic man, after a session in which Fire learned positively nothing, thanked her for it specifically. "Best dungeons I ever been in," he said, chewing on a toothpick.
"Wonderful," Garan grumbled when he had gone. "We'll grow a reputation for our kindness to lawbreakers. ~ Kristin Cashore
251:Dumbass thought he could shimmy down there with a coil of rope tied around a tree trunk. Only he was five. He couldn’t tie off a knot to save his soul. Was in that dark, dank dungeon for darn near two days. Almost died. I’m not a mean person, and I hope God doesn’t strike me down for thinking this, but I don’t think the world would be a worse place without “the hole” in it. ~ K L Kreig
252:The king's very simple cousin, for example, pointed out that the tower Froi could see from where he was standing was the prison and currently held only one prisoner. "The rest of the the scum are kept in dungeons close to the bridge of the Citavita," the man explained.
"And the king?" Froi asked.
"We try not to refer to him as scum out loud," the man whispered. ~ Melina Marchetta
253:It was a completely pointless ambition, with no practical application whatsoever. But if you sit the average male down in front of anything halfway intriguing and explain to him that it has a system of rankings that he can get better at over time, he’ll become obsessed. Hence the popularity of video games, martial arts, Dungeons and Dragons, and the seduction community. I ~ Neil Strauss
254:Seizing a cudgel from the nearest priest, he laid about him like a veritable demon as he forged his rapid way toward the altar. The hand of La had paused at the first noise of interruption. When she saw who the author of it was she went white. She had never been able to fathom the secret of the strange white man's escape from the dungeon in which she had locked him. ~ Edgar Rice Burroughs
255:The books brought brilliance to my life, and they brought an understanding: Life is a story. Everything that has happened and will happen to me is all part of the story of this enchanted place - all the dreams and visions and understandings that come to me in my dungeon cell. The books helped me see the truth is not in the touch of the stone but in what the stone tells you. ~ Rene Denfeld
256:And if all I know how to do is speak, it is for you that I shall speak. My lips shall speak for miseries that have no mouth, my voice shall be the liberty of those who languish in the dungeon of despair… And above all my body as well as my soul, beware of folding your arms in the sterile attitude of spectator, for life is not a spectacle, for a sea of pain is not a proscenium. ~ Aim C saire
257:This exists. It can be seen. It can be touched. These in pace, these dungeons, these iron hinges, these necklets, that lofty peep-hole on a level with the river's current, that box of stone closed with a lid of granite like a tomb, with this difference, that the dead man here was a living being, that soil which is but mud, that vault hole, those oozing walls, --what declaimers! ~ Victor Hugo
258:It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille—men who had spent so many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who rescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces, and they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and were like beings in a dream. ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett
259:You’re too visible, Albert,” Hadrian explained. “Can’t afford to have our favorite noble hauled to some dungeon where they cut off your eyelids or pull off your fingernails until you tell them what we’re up to.” “But if they torture me, and I don’t know the plan, how will I save myself?” “I’m sure they’ll believe you after the fourth nail or so,” Royce said with a wicked grin. ~ Michael J Sullivan
260:Authors also create lovable, friendly characters, then proceed to do terrible things to them, like throw them in unsightly librarian-controlled dungeons. This makes readers feel hurt and worried for the characters. The simple truth is that authors like making people squirm. If this weren't the case, all novels would be filled completely with cute bunnies having birthday parties. ~ Brandon Sanderson
261:Like a bitch in heat, I seem to attract a coterie of policemen and sanitation officials. The world will someday get me on some ludicrous pretext; I simply await the day that they drag me to some air-conditioned dungeon and leave me there beneath the fluorescent lights and soundproofed ceiling to pay the price for scorning all that they hold dear within their little latex hearts. ~ John Kennedy Toole
262:A couple of hours after Rik left, Trance was still on the floor of the basement dungeon, staring at the mess around him.
“Trance?”
He looked up to find Wyatt at the bottom of the stairs, staring at him. Wyatt gave a long whistle as he looked around the room and then again at Trance. “Orgy gone wild?”
Trance groaned. “Is there a fucking sign on my door that says ‘Bother Me Now’? ~ Sydney Croft
263:O, who shall from this dungeon raise
A soul enslaved so many ways?
With bolts of bones, that fettered stands
In feet; and manacled in hands.
Here blinded with an eye: and there
Deaf with the drumming of an ear;
A soul hung up, as ’twere, in chains
Of nerves, and arteries, and veins;
Tortured, besides each other part,
In a vain head and double heart? ~ Andrew Marvell
264:The Salimbeni genes,” I observed, rolling my eyes, “are yet again rearing their ugly head. Let me guess, if we were married, you would chain me in the dungeon every time you left the house?”
He considered it, but not for long. “I wouldn’t have to. Once you get to know me, you will never want anyone else. And”—he finally put down the teaspoon—“you will forget everyone you knew before. ~ Anne Fortier
265:You’re too visible, Albert,” Hadrian explained. “Can’t afford to have our favorite noble hauled to some dungeon where they cut off your eyelids or pull off your fingernails until you tell them what we’re up to.”
“But if they torture me, and I don’t know the plan, how will I save myself?”
“I’m sure they’ll believe you after the fourth nail or so,” Royce said with a wicked grin. ~ Michael J Sullivan
266:Let there be wicked kings and beheadings, battles and dungeons, giants and dragons, and let the villans be soundly killed at the end of the book. I think it is possible that by confining your child to the blameless stories of life in which nothing at all alarming ever happens, you would fail to banish the terrors, and would succeed in banishing all that can ennoble them or make them endurable. ~ C S Lewis
267:I have met countless patients who told me that they “are” bipolar or borderline or that they “have” PTSD, as if they had been sentenced to remain in an underground dungeon for the rest of their lives, like the Count of Monte Cristo. None of these diagnoses takes into account the unusual talents that many of our patients develop or the creative energies they have mustered to survive. ~ Bessel A van der Kolk
268:Yeah, great timing. Now I could attack the walls all I wanted. My cell had no bars, no windows, not even a door. The skeletal guards shoved me straight through a wall and it became solid behind me. I wasn’t sure if the room was airtight. Probably. Hades’ dungeon was meant for dead people, and they don’t breathe. So forget fifty or sixty years. I’d be dead in fifty or sixty minutes. Meanwhile, ~ Rick Riordan
269:Let us be greedy together; let us hoard. Let us hit each other with birch branches and lock each other in dungeons; let us drink each other's blood in the night and betray each other in the sun. Let us lie and lust and take hundreds of lovers; let us dance until snow melts between us. Let us steal and eat until we grow fat and roll in the pleasures of life, clutching each other for purchase. ~ Catherynne M Valente
270:Nick was dressed in jeans, a dark green sweater, and bomber jacket–the perfect image of a rich college student. Talon looked like a biker who had just left Sanctuary, New Orleans’s premier biker bar. Acheron looked like a refugee from the Dungeon–the local underground goth hangout. Valerius was the professional contingent, and Zarek…Zarek just looked like he was ready to kill something.’ (Talon) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon
271:All the Turkish prisoners were taken out of the dungeons and slaughtered on the ramparts. He sent a messenger to the commander of the garrison at Mdina with orders to kill all his prisoners, but slowly, one a day, every day. Later that day the guns of Saint Angelo opened up. A volley of human heads bombarded the Ottoman camp across the water. There would be no repeat of the chivalrous truce at Rhodes. ~ Roger Crowley
272:Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad, hideous and pampered with the poisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along my bosom: Sometimes the quick cold Lizard rouzed me leaving his slimy track upon my face, and entangling itself in the tresses of my wild and matted hair: Often have I at waking found my fingers ringed with the long worms which bred in the corrupted flesh of my Infant. ~ Matthew Lewis
273:Many persecuted believers have thrived in the desert of prison. Perpetua, a third-century Christian who was imprisoned and martyred for her faith, said of her prison cell: “The dungeon became to me as it were a palace, so that I preferred being there to being elsewhere.” Do not be fearful of dry times in your spiritual life. Tap into the Bridegroom, seeking only His living water and you will thrive. ~ Richard Wurmbrand
274:If a man really believes that God once upheld slavery; that he commanded soldiers to kill women and babes; that he believed in polygamy; that he persecuted for opinion's sake; that he will punish forever, and that he hates an unbeliever, the effect in my judgment will be bad. It always has been bad. This belief built the dungeons of the Inquisition. This belief made the Puritan murder the Quaker. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
275:With victory, the denizens of Room 13 emerged, blinking, into the light. An anonymous poet in Section 17M marked the occasion with a verse entitled “De Profundibus.” In the depths of the fusty dungeons, In the bowels of NID Where wild surmise or blatant lies Are digested for those at sea, The in-trays are all empty, The dreary toil is done, And with mental daze and bleary gaze The Troglodytes see the sun. ~ Ben Macintyre
276:That brings me back to my predicament, and I stare at the closed front door. “Speaking of my new living arrangements, what would be the good answer when someone demands a password before they’ll let you in?”
There’s a long pause, and then he snorts. “Oh my God, where are you going to stay? Is it a sex club? Is it the password for the dungeons?” He starts to laugh. “If that’s the case, I’d go with red botty. ~ Lily Morton
277:Hay, I have no doubt if I moved even an inch in the wrong direction, you’d have me on the ground with your knee on my throat before I could even think about getting out of your way. And as sick as it makes me, the thought of you overpowering me makes me hard. I don’t have a dungeon under my barn, and I have no plans to stalk you. But we can negotiate the taking-you-out, getting-you-drunk, and tying-you-up thing. ~ Susan Stoker
278:Your character grows as the game continues. Each monster defeated, each adventure completed, and each treasure recovered not only adds to your continuing story, but also earns your character new abilities. This increase in power is reflected by your character's level; as you continue to play, your character gains more experience, rising in level and mastering new and more powerful abilities.
   ~ Dungeons and Dragons Players Handbook.,
279:Tokens from your friends and admirers, said Dumbledore, beaming. What happened down in the dungeons between you an Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygenic, and confiscated it. ~ J K Rowling
280:Gen bit her tongue and tried for seriousness. “I didn’t know it was that bad, I swear. She’s a nurse in the NIC unit and complained she couldn’t meet a cool guy. She said she enjoyed a bit of kink, not hard-core dungeon stuff.” He blew out a breath, grabbed a beer, and ripped open a bag of pretzels. “Do I look like the submissive type? Or one who’d get off on being tied to a bed with a wrench at my balls? Not fun, Gen. ~ Jennifer Probst
281:At the last moment, Antoinette came out of her faint and shouted one word to her child.
That word, reader, was adieu...
Adieu is the French word for farewell.
“Farewell” is not the word you would like to hear from your mother as you are being led to the dungeon by two oversize mice in black hoods...
“Farewell” is a word that, in any language, is full of sorrow. It is a word that promises absolutely nothing. ~ Kate DiCamillo
282:Carlyle went around to the back of the vehicle and opened the door. He held out his hand, and the woman took it and stepped up and away from the sedan, as though she were some debutante exiting her limo at her coming-out party. Pretentious bitch. “Damn it,” I cursed. “She’s on the far side of the car with her back to me, and she’s wearing a long, black cloak. Who the fuck wears a cloak? This isn’t Dungeons & Dragons. ~ Jennifer Estep
283:He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.
I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into
the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand
lest a least hole should be left in this name;
and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Dungeon

284:So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
Thanatopsis ~ William Cullen Bryant
285:Oh, Mercédès, I have spoken your name with sighs of melancholy, with groans of pain and with the croak of despair. I have spoken it frozen with cold, huddled on the straw of my dungeon. I have spoken it raging with heat and rolling around on the stone floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must have my revenge, because for fourteen years I suffered, fourteen years I wept and cursed. Now, I say to you, Mercédès, I must have my revenge! ~ Alexandre Dumas
286:Can you not see death as the friend and deliverer? It means stripping off that body which is tormenting you: like taking off a hairshirt or getting out of a dungeon. What is there to be afraid of? You have long attempted (and none of us does more) a Christian life. Your sins are confessed and absolved. Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave it with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind. (117) ~ Devin Brown
287:And this may teach us the extreme value of searching the Scriptures. There may be a promise in the Word which would exactly fit your case, but you may not know of it, and therefore you miss its comfort. You are like prisoners in a dungeon, and there may be one key in the bunch which would unlock the door, and you might be free; but if you will not look for it, you may remain a prisoner still, though liberty is so near at hand. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
288:Emily’s world fascinates and disturbs: in it you can touch thick Yorkshire speech, and moorland rain slants across your mind with a smell of mossy limestone and yet you are not at home, you might almost be in Gondal or Angria except the towers and the dungeons are of the spirit, the dungeons especially; and sometimes when Emily reads out in her low, almost guttural voice Charlotte wants to run but can’t think why or where she would run to. ~ Jude Morgan
289:Far over the Misty Mountains cold, To dungeons deep and caverns old, We must away, ere break of day, To seek our pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells, In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. The pines were roaring on the heights, The wind was moaning in the night, The fire was red, it flaming spread, The trees like torches blazed with light. ~ J R R Tolkien
290:I was reminded of a married chatelaine who, after sleeping with a young vassal one night, had him seized by the palace guards the next morning and summarily executed in a dungeon on trumped-up charges, not only to eliminate all evidence of their adulterous night together and to prevent her young lover from becoming a nuisance now that he thought he was entitled to her favors, but to stem the temptation to seek him out on the following evening. ~ Andr Aciman
291:Not to be overly dramatic," said Magnus, "but - aaaargh. Aaaargh. Why! I cannot believe we broke into a secret sanctum in a creepy dungeon to find something your sister would e-mail us the next day."
Alec looked at the page on the glorious history of the Crimson Hand, in which the Great Poison commanded his followers to paint white stripes on horses and make the wooden mouse the national animal of Morocco.
"It is ironic," he admitted. ~ Cassandra Clare
292:This wretched little magazine article has helped convince more open-minded liberal arts graduates that the nuclear family doesn’t exist without some hideous twist, like the dad is allowed to go to an S&M dungeon once a week or something. It makes me cry because it means that fewer and fewer people are believing it’s cool to want what I want, which is to be married and have kids and love each other in a monogamous, long-lasting relationship. ~ Mindy Kaling
293:Perhaps such secrets, the secrets of everyone, were only expressed when the person laboriously ragged them into the light of the world, imposed them on the world, and made them a part of the world's experience. Without this effort, the secret place was merely a dungeon in which the person perished; without this effort, indeed, the entire world would be an uninhabitable darkness; and she saw, with a dreadful reluctance why this effort was so rare. ~ James Baldwin
294:Rumor holds that Sabine trapped him to use as a sex slave, tormenting him until he agreed to wed her. Then he made a slave of her.”
She blinked at him. “Like those are bad things?” At his look of astonishment, she said, “They enjoyed tons of bondage, some master/sub stuff, a real-live dungeon with shackles, role and cosplay. Spankings and repeated orgasm denial. You know, typical BDSM. But don’t worry, they were doing it before it became cool. ~ Kresley Cole
295:Formerly these harsh cells in which the discipline of the prison leaves the condemned to himself were composed of four stone walls, a ceiling of stone, a pavement of tiles, a camp bed, a grated air-hole, a double iron door, and were called "dungeons" ; but the dungeon has been thought too horrible; now it is composed ofan iron door, a grated air-hole, a camp bed, a pavement of tiles, a ceiling of stone, four stone walls, and it is called "punishment cell. ~ Victor Hugo
296:As one can hardly find any thing in a house where nothing keeps its place, but all is cast on a heap together; so it is in the heart where all things are in disorder, especially when darkness is added to this disorder: so that the hear t is like an obscure cave or dungeon, where there is but a little crevice of light, and a man must rather grope than see No wonder if men mistake in searching such a heat, sand so miscarry in judging of their estate (304). ~ Richard Baxter
297:The new D&D is too rule intensive. It's relegated the Dungeon Master to being an entertainer rather than master of the game. It's done away with the archetypes, focused on nothing but combat and character power, lost the group cooperative aspect, bastardized the class-based system, and resembles a comic-book superheroes game more than a fantasy RPG where a player can play any alignment desired, not just lawful good. ~ Gary Gygax, GameSpy interview, Pt. 2 (16 August 2004),
298:You humans are always locking each other away. Cells. Dungeons. Some of your earliest jails were sewers, where men sloshed in their own waste. No other creature has this arrogance—to confine its own. Could you imagine a bird imprisoning another bird? A horse jailing a horse? As a free form of expression, I will never understand it. I can only say that some of my saddest sounds have been heard in such places. A song inside a cage is never a song. It is a plea. ~ Mitch Albom
299:I'm not scared. I'm..." She paused. "I've been locked up in this... this dungeon of a palace my whole life. As of tomorrow, that's all I'll ever have. This palace. This life. At seventeen, that's it. My future decided."
"Sorrow, I know-"
"No, you don't know." Sorrow threw her arms wide, as though gesturing to all of Rhannon. "I've only ever known Rhannon as it is. This is Rhannon, for me. No one in their right mind would want me in charge of it. ~ Melinda Salisbury
300:the kind of penetrating stare Harry knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since . . .” He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in hot pursuit. But to Harry’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape. ~ J K Rowling
301:For the first time there appeared on earth kings, dictators, high priests, emperors, prime ministers, presidents, governors, mayors, generals, admirals, police chiefs, judges, lawyers, and jailers, along with dungeons, jails, penitentiaries, and concentration camps. Under the tutelage of the state, human beings learned for the first time how to bow, grovel, kneel, and kowtow. In many ways the rise of the state was the descent of the world from freedom to slavery. ~ David Christian
302:But when I tried to meet her eye now, she pointedly looked away, and fixed her red and swollen eyes on the big stained-glass window above the slate. Since (a) it was dark outside and (b) the window depicted Saunt Grod and his research assistants being beaten with rubber hoses in the dungeons of some Praxic Age spy bureau and (c) Tulia had already spent something like a quarter of her life in this room, I reckoned that inspecting the window wasn’t really the point. ~ Neal Stephenson
303:But when he returned home he was as far as ever from any resolve to tell her how he was situated. I may say that his walk had done him no good, and that he had not made up his mind to anything. He had been building those pernicious castles in the air during more than half the time; not castles in the building of which he could make himself happy, as he had done in the old days, but black castles, with cruel dungeons, into which hardly a ray of light could find its way. ~ Anthony Trollope
304:I’d read up on this issue a little bit since the retreat. According to the school of Buddhism to which Joseph belonged (there were many, I’d learned), there were four stages of enlightenment. The schema sounded like something out of Dungeons & Dragons. Someone who’d achieved the first stage of enlightenment was a “stream-enterer.” This was followed by a “once-returner,” a “non-returner,” and then a fully enlightened being, known as an “arhant.” Each stage had sixteen sublevels. ~ Dan Harris
305:Let's go down to the basement."
I didn't move. "How do I know you're not some kind of serial killer with a perverted sex dungeon down there?"
He grinned at me. "Well...I'm not a serial killer."
"So says you." I trudged down the carpeted staircase after him. "But Ted Bundy was apparently very popular in his day, and just so you know, I've got my keys in between my fingers right now, which means that if you try anything, I can totally punch you and stab you at the same time. ~ Cherry Cheva
306:The church in all ages and among all peoples has been the consistent enemy of the human race. Everywhere and at all times, it has opposed the liberty of thought and expression. It has been the sworn enemy of investigation and intellectual development. It has denied the existence of facts, the tendency of which was to undermine its power. It has always been carrying fagots to the feet of Philosophy. It has erected the gallows for Genius. It has built the dungeon for Thinkers. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
307:I pulled into the parking lot, went inside, turned down a free sample of nasty-looking Bourbon chicken from a vendor in the food court, and proceeded to Gamer's Castle. "Hi," said the gawky teenager behind the counter. I nodded and briefly looked through the racks of role-playing game merchandise. There was Dungeons and Dragons stuff out the wazoo, and even kits for hosting your own murder mystery parties, should I ever grow weary of having my murder mystery needs satisfied by real life. ~ Jeff Strand
308:The idea that the spirits of those once tortured in the house might still be there was the avenue his imagination began to explore. The groaning of the wood sounded like screams from the dungeon and the clunking pipes were the implements of torture. His bedcovers seemed to offer less protection than they had done in his younger years, he felt naked and at the mercy of his thoughts, and it wasn’t long before the skull he’d seen in the cellar had a face, manifested by fear and imagination. ~ Matthew Williams
309:For many feverish years he was burdened with the sensation, an ancient one to be sure, that the incredible sprawl of human history was no more than a pathetically partial record of an infinitely vast and shadowed chronicle of universal metamorphoses. How much greater, then, was the feeling that his own pathetic history formed a practically invisible fragment of what itself was merely an obscure splinter of the infinite. Somehow he needed to liberate himself from the dungeon cell of his life. ~ Thomas Ligotti
310:The Bible isn’t a cookbook—deviate from the recipe and the soufflé falls flat. It’s not an owner’s manual—with detailed and complicated step-by-step instructions for using your brand-new all-in-one photocopier/FAX machine/scanner/microwave/DVR/home security system. It’s not a legal contract—make sure you read the fine print and follow every word or get ready to be cast into the dungeon. It’s not a manual of assembly—leave out a few bolts and the entire jungle gym collapses on your three-year-old. ~ Peter Enns
311:Grief is personal. It isn't something you can share like a box of chocolates. It's yours and yours alone, a spiked steel ball chained to your ankle, a coat of nails around your shoulders, a crown of thorns. No one else can feely your pain. They cannot walk in your shoes because your shoes are full with broken glass and every time you take a step forward, it rips your soles to bloody shreds. Grief is the worst kind of torture and it never ends. You have dibs on that dungeon for the rest of your life. ~ C J Tudor
312:Scaffolds, dungeons, jails flourish only in the shadow of a faith—of that need to believe which has infested the mind forever. The devil pales beside the man who owns a truth, his truth. We are unfair to a Nero, a Tiberius: it was not they who invented the concept heretic: they were only degenerate dreamers who happened to be entertained by massacres. The real criminals are men who establish an orthodoxy on the religious or political level, men who distinguish between the faithful and the schismatic. ~ Emil M Cioran
313:Sara curled herself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read. It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille—men who had spent so many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who rescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces, and they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and were like beings in a dream. She was so far away from the schoolroom that ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett
314:What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation. ~ Anonymous
315:All men needed to hear their stories told. He was a man, but if he died without telling the story he would be something less than that, an albino cockroach, a louse. The dungeon did not udnerstand the idea of as tory. The dungeon was static, eternal, black and a story needed motion adn tiem and light. He felt his story slipping away from him, beocming inconsequential, ceasing to be. He has no story. There was no story. He was not a man. There was no man here. There was only the dungeon, and the slithering dark. ~ Salman Rushdie
316:It was funny that she should have said that, for Julian chose that moment to begin baaing like a flock of sheep. His one long, bleating "baa-baa-aa-aa" was taken up by the echoes at once, and it seemed suddenly as if hundreds of poor lost sheep were baa-ing their way down the dungeons! Mr. Stick jumped to his feet, as white as a sheet. "Well, if it isn't sheep now!" he said. "What's up? What's in these "ere dungeons? I never did like them." "Baa-aa-AAAAAAAAAAP went the mournful bleats all round and about. And then ~ Enid Blyton
317:Despite all my public misconduct, in the past year, I had learned the Elemental spells, the Doppelschläferin, and the preparation and flying of a magic broom; I had survived two months as prisoner of war, saving the life of captain Johanne in the process; I had escaped the dungeons of Fortress Drachensbett, and after an arduous journey successfully reunited with my double, so preserving her, and all Montagne, from Prince Flonian's rapacity, I would somehow master the despicable art of being a princess. ~ Catherine Gilbert Murdock
318:I'd finished the first two [books] and they were going to to be published, and [editor] said, "We need you to write a summary that will drive people to these books." And it took forever. I couldn't think of a thing to say. I looked at the back of other children's books that were full of giddy praise and corny rhetorical questions, you know, "Will she have a better time at summer camp than she thinks?" "How will she escape from the troll's dungeon?" All these terrible, terrible summaries of books, and I just couldn't. ~ Daniel Handler
319:Simon blinked himself awake, confused, for a moment, why he was in a dungeon that smelled of dung rather than his Brooklyn bedroom - then, once he got his bearings, confused all over again about why he was being awoken in the middle of the night by a wide-eyed Scotsman.

"Is there a fire?" Simon asked. "There better be a fire. Or a demon attack. And I'm not talking about some puny lower-lever demon, mind you. You want to wake me up in the middle of a dream about rock superstardom, it better be a Greater Demon. ~ Cassandra Clare
320:In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger waits. All the chambers are not lovely, light and high. There are holes in the floor of the mind, like those in a medieval dungeon floor - the stinking oubliettes, named for forgetting, bottle-shaped cells in solid rock with the trapdoor in the top. Nothing escapes from them quietly to ease us. A quake, some betrayal by our safeguards, and sparks of memory fire the noxious gases - things trapped for years fly free, ready to explode in pain and drive us to dangerous behavior. ~ Thomas Harris
321:In the vaults of our hearts and brains, danger waits. All the chambers are not lovely, light and high. There are holes in the floor of the mind, like those in a medieval dungeon floor - the stinking oubliettes, named for forgetting, bottle-shaped cells in solid rock with the trapdoor in the top. Nothing escapes from them quietly to ease us. A quake, some betrayal by our safeguards, and sparks of memory fire the noxious gases - things trapped for years fly free, ready to explode in pain and drive us to dangerous behavior... ~ Thomas Harris
322:What's the worst thing that can happen?" Tyrus said. "The dungeons. That's not so bad. I heard they're relatively nice in the springtime. Not too cold. Not too damp. They'd be quiet and peaceful." Tyrus looked at Gavril. "Tell me I can do this."
"Why? There's no doubt you can. The question is simply whether you'll survive it."
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"We have not heard that your father has reinstituted capital punishment. Of course, we haven't heard news from the city in many days."
"You are not helping. ~ Kelley Armstrong
323:But no one else cared that Professor Lupin’s robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. After boggarts, they studied Red Caps, nasty little goblinlike creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed: in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to kappas, creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds. ~ J K Rowling
324:Has the poet, for whom Nature means only roses and lilies, ever heard a pig grunting? It is a noise that does a man good—a strong, snorting, imprisoned noise, breaking its way out of unfathomable dungeons through every possible outlet and organ. It might be the voice of the earth itself, snoring in its mighty sleep. This is the deepest, the oldest, the most wholesome and religious sense of the value of Nature—the value which comes from her immense babyishness. She is as top-heavy, as grotesque, as solemn, and as happy as a child. ~ G K Chesterton
325:Why hasn’t Annika sent a retrieval party?”
“Now, don’t feel slighted—I’m sure she will soon—but right now she’s focused on finding Myst. She figured if Ivo is looking for a Valkyrie, it’d have to be Myst. Remember, she was in his dungeon only five years ago? And had that incident with the rebel general?”
Like Emma would ever forget. Myst herself had confided to Emma that she might as well have been caught freebasing with the ghost of Bundy.
“See,” Nix said, “other Valkyrie like the forbidden fruit as much as you do. ~ Kresley Cole
326:You are not entering this world in the usual manner, for you are setting forth to be a Dungeon Master. Certainly there are stout fighters, mighty magic-users, wily thieves, and courageous clerics who will make their mark in the magical lands of D&D adventure. You however, are above even the greatest of these, for as DM you are to become the Shaper of the Cosmos. It is you who will give form and content to the all the universe. You will breathe life into the stillness, giving meaning and purpose to all the actions which are to follow. ~ Gary Gygax,
327:You are not entering this world in the usual manner, for you are setting forth to be a Dungeon Master. Certainly there are stout fighters, mighty magic-users, wily thieves, and courageous clerics who will make their mark in the magical lands of D&D adventure. You however, are above even the greatest of these, for as DM you are to become the Shaper of the Cosmos. It is you who will give form and content to the all the universe. You will breathe life into the stillness, giving meaning and purpose to all the actions which are to follow. ~ Gary Gygax
328:Hell is out of fashion - institutional hells at any rate. The populated infernos of the 20th century are more private affairs, the gaps between the bars are the sutures of one's own skull. A valid hell is one from which there is a possibility of redemption, even if this is never achieved, the dungeons of an architecture of grace whose spires point to some kind of heaven. The institutional hells of the present century are reached with one-way tickets, marked Nagasaki and Buchenwald, worlds of terminal horror even more final than the grave. ~ J G Ballard
329:will take you by the hand and keep you;     I will give you  p as a covenant for the people,          q a light for the nations,         7  r to open the eyes that are blind,     to bring out the prisoners from the dungeon,          s from the prison those who sit in darkness.     8[†] I am the LORD; that is my name;          t my glory I give to no other,         nor my praise to carved idols.     9 Behold, the former things have come to pass,          u and new things I now declare;     before they spring forth         I tell you of them. ~ Anonymous
330:Haply for I am black, And have not those soft parts of conversation That chamberers have; or for I am declined Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much— She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage, That we can call these delicate creatures ours And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad And live upon the vapor of a dungeon Than keep a corner in the thing I love For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones; Prerogatived are they less than the base. ’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death. ~ William Shakespeare
331:O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, dungeon or beggary, or decrepit age! Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, and all her various objects of delight annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. Inferior to the vilest now become of man or worm; the vilest here excel me, they creep, yet see; I, dark in light, exposed to daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, within doors, or without, still as a fool, in power of others, never in my own; scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. ~ John Milton
332:So here I am, sending a two-ounce mouse down into a dungeon with a sewing needle to save a human princess, and I don't know how in the world he's going to do it. I have no idea. That was the first time it occurred to me that writing the story was roughly equivalent to Despereaux's descent into the dungeon. I was tremendously aware of that as I was writing. I thought, "I have to be brave or else I'm not going to be able to tell it." But it's the only way that I can write. If I know what's going to happen, I'm not interested in telling the story. ~ Kate DiCamillo
333:1210
What If I Say I Shall Not Wait!
277
What if I say I shall not wait!
What if I burst the fleshly Gate—
And pass escaped—to thee!
What if I file this Mortal—off—
See where it hurt me—That's enough—
And wade in Liberty!
They cannot take me—any more!
Dungeons can call—and Guns implore
Unmeaning—now—to me—
As laughter—was—an hour ago—
Or Laces—or a Travelling Show—
Or who died—yesterday!
~ Emily Dickinson
334:Lord. As Blake brought out so beautifully in his poem “Jerusalem”: “. . . Babel mocks, saying there is no God or Son of God; That Thou, O Human Imagination, O Divine Body of the Lord Jesus Christ art all A delusion; but I know Thee, O Lord, when Thou arisest upon My weary eyes, even in this dungeon and this iron mill. . . For Thou also sufferest with me, although I behold Thee not. . .” . . .And the Divine Voice answers: “. . . Fear not! Lo, I am with you always. Only believe in me, that I have power to raise from death Thy Brother who sleepeth in Albion. ~ Neville Goddard
335:The spirit, while superior to all of its bodies, is incapable of manifesting without its chain of vehicles. This divine spark must always be limited by the quality of its bodies. In all too many cases, it is the servant of its own dependencies. Instead of ruling its world by apostolic succession, the spirit is generally bowed and broken by the endless demands of the lower nature. The appetites, desires, and selfish propensities cast the spirit into a dungeon, while a false and cruel monarch rules the empire in his stead. ~ Manly P Hall, Magic: A Treatise on Esoteric Ethics
336:The spirit, while superior to all of its bodies, is incapable of manifesting without its chain of vehicles. This divine spark must always be limited by the quality of its bodies. In all too many cases, it is the servant of its own dependencies. Instead of ruling its world by apostolic succession, the spirit is generally bowed and broken by the endless demands of the lower nature. The appetites, desires, and selfish propensities cast the spirit into a dungeon, while a false and cruel monarch rules the empire in his stead. ~ Manly P Hall, Magic: A Treatise on Esoteric Ethics,
337:It don’t make no difference how foolish it is, it’s the right way — and it’s the regular way.  And there ain’t no other way, that ever I heard of, and I’ve read all the books that gives any information about these things. They always dig out with a case-knife — and not through dirt, mind you; generly it’s through solid rock.  And it takes them weeks and weeks and weeks, and for ever and ever.  Why, look at one of them prisoners in the bottom dungeon of the Castle Deef, in the harbor of Marseilles, that dug himself out that way; how long was he at it, you reckon? ~ Mark Twain
338:You’ll call for me. You’ll be lonely in your new quarters and will feel out of sorts. I could let you pet my hair until you fell asleep.”
He drew in closer and lowered his voice to ask in all seriousness, “You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“As—a—hatter,” she whispered back conspiratorially.
He felt a hint of sympathy for the creature. “How long have you been in here?”
“For four long...interminable...days.”
He glowered at her.
“Which is why I want you to take me with you. I don’t eat much.”
The dungeon erupted with laughter again.
(Myst and Nikolai) ~ Kresley Cole
339:It will be hard James but you come from sturdy peasant stock men who picked cotton and dammed rivers and built railroads and in the teeth of the most terrifying odds achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity You come from a long line of great poets some of the greatest poets since Homer. One of them said "The very time I thought I was lost My dungeon shook and my chains fell off." You know and I know that the country is celebrating one hundred years of freedom one hundred years too soon. We cannot be free until they are free. God bless you James and Godspeed. ~ James Baldwin
340:It will be hard James but you come from sturdy peasant stock men who picked cotton and dammed rivers and built railroads and in the teeth of the most terrifying odds achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity You come from a long line of great poets some of the greatest poets since Homer. One of them said "The very time I thought I was lost My dungeon shook and my chains fell off." You know and I know that the country is celebrating one hundred years of freedom one hundred years too soon. We cannot be free until they are free. God bless you James and Godspeed. ~ James A Baldwin
341:Let none, however difficult the circumstances, consider himself as debarred from the way of holiness. Have we but God and the cross of Christ, we have the means for becoming altogether holy in our walk and conversation. What dungeon is there that can shut us out from this? Only let us use the present location and means faithfully and truly, taking them from God's hand, and we shall find him able to free us from all that is really a hindrance. Let us each one desire to be a saint in his own place and calling, instead of building 'castles in the air' of future holiness. ~ Gerhard Tersteegen
342:Haply for I am black,
And have not those soft parts of conversation
That chamberers have; or for I am declined
Into the vale of years—yet that’s not much—
She’s gone. I am abused, and my relief
Must be to loathe her. O curse of marriage,
That we can call these delicate creatures ours
And not their appetites! I had rather be a toad
And live upon the vapor of a dungeon
Than keep a corner in the thing I love
For others’ uses. Yet ’tis the plague of great ones;
Prerogatived are they less than the base.
’Tis destiny unshunnable, like death. ~ William Shakespeare
343:If cathedrals had been universities If dungeons of the Inquisition had been laboratories If Christians had believed in character instead of creed If they had taken from the bible only that which is GOOD and thrown away the wicked and absurd If temple domes had been observatories If priests had been philosophers If missionaries had taught useful arts instead of bible lore If astrology had been astronomy If the black arts had been chemistry If superstition had been science If religion had been humanity The world then would be a heaven filled with love, and liberty and joy ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
344:Could I But Ride Indefinite
661
Could I but ride indefinite
As doth the Meadow Bee
And visit only where I liked
And No one visit me
And flirt all Day with Buttercups
And marry whom I may
And dwell a little everywhere
Or better, run away
With no Police to follow
Or chase Him if He do
Till He should jump Peninsulas
To get away from me—
I said "But just to be a Bee"
Upon a Raft of Air
And row in Nowhere all Day long
And anchor "off the Bar"
What Liberty! So Captives deem
Who tight in Dungeons are.
~ Emily Dickinson
345:Hey, laugh all you want, but I grew up poor in backwoods Florida, with an immigrant, single mom. I'm the only person in my family who learned to read, and that was only because of comic books at first, and then fantasy novels and an active imagination. I got addicted to them when I was a kid and read like crazy. I must have read thousands of them. So I've been reading about elves and that kind of thing for twenty plus years. I can't help it if I'm excited." "You were a geek," she said. "Well, I guess." "I bet you played Dungeons and Dragons in a friend's garage." "Well, yeah." "Nerd. ~ Larry Correia
346:In the depths of every heart, there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and revelry above may cause us to forget their existence, and the buried ones, or prisoners whom they hide. But sometimes, and oftenest at midnight, those dark receptacles are flung wide open. In an hour like this, when the mind has a passive sensibility, but no active strength; when the imagination is a mirror, imparting vividness to all ideas, without the power of selecting or controlling them; then pray that your grieves may slumber, and the brotherhood of remorse not break their chain. ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne
347:That reminds me why I gave up Dungeons and Dragons. There were too many monsters. Back in the old days you could go around a dungeon without meeting much more than a few orcs and lizard men, but then everyone started inventing monsters and pretty soon it was a case of bugger the magic sword, what you really need to be the complete adventurer was the Marcus L. Rowland fifteen-volume guide to Monsters and the ability to read very, very fast, because if you couldn’t recognize them from the outside you pretty soon got the chance to try looking at them from the wrong side of their tonsils. ~ Terry Pratchett
348:All laws for the purpose of making man worship God, are born of the same spirit that kindled the fires of the auto da fe, and lovingly built the dungeons of the Inquisition. All laws defining and punishing blasphemy - making it a crime to give your honest ideas about the Bible, or to laugh at the ignorance of the ancient Jews, or to enjoy yourself on the Sabbath, or to give your opinion of Jehovah, were passed by impudent bigots, and should be at once repealed by honest men. An infinite God ought to be able to protect himself, without going in partnership with State Legislatures. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
349:Crimes were committed to punish crimes, and crimes were committed to prevent crimes. The world has been filled with prisons and dungeons, with chains and whips, with crosses and gibbets, with thumbscrews and racks, with hangmen and heads-men — and yet these frightful means and instrumentalities have committed far more crimes than they have prevented.... Ignorance, filth, and poverty are the missionaries of crime. As long as dishonorable success outranks honest effort — as long as society bows and cringes before the great thieves, there will be little ones enough to fill the jails. ~ Robert Green Ingersoll
350:Nonethless it had been a castle, with all that this implies: it had had towering walls and turrets, beams as great as trees, arched doorways wide enough for processions to pass through, ceilings so cavernous that owls nested in them. It had had wings and ramparts and thin windows from which to shoot arrows, internal courtyards, banquet rooms, hidden doors, secret passages. It had had a chapel and, in its bowels, a dungeon. It housed sculptures and paintings, tapestries and cushions, carpets and carvings, its fortressed heart had been clad in glit, silver, glass, gold, damask, ivory, ermine. ~ Sonya Hartnett
351:At that tasted Fruit   The Sun, as from THYESTEAN Banquet, turn'd   His course intended; else how had the World   Inhabited, though sinless, more then now,   Avoided pinching cold and scorching heate?   These changes in the Heav'ns, though slow, produc'd   Like change on Sea and Land, sideral blast,   Vapour, and Mist, and Exhalation hot,   Corrupt and Pestilent: Now from the North   Of NORUMBEGA, and the SAMOED shoar   Bursting thir brazen Dungeon, armd with ice   And snow and haile and stormie gust and flaw,   BOREAS and CAECIAS and ARGESTES loud   And THRASCIAS rend the Woods and Seas upturn; ~ John Milton
352:If a prisoner hadn't lived outside, he would not

detest the dungeon. Desiring knows there's satisfaction beyond this. Straying maps

the path. A secret freedom opens through a crevice you can barely see. Your love

of many things proves they're one. Every separate stiff trunk and stem in the garden

connects with nimble root hairs underground. The awareness a wine drinker wants cannot

be tasted in wine, but that failure brings his deep thirst closer. So the heart keeps ignoring

the waterfall and the key, but there is one guiding through all the desiring restlessness. ~ Rumi
353:After chopping off all the arms that reached out to me; after boarding up all the windows and doors; after filling all the pits with poisoned water; after building my house on the rock of a No inaccessible to flattery and fear; after cutting out my tongue and eating it; after hurling handfuls of silence and monosyllables of scorn at my loves; after forgetting my name and the name of my birthplace and the name of my race; after judging and sentencing myself to perpetual waiting and perpetual loneliness, I heard against the stones of my dungeon of syllogisms the humid, tender, insistent onset of spring. ~ Octavio Paz
354:Mercédès! Ah, yes, you are right, this name is still sweet to me when I speak it, and this is the first time for many years that it has sounded so clear as it left my lips. Oh, Mercédès, I have spoken your name with sighs of melancholy, with groans of pain and with the croak of despair. I have spoken it frozen with cold, huddled on the straw of my dungeon. I have spoken it raging with heat and rolling around on the stone floor of my prison. Mercédès, I must have my revenge, because for fourteen years I suffered, fourteen years I wept and cursed. Now, I say to you, Mercédès, I must have my revenge! ~ Alexandre Dumas
355:In my world death was like a nameless and incomprehensible hand, a door-to-door salesman who took away mothers, beggars, or ninety-year-old neighbors, like a hellish lottery. But I couldn't absorb the idea that death could actually walk by my side, with a human face and a heart that was poisoned with hatred, that death could be dressed in a uniform or raincoat, queue up at the cinema, laugh in bars, or take his children out for a walk to Ciudadela Park in the morning, and then, in the afternoon, make someone disappear in the dungeons of Montjuïc Castle or in a common grave with no name or ceremony. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n
356:Being an absolute ruler today was not as simple as people thought. At least, it was not simple if your ambitions included being an absolute ruler tomorrow. There were subtleties. Oh, you could order men to smash down doors and drag people off the dungeons without trial, but too much of that sort of thing lacked style and anyway was bad for business, habit-forming and very, very dangerous for your health. A thinking tyrant, it seemed to Vetinari, had a much harder job than a ruler raised to power by some idiot vote-yourself-rich system like democracy. At least they could tell the people he was their fault. ~ Terry Pratchett
357:Oh, I know that. Or at least I think I know that,” she stammers. “I mean, you seem like a decent guy, but then again, lots of serial killers probably seem decent too when you first meet them. Did you know that Ted Bundy was actually really charming?” Her eyes widen. “How messed up is that? Imagine you’re walking along one day and you meet this really cute, charming guy, and you’re like, oh my God, he’s perfect, and then you’re over at his place and you find a trophy dungeon in the basement with skin suits and Barbie dolls with the eyes ripped out and—”
“Jesus,” I cut in. “Did anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot? ~ Elle Kennedy
358:They told of dripping stone walls in uninhabited castles and of ivy-clad monastery ruins by moonlight, of locked inner rooms and secret dungeons, dank charnel houses and overgrown graveyards, of footsteps creaking upon staircases and fingers tapping at casements, of howlings and shriekings, groanings and scuttlings and the clanking of chains, of hooded monks and headless horseman, swirling mists and sudden winds, insubstantial specters and sheeted creatures, vampires and bloodhounds, bats and rats and spiders, of men found at dawn and women turned white-haired and raving lunatic, and of vanished corpses and curses upon heirs. ~ Susan Hill
359:Cherubim perhaps, take practice shots with the Big Bang. I would have preferred to write a book about the course of actions taken during this election campaign and how that course of actions led to certain results. But there was no discernable course. The course might as well have been at Trump University. And the results might as well have been determined by a pair of twelve-sided dice used by stoned Bernie Sanders supporters in a game of Dungeons & Dragons. (Dungeons & Dragons being a not-bad alternative title for what you hold in your hands.) Anyway, if my book lacks a coherent narrative it’s because I couldn’t find one. ~ P J O Rourke
360:Yes, indeed, I have often thought with a bitter joy that these riches, which would make the wealth of a dozen families, will be forever lost to those men who persecute me. This idea was one of vengeance to me, and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the despair of my captivity. But now I have forgiven the world for the love of you; now that I see you, young and with a promising future, — now that I think of all that may result to you in the good fortune of such a disclosure, I shudder at any delay, and tremble lest I should not assure to one as worthy as yourself the possession of so vast an amount of hidden wealth. ~ Alexandre Dumas
361:My Soul Is Sunk In All-Suffusing Shame
My soul is sunk in all-suffusing shame;
Yet not for any individual sin,
But that the world's original fair fameMy own land's most-is not what it hath been.
Shrieks of intolerable bondage smite,
Without response, its comfortable ears,
Making a craven compromise with Might,
For their own luxury, of others' tears.
Better than this the sanguinary crash
Of fratricidal strokes, and nerveful hate!
So do I hope to hear the sabres clash
And tumbrils rattle when the snows abate.
Love peace who will-I for mankind prefer,
To dungeon or disgrace, a sepulchre.
~ Alfred Austin
362:O full and splendid Moon, whom I
Have, from this desk, seen climb the sky
So many a midnight,—would thy glow
For the last time beheld my woe!
Ever thine eye, most mournful friend,
O'er books and papers saw me bend;
But would that I, on mountains grand,
Amid thy blessed light could stand,
With spirits through mountain-caverns hover,
Float in thy twilight the meadows over,
And, freed from the fumes of lore that swathe me,
To health in thy dewy fountains bathe me!

Ah, me! this dungeon still I see.
This drear, accursed masonry,
Where even the welcome daylight strains
But duskly through the painted panes. ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
363:Oh, and get this. Gideon married Scarlet, the keeper of Nightmares.” “You’re kidding.” Fickle Gideon? Married? Scarlet was gorgeous, yeah, and feisty as hell. Powerful, too. And Gideon had been a tad bit obsessed with her when she’d been locked in their dungeon. But marriage? Everyone in the fortress had lost IQ points, it seemed. “He couldn’t have waited until I got back to sign on for double occupancy?” Strider mumbled. “What a great friend.” “No one was invited to the ceremony, if you catch my meaning.” “Well, the decision to get hitched is gonna give him nightmares.” Strider snickered. “Get it? Nightmares?” “Har, har. You’re a borderline fucktard, you know that?” “Hey, ~ Gena Showalter
364:Now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate:
At once as far as angels ken he views
The dismal situation waste and wild,
A dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulfur unconsumed. ~ John Milton
365:There has never been upon the earth a generation of free men and women. It is not yet time to write a creed. Wait until the chains are broken—until dungeons are not regarded as temples. Wait until solemnity is not mistaken for wisdom—until mental cowardice ceases to be known as reverence. Wait until the living are considered the equals of the dead—until the cradle takes precedence of the coffin. Wait until what we know can be spoken without regard to what others may believe. Wait until teachers take the place of preachers—until followers become investigators. Wait until the world is free before you write a creed.

In this creed there will be but one word—Liberty. ~ Robert G Ingersoll
366:You need a burning desire for the future, the kind of desire that overcomes past fear and inhibitions. You will remain chained to your past and all the secrets therein until you decide: enough is enough! I am telling you that when your desire for the future peaks, you can break out of prison. I challenge you to sit down and write 30 things you would like to do with your life and scratch them off, one by one, as you accomplish them. There is no way you can plan for the future and dwell in the past at the same time. I feel an earthquake coming into your prison! It is midnight—the turning point of days! It is your time for a change. Praise God and escape out of the dungeons of your past. ~ T D Jakes
367:Apart from this ultimate hope, the created world would be a dungeon of despair for God’s children. But faith animates our lives with an eschatological anticipation of the presence and glory of Christ. We will not find our full and permanent happiness here. Nor will we find Christian joy automatically, like a daily newspaper at the door. God intends for us to find joy kinetically, in action, as we work out our faith with fear and trembling, as we fight the good fight of faith, as we worship, fellowship, and engage in all the various dynamics of the Christian life together.62 But even in this, our hope of eternal joy sobers our expectations for the joy we can expect to experience in this life. ~ Tony Reinke
368:A few people have ventured to imitate Shakespeare's tragedy. But no audacious spirit has dreamed or dared to imitate Shakespeare's comedy. No one has made any real attempt to recover the loves and the laughter of Elizabethan England. The low dark arches, the low strong pillars upon which Shakespeare's temple rests we can all explore and handle. We can all get into his mere tragedy; we can all explore his dungeon and penetrate into his coal-cellar, but we stretch our hands and crane our necks in vain towards that height where the tall turrets of his levity are tossed towards the sky. Perhaps it is right that this should be so; properly understood, comedy is an even grander thing than tragedy. ~ G K Chesterton
369:I take it that “gentleman” is a term that only describes a person in his relation to others; but when we speak of him as “a man” , we consider him not merely with regard to his fellow men, but in relation to himself, - to life – to time – to eternity. A cast-away lonely as Robinson Crusoe- a prisoner immured in a dungeon for life – nay, even a saint in Patmos, has his endurance, his strength, his faith, best described by being spoken of as “a man”. I am rather weary of this word “ gentlemanly” which seems to me to be often inappropriately used, and often too with such exaggerated distortion of meaning, while the full simplicity of the noun “man”, and the adjective “manly” are unacknowledged. ~ Elizabeth Gaskell
370:If you don’t mind my interrupting your no doubt fascinating private conversation,” said Richard, lifting a blond brow, “there have been some inquiries as to why our guest is not bound.”
“Or trussed,” contributed Henrietta.
“I have,” said Nicolas, spreading his arms wide, “attempted to explain, but your comrades, my love, seem reluctant to listen. I would prefer not to have rope marks on this coat, if it is all the same.”
“There must be some shackles in the dungeon,” said Henrietta darkly.
“Rust stains,” said Nicolas politely, “are very difficult to get out. My valet would be most cross. And one does not like to encounter Gaston when he is cross.”
Miles nodded knowingly. “Valets, eh? ~ Lauren Willig
371:the final revelation comes when you look at these City-men on the train; for you realize that for them, the business of escaping is complicated by the fact that they think they are the prison. An astounding situation! Imagine a large castle on an island, with almost inescapable dungeons. The jailor has installed every device to prevent the prisoners escaping, and he has taken one final precaution: that of hypnotizing the prisoners, and then suggesting to them that they and the prison are one. When one of the prisoners awakes to the fact that he would like to be free, and suggests this to his fellow prisoners, they look at him with surprise and say: Tree from what? We are the castle.’ What a situation! ~ Colin Wilson
372:Cards and boards, [Johnny] thought. And the dead. That's not dark forces. Making a fuss about cards and heavy metal and going on about Dungeons and Dragons stuff because it's got demon gods in it is like guarding to door when it is really coming up through the floorboards. Real dark forces... aren't dark. They're sort of gray, like Mr. Grimm. They take all the color out of life; they take a town like Blackbury and turn it into frightened streets and plastic signs and Bright New Futures and towers where no one wants to live and no one really does live. The dead seem more alive than us. And everyone becomes gray and turns into numbers and then, somewhere, someone starts to do arithmetic... ~ Terry Pratchett
373:The inside of the Trace Italian, of course, does not exist. A player can get close enough to see it: it shines in the new deserts of Kansas, gleaming in the sun or starkly rising from the winter cold. The rock walls that protect it meet in points around it, one giving way to another, for days on end. But the dungeons into which you'll fall as you work through the pathways to its gates number in the low hundreds, and if you actually get into the entry hall, there are a few hundred more sub-dungeons before you'll actually reach somewhere that's truly safe. Technically, it's possible to get to the last room in the final chamber of the Trace Italian, but no one will ever do it. No one will ever live that long. ~ John Darnielle
374:frantically. Where was his backpack? “Go!” said a guard, giving him a push. Jack went. Down they marched, down the long, dark hallway. Squinty, Annie, Mustache, Jack, and Red. Down a narrow, winding staircase. Jack heard Annie shouting at the guards. “Dummies! Meanies! We didn’t do anything!” The guards laughed. They didn’t take her seriously at all. At the bottom of the stairs was a big iron door with a bar across it. Squinty pushed the bar off the door. Then he shoved at the door. It creaked open. Jack and Annie were pushed into a cold, clammy room. The fiery torch lit the dungeon. There were chains hanging from the filthy walls. Water dripped from the ceiling, making puddles on the stone floor. It was ~ Mary Pope Osborne
375:It's like Dungeons and Dragons, but real."
Jace was looking at Simon as if he were some bizarre species of insect. "It's like what?"
"It's a game," Clary explained. She felt vaguely embarrassed. "People pretend to be wizards and elves, and they kill monsters and stuff."
Jace looked stupefied.
Simon grinned. "You've never heard of Dungeons and Dragons?"
"I've heard of dungeons," Jace said. "Also dragons. Although they're mostly extinct."
Simon looked disappointed. "You've never killed a dragon?"
"He's probably never met a six-foot-tall hot elf-woman in a fur bikini, either," Clary said irritably. "Lay off, Simon."
"Real elves are about eight inches tall," Jace pointed out. "Also, they bite. ~ Cassandra Clare
376:Why are you telling me all this, Vivienne?” Tears were threatening to spill down my cheeks. “Remember the night when you arrived? When you were in the dungeon? I told you that you were nothing but a pawn.” I could still remember her exact words and how frightened she made me feel: "Understand, girl, that you are nothing here. You’re nothing but a pawn, a piece used to make the board move. Your best chance at survival and proving your significance is to win Derek’s affections. Considering everything I know about my brother, I’m not sure that’s even possible." I smiled bitterly. “How could I forget?” “I was wrong.” Vivienne, in all her grace and beauty, looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not a pawn, Sofia. You’re the queen. ~ Bella Forrest
377:The old men from the charity hospital next door would come jerking past our rooms, making useless, disjointed leaps. They'd go from room to room, spitting out gossip between their decayed teeth, purveying scraps of malignant worn-out slander. Cloistered in their official misery as in an oozing dungeon, those aged workers ruminated the layer of shit that long years of servitude deposit on men's souls. Impotent hatreds grown rancid in the pissy idleness of dormitories. They employed their last quavering energies in hurting each other a little more. In destroying what little pleasure they had left.
Their last remaining pleasure! Their shriveled carcasses contained not one solitary atom that was not absolutely vicious! ~ Louis Ferdinand C line
378:Let men position you in the den, God will make you a Daniel in the den. Let men position you to face Goliath, God will make you a David. Let men subject you to undue pressure, torture and pain, blindfold you and lead you into the dungeon, God will make you a Samson there! Let men sell you into indentured servitude, God will make you Joseph. Let men build a death trap for you, God shall turn it into the days of Mordecai and Haman and you shall only see with your eyes the destruction of evil conspirators who would never repent! Let all odds be against you, God will make you Job. And when though fear grips your heart because of the storm you see, God will empower you and make you more than Peter. Stay hopeful! Trust in God! ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah
379:He belonged to a walled city of the fifteenth century, a city of narrow, cobbled streets, and thin spires, where the inhabitants wore pointed shoes and worsted hose. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval in some strange inexplicable way, and I was reminded of a portrait seen in a gallery I had forgotten where, of a certain Gentleman Unknown. Could one but rob him of his English tweeds, and put him in black, with lace at his throat and wrists, he would stare down at us in our new world from a long distant past—a past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old doorways, a past of narrow stairways and dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of silent, exquisite courtesy. ~ Daphne du Maurier
380:What can I not doubt? The reality of suffering. It brooks no arguments. Nihilists cannot undermine it with skepticism. Totalitarians cannot banish it. Cynics cannot escape from its reality. Suffering is real, and the artful infliction of suffering on another, for its own sake, is wrong. That became the cornerstone of my belief. Searching through the lowest reaches of human thought and action, understanding my own capacity to act like a Nazi prison guard or a gulag archipelago trustee or a torturer of children in a dungeon, I grasped what it meant to “take the sins of the world onto oneself.” Each human being has an immense capacity for evil. Each human being understands, a priori, perhaps not what is good, but certainly what is not. ~ Jordan Peterson
381:What can I not doubt? The reality of suffering. It brooks no arguments. Nihilists cannot undermine it with skepticism. Totalitarians cannot banish it. Cynics cannot escape from its reality. Suffering is real, and the artful infliction of suffering on another, for its own sake, is wrong. That became the cornerstone of my belief. Searching through the lowest reaches of human thought and action, understanding my own capacity to act like a Nazi prison guard or a gulag archipelago trustee or a torturer of children in a dungeon, I grasped what it meant to “take the sins of the world onto oneself.” Each human being has an immense capacity for evil. Each human being understands, a priori, perhaps not what is good, but certainly what is not. ~ Jordan B Peterson
382:She wondered what such a bird would be worth, because in the Castle all beasts were ascribed worth. She had seen James look at a king crown brought in by one of their Asante traders and declare that it was worth four pounds. What about the human beast? How much was he worth? Effia had known, of course, that there were people in the dungeons. People who spoke a different dialect than her, people who had been captured in tribal wars, even people who had been stolen, but she had never thought of where they went from there. She had never thought of what James must think every time he saw them. If he went into the dungeons and saw women who reminded him of her, who looked like her and smelled like her. If he came back to her haunted by what he saw. ~ Yaa Gyasi
383:In silence the man reined in his horse, dismounted, lifted me down to a high grassy spot that was scarcely damp. In the gathering gloom he tended to his horse, which presently cropped at the grass. My eyes had become accustomed to the darkness; the flare of light from a Fire Stick, and the reddish flicker of a fire, startled me.
At first I turned away, for the unsteady flame hurt my eyes, but after a time the prospect of warmth brought me around, and I started inching toward the fire.
The man looked up, dropped what he was doing, and took a step toward me. “I can carry you,” he said.
I waved him off. “I’ll do it myself,” I said shortly, thinking, Why be polite now? So I’ll be in a good mood when you dump me in Galdran’s dungeon? ~ Sherwood Smith
384:Wesson glanced back at the other ship. A gleeful smile threatened at his lips, but he wrapped it tightly with his will and pushed it deep into the dungeon from which it had sprung. It was a struggle, and part of him wanted to let it go, but Mage Threll’s firm grip kept him anchored. Then, the aftermath struck him. He heaved into the water as a cry escaped him. He looked at the evidence of his destruction. Where once dozens of men and women had lived, stood nothing but debris. He knew it was unlikely they would find bodies. They would have been crushed and vaporized, leaving behind no evidence that they had existed. Wesson slumped to the ground and buried his head in his hands as he sobbed. Rezkin grabbed hold of the rope ladder someone had thrown down to him. ~ Kel Kade
385:Can't we make a blusterer ourselves? asked Jón Hreggviðsson. Can't we scratch that damned sign with the ax-point onto the chopping block and get a beautiful, chubby woman in here tonight, right now-or preferably three? It was no easy matter to create such a sign, because in order to do so the two men required much greater access to the animal kingdom and the forces of nature than conditions in the dungeon permitted. The sign of the Blusterer is inscribed with a raven's gall on the rust-brown inner side of a bitch's skin, and afterward blood is sprinkled over the skin - blood from a black tomcat whose neck has been cut under a full moon by an unspoiled maiden. Where'd you find an unspoiled maiden to cut a black tomcat's neck asked Jón Hreggviðsson. ~ Halld r Kiljan Laxness
386:I do not think that illegal plunder, such as theft or swindling — which the penal code defines, anticipates, and punishes — can be called socialism. It is not this kind of plunder that systematically threatens the foundations of society. Anyway, the war against this kind of plunder has not waited for the command of these gentlemen. The war against illegal plunder has been fought since the beginning of the world. Long before the Revolution of February 1848 — long before the appearance even of socialism itself — France had provided police, judges, gendarmes, prisons, dungeons, and scaffolds for the purpose of fighting illegal plunder. The law itself conducts this war, and it is my wish and opinion that the law should always maintain this attitude toward plunder. ~ Fr d ric Bastiat
387:Last Words
The night sky's a black stretch limo, boss in the back
behind tinted glass. You could say that.
Down here's a dungeon, up there's the glittering
ring of keys in the sentry's fist. The self
exists. Beauty too. But they're elsewhere.
You could say that. Or not speak till commanded to.
Dawn, alone on the porch, I watch
the one map unfold and flatten before me—
same toppled TV antenna in the berry vines,
same cardinal, bright wound in the pasture grass.
My wound is my business. I've wearied of it.
From now on, morning will be attended
by its own noises only, evening will approach
without palms in its path. Let the horses
steam in the field, the sun-struck
river blanch. I'm boarding the troop train
~ Chris Forhan
388:As there is no appearance of daylight, what is to be done during the night? It occurred to me that I would arise and examine, by my lamp, the wails of my cell. They are covered with writings, with drawings, fantastic figures, and names which mix with and efface each other. It would appear that each prisoner had wished to leave behind him some trace here at least. Pencil, chalk, charcoal, — black, white, grey letters; sometimes deep carvings upon the stone. If my mind were at ease, I could take an interest in this strange book, which  is developed page by page, to my eyes, on each stone of this dungeon. I should like to recompose these fragments of thought; to trace a character for each name; to give sense and life to these mutilated inscriptions, — these dismembered phrases. ~ Victor Hugo
389:Archer shifted on the bed so that he could look at my face. “I’ll go with you,” he said.
I raised both eyebrows at him. “Cross, you’re the Casnoffs’ personal torture guinea pig. It’s a miracle they’re letting you stay in your room and not, like chaining you in a dungeon. If they catch you wandering around in the cellar-“
“If the Casnoffs were going to lock me up, they would’ve done it already.”
“Why haven’t they?” Jenna wondered out loud, and Archer shrugged.
“Maybe it’s because they know I can’t escape? Or maybe having to look at the dude they’ve been flaying alive every day is punishment for the other students. Either way, I’ll take it.”
Archer turned back to me, and that familiar grin flashed over his face. “Come on, Mercer. Me, you, the cellar. What could go wrong? ~ Rachel Hawkins
390:In fact, a “Pa” and/or a “Mister” are likely to turn up in anybody’s life. They might be wearing the mask of war, the mask of famine, the mask of physical affliction. The mask of caste, race, class, sex, mental illness, or disease. Their meaning to us, often, is that they are simply an offering, a challenge, provided by “God” i.e., the All Present and All Magical, that requires us to grow. And though we may be confused, even traumatized, as Celie is, by their historical, social, and psychological configuration, if we persevere we may, like her, eventually settle into amazement: that by some unfathomable kindness we have received just the right keys we need to unlock the deepest, darkest dungeons of our emotional and spiritual bondage, and to experience our much longed for liberation and peace. ~ Alice Walker
391:Take my memories of my mother, and the feelings that went with them. I do not want to know them at all. Take the ache in my throat when I think of Molly, take all the sharp-edged, bright-colored days I recall with her. Take their brilliance and leave me but the shadows of what I saw and felt. Let me recall them without cutting myself on their sharpness. Take my days and nights in Regal’s dungeons. It is enough to know what was done to me. Take it to keep, and let me stop feeling my face against that stone floor, hearing the sound of my nose breaking, smelling and tasting my own blood. Take my hurt that I never knew my father, take my hours of staring up at his portrait when the great hall was empty and I could do so alone. Take my— Fitz. Stop. You give her too much, there will be nothing left of you. ~ Robin Hobb
392:For many feverish years he was burdened with the sensation, an ancient one to be sure, that the incredible sprawl of human history was no more than a pathetically partial record of an infinitely vast and shadowed chronicle of universal metamorphoses. How much greater, then, was the feeling that his own pathetic history formed a practically invisible fragment of what itself was merely an obscure splinter of the infinite. Somehow he needed to excarcerate himself from the claustral dungeon cell of his life. In the end, however, he broke beneath the weight of his aspiration. And as the years passed, the only mystery which seemed worthy of his interest, and his amazement, was that unknown day which would inaugurate his personal eternity, that incredible day on which the sun simply would not rise, and forever would begin. ~ Thomas Ligotti
393:Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you, was certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born; for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person’s strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered—you must have music, dancing, and society—or you languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? ~ Charlotte Bront
394:His knees locked and he pushed his weight against Mr. Jones’s hand. It wasn’t the dim light coming through the skylights or the giant steel fan that waited to chop them up or the smell of urine or the dank-dungeon cells that lined both sides of the aisle that made Danny step back. It was a sense of panic, of fear, that saturated the atmosphere like an electrical current, tingling in his bowels. The boys ahead of him didn’t seize up, but they stutter-stepped. Like the end of a ship’s plank was dead ahead. Danny felt this type of fear spreading through his groin like cold fingers once before. A memory emerged in the soupy sea of memories inside his head. He remembered getting pulled out of the back seat of a car with his hands cuffed behind his back by someone. But then like everything he tried to remember, there were gaps. ~ Tony Bertauski
395:The tears in my pus-filled eyes became a thousand little crystals of ever color. Like stained-glass windows, I thought. God is with you today, Papi! In the midst of nature's monstrous elements, in the wind, the immenseness of the sea, the depth of the waves, the imposing green roof of the bush, you feel your own infinitesimal smallness, and perhaps it's here, without looking for Him, that you find God, that you touch Him with your finger. I had sensed Him at night during the thousands of hours I had spent buried alive in dank dungeons without a ray of sun; I touched Him today in a sun that would devour everything too weak to resist it. I touched God, I felt Him around me, inside me. He even whispered in my ear: "You will suffer; you will suffer more. But this time I am on your side. You will be free. You will, I promise you. ~ Henri Charri re
396:We have to determine Ivo’s purpose.”
Kaderin said, “Myst just escaped his dungeon five years ago. He could want her back.”
“All this to recapture her?” Annika asked. Myst the Coveted, considered the most beautiful Valkyrie, had been under his power. She’d escaped when the vampire rebels took his castle. That situation always enraged Annika. Indiscretions between Myst and Wroth, a rebel general, had occurred.
Until two days ago, Annika had believed Myst had put that vampire and the entire disgusting situation behind her. Yet everyone had heard Myst’s heart speed up at the mere mention of vampires in the New World. She’d checked her flame-red hair again and again before joining a group setting out to hunt them.
No, Myst hadn’t moved on from the general. Had Ivo been unable to forget his stunning captive? ~ Kresley Cole
397:It is a scientific fact that most situations in life go from bad to worse—I believe it’s called entropy. Any scientists who happened to be observing us at this moment would have been quietly satisfied to see that this natural law held true. As Deborah had said, I really did get insights into the sick and twisted creatures of the night. But that was because I was one of them. Deborah was the only living person I had ever talked to on the subject. After all, I didn’t want people walking around and saying things like, “Gee, Dexter thinks just like a killer. Wonder why?” Additionally, since these thoughts came from a private place, deep inside Dexter’s Dungeon, discussing it always made me feel slightly naked. I thought my sister understood that, but every now and then, like now, she dragged me stripped and flinching into the spotlight. ~ Jeff Lindsay
398:The Sweets Of Liberty
Is there a man that never sighed
To set the prisoner free?
Is there a man that never prized
The sweets of liberty ?
Then let him, let him breathe -unseen,
Or in a dungeon live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a heart so cold in man,
Can galling fetters crave ?
Is there a wretch so truly low,
Can stoop to be a slave?
O, let him, then, in chains be bound,
In chains and bondage live ;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a breast so chilled in life,
Can nurse the coward’s sigh ?
Is there a creature so debased,
Would not for freedom die ?
O, let him then be doomed to crawl
Where only reptiles live ;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
~ Anonymous Americas
399:But . . . this door is allayed with a sign,” Onranion pointed out, waving his hand in front of it and singing a few words. A pale blue Alkan glyph appeared.
“What does it say?”
“Our language indicates, with layers of inference and context, a particular meaning,” Onranion lectured. “Our symbols don’t merely ‘say’, they truly inform. But only those who understand those subtle contexts, those who can make the proper inferences of meaning – and all of the possible shades of that meaning.”
“So what subtle concept does this particular glyph indicate?” asked Mavone, studying the squiggly blue line dancing in the air.
“‘To the Dungeon,’” supplied Lilastien, with a snicker.
“And the context?” prompted Hance.
“Uh . . . ‘this way' to the dungeon? It’s down 'these' stairs?’” suggested Mavone.
“More or less,” Onranion shrugged. ~ Terry Mancour
400:There must be another way,” she said. “I cannot possibly climb up there.”
“Those who wish to visit Il Sangue di Mezzanotte must follow the trail,” the man said.
The Blood of Midnight, Cass thought. Lovely. And then she said, “What trail?”
With one foot in front of the other, the man with the scars maneuvered his way up the rocks with impossible agility. He stopped halfway and looked down at Cass. “It is just like a staircase,” he said.
Gingerly, Cass tested her foot on the closest stone. It shifted slightly beneath her weight and she almost tumbled backward. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she grumbled.
“You can make it, Signorina Cassandra,” Maximus said. “Be the woman who broke her fiancé out of the Doge’s dungeons.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but if he was surprised at this, he didn’t comment. ~ Fiona Paul
401:SUDDEN RESURRECTION! Endless mercy!
Blazing fire in the thickets of thought!
Today you came laughing
Unlocking dungeons
Came to the meek
Like god’s grace and bounty

You are the antechamber to the sun
You are the hope’s prerequisite
You are sought
Seeker
Terminus
Principia
You pulse in every chest
adorn every idea
then permit their realization
Spirit- spring, irreplaceable
Delight of action and cognition.

All the rest is pretext, fraud-
the former, illness; the latter, cure
We’re jaundiced by that fraud
Heart-set to slay an innocent
Drunk, now on angel eyes
Now on plain bread and soup
Taste this intoxication, drop your ratiocination
Savor these delectable
Drop the debatables
A little bread and greens
Should not entail so much trouble

*Ghazal 1 ~ Rumi
402:Their eyes wide open, they stared into empty nothingness. There was silence everywhere. Apart from a few twinkling of stars, masses of dark void pressed down upon the atmosphere. Moments passed slowly. She could not sleep a wink. A pale light peeled the darkness off. She felt she was in slumber-land; a land of the living dead - then thoughts returned: an anguish; life appeared to be too short; it melted away so easily into bleak oblivion. She felt that she passed through space, a path designated by ethereal time. Her spirits soared like a falcon...despaired...and more...it fell into a dungeon of dark depression. Laying there. like a fallen log of a dead pine, she heard from her bed a roaring noise of the westerly knocking on the shutters of the window. It was like an ancient calling of Nemesis to wake her up to the fact that surely an end was closing in. ~ Mehreen Ahmed
403:Alas, it was in vain that I implored the dungeon-keep of Roussainville, that I begged it to send out to meet me some daughter of its village, appealing to it as to the sole confidant to whom I had disclosed my earliest desire when, from the top floor of our house at Combray, from the little room that smelt of orris-root, I had peered out and seen nothing but its tower, framed in the square of the half-opened window, while, with the heroic scruples of a traveller setting forth for unknown climes, or of a desperate wretch hesitating on the verge of self-destruction, faint with emotion, I explored, across the bounds of my own experience, an untrodden path which, I believed, might lead me to my death, even — until passion spent itself and left me shuddering among the sprays of flowering currant which, creeping in through the window, tumbled all about my body. ~ Marcel Proust
404:Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" said Malfoy. "And he’s supposed to be our teacher!"
Harry and Ron both made furious moves toward Malfoy, but Hermione got there first - SMACK!
She had slapped Malfoy across the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy staggered. Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again.
"Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic you foul—you evil—"
"Hermione!" said Ron weakly and he tried to grab her hand as she swung it back.
"Get off Ron!"
Hermione pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped backward. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.
"C’mon," Malfoy muttered, and in a moment, all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.
"Hermione!" Ron said again, sounding both stunned and impressed. ~ J K Rowling
405:1176
Unto Like Story—trouble Has Enticed Me
295
Unto like Story—Trouble has enticed me—
How Kinsmen fell—
Brothers and Sister—who preferred the Glory—
And their young will
Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons—chanted—
Till God's full time—
When they let go the ignominy—smiling—
And Shame went still—
Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,
Worn fair
By Heads rejected—in the lower country—
Of honors there—
Such spirit makes her perpetual mention,
That I—grown bold—
Step martial—at my Crucifixion—
As Trumpets—rolled—
Feet, small as mine—have marched in Revolution
Firm to the Drum—
Hands—not so stout—hoisted them—in witness—
When Speech went numb—
Let me not shame their sublime deportments—
Drilled bright—
Beckoning—Etruscan invitation—
Toward Light—
~ Emily Dickinson
406:Think of “Pa” as Celie’s Tsunami, I said, and “Mister” as her hurricane. In fact, a “Pa” and/ or a “Mister” are likely to turn up in anybody’s life. They might be wearing the mask of war, the mask of famine, the mask of physical affliction. The mask of caste, race, class, sex, mental illness, or disease. Their meaning to us, often, is that they are simply an offering, a challenge, provided by “God” i.e., the All Present and All Magical, that requires us to grow. And though we may be confused, even traumatized, as Celie is, by their historical, social, and psychological configuration, if we persevere we may, like her, eventually settle into amazement: that by some unfathomable kindness we have received just the right keys we need to unlock the deepest, darkest dungeons of our emotional and spiritual bondage, and to experience our much longed for liberation and peace. ~ Alice Walker
407:After the first few weeks of building up intense hope about the dog, it had slowly dawned on him that intense hope was not the answer and never had been. In a world of monotonous horror there could be no salvation in wild dreaming. Horror he had adjusted to. But monotony was the greater obstacle, and he realized it now, understood it at long last. And understanding it seemed to give him a sort of quiet peace, a sense of having spread all the cards on his mental table, examined them, and settled conclusively on the desired hand. Burying the dog had not been the agony he had supposed it would be. In a way, it was almost like burying threadbare hopes and false excitements. From that day on he learned to accept the dungeon he existed in, neither seeking to escape with sudden derring-do nor beating his pate bloody on its walls. And, thus resigned, he returned to work. ~ Richard Matheson
408:He pulled one of his brands out of the fire and stepped toward me, raising it. The sharp smell of red-hot metal made me sneeze--and when I looked up, the man’s mouth was open with surprise.
My gaze dropped to the knife embedded squarely in his chest, which seemed to have sprouted there. But knives don’t sprout, even in dungeons, I thought hazily, as the torturer fell heavily at my feet. I turned my head, half rising from the chair--
And saw the Marquis of Shevraeth standing framed in the doorway. At his back were four of his liveried equerries, with swords drawn and ready.
The Marquis strolled forward, indicated the knife with a neatly gloved hand, and gave me a faint smile. “I trust the timing was more or less advantageous?”
“More or less,” I managed to say before the rushing in my ears washed over me, and I passed out cold right on top of the late torturer. ~ Sherwood Smith
409:Demons and their Hell are quite different from the Dungeon Dimensions, those endless parallel wastelands outside space and time. The sad, mad Things in the Dungeon Dimensions have no understanding of the world but simply crave light and shape and try to warm themselves by the fires of reality, clustering around it with about the same effect—if they ever broke through—as an ocean trying to warm itself around a candle. Whereas demons belong to the same space-time wossname, more or less, as humans, and have a deep and abiding interest in humanity’s day-to-day affairs. Interestingly enough, the gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that’s where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won’t do if they don’t know about it. This explains why it is important to shoot missionaries on sight. ~ Terry Pratchett
410:The Jes Grew crisis was becoming acute. Compounding it, Black Yellow and Red Mu'tafikah were looting the museums shipping the plunder back to where it came from. America, Europe's last hope, the protector of the archives of "mankind's" achievements had come down with a bad case of Jes Grew and Mu'tafikah too. Europe can no longer guard the "fetishes" of civilizations which were placed in the various Centers of Art Detention, located in New York City. Bootlegging Houses financed by Robber Barons, Copper Kings, Oil Magnets, Tycoons and Gentlemen Planters. Dungeons for the treasures from Africa, South America and Asia.

The army devoted to guarding this booty is larger than those of most countries. Justifiably so, because if these treasures got into the "wrong hands" (the countries from which they were stolen) there would be renewed enthusiasms for the Ikons of the aesthetically victimized civilizations. ~ Ishmael Reed
411:Awareness came back slowly, and not very pleasantly. First were all the aches and twinges, then the dizziness, and last the sensation of movement. Before I even opened my eyes I realized that once again I was on a horse, clasped upright by an arm.
The Marquis again? Memories came flooding back--the dungeon, the Baron’s horrible promise, then the knife and Shevraeth’s comment about timing. The Marquis had saved me, with about the closest timing in history, from a thoroughly nasty fate. Relief was my foremost emotion, then gratitude, and then a residual embarrassment that I didn’t understand and instantly dismissed. He had saved my life, and I owed him my thanks.
I opened my eyes, squinting against bright sunlight, and turned my head, words forming only to vanish when I looked up into an unfamiliar face. I closed my eyes again, completely confused. Had I dreamed it all, then? Except--where was I, and with whom? ~ Sherwood Smith
412:Rutting
There was nothing simple about it
even then an eleven-year-old's hunger
for the wet perfection
of the Alhambra, the musky torsos
of football stars, ancient Egypt and Jacques Cousteau's
lurching empires of the sea, bazaars
in Mughal India, the sacred plunge
into a Cadbury's Five Star bar, Kanchenjanga, kisses bluer
than the Adriatic, honeystain of sunlight
on temple wall, a moon-lathered Parthenon, draught
of northern air in Scottish castles. The child god craving
to pop a universe
into one's mouth.
It's back again,
the lust
that is the deepest
I have known,
celebrated by paperback romances
in station bookstalls, by poets in the dungeons
of Toledo, by bards crooning foreverness
and gut-thump on FM radio
in Bombay traffic jams an undoing,
an unmaking,
raw
raw a monsoonal ferocity
of need.
18
~ Arundhathi Subramaniam
413:High Waving Heather 'Neath Stormy Blasts Bending
High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars,
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending,
Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending,
Man's spirit away from its drear dungeon sending,
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars.
All down the mountain sides wild forests lending
One mighty voice to the life-giving wind,
Rivers their banks in their jubilee rending,
Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,
Wider and deeper their waters extending,
Leaving a desolate desert behind.
Shining and lowering and swelling and dying,
Changing forever from midnight to noon;
Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing,
Shadows on shadows advancing and flying,
Lighning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying,
Coming as swiftly and fading as soon.
~ Emily Jane Brontë
414:1079
They Put Us Far Apart
474
They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified "These see"—
They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
"I see Thee" each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—
With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—
They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—
Condemned—but just—to see—
Permission to recant—
Permission to forget—
We turned our backs upon the Sun
For perjury of that—
Not Either—noticed Death—
Of Paradise—aware—
Each other's Face—was all the Disc
Each other's setting—saw—
~ Emily Dickinson
415:What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling.

I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try asking her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught sight of Seamus's eye and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor house for your cheek, Potter. ~ J K Rowling
416:Before I ended up in this dungeon of the world,
I was with you all the time.
How I wish I’d never fallen into
this earthly trap.

I kept telling you over and over again:
“I’m perfectly happy here.
I don’t want to go anywhere.
To travel from this exaltation down to earth
is just too difficult a journey."

You sent me anyway:
“Go, don’t be scared.
No harm will come to you.
I will always be with you."

You persuaded me by saying:
“If you go, you’ll gain new experiences.
You’ll progress on your path.
You’ll be far more mature
when you come back home."

I replied: “O Essence of Knowledge,
What good is all this learning and informationwithout you?
Who could leave you for knowledge,
unless he has no knowledge of you?"

When I drink wine from your hand,
I haven’t a care in the world.
I become drunk and happy.
I couldn’t care less about gain or loss,
or people’s good or bad features. ~ Rumi
417:Before I ended up in this dungeon of the world,
I was with you all the time.
How I wish I’d never fallen into
this earthly trap.

I kept telling you over and over again:
“I’m perfectly happy here.
I don’t want to go anywhere.
To travel from this exaltation down to earth
is just too difficult a journey."

You sent me anyway:
“Go, don’t be scared.
No harm will come to you.
I will always be with you."

You persuaded me by saying:

“If you go, you’ll gain new experiences.
You’ll progress on your path.
You’ll be far more mature
when you come back home."

I replied: “O Essence of Knowledge,
What good is all this learning and information
without you?
Who could leave you for knowledge,
unless he has no knowledge of you?"

When I drink wine from your hand,

I haven’t a care in the world.
I become drunk and happy.

I couldn’t care less about gain or loss,
or people’s good or bad features. ~ Rumi
418:1006
The Soul Has Bandaged Moments
512
The Soul has Bandaged moments—
When too appalled to stir—
She feels some ghastly Fright come up
And stop to look at her—
Salute her—with long fingers—
Caress her freezing hair—
Sip, Goblin, from the very lips
The Lover—hovered—o'er—
Unworthy, that a thought so mean
Accost a Theme—so—fair—
The soul has moments of Escape—
When bursting all the doors—
She dances like a Bomb, abroad,
And swings upon the Hours,
As do the Bee—delirious borne—
Long Dungeoned from his Rose—
Touch Liberty—then know no more,
But Noon, and Paradise—
The Soul's retaken moments—
When, Felon led along,
With shackles on the plumed feet,
And staples, in the Song,
The Horror welcomes her, again,
These, are not brayed of Tongue—
~ Emily Dickinson
419:1159
'Twas Like A Maelstrom, With A Notch
414
'Twas like a Maelstrom, with a notch,
That nearer, every Day,
Kept narrowing its boiling Wheel
Until the Agony
Toyed coolly with the final inch
Of your delirious Hem—
And you dropt, lost,
When something broke—
And let you from a Dream—
As if a Goblin with a Gauge—
Kept measuring the Hours—
Until you felt your Second
Weigh, helpless, in his Paws—
And not a Sinew—stirred—could help,
And sense was setting numb—
When God—remembered—and the Fiend
Let go, then, Overcome—
As if your Sentence stood—pronounced—
And you were frozen led
From Dungeon's luxury of Doubt
To Gibbets, and the Dead—
And when the Film had stitched your eyes
A Creature gasped "Reprieve"!
Which Anguish was the utterest—then—
To perish, or to live?
~ Emily Dickinson
420:She spun to face him. “Listen, Hellboy, we need to make this quick. I have garage sales to hit and naughty souls to claim. Decide.” “I do not understand.” Was this goddess tormenting him for sport? Why did she call him “Hellboy?” How very rude! She poked at his bare chest with a razor sharp fingernail. “You hate taking orders.” Sì, true. After all, I am vampire. “And even if you decided to listen like a good little boy, the odds of pulling this off are slim to none.” I happen to excel at all things impossible. I am a vampire! “So don’t come crying if you end up in your queen’s dungeon…” Vampires do not cry, silly woman. “Tortured three times a day for all eternity, which is where you have a ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent chance of landing if you don’t do exactly as I say.” Actually, those numbers are quite encouraging. He thought his odds were somewhere between pigs flying and hell freezing over. “Buon. I understand. Tell me what you saw, what I must do. ~ Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
421:Without A Title
So aloof, so meek in your ways,
Now you're fire, you're pure combustion.
Only let me lock up your beauty
Deep, deep down in a poem's dungeon.
See how wholly transformed they are
By the fire in the glowing lampshade;
Edge of wall, edge of window-pane,
Our own figures and our own shadows.
There you sit on cushions, apart,
Legs tucked under you, Turkish fashion.
In the light or in the shadow,
Childlike, always, the way you reason.
Dreaming, now you thread on a string
Beads that lie on your lap in profusion.
Far too sad is your mien, too artless
Is the drift of your conversation.
Yes, love's truly a vulgar word.
I'll invent something else to supplant it,
Just for you, the whole world, all words
I will gladly rename, if you want it.
Can your sorrowful mien convey
All your hidden orebearing richness,
All that radiant seam of your heart?
Why d'you fill your eyes with such sadness?
~ Boris Pasternak
422:Spleen
When the low, heavy sky weighs like a lid
On the groaning spirit, victim of long ennui,
And from the all-encircling horizon
Spreads over us a day gloomier than the night;
When the earth is changed into a humid dungeon,
In which Hope like a bat
Goes beating the walls with her timid wings
And knocking her head against the rotten ceiling;
When the rain stretching out its endless train
Imitates the bars of a vast prison
And a silent horde of loathsome spiders
Comes to spin their webs in the depths of our brains,
All at once the bells leap with rage
And hurl a frightful roar at heaven,
Even as wandering spirits with no country
437
Burst into a stubborn, whimpering cry.
— And without drums or music, long hearses
Pass by slowly in my soul; Hope, vanquished,
Weeps, and atrocious, despotic Anguish
On my bowed skull plants her black flag.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild,
1954)
~ Charles Baudelaire
423:As a teenager with morbid proclivities, my only real social outlets in Hawai’i were the gothic and S&M fetish clubs with names like “Flesh” and “The Dungeon” that took place on Saturday nights in warehouses down by the airport. My friends and I, all uniform-wearing private-school girls by day, would tell our parents we were having a sleepover and instead change into black vinyl ball gowns we ordered off the Internet. Then we’d go to the clubs and get tied to iron crosses and publicly flogged amid puffing fog machines. After the clubs closed at two a.m. we’d go into a twenty-four-hour diner called Zippy’s, invariably get called “witches” by some confused late-night patrons, wash off our makeup in the bathroom, and sleep for a few hours in my parents’ car. Since I was also on my school’s competitive outrigger canoe paddling team, the next morning I would have to peel off the vinyl ball gown and paddle in the open ocean for two hours as dolphins leapt majestically next to our boat. Hawai’i is an interesting place to grow up. ~ Caitlin Doughty
424:Alas, it was in vain that I implored the dungeon-keep of Roussainville, that I begged it to send out to meet me some daughter of its village, appealing to it as to the sole confidant to whom I had disclosed my earliest desire when, from the top floor of our house at Combray, from the little room that smelt of orris-root, I had peered out and seen nothing but its tower, framed in the square of the half-opened window, while, with the heroic scruples of a traveller setting forth for unknown climes, or of a desperate wretch hesitating on the verge of self-destruction, faint with emotion, I explored, across the bounds of my own experience, an untrodden path which, I believed, might lead me to my death, even—until passion spent itself and left me shuddering among the sprays of flowering currant which, creeping in through the window, tumbled all about my body. In vain I called upon it now. In vain I compressed the whole landscape into my field of vision, draining it with an exhaustive gaze which sought to extract from it a female creature. ~ Marcel Proust
425:When man's thoughts rise upon the wings of aspiration, when he pushes back the darkness with the strength of reason and logic, then indeed the builder is liberated from his dungeon and the light pours in, bathing him with life and power. This light enables us to seek more clearly the mystery of creation and to find with greater certainty our place in the Great Plan, for as man unfolds his bodies he gains talents with which he can explore the mysteries of Nature and search for the hidden workings of the Divine. Through these powers the Builder is liberated and his consciousness goes forth conquering and to conquer. These higher ideals, these spiritual concepts, these altruistic, philanthropic, educative applications of thought power glorify the Builder; for they give the power of expression and those who can express themselves are free. When man can mold his thoughts, his emotions, and his actions into faithful expressions of his highest ideals then liberty is his, for ignorance is the darkness of Chaos and knowledge is the light of Cosmos.
   ~ Manly P Hall,
426:C’mon,” said Harry, and he led Hermione and Mrs. Cattermole to the door.
When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. Harry looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.
“It’s been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families,” Harry told the waiting Muggle-borns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. “Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That’s the--er--new official position. Now, if you’ll just follow the Patronuses, you’ll be able to leave from the Atrium.”
They managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Harry started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with a silver stag, an otter soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggle-borns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention. ~ J K Rowling
427:With the rise of the state all of this was swept away.
For the past five or six millenia, nine-tenths of all the people who ever lived did so as peasants or as members of some other servile caste or class.
With the rise of the state, ordinary men seeking to use nature's bounty had to get someone else's permission and had to pay for it with taxes,
tribute or extra labor. The weapons and techniques of war and organized aggression were taken
away from them and turned over to specialist-soldiers and policemen controlled by military, religious, and civil bureaucrats. For the first time there appeared on earth kings, dictators, high
priests, emperors, prime ministers, presidents, governors, mayors,
generals, admirals, police chiefs, judges, lawyers, and jailers, along
with dungeons, jails, penitentiaries, and concentration camps. Under
the tutelage of the state, human beings learned for the first time
how to bow, grovel, kneel, and kowtow. In many ways the rise of the
state was the descent of the world from freedom to slavery. ~ Marvin Harris
428:And yet how much more human is the dangerous insecurity that drives those prisoners in Poe’s stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their cells. We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares have been set around us, and there is nothing that should frighten or upset us. We have been put into life as into the element we most accord with, and we have, moreover, through thousands of years of adaptation, come to resemble this life so greatly that when we hold still, through a fortunate mimicry we can hardly be differentiated from everything around us. We have no reason to harbor any mistrust against our world, for it is not against us. If it has terrors, they are our terrors; if it has abysses, these abysses belong to us; if there are dangers, we must try to love them. And if only we arrange our life in accordance with the principle which tells us that we must always trust in the difficult, then what now appears to us as the most alien will become our most intimate and trusted experience. ~ Rainer Maria Rilke
429:Ernie strolled into the dungeon, carrying a shovel over his shoulder and whistling a bit of a happy tune under his breath. “Finished burying that sword, Mr. Haverstein, just like you asked me to, and there’ll be no finding it now, not with it being buried in the graveyard . . . Oh . . . hello, Miss Plum. I wasn’t expecting to find you down here in the, um, dungeon.” Ernie shot a glance to Bram, who only had a grimace to send him in return. Shifting the shovel to his other shoulder, Ernie blinked far too innocent eyes Lucetta’s way. “How goes the wedding plans?” “I’d rather discuss why you were burying the sword, and where this graveyard is, and exactly what, or who, is buried in it,” Lucetta returned. “I’ve always thought a wedding right around Christmas would be lovely,” Ernie continued as if Lucetta hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure Abigail and Iris would agree with you, Ernie, which is why I’m also sure they’re going to be incredibly disappointed to learn that there will be no wedding, at least not one that will ever see me married to your boss—Mr. Madman Haverstein.” Bram ~ Jen Turano
430:Pregnancy—we were taught, if we were privileged—was something awful that went with sex, just as AIDS and genital warts went with sex, unless you used condoms (and even then, be really careful). It was made clear that sexually transmitted diseases and teen pregnancy were simply not for us: We were to use birth control and go to college and if we somehow got pregnant too soon or with the wrong guy, we were to abort. There was no mention of the possibility that we might want to get pregnant too late. From the minute the dragon of our fertility came on the scene, we learned to chain it up and forget about it. Fertility meant nothing to us in our twenties; it was something to be secured in the dungeon and left there to molder. In our early thirties, we remembered it existed and wondered if we should check on it, and then—abruptly, horrifyingly—it became urgent: Somebody find that dragon! It was time to rouse it, get it ready for action. But the beast had not grown stronger during the decades of hibernation. By the time we tried to wake it, the dragon was weakened, wizened. Old. ~ Ariel Levy
431:Come, Walk With Me
Come, walk with me,
There's only thee
To bless my spirit now We used to love on winter nights
To wander through the snow;
Can we not woo back old delights?
The clouds rush dark and wild
They fleck with shade our mountain heights
The same as long ago
And on the horizon rest at last
In looming masses piled;
While moonbeams flash and fly so fast
We scarce can say they smiled Come walk with me, come walk with me;
We were not once so few
But Death has stolen our company
As sunshine steals the dew He took them one by one and we
Are left the only two;
So closer would my feelings twine
Because they have no stay but thine 'Nay call me not - it may not be
Is human love so true?
Can Friendship's flower droop on for years
And then revive anew?
No, though the soil be wet with tears,
How fair soe'er it grew
The vital sap once perished
Will never flow again
And surer than that dwelling dread,
The narrow dungeon of the dead
Time parts the hearts of men -'
~ Emily Jane Brontë
432:The only mode which is employed to repress this violence, and to maintain the order and peace of society, is punishment. Whips, axes and gibbets, dungeons, chains and racks are the most approved and established methods of persuading men to obedience, and impressing upon their minds the lessons of reason. There are few subjects upon which human ingenuity has been more fully displayed than in inventing instruments of torture. The lash of the whip a thousand times repeated and flagrant on the back of the defenceless victim, the bastinado on the soles of the feet, the dislocation of limbs, the fracture of bones, the faggot and the stake, the cross, impaling, and the mode of drifting pirates on the Volga, make but a small part of the catalogue. When Damiens, the maniac, was arraigned for his abortive attempt on the life of Louis XV of France, a council of anatomists was summoned to deliberate how a human being might be destroyed with the longest protracted and most diversified agony. Hundreds of victims are annually sacrificed at the shrine of positive law and political institution. ~ William Godwin
433:Looking down these dreary passages, the dull repose and quiet that prevails, is awful. Occasionally, there is a drowsy sound from some lone weaver’s shuttle, or shoemaker’s last, but it is stifled by the thick walls and heavy dungeon-door, and only serves to make the general stillness more profound. Over the head and face of every prisoner who comes into this melancholy house, a black hood is drawn; and in this dark shroud, an emblem of the curtain dropped between him and the living world, he is led to the cell from which he never again comes forth, until his whole term of imprisonment has expired….He is a man buried alive; to be dug out in the slow round of years….

And though he lives to be in the same cell ten weary years, he has no means of knowing, down to the very last hour, in what part of the building it is situated; what kind of men there are about him; whether in the long winter night there are living people near, or he is in some lonely corner of the great jail, with walls, and passages, and iron doors between him and the nearest sharer in its solitary horrors. ~ Charles Dickens
434:Sunset
From this windy bridge at rest,
In some former curious hour,
We have watched the city's hue,
All along the orange west,
Cupola and pointed tower,
Darken into solid blue.
Tho' the biting north wind breaks
Full across this drifted hold,
Let us stand with iced cheeks
Watching westward as of old;
Past the violet mountain-head
To the farthest fringe of pine,
Where far off the purple-red
Narrows to a dusky line,
And the last pale splendours die
Slowly from the olive sky;
Till the thin clouds wear away
Into threads of purple-gray,
And the sudden stars between
Brighten in the pallid green;
Till above the spacious east,
Slow returned one by one,
Like pale prisoners released
From the dungeons of the sun,
Capella and her train appear
In the glittering Charioteer;
Till the rounded moon shall grow
Great above the eastern snow,
Shining into burnished gold;
And the silver earth outrolled,
In the misty yellow light,
Shall take on the width of night.
156
~ Archibald Lampman
435:Jesus is worthy of our devotion and our thanks. Your Jesus is the One who rode into the depths of the darkest, most dangerous dungeon to rescue his true love. He is the One who will ride again on a white steed with fire in his eyes and a flaming sword in his hand. He has inscribed you into the palm of his nail-pierced hand. He knows your every thought, numbers your every hair, and cherishes your every tear. Jesus weeps for you and with you, longs for you, hopes for you, dreams of you, and rejoices over you with singing. He is the One who has battled all the forces of hell to free you and who battles still. Jesus is your knight in shining armor. He is the love you have been longing for. He is your dream come true. He is your hero. He is Aslan, the Lion of Judah, and the Lamb of God. He is the Prince of Peace, the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, the Mighty One. His name is like a kiss and an earthquake. His gaze is on you. He has pledged his love to you and betrothed you to him forever. He is unchangeable, and his love will never fail you. ~ Stasi Eldredge
436:Ballade Of Old Plays
LA COUR.
When these Old Plays were new, the King,
Beside the Cardinal's chair,
Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring,
The verses of Moliere;
Point-lace was then the only wear,
Old Corneille came to woo,
And bright Du Parc was young and fair,
When these Old Plays were new!
LA COMEDIE.
How shrill the butcher's cat-calls ring,
How loud the lackeys swear!
Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling,
At Brecourt, fuming there!
The Porter's stabbed! a Mousquetaire
Breaks in with noisy crew 'Twas all a commonplace affair
When these Old Plays were new!
LA VILLE.
When these Old Plays were new! They bring
A host of phantoms rare:
Old jests that float, old jibes that sting,
Old faces peaked with care:
Menage's smirk, de Vise's stare,
The thefts of Jean Ribou,-Ah, publishers were hard to bear
When these Old Plays were new.
ENVOY.
Ghosts, at your Poet's word ye dare
To break Death's dungeons through,
And frisk, as in that golden air,
When these Old Plays were new!
31
~ Andrew Lang
437:Yes, he had heard it all his life, but it was only now that his ears were opened to this sound that came from darkness, that could only come from darkness, that yet bore such sure witness to the glory of the light. And now in his moaning, and so far from any help, he heard it in himself--it rose from his bleeding, his cracked-open heart. It was a sound of rage and weeping which filled the grave, rage and weeping from time set free, but bound now in eternity; rage that had no language, weeping with no voice--which yet spoke now, to John's startled soul, of boundless melancholy, of the bitterest patience, and the longest night; of the deepest water, the strongest chains, the most cruel lash; of humility most wretched, the dungeon most absolute, of love's bed defiled, and birth dishonored, and most bloody, unspeakable, sudden death. Yes, the darkness hummed with murder: the body in the water, the body in the fire, the body on the tree. John looked down the line of these armies of darkness, army upon army, and his soul whispered: Who are these? Who are they? And wondered: Where shall I go? ~ James Baldwin
438:If you are a monster, stand up.
If you are a monster, a trickster, a fiend,
If you’ve built a steam-powered wishing machine
If you have a secret, a dark past, a scheme,
If you kidnap maidens or dabble in dreams
Come stand by me.

If you have been broken, stand up.
If you have been broken, abandoned, alone
If you have been starving, a creature of bone
If you live in a tower, a dungeon, a throne
If you weep for wanting, to be held, to be known,
Come stand by me.

If you are a savage, stand up.
If you are a witch, a dark queen, a black knight,
If you are a mummer, a pixie, a sprite,
If you are a pirate, a tomcat, a wright,
If you swear by the moon and you fight the hard fight,
Come stand by me.

If you are a devil, stand up.
If you are a villain, a madman, a beast,
If you are a strowler, a prowler, a priest,
If you are a dragon come sit at our feast,
For we all have stripes, and we all have horns,
We all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns
And here in the dark is where new worlds are born.
Come stand by me. ~ Catherynne M Valente
439:The Palace

The Palace is not infinite.

The walls, the ramparts, the gardens, the labyrinths, the staircases, the terraces, the parapets, the doors, the galleries, the circular or rectangular patios, the cloisters, the intersections, the cisterns, the anterooms, the chambers, the alcoves, the libraries, the attics, the dungeons, the sealed cells and the vaults, are not less in quantity than the grains of sand in the Ganges, but their number has a limit. From the roofs, towards sunset, many people can make out the forges, the workshops, the stables, the boatyards and the huts of the slaves.

It is granted to no one to traverse more than an infinitesimal part of the palace. Some know only the cellars. We can take in some faces, some voices, some words, but what we perceive is of the feeblest. Feeble and precious at the same time. The date which the chisel engraves in the tablet, and which is recorded in the parochial registers, is later than our own death; we are already dead when nothing touches us, neither a word nor a yearning nor a memory. I know that I am not dead. ~ Jorge Luis Borges, The Book of Sand,
440:The liberty of man is not safe in the hands of any church. Wherever the Bible and sword are in partnership, man is a slave.
All laws for the purpose of making man worship God, are born of the same spirit that kindled the fires of the auto da fe, and lovingly built the dungeons of the Inquisition. All laws defining and punishing blasphemy -- making it a crime to give your honest ideas about the Bible, or to laugh at the ignorance of the ancient Jews, or to enjoy yourself on the Sabbath, or to give your opinion of Jehovah, were passed by impudent bigots, and should be at once repealed by honest men. An infinite God ought to be able to protect himself, without going in partnership with State Legislatures. Certainly he ought not so to act that laws become necessary to keep him from being laughed at. No one thinks of protecting Shakespeare from ridicule, by the threat of fine and imprisonment. It strikes me that God might write a book that would not necessarily excite the laughter of his children. In fact, I think it would be safe to say that a real God could produce a work that would excite the admiration of mankind. ~ Robert G Ingersoll
441:At the height of the witch craze the Duke of Brunswick invited two learned and famous Jesuits—both of whom believed in witchcraft and in torture as a means of eliciting a confession—to join him in the Brunswick dungeon to witness the torture of a woman accused of witchcraft. Suspecting that people will say anything to stop the pain, the duke told the woman on the rack that he had reasons to believe that the two men accompanying him were warlocks and that he wanted to know what she thought, instructing her torturers to jack up the pain a little more. The woman promptly “confessed” that she had seen both men turn themselves into goats, wolves, and other animals, that they had sexual relations with other witches, and that they had fathered many children with heads like toads and legs like spiders. “The Duke of Brunswick led his astounded friends away,” MacKay narrates. “This was convincing proof to both of them that thousands of persons had suffered unjustly; they knew their own innocence, and shuddered to think what their fate might have been if an enemy instead of a friend had put such a confession into the mouth of a criminal. ~ Michael Shermer
442:Where’s Ruby?” “She’s waiting for you down by the dungeon,” Iris said. Bram tilted his head. “Is she still refusing to acknowledge that I’m her brother?” “Goodness no,” Iris said. “Ruby’s never been one to hold a grudge, and she wasn’t that determined to become acquainted with Mr. Grimstone in the first place. It was just a poorly thought-out plan of hers to get back at Geoffrey Jensen, but . . . she’s since moved on, or at least that’s what she told me.” “What do you mean she’s moved on?” Mr. Skukman asked, stepping forward and looking rather frightening as his face darkened. Iris, Bram noticed, didn’t seem intimidated by the man at all as she arched a brow Mr. Skukman’s way. “My mother and I took Ruby to a few society events while we were still in the city, and . . . well, I’m not exactly certain what happened, but Ruby has since decided she does not care for society gentlemen much at all, but prefers the more strong and . . . silent type.” Mr. Skukman blinked, blinked again, smiled, and then headed immediately through the door that led down to the dungeon. “I didn’t know he knew how to smile,” Abigail said to no one in particular. Leaving ~ Jen Turano
443:We actually build castles all the time, out of our jobs and our families and the things we've purchased. Sometimes we even make them out of each other. Some of these castles are impressive too. Lots of people come to admire what we've built over the course of our lives and tell us what great castles we have. But Jesus told His friends we weren't supposed to spend our lives building castles. He said He wanted us to build a kingdom, and there's a big difference between building a castle and building a kingdom.

You see, castles have moats to keep creepy people out, but kingdoms have bridges to let everyone in. Castles have dungeons for people who have messed up, and kingdoms have grace. There's one last thing castles have–trolls. You've probably met a couple. I have too. Trolls aren't bad people; they're just people I don't really understand. Here's the deal: it's how we treat the trolls in our lives that will let us know how far along we are in our faith. It we want a kingdom, then we start the way grace did, by drawing a circle around everyone and saying they're in. Kingdoms are built from the people up. There's no set of plans-just Jesus. ~ Bob Goff
444:Athena
Force of reason, who shut up the shrill
foul Furies in the dungeon of the Parthenon,
led whimpering to the cave they live in still,
beneath the rock your city foundered on:
who, equivocating, taught revenge to sing
(or seem to, or be about to) a kindlier tune:
mind that can make a scheme of anything—
a game, a grid, a system, a mere folder
in the universal file drawer: uncompromising
mediatrix, virgin married to the welfare
of the body politic: deific contradiction,
warbonnet-wearing olive-bearer, author
of the law's delays, you who as talisman
and totem still wear the aegis, baleful
with Medusa's scowl (though shrunken
and self-mummified, a Gorgon still): cool
guarantor of the averted look, the guide
of Perseus, who killed and could not kill
the thing he'd hounded to its source, the dread
thing-in-itself none can elude, whose counterfeit we halfway hanker for: aware (gone mad
with clarity) we have invented all you stand for,
though we despise the artifice—a space to savor
horror, to pre-enact our own undoing in—
living, we stare into the mirror of the Gorgon.
~ Amy Clampitt
445:It is in vain that they oppose OPINION; anything else they may subdue. They may conquer wind, water, nature itself; but to the progress of that secret, subtle, pervading spirit, their imagination can devise, their strength can accomplish, no bar: its votaries they may seize, they may destroy; itself they cannot touch. If they check it in one place, it invades them in another. They cannot build a wall across the whole earth; and, even if they could, it would pass over its summit! Chains cannot bind it, for it is immaterial — dungeons enclose it, for it is universal. Over the faggot and the scaffold — over the bleeding bodies of its defenders which they pile against its path, it sweeps on with a noiseless but unceasing march. Do they levy armies against it, it presents to them no palpable object to oppose. Its camp is the universe; its asylum is the bosoms of their own soldiers. Let them depopulate, destroy as they please, to each extremity of the earth; but as long as they have a single supporter themselves — as long as they leave a single individual into whom that spirit can enter — so long they will have the same labours to encounter, and the same enemy to subdue. ~ Edward Bulwer Lytton
446:Let Us Play Yesterday
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Let Us play Yesterday—
I—the Girl at school—
You—and Eternity—the
Untold Tale—
Easing my famine
At my Lexicon—
Logarithm—had I—for Drink—
'Twas a dry Wine—
Somewhat different—must be—
Dreams tint the Sleep—
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind—leap—
Still at the Egg-life—
Chafing the Shell—
When you troubled the Ellipse—
And the Bird fell—
Manacles be dim—they say—
To the new Free—
Liberty—Commoner—
Never could—to me—
'Twas my last gratitude
When I slept—at night—
'Twas the first Miracle
Let in—with Light—
Can the Lark resume the Shell—
Easier—for the Sky—
Wouldn't Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?
Wouldn't Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man—free—
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Just long enough to taste—
Then—doomed new—
God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—
~ Emily Dickinson
447:The Future Verdict
How will our unborn children scoff at us
In the good years to come,
The happier ears to come,
Because, like driven sheep, we yielded thus,
Before the shearers dumb.
What are the words their wiser lips will say?
'These men had gained the light;
'These women knew the right;
'They had their chance, and let it slip away.
'They did not, when they might.
'They were the first to hear the gospel preached,
'And to believe therein;
'Yet they remained in sin.
'They saw the promised land they might have reached,
'And dared not enter in.
'They might have won their freedom, had they tried;
'No savage laws forbade;
'For them the way was made.
'They might have had the joys for which they cried
'And yet they shrank, afraid.
'Afraid to face - the martyr's rack and flame?
'The traitor's dungeon? Nay 'Of what their world would say 'The smile, the joke, the thinnest ghost of blame!
'Lord! Lord! What fools were they!'
And we - no longer actors of the stage
We cumber now - maybe
With other eyes shall see
This wasted chance, and with celestial rage
Cry 'O what fools were we!'
~ Ada Cambridge
448:If there is one thought with regard to the church of Christ, which at times comes to me with overwhelming sorrow; if there is one thought in regard to my own life, of which I am ashamed; if there is one thought, which I feel that the church of Christ has not accepted or grasped; if there is one thought, which makes me pray to God, “Oh, God, teach us, by Your grace, new things” – it is the wonderful power that prayer is meant to have in the kingdom. We have so little availed ourselves of it. We have all read the expression of Christian in Bunyan’s great work, Pilgrim’s Progress, when he realized that he had the key that would unlock the dungeon. (Bunyan’s book used to be read by nearly all Christians and should still be read by Christians today.) We have the key that can unlock the spiritual dungeons of London and New York and Chicago and Washington, D.C. and of all heathendom. But, we are far more occupied with our work than we are with prayer. We believe more in speaking to men than we believe in speaking to God. Doesn’t this convict us when we are too busy to pray or rush through prayer in order to get on with our work or are so caught up with work that we never sit at the feet of Jesus? ~ Andrew Murray
449:Remembering that only a few years ago men, women, and even children, were imprisoned, tortured and burned, for having expressed in an exceedingly mild and gentle way, the ideas entertained by me, I congratulate myself that calumny is now the pulpit's last resort. The old instruments of torture are kept only to gratify curiosity; the chains are rusting away, and the demolition of time has allowed even the dungeons of the Inquisition to be visited by light. The church, impotent and malicious, regrets, not the abuse, but the loss of her power, and seeks to hold by falsehood what she gained by cruelty and force, by fire and fear. Christianity cannot live in peace with any other form of faith. If that religion be true, there is but one savior, one inspired book, and but one little narrow grass-grown path that leads to heaven. Such a religion is necessarily uncompromising, unreasoning, aggressive and insolent. Christianity has held all other creeds and forms in infinite contempt, divided the world into enemies and friends, and verified the awful declaration of its founder—a declaration that wet with blood the sword he came to bring, and made the horizon of a thousand years lurid with the fagots' flames. ~ Robert G Ingersoll
450:Ah, yes, the "unalienable rights." Each year someone quotes that magnificent poetry. Life? What "right" to life has a man who is drowning in the Pacific? The ocean will not hearken to his cries. What "right" to life has a man who must die if he is to save his children? If he chooses to save his own life, does he do so as a matter of "right"? If two men are starving and cannibalism is the only alternative to death, which man's right is "unalienable"? And is it "right"? As to liberty, the heroes who signed the great document pledged themselves to buy liberty with their lives. Liberty is never unalienable; it must be redeemed regularly with the blood of patriots or it always vanishes. Of all the so-called natural human rights that have ever been invented, liberty is least likely to be cheap and is never free of cost. The third "right"? - the "pursuit of happiness"? It is indeed unalienable but it is not a right; it is simply a universal condition which tyrants cannot take away nor patriots restore. Cast me into a dungeon, burn me at the stake, crown me king of kings, I can "pursue happiness" as long as my brain lives - but neither gods nor saints, wise men nor subtle drugs, can insure that I will catch it. ~ Robert A Heinlein
451:In between lessons she talked about her friends at Court: what they liked, or said, or how they entertained. Pleasant, easy talk, meant to show all her friends in the best light; she did not, I realized, like politics or gossip. She never once mentioned the Marquise of Merindar.
In my turn I told her my history, bits at a time, but only if she asked. And ask she did. She listened soberly, wincing from time to time; one cold, blustery day I recounted how I had ended up in Baron Debegri’s dungeon, and my narrow escape therefrom.
At the end of that story she shuddered and asked, “How could you have lived through that and still be sane?”
“Am I sane?” I joked. “There are some who might argue.” Her reaction secretly cheered me, exactly like a ten-year-old who has managed to horrify her friends. It isn’t much of a claim to fame, but it’s all I have, I thought later as I stared down at the third fan I’d broken, and when--again--I’d forgotten which curtsy to make to which person under which circumstances.
The one thing I couldn’t talk about was that terrible day when Shevraeth brought me to face Galdran before the entire Court. I did not want to know if Nimiar had been there, and had looked at me, and had laughed. ~ Sherwood Smith
452:Koschei smiled. His pale lips sought hers, crushing her into a kiss like dying. She tasted sweetness there, as though he still kissed her with honey and sugar on his tongue. When he pulled away, his eyes shone.

"I don't care, Marya Morevna. Kiss him. Take him to your bed, and the vila, too, for all it matters to me. Do you understand me, wife? There need never be any rules between us. Let us be greedy together; let us hoard. Let us hit each other with birch branches and lock each other in dungeons; let us drink each other's blood in the night and betray each other in the sun. Let us lie and lust and take hundreds of lovers; let us dance until snow melts beneath us. Let us steal and eat until we grow fat and roll in the pleasures of life, clutching each other for purchase. Only leave me my death — let me hold this one thing sacred and unmolested and secret — and I will serve you a meal myself, served on a platter of all the world's bounty. Only do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me, and no empress will stand higher. Forget the girls in the factory. Be selfish and cruel and think nothing of them. I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I. I will have you in my hoard, Marya Morevna, my black mirror. ~ Catherynne M Valente
453:The Bible isn’t a cookbook—deviate from the recipe and the soufflé falls flat. It’s not an owner’s manual—with detailed and complicated step-by-step instructions for using your brand-new all-in-one photocopier/FAX machine/scanner/microwave/DVR/home security system. It’s not a legal contract—make sure you read the fine print and follow every word or get ready to be cast into the dungeon. It’s not a manual of assembly—leave out a few bolts and the entire jungle gym collapses on your three-year-old. When we open the Bible and read it, we are eavesdropping on an ancient spiritual journey. That journey was recorded over a thousand-year span of time, by different writers, with different personalities, at different times, under different circumstances, and for different reasons. In the Bible, we read of encounters with God by ancient peoples, in their times and places, asking their questions, and expressed in language and ideas familiar to them. Those encounters with God were, I believe, genuine, authentic, and real. But they were also ancient—and that explains why the Bible behaves the way it does. This kind of Bible—the Bible we have—just doesn’t work well as a point-by-point exhaustive and timelessly binding list of instructions about God and the life of faith. ~ Peter Enns
454:Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione’s hand had shot into the air. “I don’t know, sir,” said Harry. Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. “Tut, tut — fame clearly isn’t everything.” He ignored Hermione’s hand. “Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn’t have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter. “I don’t know, sir.” “Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys’, but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi? Snape was still ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand. “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. “I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her? ~ J K Rowling
455:Facts, however, are awkward things to disconcert, and they are obstinate. The author of this book has seen, with his own eyes, eight leagues distant from Brussels, — there are relics of the Middle Ages there which are attainable for everybody, — at the Abbey of Villers, the hole of the oubliettes, in the middle of the field which was formerly the courtyard of the cloister, and, on the banks of the Thil, four stone dungeons, half under ground, half under the water. They were in pace. Each of these dungeons has the remains of an iron door, a vault, and a grated opening which, on the outside, is two feet above the level of the river, and on the inside, six feet above the level of the ground. Four feet of river flow past along the outside wall. The ground is always soaked. The occupant of the in pace had this wet soil for his bed. In one of these dungeons, there is a fragment of an iron necklet riveted to the wall; in another, there can be seen a square box made of four slabs of granite, too short for a person to lie down in, too low for him to stand upright in. A human being was put inside, with a coverlid of stone on top. This exists. It can be seen. It can be touched. These in pace, these dungeons, these iron hinges, these necklets, that lofty peep-hole on a level with ~ Victor Hugo
456:Ballade Of Blind Love
Who have loved and ceased to love, forget
That ever they loved in their lives, they say;
Only remember the fever and fret,
And the pain of Love, that was all his pay;
All the delight of him passes away
From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met Too late did I love you, my love, and yet
I shall never forget till my dying day.
Too late were we 'ware of the secret net
That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray;
There were we taken and snared, Lisette,
In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie;
Help was there none in the wide world's fray,
Joy was there none in the gift and the debt;
Too late we knew it, too long regret I shall never forget till my dying day!
We must live our lives, though the sun be set,
Must meet in the masque where parts we play,
Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet;
Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay:
But while snows of winter or flowers of May
Are the sad year's shroud or coronet,
In the season of rose or of violet,
I shall never forget till my dying day!
ENVOY.
Queen, when the clay is my coverlet,
When I am dead, and when you are grey,
Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet,
'I shall never forget till my dying day!'
~ Andrew Lang
457:The Captive's Dream
Methought I saw him but I knew him not;
He was so changed from what he used to be,
There was no redness on his woe-worn cheek,
No sunny smile upon his ashy lips,
His hollow wandering eyes looked wild and fierce,
And grief was printed on his marble brow,
And O I thought he clasped his wasted hands,
And raised his haggard eyes to Heaven, and prayed
That he might die - I had no power to speak,
I thought I was allowed to see him thus;
And yet I might not speak one single word;
I might not even tell him that I lived
And that it might be possible if search were made,
To find out where I was and set me free,
O how I longed to clasp him to my heart,
Or but to hold his trembling hand in mine,
And speak one word of comfort to his mind,
I struggled wildly but it was in vain,
I could not rise from my dark dungeon floor,
And the dear name I vainly strove to speak,
Died in a voiceless whisper on my tongue,
Then I awoke, and lo it was a dream!
A dream? Alas it was reality!
For well I know wherever he may be
He mourns me thus - O heaven I could bear
My deadly fate with calmness if there were
No kindred hearts to bleed and break for me!
Alexandrina Zenobia
~ Anne Brontë
458:She looked suspiciously between Narian and me, and I went behind my desk, consciously mimicking what Cannan always did. I also wanted to put distance between myself and Nantilam, for her eyes seemed to pierce my flesh. Narian, on the other hand, went to stand directly in front of her.
“We weren’t expecting you,” he admonished boldly. Having grown up a member of a royal family, I winced, knowing if anyone had addressed my father, the King, in such a manner, great offense would have been taken, followed by great retribution.
“That much is apparent,” Nantilam responded, her words clipped. “I ask you once more, where is Rava?”
“In the dungeon.”
What?” Nantilam was shocked--of all the answers she might have postulated, this was the most outlandish. She dropped her riding gloves on the seat of an armchair before the fireplace, then crossed her arms, her icy expression suggesting that Narian and I might trade places with Rava if we did not have a good rationale.
“Narian, I grant you many privileges as the commander of my army, but imprisoning the shield maiden I have placed as your second is not among them.”
She was patronizing him, and he glared at her. “Unless I gravely misjudge you, Rava was never granted the privilege of arbitrarily torturing and murdering Hytanican citizens. ~ Cayla Kluver
459:I enjoyed perfect health of body, and tranquillity of mind; I did not feel the treachery or inconstancy of a friend, nor the injuries of a secret or open enemy.  I had no occasion of bribing, flattering, or pimping, to procure the favour of any great man, or of his minion; I wanted no fence against fraud or oppression: here was neither physician to destroy my body, nor lawyer to ruin my fortune; no informer to watch my words and actions, or forge accusations against me for hire: here were no gibers, censurers, backbiters, pickpockets, highwaymen, housebreakers, attorneys, bawds, buffoons, gamesters, politicians, wits, splenetics, tedious talkers, controvertists, ravishers, murderers, robbers, virtuosos; no leaders, or followers, of party and faction; no encouragers to vice, by seducement or examples; no dungeon, axes, gibbets, whipping-posts, or pillories; no cheating shopkeepers or mechanics; no pride, vanity, or affectation; no fops, bullies, drunkards, strolling whores, or poxes; no ranting, lewd, expensive wives; no stupid, proud pedants; no importunate, overbearing, quarrelsome, noisy, roaring, empty, conceited, swearing companions; no scoundrels raised from the dust upon the merit of their vices, or nobility thrown into it on account of their virtues; no lords, fiddlers, judges, or dancing-masters. ~ Jonathan Swift
460:Morfyd pulled out the only other chair and sat across from Annwyl. “I have heard much about your brother. It amazes me you still live.”
Annwyl began to eat the hearty stew, desperately trying not to think too hard about what kind of meat it contained.
“It amazes me as well. Daily.”
“But you saved many people. Released many from his dungeons.”
Annwyl shrugged silently as she wondered whether that was gristle she currently chewed on.
“No one else would challenge him. No man would step forward to face him,” Morfyd pushed.
“Well, he’s my brother. He used to set fire to my hair and throw knives at my head. Facing him in combat was inevitable.”
“But you lived under his roof until two years ago. We’ve all heard the stories about life on Garbhán Isle.”
“My brother had other concerns after my father died. He wanted to make sure everyone feared him. He didn’t have time to worry about his bastard sister.”
“Why didn’t he marry you off? He could have forged an alliance with one of the bigger kingdoms.” Annwyl briefly thought of Lord Hamish of Madron Province and how close she came to being his bride. The thought chilled her.
“He tried. But the nobles kept changing their minds.”
“And did you help them with that?”
She held up her thumb and forefinger, a little bit apart.
“Just a little. ~ G A Aiken
461:Most of the garden was devoted to the usual things- lettuces, onions, cabbage, and eggplant- ordinary ingredients for good, honest meals. But then there were the chef's other plants, the ones that made the cooks cross themselves and kiss their thumbnails whenever they were forced to handle them.
Take love apples, to start with. Their poisonous reputation was as well known as that of hemlock, and the cooks protested loudly the day the chef put in his seedlings. What if their roots contaminated the onions? What if their fumes caused swoons or fits? What if the odd, tangy smell of their leaves attracted disgruntled ghosts from the nearby dungeons? It took repeated assurances, the installation of a wire enclosure, and the fact that nothing catastrophic followed their planting to keep the staff from uprooting the love apples behind the chef's back. Even so, one cook quit, and another developed a twitchy eye and started nipping at the cooking sherry.
After the love apples, the chef put in beans- another rarity from the New World- and then potatoes. Once, he tried something he called maize, but the plants failed, so instead he bought sacks of dried maize from an unknown source. In a giant stone mortar, he ground the dried maize down to a coarse yellow meal from which he made one of his exotic specialties- polenta. ~ Elle Newmark
462:It is clear enough why both major propaganda systems insist upon this fantasy. Since its origins, the Soviet State has attempted to harness the energies of its own population and oppressed people elsewhere in the service of the men who took advantage of the popular ferment in Russia in 1917 to seize State power. One major ideological weapon employed to this end has been the claim that the State managers are leading their own society and the world towards the socialist ideal; an impossibility, as any socialist — surely any serious Marxist — should have understood at once (many did), and a lie of mammoth proportions as history has revealed since the earliest days of the Bolshevik regime. The taskmasters have attempted to gain legitimacy and support by exploiting the aura of socialist ideals and the respect that is rightly accorded them, to conceal their own ritual practice as they destroyed every vestige of socialism.

As for the world’s second major propaganda system, association of socialism with the Soviet Union and its clients serves as a powerful ideological weapon to enforce conformity and obedience to the State capitalist institutions, to ensure that the necessity to rent oneself to the owners and managers of these institutions will be regarded as virtually a natural law, the only alternative to the ‘socialist’ dungeon. ~ Noam Chomsky
463:I have rules,” she said to him. He stilled his pen, raised expressionless eyes to her face, and waited. “When you bring me an old servant who’s come willingly where the king’s men have bidden him, a man who’s never been convicted, or even accused, of a crime,” Fire said, “I will not take his mind. I’ll sit before him and ask questions, and if my presence makes him more talkative, very well. But I will not compel him to say things he would otherwise not have said. Nor,” she added, voice rising, “will I take the mind of a person who’s been fed too little, or denied medicines, or beaten in your jails. I won’t manipulate a prisoner you’ve mistreated.” Garan sat back and crossed his arms. “That’s rich, isn’t it? Your own manipulation is mistreatment; you’ve said it yourself.” “Yes, but mine is meant to be for good reason. Yours is not.” “It’s not my mistreatment. I don’t give the orders down there, I’ve no idea what goes on.” “If you want me to question them, you’d best find out.” To Garan’s credit, the treatment of Dellian prisoners did change after that. One particularly laconic man, after a session in which Fire learned positively nothing, thanked her for it specifically. “Best dungeons I ever been in,” he said, chewing on a toothpick. “Wonderful,” Garan grumbled when he’d gone. “We’ll grow a reputation for our kindness to lawbreakers. ~ Kristin Cashore
464:This is going to break your grandmother’s heart,” she finally said, lifting up a heavy chain that had spikes attached to the end of it. “I have no idea how I’m going to divulge to her that you, her treasured grandson, are nothing more than some . . . crazed lunatic.” “That’s a bit harsh, and all of this”—he gestured around the room—“is not exactly what it seems.” “It’s not a dungeon filled with every type of torture device devised in the last five hundred years?” “I think the oldest I’ve managed to find is three hundred years old, and . . .” “You’re not helping your case, Mr. Haverstein,” Tilda called out to him. “Uh yes, probably not.” “I’m confused about the railroad tie Stanley’s attached to,” Lucetta tossed at him, causing him to blink at the rapid change of topics. “Uh . . .” he began. “It’s not that confusing, Miss Plum,” Stanley said, speaking up when Bram continued floundering. “I’m trying to see how long it takes to get freed from being shackled to a railroad track with only a hairpin to get undone.” “Why would anyone need to know that?” “Well, it might come in handy if, well . . . hmm . . . That is a difficult question to answer,” Stanley said as he sent Lucetta a rather strained smile. “May I assume you have a reason for practicing such a thing?” Lucetta pressed. “Uh . . .” was all Stanley seemed capable of replying, which had Lucetta marching right up to him. “What ~ Jen Turano
465:To understand Bashō’s place in Japanese poetry, it’s useful to have some sense of the literary culture he entered. The practice of the fine arts had been central to Japanese life from at least the seventh century, and virtually all educated people painted, played musical instruments, and wrote poems. In 17th century Japan, linked-verse writing was as widespread and popular as card games or Scrabble in mid-20th-century America. A certain amount of rice wine was often involved, and so another useful comparison might be made to playing pool or darts at a local bar. The closest analogy, though, can be found in certain areas of online life today. As with Dungeons and Dragons a few years ago, or Worlds of War and Second Life today, linked verse brought its practitioners into an interactive community that was continually and rapidly evolving. Hovering somewhere between art-form and competition, renga writing provided both a party and a playing field in which intelligence, knowledge, and ingenuity might be put to the test. Add to this mix some of street rap’s boundary-pushing language, and, finally, the video images of You-Tube. Now imagine the possibility that a “high art” form of very brief films might emerge from You-Tube, primarily out of one extraordinarily talented young film-maker’s creations and influence. In the realm of 17th-century Japanese haiku, that person was Basho. ~ Jane Hirshfield
466:Mastema shook his head, then said, “What of the Sons of Rapha? Are they not an elite squad of assassins?” “Disbanded by the Lord of Gath,” said Ba’alzebul with an angry look at Dagon. “Achish is protecting David because he is using him in raids against the Israelites in the Negeb.” Dagon added, “The entire court of archangels sought to bind us at Gath, so we cannot return there.” It didn’t take Mastema any time to think of it. He already knew the answer. “Morons. Since David’s rise to power is forestalled until Saul’s fall, and David is now in Achish’s confidence, the answer is obvious. Get Achish to fight against Saul with David helping him. Have Achish withdraw his forces from David in the battlefield. He will be killed by Saul’s soldiers, and you kill Saul. The line of messiah Seed will die, and you can rename all of Israel ‘Palestine.’” Palestine was the Latin pronunciation of Philistia. Asherah added with a smirk, “Crushed by the mouth of the Serpent.” That drew Mastema’s attention with a return smirk and nod. He said, “Well, you are not all buffoons.” Ba’alzebul’s face went flush with offense. Dagon grinned. Mastema added, “But beware, my divine imbeciles. The heavenly host will show up in full force. So you had better all be there, and you had better be in top form, or you will find yourself in a certain underworld dungeon that starts with a “T” and rhymes with Tartarus. ~ Brian Godawa
467:Well, the black man has functioned in the white man's world as a fixed star, as an immovable pillar: and as he moves out of his place, heaven and earth are shaken to their foundations. You, don't be afraid. I said that it was intended that you should perish in the ghetto, perish by never being allowed to go behind the white man's definitions, by never being allowed to spell your proper name. You have, and many of us have, defeated this intention; and, by a terrible law, a terrible paradox, those innocents who believed that your imprisonment made them safe are losing their grasp of reality. But these men are your brothers - your lost, younger brothers. And if the word integration means anything, this is what it means: that we, with love, shall force our brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it. For this is your home, my friend, do not be driven from it; great men have done great things here, and will again, and we can make America what America must become. It will be hard, James, but you come from sturdy, peasant stock, men who picked cotton and damned rivers and built railroads, and, in the teeth of the most terrifying odds, achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity. You come from a long line of great poets, some of the greatest poets since Homer. One of them said, The very time I thought I was lost, My dungeon shook and my chains fell off. ~ James Baldwin
468:All God seems to be known for is legalism, rules, judgments, commands and wrath. In fact, Jesus calls us to live a life of unimaginable adventure. It begins the moment we choose to follow Him. It is no less than to pass from existence to life. Though we are not taken out of time and space, we are translated into an entirely different dimension of living. Jesus tells us that He is the portal into this life and the quest that follows. Jesus describes Himself as a door, a gate, a portal. In other words, an escape hatch. He has come to free us from a meaningless existence and liberate us to a life filled with adventure. He has come to lead us out of the mundane and into the extraordinary. Strangely enough we find it hard to trust Him, while all the time He has been trying to lead us out of the dark dungeons we have created for ourselves and let us run free in the light of day. When we come to Him, he translates us into an entirely new realm of living. His promise is that in Him we will find the life that our hearts have always longed for. Jesus was crucified as a criminal, but what His accusers didn’t know was that He was planning and fulfilling history’s most extraordinary prison break. When we open our lives to Him, we can live our lives wide open. We are translated from one reality into another. We are now forever in relationship with the One who is the source of love, life, and freedom. Everything ~ Erwin Raphael McManus
469:When today Oskar, lying or sitting in his hospital bed but in either case drumming, revisits Arsenal Passage and the Stockturm with the scribbles on its dungeon walls and its well-oiled instruments of torture, when once again he looks down on those three windows outside the lobby of the Stadt-Theater and thereafter returns to Arsenal Passage and Sigismund Markus' store, searching for the particulars of a day in September, he cannot help looking for Poland at the same time. How does he look for it? With his drumsticks. Does he also look for Poland with his soul? He looks for it with every organ of his being, but the soul is not an organ.
I look for the land of the Poles that is lost to the Germans, for the moment at least. Nowadays the Germans have started searching for Poland with credits, Leicas, and compasses, with radar, divining rods, delegations, and moth-eaten provincial students' associations in costume. Some carry Chopin in their hearts, others thoughts of revenge. Condemning the first four partitions of Poland, they are busily planning a fifth; in the meantime flying to Warsaw via Air France in order to deposit, with appropriate remorse, a wreath on the spot that was once the ghetto. One of these days they will go searching for Poland with rockets. I, meanwhile, conjure up Poland on my drum. And this is what I drum: Poland's lost, but not forever, all's lost, but not forever, Poland's not lost forever. ~ G nter Grass
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472:The Children's Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day's occupations,
That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair,
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:
Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away! ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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474:The North Wind
That wind is from the North, I know it well;
No other breeze could have so wild a swell.
Now deep and loud it thunders round my cell,
The faintly dies,
And softly sighs,
And moans and murmurs mournfully.
I know its language; thus is speaks to me -'I have passed over thy own mountains dear,
Thy northern mountains -- and they still are free,
Still lonely, wild, majestic, bleak and drear,
And stern and lovely, as they used to be
When thou, a young enthusiast,
As wild and free as they,
O'er rocks and glens and snowy heights
Didst often love to stray.
I've blown the wild untrodden snows
In whirling eddies from their brows,
And I have howled in caverns wild
Where thou, a joyous mountain child,
Didst dearly love to be.
The sweet world is not changed, but thou
Art pining in a dungeon now,
Where thou must ever be;
No voice but mine can reach thine ear,
And Heaven has kindly sent me here,
To mourn and sigh with thee,
And tell thee of the cherished land
Of thy nativity.'
Blow on, wild wind, thy solemn voice,
However sad and drear,
Is nothing to the gloomy silence
I have had to bear.
Hot tears are streaming from my eyes,
But these are better far
Than that dull gnawing tearless [time]
The stupor of despair.
111
Confined and hopeless as I am,
O speak of liberty,
O tell me of my mountain home,
And I will welcome thee.
Alexandrina Zenobia
~ Anne Brontë
475:Report went to the King that the mysterious attack on Chovilun was by mountain raiders,” he said.
“So my lord must have been right about those greens.” Flerac pulled thoughtfully at his thin mustache. Greens, I’d gathered, was their nickname for Galdran’s warriors.
“I’m just glad we didn’t have to kill them,” Snap put in, rolling her eyes. “Those two in the dungeon were sick as old oatmeal about being ordered to stand duty during torture. I can tell when someone’s haystacking, and they weren’t.”
“What happened?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. “I take it there was fighting when you people pulled me out of that Merindar fortress?”
They all turned to me, then to Nessaren, who said, “Some. We let some of them go, on oath they’d desert. There are plenty of greens who didn’t want to join, or wish they hadn’t.”
“What about that lumping snarlface of a Baron?” I kept my voice as casual as possible, wondering what all this meant. Was Shevraeth, or was he not, Debegri’s ally? “I hope he got trounced.”
“He ran.” Flerac’s lip curled. “Came out, found his two bodyguards down, got out through some secret passage while we were trying to get in through another door. Don’t think he saw any of us. Don’t know, though.”
Then they were no longer allies. What did that mean? Was Shevraeth trying to take Debegri’s place in Galdran’s favor?
“Report could be false,” Amol said soberly.
Nessaren nodded once. “Let’s pick up our feet, shall we?”
By which they meant it was time to ride faster. ~ Sherwood Smith
476:Every couple of months or so, some boundary breaking article comes out in a nationally published magazine. The article makes a big thesis statement about relationships. Like say how, women don’t need men anymore, or how if you’re a woman over thirty-five, you should just settle with whatever guy is half-way nice to you, or how monogamy is not feasible, or plausible, or enjoyable, for any human. And we should all be swingers, or a study is released that say’s, you don’t have to love your kids anymore or something. They’re the kind of articles that are e-mailed everywhere and I get them forwarded to me about eight times. I will read one of these articles and immediately afterward I’m so swept up in it, I can’t help but think Yes, Yes, that is one-hundred percent right. Finally! Someone has confirmed that little voice in the back of my mind that has always not loved my kids, or I’m so happy I’m that much closer to my swinging lifestyle I’ve always secretly been craving. I’m normal and now it’s a national discussion and others agree and I can feel normal now. But then, a week later I’m thinking, I hate this. I feel awful. This wretched little magazine article has helped convinced more open minded liberal arts graduates that, the nuclear family doesn’t exist without some hideous twist, like the dad is allowed to go to an S & M dungeon once a week or something. It makes me cry because it means that fewer and fewer people are believing it’s cool to want what I want, which is to be married and have kids and love each other in a monogamous, long-lasting relationship. ~ Mindy Kaling
477:A more vain and absurd animal than you was certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born, for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person’s strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered - you must have music, dancing, and society - or you languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day; share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes - include all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid regularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun; and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant moment: you have had to seek no one’s company, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to do. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you; then you will not want me or any one else, happen what may. Neglect it - go on as heretofore, craving, whining, and idling - and suffer the results of your idiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. ~ Charlotte Bront
478:Consolation
How agreeable it is not to be touring Italy this summer,
wandering her cities and ascending her torrid hilltowns.
How much better to cruise these local, familiar streets,
fully grasping the meaning of every roadsign and billboard
and all the sudden hand gestures of my compatriots.
There are no abbeys here, no crumbling frescoes or famous
domes and there is no need to memorize a succession
of kings or tour the dripping corners of a dungeon.
No need to stand around a sarcophagus, see Napoleon's
little bed on Elba, or view the bones of a saint under glass.
How much better to command the simple precinct of home
than be dwarfed by pillar, arch, and basilica.
Why hide my head in phrase books and wrinkled maps?
Why feed scenery into a hungry, one-eyes camera
eager to eat the world one monument at a time?
Instead of slouching in a café ignorant of the word for ice,
I will head down to the coffee shop and the waitress
known as Dot. I will slide into the flow of the morning
paper, all language barriers down,
rivers of idiom running freely, eggs over easy on the way.
And after breakfast, I will not have to find someone
willing to photograph me with my arm around the owner.
I will not puzzle over the bill or record in a journal
what I had to eat and how the sun came in the window.
It is enough to climb back into the car
as if it were the great car of English itself
and sounding my loud vernacular horn, speed off
down a road that will never lead to Rome, not even Bologna.
~ Billy Collins
479:So, what is it, woman?” She raised one delicate eyebrow and he felt as if she’d dug down into his very soul.
“I have word of Annwyl of the Dark Plains.”
Brastias stood quickly, grasping the woman by the arms; she stood almost as tall as he. “Tell me, witch. Where is she?”
She stared at him. “Remove your hands, or I’ll make sure you don’t have any.” Brastias took a deep breath and released her. “She is safe and alive. But she is healing. She won’t be back for another fortnight.”
Brastias heaved a sigh of overwhelming relief as he sat heavily in his chair. “Thank the gods. I thought we’d lost her.”
“You almost had. But the girl must have the gods smiling down on her.”
“Can I see her?”
The woman watched him carefully. “No. But I will get any messages you may have to her.”
“Give me a few moments, I need to write something.” He grabbed quill and paper and wrote Annwyl a brief-but-to-the-point letter. He folded it, affixed his seal, and handed it to the witch. “Give her this and my love.”
“You are her man then?” she asked cautiously.
Brastias laughed. He did like his head securely attached to his shoulders. Becoming Annwyl’s man risked that.
“Annwyl has no man because there is no man worthy of her. That includes me. So she has become the sister I lost many years ago in Lorcan’s dungeons.”
The woman nodded and walked back to the entrance of Brastias’s tent. She stopped before leaving. “She asks,” the witch spoke softly without turning around, “that you not lose hope.”
“As long as she lives, we won’t.”
Then she was gone. Brastias closed his eyes in relief. Annwyl wasn’t dead. His hope returned. ~ G A Aiken
480:Lines Inscribed On The Wall Of A Dungeon In The
Southern P Of I
Though not a breath can enter here,
I know the wind blows fresh and free;
I know the sun is shining clear,
Though not a gleam can visit me.
They thought while I in darkness lay,
'Twere pity that I should not know
How all the earth is smiling gay;
How fresh the vernal breezes blow.
They knew, such tidings to impart
Would pierce my weary spirit through,
And could they better read my heart,
They'd tell me, she was smiling too.
They need not, for I know it well,
Methinks I see her even now;
No sigh disturbs her bosom's swell,
No shade o'ercasts her angel brow.
Unmarred by grief her angel voice,
Whence sparkling wit, and wisdom flow:
And others in its sound rejoice,
And taste the joys I must not know,
Drink rapture from her soft dark eye,
And sunshine from her heavenly smile;
On wings of bliss their moments fly,
And I am pining here the while!
Oh! tell me, does she never give -To my distress a single sigh?
She smiles on them, but does she grieve
One moment, when they are not by?
When she beholds the sunny skies,
And feels the wind of heaven blow;
Has she no tear for him that lies
61
In dungeon gloom, so far below?
While others gladly round her press
And at her side their hours beguile,
Has she no sigh for his distress
Who cannot see a single smile
Nor hear one word nor read a line
That her beloved hand might write,
Who banished from her face must pine
Each day a long and lonely night?
Alexander April 1826
~ Anne Brontë
481:Sara,” she said, “do you think you can bear living here?”
Sara looked round also.
“If I pretend it’s quite different, I can,” she answered; “or if I pretend it is a place in a story.”
She spoke slowly. Her imagination was beginning to work for her. It had not worked for her at all since her troubles had come upon her. She had felt as if it had been stunned.
“Other people have lived in worse places. Think of the Count of Monte Cristo in the dungeons of the Château d’If. And think of the people in the Bastille!”
“The Bastille,” half whispered Ermengarde, watching her and beginning to be fascinated. She remembered stories of the French Revolution which Sara had been able to fix in her mind by her dramatic relation of them. No one but Sara could have done it.
A well-known glow came into Sara’s eyes.
“Yes,” she said, hugging her knees, “that will be a good place to pretend about. I am a prisoner in the Bastille. I have been here for years and years--and years; and everybody has forgotten about me. Miss Minchin is the jailer--and Beck”--a sudden light adding itself to the glow in her eyes--“Becky is the prisoner in the next cell.”
She turned to Ermengarde, looking quite like the old Sara.
“I shall pretend that,” she said; “and it will be a great comfort.”
Ermengarde was at once enraptured and awed.
“And will you tell me all about it?” she said. “May I creep up here at night, whenever it is safe, and hear the things you have made up in the day? It will seem as if we were more ‘best friends’ than ever.”
“Yes,” answered Sara, nodding. “Adversity tries people, and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are. ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett
482:The Poet
THEY tell you the poet is useless and empty the sound of his lyre,
That science has made him a phantom, and thinned to a shadow his fire:
Yet reformer has never demolished a dungeon or den of the foe
But the flame of the soul of a poet pulsated in every blow.
They tell you he hinders with tinklings, with gags from an obsolete stage,
The dramas of deed and the worship of Laws in a practical age:
But the deeds of to-day are the children of magical dreams he has sung,
And the Laws are ineffable Fires that from niggardly heaven he wrung!
The bosoms of women he sang of are heaving to-day in our maids:
The God that he drew from the Silence our woes or our weariness aids:
Not a maxim has needled through Time, but a poet had feathered its shaft,
Not a law is a boon to the people but he has dictated its draft.
And why do we fight for our fellows? For Liberty why do we long?
Because with the core of our nerve-cells are woven the lightnings of song!
For the poet for ages illumined the animal dreams of our sires,
And his Thought-Become-Flesh is the matrix of all our unselfish desires!
Yea, why are we fain for the Beautiful? Why should we die for the Right?
Because through the forested æons, in spite of the priests of the Night,
Undeterred by the faggot or cross, uncorrupted by glory or gold,
To our mothers the poet his Vision of Goodness and Beauty has told.
When, comrades, we thrill to the message of speaker in highway or hall,
The voice of the poet is reaching the silenter poet in all:
And again, as of old, when the flames are to leap up the turrets of Wrong,
Shall the torch of the New Revolution be lit from the words of a Song
~ Bernard O'Dowd
483:De Profundis
Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.
Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought
Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought
New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught.
We built us joyful cities, strong and fair,
Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare.
And all this time you laughed upon our care,
And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong,
Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song,
The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong.
Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
And our few happy days of little worth.
Even if it be not all a dream in vain
—The ancient hope that still will rise again—
Of a just God that cares for earthly pain,
Yet far away beyond our labouring night,
He wanders in the depths of endless light,
Singing alone his musics of delight;
Only the far, spent echo of his song
Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along,
And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong.
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel;
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.
26
Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
Shall we change these for thy relentless might?
Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth—
Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.
~ Clive Staples Lewis
484:Miss Rebecca Vaughn,” Eliza says, as if to formally present me to Alex. I walk into some kind of parlor, trying to hold my head up high and act as if I’m not at all nervous. I half-heartedly hope Eliza will stay inside the room but she doesn’t; she steps aside and lets me enter.
I walk to a high-backed brocade chair with gilded arms and legs across from the big sofa Alex is occupying and sit down. I cross my ankles and carefully spread out my skirts as if it’s the most important thing in the world and requires every ounce of concentration. Victoria would be proud.
“Where is she?” His voice comes out firm, demanding.
Wow. So much for stalling. I bite my lip. “Who?”
“Do not play games,” he says.
I study my hands as they wring in my lap. I can play dumb, I can postpone this, or I can just tell him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“With Trent Rallsmouth,” I say, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.
His eyes fly open and he sits up straighter.
“The boy from the dance? Where?”
Oh God. He does not look happy. “The gardener’s cottage on the eastern edge of Harksbury.”
Alex stands like he’s the incredible hulk--so quickly I’m surprised the whole sofa doesn’t fly back and crash into the wall.
Oh God, this was so stupid; he’s going to kill me.
Or throw me in that dungeon I’m still convinced he has…
“Please tell me they have a proper chaperone,” he says.
I purse my lips and shake my head.
He sighs, a great drag of irritation, and crosses his arms at his chest. It makes his chest bulge with muscle, and I try to focus on the fact that he seems like he could wring my neck and not on the way he looks today.
Which, seriously, is pretty hot. His face is flushed in anger, which brings out his dark eyes…
Focus. ~ Mandy Hubbard
485:This is the crime of which I accuse my country and my countrymen, and for which neither I nor time nor history will ever forgive them, that they have destroyed and are destroying hundreds of thousands of lives and do not know it and do not want to know it. . . . It is their innocence which constitutes the crime. . . . This innocent country set you down in a ghetto in which, in fact, it intended that you should perish. The limits of your ambition were, thus, expected to be set forever. You were born into a society which spelled out with brutal clarity, and in as many ways as possible, that you were a worthless human being. You were not expected to aspire to excellence: you were expected to make peace with mediocrity. . . . You have, and many of us have, defeated this intention; and, by a terrible law, a terrible paradox, those innocents who believed that your imprisonment made them safe are losing their grasp on reality. But these men are your brothers—your lost, younger brothers. And if the word integration means anything, this is what it means: that we, with love, shall force our brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it. For this is your home, my friend, do not be driven from it; great men have done great things here, and will again, and we can make America what it must become. It will be hard, but you come from sturdy, peasant stock, men who picked cotton and dammed rivers and built railroads, and, in the teeth of the most terrifying odds, achieved an unassailable and monumental dignity. You come from a long line of great poets since Homer. One of them said, The very time I thought I was lost, My dungeon shook and my chains fell off. . . . We cannot be free until they are free. God bless you, and Godspeed. ~ Michelle Alexander
486:You,” she said, bending an icy eye on Elizabeth, “come with me. You have much to explain, madam, and you can do it while Faulkner attends to your appearance.”
“I am not,” Elizabeth said in a burst of frustrated anger, “going to think of my appearance at a time like this.”
The duchess’s brows shot into her hairline. “Have you come to persuade them that your husband is innocent?”
“Well, of course I have. I-“
“Then don’t shame him more than you already have! You look like a refugee from a dustbin in Bedlam. You’ll be lucky if they don’t hang you for putting them to all this trouble!” She started up the staircase with Elizabeth following slowly behind, listening to her tirade with only half her mind. “Now, if your misbegotten brother would do us the honor of showing himself, your husband might not have to spend the night in a dungeon, which is exactly where Jordan thinks he’s going to land if the prosecutors have their way.”
Elizabeth stopped on the third step. “Will you please listen to me for a moment-“ she began angrily.
“I’ll listen to you all the way to Westminster,” the dowager snapped back sarcastically. “I daresay all London will be eager to hear what you have to say for yourself in tomorrow’s paper!”
“For the love of God!” Elizabeth cried at her back, wondering madly to whom she could turn for speedier help. An hour was an eternity! “I have not come merely to show that I’m alive. I can prove that Robert is alive and that he came to no harm at Ian’s hands, and-“
The duchess lurched around and started down the staircase, her gaze searching Elizabeth’s face with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Faulkner!” she barked without turning, “bring whatever you need. You can attend Lady Thornton in the coach! ~ Judith McNaught
487:Dungeon Grates
So piteously the lonely soul of man
Shudders before this universal plan,
So grievous is the burden and the pain,
So heavy weighs the long, material chain
From cause to cause, too merciless for hate,
The nightmare march of unrelenting fate,
I think that he must die thereof unless
Ever and again across the dreariness
There came a sudden glimpse of spirit faces,
A fragrant breath to tell of flowery places
And wider oceans, breaking on the shore
From which the hearts of men are always sore.
It lies beyond endeavour; neither prayer
Nor fasting, nor much wisdom winneth there,
Seeing how many prophets and wise men
Have sought for it and still returned again
With hope undone. But only the strange power
Of unsought Beauty in some casual hour
Can build a bridge of light or sound or form
To lead you out of all this strife and storm;
When of some beauty we are grown a part
Till from its very glory’s midmost heart
Out leaps a sudden beam of larger light
Into our souls. All things are seen aright
Amid the blinding pillar of its gold,
Seven times more true than what for truth we hold
In vulgar hours. The miracle is done
And for one little moment we are one
With the eternal stream of loveliness
That flows so calm, aloft from all distress
Yet leaps and lives around us as a fire
Making us faint with overstrong desire
To sport and swim for ever in its deep—
Only a moment.
O! but we shall keep
Our vision still. One moment was enough,
We know we are not made of mortal stuff.
And we can bear all trials that come after,
The hate of men and the fool’s loud bestial laughter
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And Nature’s rule and cruelties unclean,
For we have seen the Glory—we have seen.
~ Clive Staples Lewis
488:A Little While, A Little While,
A little while, a little while,
The noisy crowd are barred away;
And I can sing and I can smile
A little while I've holyday !
Where wilt thou go my harassed heart ?
Full many a land invites thee now;
And places near, and far apart
Have rest for thee, my weary brow There is a spot 'mid barren hills
Where winter howls and driving rain
But if the dreary tempest chills
There is a light that warms again
The house is old, the trees are bare
And moonless bends the misty dome
But what on earth is half so dear So longed for as the hearth of home ?
The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The garden-walk with weeds o'ergrown
I love them - how I love them all !
Shall I go there? or shall I seek
Another clime, another sky,
Where tongues familiar music speak
In accents dear to memory ?
Yes, as I mused, the naked room,
The flickering firelight died away
And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright unclouded day A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side -
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A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed in air
And, deepening still the dreamlike charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere That was the scene - I knew it well
I knew the pathways far and near
That winding o'er each billowy swell
Marked out the tracks of wandering deer
Could I have lingered but an hour
It well had paid a week of toil
But truth has banished fancy's power
I hear my dungeon bars recoil Even as I stood with raptured eye
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear
My hour of rest had fleeted by
And given me back to weary care ~ Emily Jane Brontë
489:I only wanted books—nothing more—only books, only words, it was never anything but words—give them to me, I don’t have any! Look, see, I don’t have any! Look, I’m naked, barefoot, I’m standing before you—nothing in my pants pockets, nothing under my shirt or under my arm! They’re not stuck in my beard! Inside—look—there aren’t any inside either—everything’s been turned inside out, there’s nothing there! Only guts! I’m hungry! I’m tormented!...
What do you mean there’s nothing? Then how can you talk and cry, what words are you frightened with, which ones do you call out in your sleep? Don’t nighttime cries roam inside you, a thudding twilight murmur, a fresh morning shriek? There they are words—don’t you recognize them? They’re writhing inside you, trying to get out! There they are! They’re yours! From wood, stone, roots, growing in strength, a dull mooing and whining in the gut is trying to get out; a piece of tongue curls, the torn nostrils swell in torment. That’s how the bewitched, beaten, and twisted snuffle with a mangy wail, their boiled white eyes locked up in closets, their vein torn out, backbone gnawed; that’s right, that’s how your pushkin writhe, or mushkin—what is in my name for you?—pushkin-mushkin, flung upon the hillock like a shaggy black idol, forever flattened by fences, up to his ears in di, the pushkin-stump, legless, six-fingered, biting his tongue, nose in his chest—and his head can’t be raised!—pushkin, tearing off the poisoned shirt, ropes, chains, caftan, noose, that wooden heaviness: let me out, let me out! What is in my name for you? Why does the wind spin in the gully? How many roads must a man walk down? What do you want, old man? Why do you trouble me? My Lord, what is the matter? Ennui, oh, Nin! Grab the inks and cry! Open the dungeon wide! I’m here! I’m innocent! I’m with you! I’m with you! ~ Tatyana Tolstaya
490:I don’t know how long I had been sniffing and snorting there on my broken bunk (and I didn’t care who heard me) when I became aware of furtive little sounds from the corridor. Nothing loud--no more than a slight scrape--then a soft grunt of surprise.
I looked up, saw nothing in the darkness.
A voice whispered, “Countess?”
A voice I recognized. “Azmus!”
“It is I,” he whispered. “Quickly--before they figure out about the doors.”
“What?”
“I’ve been shadowing this place for two days, trying to figure a way in,” he said as he eased the door open. “There must be something going on. The outer door wasn’t locked tonight, and neither is this one.”
“Shevraeth,” I croaked.
“What?”
“Marquis of Shevraeth. Was here gloating at me. The guard must have expected him to lock it, since the grand Marquis sent the fellow away,” I muttered as I got shakily to my feet. “And he--being an aristocrat, and above mundane things--probably assumed the guard would lock it. Uh! Sorry, I just can’t walk--“
At once Azmus sprang to my side. Together we moved out of the corridor, me hating myself for not even thinking of trying the door--except, how could I have gotten anywhere on my own?
At the end of the corridor a long shape lay still on the ground. Unconscious or dead, I didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to check. I just hoped it wasn’t one of the nice guards.
Outside it was raining in earnest, which made visibility difficult for our enemies as well as for us. Azmus took a good grip on me, breathing into my ear: “Brace up--we’ll have to move fast.”
The trip across the courtyard was probably fifty paces or so, but it seemed fifty days’ travel to me. Every step was a misery, but I managed, heartened by the reflection that each step took me farther from that dungeon and--I hoped fervently--from the fate in store if Galdran got his claws into me again. ~ Sherwood Smith
491:Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you, was certainly never allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born; for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and with yourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fasten your feebleness on some other person’s strength: if no one can be found willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy, useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected, miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continual change and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you must be admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered—you must have music, dancing, and society—or you languish, you die away. Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independent of all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day; share it into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave no stray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes, include all; do each piece of business in its turn with method, with rigid regularity. The day will close almost before you are aware it has begun; and you are indebted to no one for helping you to get rid of one vacant moment; you have had to seek no one's company, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived, in short, as an independent being ought to do. Take this advice: the first and last I shall offer you...After my mother's death, I wash my hands of you; from the day her coffin is carried to the vault in Gateshead church, you and I will be as separate as if we had never known each other. You need not think that because we chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you to fasten me down by even the feeblest claim. I can tell you this--if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, and we two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old world, and betake myself to the new. ~ Charlotte Bront
492:February 21 MORNING “He hath said.” — Hebrews 13:5 IF we can only grasp these words by faith, we have an all-conquering weapon in our hand. What doubt will not be slain by this twoedged sword? What fear is there which shall not fall smitten with a deadly wound before this arrow from the bow of God’s covenant? Will not the distresses of life and the pangs of death; will not the corruptions within, and the snares without; will not the trials from above, and the temptations from beneath, all seem but light afflictions, when we can hide ourselves beneath the bulwark of “He hath said”? Yes; whether for delight in our quietude, or for strength in our conflict, “He hath said” must be our daily resort. And this may teach us the extreme value of searching the Scriptures. There may be a promise in the Word which would exactly fit your case, but you may not know of it, and therefore you miss its comfort. You are like prisoners in a dungeon, and there may be one key in the bunch which would unlock the door, and you might be free; but if you will not look for it, you may remain a prisoner still, though liberty is so near at hand. There may be a potent medicine in the great pharmacopoeia of Scripture, and you may yet continue sick unless you will examine and search the Scriptures to discover what “He hath said.” Should you not, besides reading the Bible, store your memories richly with the promises of God? You can recollect the sayings of great men; you treasure up the verses of renowned poets; ought you not to be profound in your knowledge of the words of God, so that you may be able to quote them readily when you would solve a difficulty, or overthrow a doubt? Since “He hath said” is the source of all wisdom, and the fountain of all comfort, let it dwell in you richly, as “A well of water, springing up unto everlasting life.” So shall you grow healthy, strong, and happy in the divine life. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
493:In the last week of April 2004, a handful of the Abu Ghraib photographs were broadcast on 60 minutes and published in The New Yorker, and within a couple of days they had been rebroadcast and republished pretty much everywhere on earth. Overnight, the human pyramid, the hooded man on the box, the young woman soldier with a prisoner on a leash, and the corpse packed in ice had become the defining images of the Iraq war...Never before had such primal dungeon scenes been so baldly captured on camera...But above all, it was the posing soldiers, mugging for their buddies' cameras while dominating the prisoners in trophy stances, that gave the photographs the sense of unruly and unmediated reality. The staging was part of the reality they documented. And the grins, the thumbs-up, the arms crossed over puffed-out chests—all this unseemly swagger and self-regard was the height of amateurism. These soldier-photographers stood, at once, inside and outside the events they recorded, watching themselves take part in the spectacle, and their decision not to conceal but to reveal what they were doing indicated that they were not just amateur photographers, but amateur torturers.
So the amateurism was not merely a formal dimension of the Abu Ghraib pictures. It was part of their content, part of what we saw in them, and it corresponded to an aspect of the Iraq War that troubled and baffled nearly everyone: the reckless and slapdash ineptitude with which it had been prosecuted. It was an amateur-run war, a murky and incoherent war. It was not clear why it was waged; too many reasons were given, none had held up, and the stories we invented to explain it to ourselves hardly seemed to matter, since once it was started the war had become its own engine—not a means to an end but an end in itself. What had been billed as a war of ideas and ideals had been exposed as a war of poses and posturing. ~ Philip Gourevitch
494:February 16 MORNING “I have learned, in whatever state I am, therewith to be content.” — Philippians 4:11 THESE words show us that contentment is not a natural propensity of man. “Ill weeds grow apace.” Covetousness, discontent, and murmuring are as natural to man as thorns are to the soil. We need not sow thistles and brambles; they come up naturally enough, because they are indigenous to earth: and so, we need not teach men to complain; they complain fast enough without any education. But the precious things of the earth must be cultivated. If we would have wheat, we must plough and sow; if we want flowers, there must be the garden, and all the gardener’s care. Now, contentment is one of the flowers of heaven, and if we would have it, it must be cultivated; it will not grow in us by nature; it is the new nature alone that can produce it, and even then we must be specially careful and watchful that we maintain and cultivate the grace which God has sown in us. Paul says, “I have learned . . . to be content;” as much as to say, he did not know how at one time. It cost him some pains to attain to the mystery of that great truth. No doubt he sometimes thought he had learned, and then broke down. And when at last he had attained unto it, and could say, “I have learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content,” he was an old, grey-headed man, upon the borders of the grave — a poor prisoner shut up in Nero’s dungeon at Rome. We might well be willing to endure Paul’s infirmities, and share the cold dungeon with him, if we too might by any means attain unto his good degree. Do not indulge the notion that you can be contented with learning, or learn without discipline. It is not a power that may be exercised naturally, but a science to be acquired gradually. We know this from experience. Brother, hush that murmur, natural though it be, and continue a diligent pupil in the College of Content. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
495:Something is happening in Memphis; something is happening in our world. And you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of taking a kind of general and panoramic view of the whole of human history up to now, and the Almighty said to me, "Martin Luther King, which age would you like to live in?" I would take my mental flight by Egypt and I would watch God's children in their magnificent trek from the dark dungeons of Egypt through, or rather across the Red Sea, through the wilderness on toward the promised land. And in spite of its magnificence, I wouldn't stop there.

I would move on by Greece and take my mind to Mount Olympus. And I would see Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euripides and Aristophanes assembled around the Parthenon. And I would watch them around the Parthenon as they discussed the great and eternal issues of reality. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would go on, even to the great heyday of the Roman Empire. And I would see developments around there, through various emperors and leaders. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even come up to the day of the Renaissance, and get a quick picture of all that the Renaissance did for the cultural and aesthetic life of man. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even go by the way that the man for whom I am named had his habitat. And I would watch Martin Luther as he tacked his ninety-five theses on the door at the church of Wittenberg. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would come on up even to 1863, and watch a vacillating President by the name of Abraham Lincoln finally come to the conclusion that he had to sign the Emancipation Proclamation. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even come up to the early thirties, and see a man grappling with the problems of the bankruptcy of his nation. And come with an eloquent cry that we have nothing to fear but "fear itself." But I wouldn't stop there. ~ Martin Luther King Jr
496:Behold, thou art fair, my Beloved." Song of Solomon 1:16 From every point our Well-beloved is most fair. Our various experiences are meant by our heavenly Father to furnish fresh standpoints from which we may view the loveliness of Jesus; how amiable are our trials when they carry us aloft where we may gain clearer views of Jesus than ordinary life could afford us! We have seen him from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, and he has shone upon us as the sun in his strength; but we have seen him also "from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards," and he has lost none of his loveliness. From the languishing of a sick bed, from the borders of the grave, have we turned our eyes to our soul's spouse, and he has never been otherwise than "all fair." Many of his saints have looked upon him from the gloom of dungeons, and from the red flames of the stake, yet have they never uttered an ill word of him, but have died extolling his surpassing charms. Oh, noble and pleasant employment to be forever gazing at our sweet Lord Jesus! Is it not unspeakably delightful to view the Saviour in all his offices, and to perceive him matchless in each?--to shift the kaleidoscope, as it were, and to find fresh combinations of peerless graces? In the manger and in eternity, on the cross and on his throne, in the garden and in his kingdom, among thieves or in the midst of cherubim, he is everywhere "altogether lovely." Examine carefully every little act of his life, and every trait of his character, and he is as lovely in the minute as in the majestic. Judge him as you will, you cannot censure; weigh him as you please, and he will not be found wanting. Eternity shall not discover the shadow of a spot in our Beloved, but rather, as ages revolve, his hidden glories shall shine forth with yet more inconceivable splendour, and his unutterable loveliness shall more and more ravish all celestial minds. ~ Charles Haddon Spurgeon
497:A Prisoner In A Dungeon Deep
A prisoner in a dungeon deep
Sat musing silently;
His head was rested on his hand,
His elbow on his knee.
Turned he his thoughts to future times
Or are they backward cast?
For freedom is he pining now
Or mourning for the past?
No, he has lived so long enthralled
Alone in dungeon gloom
That he has lost regret and hope,
Has ceased to mourn his doom.
He pines not for the light of day
Nor sighs for freedom now;
Such weary thoughts have ceased at length
To rack his burning brow.
Lost in a maze of wandering thoughts
He sits unmoving there;
That posture and that look proclaim
The stupor of despair.
Yet not for ever did that mood
Of sullen calm prevail;
There was a something in his eye
That told another tale.
It did not speak of reason gone,
It was not madness quite;
It was a fitful flickering fire,
A strange uncertain light.
And sooth to say, these latter years
Strange fancies now and then
Had filled his cell with scenes of life
And forms of living men.
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A mind that cannot cease to think
Why needs he cherish there?
Torpor may bring relief to pain
And madness to despair.
Such wildering scenes, such flitting shapes
As feverish dreams display:
What if those fancies still increase
And reason quite decay?
But hark, what sounds have struck his ear;
Voices of men they seem;
And two have entered now his cell;
Can this too be a dream?
'Orlando, hear our joyful news:
Revenge and liberty!
Your foes are dead, and we are come
At last to set you free.'
So spoke the elder of the two,
And in the captive's eyes
He looked for gleaming ecstasy
But only found surprise.
'My foes are dead! It must be then
That all mankind are gone.
For they were all my deadly foes
And friends I had not one.'
~ Anne Brontë
498:No follower of Christ knew the shape of the earth. For many centuries this great Peasant of Palestine has been worshiped as God. Millions and millions have given their lives to his service. The wealth of the world was lavished on his shrines.

His name carried consolation to the diseased and dying. His name dispelled the darkness of death, and filled the dungeon with light. His name gave courage to the martyr, and in the midst of fire, with shriveling lips the sufferer uttered it again and again. The outcasts, the deserted, the fallen, felt that Christ was their friend, felt that he knew their sorrows and pitied their sufferings.

All this is true, and if it were all, how beautiful, how touching, how glorious it would be.

But it is not all. There is another side.

In his name millions and millions of men and women have been imprisoned, tortured and killed. In his name millions and millions have been enslaved. In his name the thinkers, the investigators, have been branded as criminals, and his followers have shed the blood of the wisest and best.

In his name the progress of many nations was stayed for a thousand years. In his gospel was found the dogma of eternal pain, and his words added an infinite horror to death. His gospel filled the world with hatred and revenge; made intellectual honesty a crime; made happiness here the road to hell, denounced love as base and bestial, canonized credulity, crowned bigotry and destroyed the liberty of man.

It would have been far better had the New Testament never been written – far better had the theological Christ never lived. Had the writers of the Testament been regarded as uninspired, had Christ been thought of only as a man, had the good been accepted and the absurd, the impossible, and the revengeful thrown away, mankind would have escaped the wars, the tortures, the scaffolds, the dungeons, the agony and tears, the crimes and sorrows of a thousand years. ~ Robert G Ingersoll
499:Let me explain, Eoin. I’m not a witch. I . . .”  He immediately interrupted me with more words in Gaelic that I didn’t understand before he turned and walked over to the window seat to stare outside.  “What do ye expect me to do with ye now, lass? I should’ve left ye down in the dungeon to rot, but I expect ye spelled me so that I would relent and release ye, aye? What did ye plan to do, Blaire, place spells on us to do yer bidding and torture me for having married ye? I canna believe Arran was right! What a wicked bitch ye are!” Anger flared within me, and I made no effort to continue the accent I’d tried so hard to use over the past weeks. “Are you crazy? Have I done or said anything to anyone since I’ve been here that would make you think that I wanted to hurt you? If you’d just stop all of your insane ranting and listen to me, I could explain what I was doing in the spell room.” “How did ye even know about the room, Blaire? Ye had no business being in that part of the castle at all!” “Mary showed me. It’s where she found me when I showed up here.” “Ye are a damned liar, Blaire! Do ye no remember the day ye arrived? Ye insulted just about everyone in the castle, and ye nearly broke poor Kip’s back with the inconsiderate load ye piled onto him!” “No!” I was no longer afraid, but I was so angry I was on the verge of tears. Each breath seemed painful in my chest. “I don’t remember the day Blaire arrived because I’m not Blaire! I don’t understand why or how I got here, but I’ve spent almost every minute since I showed up in this godforsaken place trying to get back home to Texas.” “Not Blaire? Texas? God, Arran was right! How could I have been so blind? Well, I’ll no more be fooled by ye, and I’ll no have ye causing havoc here anymore.” He reached as if to grab for my arm, but I evaded him, jumping quickly to the left and chunking the nearest object I could reach at his head. It hit him square on the nose. With a ferocious growl, he leapt in my direction once more. ~ Bethany Claire
500:A Voice From The Dungeon
I'm buried now; I've done with life;
I've done with hate, revenge and strife;
I've done with joy, and hope and love
And all the bustling world above.
Long have I dwelt forgotten here
In pining woe and dull despair;
This place of solitude and gloom
Must be my dungeon and my tomb.
No hope, no pleasure can I find:
I am grown weary of my mind;
Often in balmy sleep I try
To gain a rest from misery,
And in one hour of calm repose
To find a respite from my woes,
But dreamless sleep is not for me
And I am still in misery.
I dream of liberty, 'tis true,
But then I dream of sorrow too,
Of blood and guilt and horrid woes,
Of tortured friends and happy foes;
I dream about the world, but then
I dream of fiends instead of men;
Each smiling hope so quickly fades
And such a lurid gloom pervades
That world -- that when I wake and see
Those dreary phantoms fade and flee,
Even in my dungeon I can smile,
And taste of joy a little while.
And yet it is not always so;
I dreamt a little while ago
That all was as it used to be:
A fresh free wind passed over me;
21
It was a pleasant summer's day,
The sun shone forth with cheering ray,
Methought a little lovely child
Looked up into my face and smiled.
My heart was full, I wept for joy,
It was my own, my darling boy;
I clasped him to my breast and he
Kissed me and laughed in childish glee.
Just them I heard in whisper sweet
A well known voice my name repeat.
His father stood before my eyes;
I gazed at him in mute surprise,
I thought he smiled and spoke to me,
But still in silent ecstasy
I gazed at him; I could not speak;
I uttered one long piercing shriek.
Alas! Alas! That cursed scream
Aroused me from my heavenly dream;
I looked around in wild despair,
I called them, but they were not there;
The father and the child are gone,
And I must live and die alone.
Marina Sabia
~ Anne Brontë

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



10

   39 Poetry
   14 Fiction
   13 Integral Yoga
   4 Philosophy
   2 Psychology
   2 Mythology
   2 Mysticism
   2 Christianity
   1 Philsophy
   1 Alchemy


   14 Percy Bysshe Shelley
   7 Sri Aurobindo
   7 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   6 William Wordsworth
   6 Satprem
   4 The Mother
   4 John Keats
   3 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
   2 Saint Augustine of Hippo
   2 Robert Browning
   2 Rabindranath Tagore
   2 Ovid
   2 Jordan Peterson


   14 Shelley - Poems
   6 Wordsworth - Poems
   4 Keats - Poems
   3 On the Way to Supermanhood
   3 Faust
   2 The Bible
   2 Tagore - Poems
   2 Savitri
   2 On Thoughts And Aphorisms
   2 Metamorphoses
   2 Maps of Meaning
   2 City of God
   2 Browning - Poems
   2 Advanced Dungeons and Dragons 2E


01.09_-_William_Blake:_The_Marriage_of_Heaven_and_Hell, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
  
   Viewed in this light, Blake's memorable mantra attains a deeper and more momentous significance. For it is not merely Earth the senses and life and Matter that are to be uplifted and affianced to Heaven, but all that remains hidden within the bowels of the Earth, the subterranean regions of man's consciousness, the slimy viscous undergrowths, the darkest horrors and monstrosities that man and nature hide in their subconscient and inconscient dungeons of material existence, all these have to be laid bare to the solar gaze of Heaven, burnt or transmuted as demanded by the law of that Supreme Will. That is the Hell that has to be recognised, not rejected and thrown away, but taken up purified and transubstantiated into the body of Heaven itself. The hand of the Highest Heaven must extend and touch the Lowest of the lowest elements, transmute it and set it in its rightful place of honour. A mortal body reconstituted into an immemorial fossil, a lump of coal revivified into a flashing carat of diamond-that shows something of the process underlying the nuptials of which we are speaking.
  

04.01_-_The_Birth_and_Childhood_of_the_Flame, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Earth was a quagmire, heaven a dismal block.
  None saw through dank drenched weeks the dungeon sun.
  Even when no turmoil vexed air's sombre rest,

07.04_-_The_Triple_Soul-Forces, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  I have lain down with the mangled and the slain,
  I have lived with the prisoner in his dungeon cell.
  
  --
  A voice of the forsaken and desolate
  And the lone prisoner in his dungeon cell.
  

07.32_-_The_Yogic_Centres, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 03, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
  
   The centre at the bottom of the spine, which is the basis of the individual consciousness is seen as a serpenta serpent coiled up and asleep, with perhaps just the head sticking up in a very somnolent manner. It represents the normal human consciousness, bottled up, narrow, ignorant, asleep; human energy, too, at this level is obscure and mechanical, extremely limited. The whole energy potential, the consciousness-force is locked up in the physical body consciousness. Now the serpent does not remain asleep forever. It has to wake up, it wakes up. That is to say, man's consciousness awakes, grows and rises upward. The serpent one day shakes its head, lifts it up a little more, begins to sway its hood, as if trying to throw off the sleep and look about. It slowly uncoils itself and rises more and more. It rises and passes through the centres one by one, becomes more and more awake, gathers new light and potency at each centre. Finally, fully awakened, it rises to its full height, erect, straight like a rod, its tail-end at the bottom of the spine and its hood touching the crown of the man's head. The man is then the fully awakened, the perfectly self-conscious man. The movement does not stop there, however; for the serpent presses further on, it strikes with its hood the bottom of the crown and in the end breaks through and passes beyond like a flash of lightning. One need not fear the break through, there is no actual, physical breaking or fracture of the skull. Although it is said that once you have gone over and beyond your head, you are not likely to return, you go for good. In other words, the body does not hold together very long after the experience; it drops and dies. And yet it need not be so, it is not the whole truth. For when you have gone beyond, you can come back too, carrying the superconscient light with you. That is to say, the serpent, now luminous,pure and free energycan enter the body again, this time with its head down and the tail up. It enters blazing, illumining with its superconscient light the centres one by one, giving man richer and richer consciousness, energy and life, transforming the being more and more. The Light comes down easily enough to the heart region; then the difficulty begins, the regions below gradually become darker and denser and it is hard task for the Light to penetrate as it goes further down. If it succeeds in reaching the bottom of the spine, it has achieved something miraculous. But there is a further progress necessary, if man and the world with himis to realise a wholly transformed supraconscient life. In other words, the Light must touch and enter not only the physical stratum of our being but the others too that lie below, the subconscient and inconscient. That has been till now a sealed dungeon, something impossible to approach and tackle.
  

1.01_-_NIGHT, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
  
  Ah, me! this dungeon still I see.
  This drear, accursed masonry,

1.02_-_BOOK_THE_SECOND, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  Shut from the winds, and from the wholesome skies,
  In a deep vale the gloomy dungeon lies,
  Dismal and cold, where not a beam of light

1.02_-_MAPS_OF_MEANING_-_THREE_LEVELS_OF_ANALYSIS, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  Great Father as Wise King keeps one foot on the Terrible Mother keeps the monsters of chaos locked up
  in his dungeon or banished to the nether regions of the kingdom. He is the personality of dead heroes (that
  is, the action patterns and hierarchies of value established through exploration in the past) organized

1.03_-_BOOK_THE_THIRD, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
  Th' officious servants hurry him away,
  And the poor captive in a dungeon lay.
  But, whilst the whips and tortures are prepar'd,

1.03_-_The_Sephiros, #A Garden of Pomegranates - An Outline of the Qabalah, #Israel Regardie, #Occultism
  
  It was only in the last century that we had the statement of Eliphaz Levi that were a man incarcerated in a dungeon cell in solitary confinement, without books or instructions of any kind, it would still be possible for him to obtain from this set of cards an encyclopaedic knowledge of the essence of all sciences, religions, and philosophies. Ignoring this specimen of typical Levi verbosity, it is only necessary to point out that instead of using the ten digits and the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew Alphabet for the basis of his magical alphabet, Levi adopted as his fundamental framework the twenty-two trump cards of the Book of
  Thoth, attri buting to them his knowledge and experience in a way similar to the attri butions of the thirty-two Paths of Wisdom.

1.05_-_THE_HOSTILE_BROTHERS_-_ARCHETYPES_OF_RESPONSE_TO_THE_UNKNOWN, #Maps of Meaning, #Jordan Peterson, #Psychology
  The dismal situation waste and wild;
  A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
  As one great furnace flamed, yet from these flames

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