classes ::: tower, josh, place, the_Infinite_Building, Planes, levels,
children :::
branches ::: the Tower

Instances, Classes, See Also, Object in Names
Definitions, . Quotes . - . Chapters .

object:the Tower
object:joshs tower

Sitting in meditation, he ascends the staircase of the Heavens.


Floor 2 - SA + TM
Floor 4 - The Sanctuary
Floor 7 - The Infinite Library
Floor 8 - The Battlefield
Floor 9 - The Garden
Floor 10 - Heavens


--- FLOOR 2 : SA A TM

  TITLE :::
    1 the Call
    2 the Guide
    3 the Response / the Condition
    4 the Book


    wielding two spears, or a spear and a sword, or unarmed, or throwing lightning. dressed in purple armor, with long blue or purple hair, exceptionally strong, quick.
    can be seen very high in the air, spinning, diving, flipping. blinking or teleporting if she so desires. a master of combat. trained in all arms. feared by any opponent. she radiates force.
    can warp instantly anywhere. aka none can avoid her?
    since this floor focuses on Malakali and she is (always fighting in battle)? then the landscape of this floor is constantly shfting.
    as it follows her most powerful acting emanation throughout its continuous victories.



  the Tower borders acts as the edge of the Circle, outside of which grants no protection.
  whereas the Mother at the center of the Tower, by her presence, prevents small movements from being done in the Tower. Thus one cannot masturbate in the Tower, for example.
  memory structure

--- FLOOR 3
  Aspiration is a turning upward of the inner being with a call, yearning, prayer for the Divine, for the Truth, for the Consciousness, Peace, Ananda, Knowledge, descent of Divine Force or whatever else is the aim of one's endeavour.~ The Mother

--- FLOOR 3

  linking verbs to gates, doors or passages?
  especially most related to the noun family to which the floor belongs
  the Temple
  the Garden
    in the Garden, the Mothers Symbol? or Sri Aurobindo's?

  the Library
  the School
  the Playground
  Aces ::: Everything in Potential
  Twos ::: Accumulation, Preparation, Receptivity
  Threes ::: Bursting Apart, Creation or Destruction
  Fours ::: Security on the Earth
  Fives ::: Temptation
  Six ::: Beauty and Its Mirror
  Seven ::: Action in the World and upon the Self
  Eights ::: The Four Perfections
  Nine ::: Crisis and New Construction
  Ten ::: The End of One Cycle and the Announcement of the Next


see also ::: the Tower of MEM, the Tarot, temp (mem), the Temple, the Mother the Mothers Symbol, Aspiration,

class:the Infinite Building

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the Tower
the Tower of Babel
the Tower of MEM
select ::: Being, God, injunctions, media, place, powers, subjects,
favorite ::: cwsa, everyday, grade, mcw, memcards (table), project, project 0001, Savitri, the Temple of Sages, three js, whiteboard,
temp ::: consecration, experiments, knowledge, meditation, psychometrics, remember, responsibility, temp, the Bad, the God object, the Good, the most important, the Ring, the source of inspirations, the Stack, the Tarot, the Word, top priority, whiteboard,

--- DICTIONARIES (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

--- QUOTES [4 / 4 - 500 / 685] (in Dictionaries, in Quotes, in Chapters)

KEYS (10k)

   1 The Mother
   1 Stephen King
   1 Matt Mercer
   1 Jetsun Milarepa


   28 Stephen King
   9 Anonymous
   6 Fyodor Dostoyevsky
   5 J K Rowling
   5 Horace
   4 Terry Pratchett
   4 Rachel Cohn
   4 Neal Stephenson
   4 Josiah Bancroft
   4 James Joyce
   4 Dylan Thomas
   4 Brian Godawa
   3 Victor Hugo
   3 Thomas Pynchon
   3 Thea Harrison
   3 Sam Sisavath
   3 Roland Barthes
   3 Peter Ackroyd
   3 Neil Gaiman
   3 Naomi Novik
   3 Michael J Sullivan
   3 Mervyn Peake
   3 Jeff VanderMeer
   3 Frederick Buechner
   3 Erik Larson
   3 Don DeLillo
   3 Donald Miller
   3 David Wong
   3 David Levithan
   3 Andrew Peterson
   2 William Shakespeare
   2 Thomas Wolfe
   2 Stephanie Perkins
   2 S ren Kierkegaard
   2 Shirley Jackson
   2 Sean Patrick
   2 Sarah MacLean
   2 Rick Riordan
   2 Richard Powers
   2 Rene Denfeld
   2 Randy Savage
   2 Philippa Gregory
   2 Omar Khayy m
   2 Nalini Singh
   2 Mark Twain
   2 Lauren Oliver
   2 Kresley Cole
   2 Kim Fay
   2 Katharine McGee
   2 Karl Philipp Moritz
   2 Joanne Harris
   2 Hilary Mantel
   2 Georges Rodenbach
   2 Friedrich Nietzsche
   2 Franz Kafka
   2 Eric Metaxas
   2 Emma Bull
   2 Elise Kova
   2 Edwin Markham
   2 E B White
   2 Cornelia Funke
   2 Christopher Paolini
   2 Charles Dickens
   2 Catherynne M Valente
   2 Catherine Fisher
   2 Bram Stoker
   2 Amanda Lovelace
   2 Alfred Edward Housman
   2 Aeschylus

1:MATT: Okay. You spiral upward and upward and upward, climbing an extremely long period of time.Your legs begin to ache a little bit. Then another floor opens up. It appears the tower is now divided into two chambers. From the bottom floor up, it's now two sides to a tower and you're on the right side. The hallway curves around the outer edge of the tower. On the opposite side, you can see the staircase continues upward. The interior of this chamber appears to be an incredible arcane laboratory, occupying the center space of the tower inside. You see six overlapping circles of dulled runes and glyphs that encompass the entire 30-foot walkway between here and the stairs. Shelves and tables of countless glass tubes and metallic vices lay out across tables, organized in a near-OCD pattern. Tomes and books line the inner chamber walls. What do you guys do? ~ Matt Mercer, Critical Role ,
2:When ye look at me I am an idle, idle man; when I look at myself I am a busy, busy man. Since upon the plain of uncreated infinity I am building, building the tower of ecstasy, I have no time for building houses. Since upon the steppe of the void of truth I am breaking, breaking the savage fetter of suffering, I have no time for ploughing family land. Since at the bourn of unity ineffable I am subduing, subduing the demon-foe of self, I have no time for subduing angry foe-men. Since in the palace of mind which transcends duality I am waiting, waiting for spiritual experience as my bride, I have no time for setting up house. Since in the circle of the Buddhas of my body I am fostering, fostering the child of wisdom, I have no time for fostering snivelling children. Since in the frame of the body, the seat of all delight, I am saving, saving precious instruction and reflection, I have no time for saving wordly wealth. ~ Jetsun Milarepa, Songs of Milarepa ,
3:The Tower. Somewhere ahead, it waited for him - the nexus of Time, the nexus of Size. He began west again, his back set against the sunrise, heading toward the ocean, realizing that a great passage of his life had come and gone. 'I loved you Jake,' he said aloud. The stiffness wore out of his body and he began to walk more rapidly. By that evening he had come to the end of the land. He sat in a beach which stretched left and right forever, deserted. The waves beat endlessly against the shore, pounding and pounding. The setting sun painted the water in a wide strip of fool's gold.There the gunslinger sat, his face turned up into the fading light. He dreamed his dreams and watched as the stars came out; his purpose did not flag, nor did his heart falter; his hair, finer now and gray at the temples, blew around his head, and the sandalwood-inlaid guns of his father lay smooth and deadly against his hips, and he was lonely but did not find loneliness in any way a bad or ignoble thing. The dark came down and the world moved on. The gunslinger waited for the time of the drawing and dreamed his long dreams of the Dark Tower, to which he would someday come at dusk and approach, winding his horn, to do some unimaginable final battle. ~ Stephen King,
4:Sweet Mother, You have asked the teachers "to think with ideas instead of with words".4 You have also said that later on you will ask them to think with experiences. Will you throw some light on these three ways of thinking?Our house has a very high tower; at the very top of this tower there is a bright and bare room, the last before we emerge into the open air, into the full light. Sometimes, when we are free to do so, we climb up to this bright room, and there, if we remain very quiet, one or more visitors come to call on us; some are tall, others small, some single, others in groups; all are bright and graceful. Usually, in our joy at their arrival and our haste to welcome them, we lose our tranquillity and come galloping down to rush into the great hall that forms the base of the tower and is the storeroom of words. Here, more or less excited, we select, reject, assemble, combine, disarrange, rearrange all the words in our reach, in an attempt to portray this or that visitor who has come to us. But most often, the picture we succeed in making of our visitor is more like a caricature than a portrait. And yet if we were wiser, we would remain up above, at the summit of the tower, quite calm, in joyful contemplation. Then, after a certain length of time, we would see the visitors themselves slowly, gracefully, calmly descend, without losing anything of their elegance or beauty and, as they cross the storeroom of words, clothe themselves effortlessly, automatically, with the words needed to make themselves perceptible even in the material house. This is what I call thinking with ideas. When this process is no longer mysterious to you, I shall explain what is meant by thinking with experiences. ~ The Mother, Some Answers From The Mother ,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Time belongs to the Tower. ~ Stephen King,
2:spills of mire I swallowed inside the tower ~ Paul Celan,
3:The towering genius is not apolitical. ~ Richard Brookhiser,
4:I'm the tower of power, too sweet to be sour. ~ Randy Savage,
5:The higher the tower, the greater the fall thereof. ~ Horace,
6:They’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower. ~ J K Rowling,
7:No matter how far we go, the Tower takes care of its own. ~ Elise Kova,
8:The Tower trembles; the worlds shudder in their courses. ~ Stephen King,
9:For some, bottles of liquor gleam like the towers of Eldorado. ~ Mason Cooley,
10:the towering standing wave that composes the symphony of thought. ~ David Brin,
11:The earth doesn’t shake the Tower; the Tower shakes the earth. ~ Josiah Bancroft,
12:Winston Churchill, the towering personality of the forces of light. ~ Max Hastings,
13:Stand firm as the tower that never shakes its top whatever wind may blow. ~ Dante Alighieri,
14:I hold to no God," Roland said. "I hold to the Tower, and won't pray to that. ~ Stephen King,
15:I am what ka and the King and the Tower have made me. We all are. We’re caught. ~ Stephen King,
16:Pale death kicks with impartial foot at the hovels of the poor and the towers of kings. ~ Horace,
17:Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings. ~ Horace,
18:I can take about an hour on the tower of power, as long as I gets a little golden shower. ~ Frank Zappa,
19:I unscrewed my own scrap of paper and read out: "Help! I am prisoner in the tower. ~ Leonora Carrington,
20:The tarot card 'The Tower' seemed a chilling reflection of the events of September 11, 2001. ~ Neil Peart,
21:The Tower trembles; the worlds shudder in their courses. The rose feels a chill, as of winter. ~ Stephen King,
22:It was the gray sea that bore you and the towering rocks, so sheer the heart in you is turned from us. ~ Homer,
23:What did he do? Channel Vincent Price and transport the Tower of London'to the Hollywood Hills? ~ Linda Wisdom,
24:If the tower is everywhere and the knight of deliverance no proof against its magic,what else? ~ Thomas Pynchon,
25:Great beliefs always come out of the sewers of cities, not out of the towers of the ziggurats. ~ Cordwainer Smith,
26:The boy had the towering arrogance only seen in the greatest of artists and all nine-year-old boys. ~ Neil Gaiman,
27:He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. ~ James Joyce,
28:I see the beauty of God's archetypal infinity reflected in the towers of infinities in set theory ~ Vern Poythress,
29:The Tower trembles; the worlds shudder in their courses. The rose feels a chill, as of winter.” Very ~ Stephen King,
30:If it had been possible to build the Tower of Babel without climbing it, it would have been permitted. ~ Franz Kafka,
31:I am very sorry to say that I rejoiced when I once more perceived the towers of Windsor behind me. ~ Karl Philipp Moritz,
32:The tower of success stands on the pillars of vision, action, patience and the character to withstand criticisms. ~ Amit Ray,
33:I'm the tower of power, too sweet to be sour. I'm funky like a monkey. Sky's the limit and space is the place! ~ Randy Savage,
34:There are two hubs of existence," he heard Roland say. Two!..."The tower...and the rose. Yet they are the same. ~ Stephen King,
35:the tower’s silhouettes have come into starker relief, backlit by the moon and a few scattered lights from the ~ Lauren Oliver,
36:the princess jumped from the tower & she learned that she could fly all along. she never needed those wings. ~ Amanda Lovelace,
37:The lofty pine is most easily brought low by the force of the wind, and the higher the tower the greater the fall thereof. ~ Horace,
38:The greatest mystery the universe offers is not life but size. Size encompasses life, and the Tower encompasses size. ~ Stephen King,
39:Although nothing has yet come out of the sea, from the ruined village figures have emerged and headed for the Tower. ~ Jeff VanderMeer,
40:Young people are capable, when aroused, of bringing down the towers of oppression and raising the banners of freedom. ~ Nelson Mandela,
41:I had to make a confession of faith in stone. That was the beginning of the tower, the house I built for myself at Bollingen. ~ Carl Jung,
42:This building, the tower that was supposed to be the centerpiece of your little Gotham Initiative? Now it'll be your tomb. ~ Scott Snyder,
43:a wanderer left over from the old days, a mercenary with a vague ambition to penetrate the Tower before it was brought down. ~ Stephen King,
44:People said the towers looked like giant salt and pepper shakers, but I’d always thought they looked like Daleks from Doctor Who. ~ Rick Riordan,
45:Ferris, himself fed up with construction delays and Burnham’s pestering, had told Gronau to turn the wheel or tear it off the tower. ~ Erik Larson,
46:Thus the tower was both disease and cure. It rendered him unfit for the world and it remedied the hurts inflicted by the world. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
47:It is hard to lose something.” Skara turned back toward the towering truss. “But it gives you the chance to make something better. ~ Joe Abercrombie,
48:See the BEAR of fearsome size! All the WORLD'S within his eyes. TIME grows thin, the past is a riddle; The TOWER awaits you in the middle. ~ Stephen King,
49:(The golden goose has died, my prince turned into a frog, the Kingdom is lost, everyone has turned into stone and I am locked in the tower) ~ Nancy B Brewer,
50:Tower of Pisa at a distance of five hundred yards, or a toy model of the tower at arm’s length: both cast the identical image on your eyes. ~ David Eagleman,
51:He looked longingly out the window at the towering skyline of New York City and thought about jumping. It would hurt less than following orders. ~ Kelly Moran,
52:The princess
jumped from
the tower
& she
that she
could fly
all along

- she never needed those wings ~ Amanda Lovelace,
53:we shall be led as much to the street and the cottage as to the temple and the tower; and shall be more interested in buildings raised by feeling, ~ John Ruskin,
54:You are your own forerunner, and the towers you have builded are but the foundation of your giant-self. And that self too shall be a foundation. ~ Khalil Gibran,
55:You're not going to charge us for the tower, I hope," Hadrian said. "But if you are, it was Royce's fault and should come out of his share. ~ Michael J Sullivan,
56:See the BEAR of fearsome size!
All the WORLD'S within his eyes.
TIME grows thin, the past is a riddle;
The TOWER awaits you in the middle. ~ Stephen King,
57: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,
58:Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck. ~ A E Housman,
59:Anyway, it’s two in the morning and we’re taking turns pissing off of the tower (rather than going at the same time, because we weren’t raised by wolves). ~ David Wong,
60:I sometimes think about the tower at Pisa as the first particle accelerator, a (nearly) vertical linear accelerator that Galileo used in his studies. ~ Leon M Lederman,
61:I try to muscle my way past but Eli's right-hand man, Pigpen, plants himself in front of me like the towering sack of testosterone and annoyance he is. ~ Katie McGarry,
62:John McCain's choice of Sarah Palin as running mate is the towering example of his poor judgment. Palins ignorance of public affairs is monumental. ~ Edgar Bronfman Sr,
63:How will the Tower of Babel be undone? How will we understand each other in Heaven? Will we all speak English or Dutch or Latin? No, we will speak music. ~ Peter Kreeft,
64:Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. ~ James Joyce,
65:We'll be together. We both got our Point Zéro wishes — each other. He said he wished for me every time. He was wishing for me when I entered the tower. ~ Stephanie Perkins,
66:During heavy rains, river water flowed in a greasy plume far out into Lake Michigan, to the towers that marked the intake pipes for the city’s drinking water. ~ Erik Larson,
67:this was Irene’s arrival in Cambodia, her entire being narrowed to a single pinpoint of expectation as the pinnacles atop the towers sparked and burst into flame. ~ Kim Fay,
68:If you have given up your heart for the Tower, Roland, you have already lost. A heartless creature is a loveless creature, and a loveless creature is a beast. ~ Stephen King,
69:Aye. Would’ee speak a word of prayer first, Roland? To whatever God thee holds?” “I hold to no God,” Roland said. “I hold to the Tower, and won’t pray to that. ~ Stephen King,
70:Filch’s face loomed suddenly out of the darkness. “Well, well, well,” he whispered, “we are in trouble.” They’d left the Invisibility Cloak on top of the tower. ~ J K Rowling,
71:There was murder, there was rape, there were unspeakable practices, and all of them were for the good, the bloody good, the bloody myth, for the grail, for the Tower. ~ Stephen King,
72:Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after a TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There. ~ Omar Khayy m,
73:Our Lord never called His people to help build the tower of Babel in the hope of getting a Bible study in the basement. He commanded us to build our own city on a hill. ~ David Chilton,
74:Several times Bonhoeffer used Barth’s image of the Tower of Babel as a picture of “religion,” of man trying to reach heaven through his own efforts, which always failed. ~ Eric Metaxas,
75:She looked, and a scarlet butterfly flew away from her, away down the length of the tower, and then another, another, an unraveling scarf of butterflies like winged blood. ~ Tanith Lee,
76:As a system of philosophy it is not like the Tower of Babel, so daring its high aim as to seek a shelter against God's anger; but it is like a pyramid poised on its apex. ~ Adam Sedgwick,
77:I shall find the dark grow luminous, the void fruitful when I understand I have nothing, that the ringers in the tower have appointed for the hymen of the soul a passing bell. ~ W B Yeats,
78:The Colorado River was at a record low and the towers in Lake Mead stood high out of the water. But the Angelenos committed communal suicide by watering lawns as usual. ~ Robert A Heinlein,
79:I have a commission to do a piece in a place in California, Oliver Ranch, which has an eight-storey structure called The Tower designed by the visual artist Ann Hamilton. ~ Pauline Oliveros,
80:The tree which fills the arms grew from the tiniest sprout; the tower of nine storeys rose from a (small) heap of earth; the journey of a thousand li commenced with a single step. ~ Lao Tzu,
81:I drop down the tower and roll on the roof, breaking into a run, the cold night air blowing me faster, the darkness and gleaming stars taking me somewhere I don’t have to feel. ~ Sara Raasch,
82:Louis Armstrong is the master of the jazz solo. He became the beacon, the light in the tower, that helped the rest of us navigate the tricky waters of jazz improvisation. ~ Ellis Marsalis Jr,
83:My friends are gone and my hair is grey. I ache in places I used to play. And I’m crazy for love but I’m not coming on. I’m just paying my rent every day in the tower of song. ~ Leonard Cohen,
84:Throughout Finnegans Wake Joyce specifies the Tower of Babel as the tower of Sleep, that is, the tower of the witless assumption, or what Bacon calls the reign of the Idols. ~ Marshall McLuhan,
85:High in the Tower of Love, the last remaining tower of Tallith, he rests on a bier, not living, not dead. He doesn’t age, or change, needs no sustenance. He sleeps. He waits ~ Melinda Salisbury,
86:Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas
regumque turres.


Pale Death kicks in the huts of paupers
just as it does the towers of kings,

(Odes I, 4) ~ Horace,
87:The towers fell, and the first thing that went through my head was my dad's voice: 'Well, you brought a new life into the world, and the world's over. Nice timing, numbnuts! ~ Christopher Titus,
88:[My mother] would have me smothered like the Princes in the Tower if I showed any inclination for being an artist. She thought all artists little better than lunatics. ~ Francis Meadow Sutcliffe,
89:Paris, viewed from the towers of Notre Dame in the cool dawn of a summer morning, is a delectable and a magnificent sight; and the Paris of that period must have been eminently so. ~ Victor Hugo,
90:Rat #1 got you through the gates, didn't it?" said Anadil, stroking the still-pooped pet in her pocket. "Rat #2 gets you to the tower."

"And Rat #3 negotiates world peace? ~ Soman Chainani,
91:The neck-strained interaction between the floors served the Tower’s design: to break the spirits of nearly indomitable men by removing from them all the trappings of civilization. ~ Gregg Hurwitz,
92:There was a house at the foot of the tower, close to the thunder of the waves breaking against the cliffs, where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck. ~ Gabriel Garc a M rquez,
93:There was a house at the foot of the tower, close to the thunder of the waves breaking against the cliffs, where love was more intense because it seemed like a shipwreck. ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez,
94:SUNLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH the thickly-bunched leaves of the towering kirstal trees, the clearing beneath them riddled with chaotic patches of brilliant light and gray shadow. ~ Mickey Zucker Reichert,
95:This would have once been a place for contemplation. He looked up at the towers surrounding him. Many of the dead bodies had been removed. Their places had been taken by the living. ~ Rupert Thomson,
96:This (America) is a land of rich diversity, from the towering skyscrapers of Manhatan all the way to the towering mounds of garbage piled up next to the towering skyscrapers of Manhattan. ~ Dave Barry,
97:Aye, then.Come and dance with the Ech'lon. You can be me bloody retinue. King o' Fools and 'is merry band o' jesters. If they don't laugh us out o' the tower, it'll be a bleedin' miracle. ~ Bec McMaster,
98:This is a place of death, he thought, and not just here. All these rooms. Every floor.

Yes, gunslinger, whispered the Voice of the Tower. But only because your life has made it so. ~ Stephen King,
99:Beware! the tower said. You are entering the realm of the Elephant King, a sovereign so rich in pachyderms that he can waste the gnashers of a thousand of the beasts just to decorate me. ~ Salman Rushdie,
100:I am heartily sorry for it, he being a most capable, obliging man, speaking all the languages of the Levant and excellent English too - might have built the Tower of Babel singlehanded. ~ Patrick O Brian,
101:After a farcical trial for treason Clarence was executed in the Tower. The hard-drinking king may have thought the method a kindly one – he had Clarence drowned in a vat of Malmsey wine.5 ~ Leanda de Lisle,
102:The little people suffer for the crimes of few. This fight wasn’t between the people that flew the planes and the people in the towers. We all got played by politics we had nothing to do with. ~ Eddie Huang,
103:David Hilbert, the towering mathematical intellect of the previous thirty years, had put it thus:9 ‘Mathematics knows no races … for mathematics, the whole cultural world is a single country’, ~ Andrew Hodges,
104:Gossip says she hanged herself from the turret on the tower, but when you have a house like Hill House with a tower and a turret, gossip would hardly allow you to hang yourself anywhere else. ~ Shirley Jackson,
105:His lips brushed a warm caress against the hollow of my neck. His grip tightened. We rocketed up into the sky, high above the towering buildings and cityscape.
My heart soared even higher. ~ Juliette Cross,
106:Tom disturbed Josh, in more ways than one. He was always showing up where you least expected him, like a bogeyman in a horror movie. And Josh still couldn’t shake that conversation in the Tower. ~ Sam Sisavath,
107:High in the tower, where I sit above the loud complaining of the human sea, I know many souls that toss and whirl and pass, but none there are that intrigue me more than the Souls of White Folk. ~ W E B Du Bois,
108:The light of a hunter's moon bleached the unresisting pastels from the faces of the towers, so that they looked like titanic ribs of bone, and shadows accrued like crusted blood under the walkways. ~ Mike Carey,
109:I realized with startling clarity that he hadn't needed to lock the tower door, for I wouldn't run away even if give the opportunity. I had no desire to leave him. Not this night. Nor forevermore. ~ Jody Hedlund,
110:me an explanation, first, of the towering eccentricity of man among the brutes; second, of the vast human tradition of some ancient happiness; third, of the partial perpetuation of such pagan joy ~ G K Chesterton,
111:There are two types of people in the world. There are the people who understand instinctively that the story of The Flood and the story of The Tower of Babel are the same thing, and those who don't. ~ Steven Hall,
112:Just like many Popish Plotters before them, these had promptly begun to “commit suicide” in the Tower. One had even managed the heroic feat of cutting his own throat all the way to the vertebrae! ~ Neal Stephenson,
113:It is only now and then, in a jungle, or amidst the towering white menace of a burnt or burning Australian forest, that Nature strips the moral veils from vegetation and we apprehend its stark ferocity. ~ H G Wells,
114:Gossip says she hanged herself from the turret on the tower, but when you have a house like Hill House with a tower and a turret, gossip would hardly allow you to hang yourself anywhere else. After ~ Shirley Jackson,
115:Larry wanted us to reposition the tower. We wouldn't, and won't. He's been holding back our fees. We want to get paid. And that's it. It'll get solved and we'll carry on with planning Ground Zero. ~ Daniel Libeskind,
116:The rain was still crashing down, angrily machine-gunning the large windows; it poured through the gutters up in the tower and funneled along the flat roof, sounding like footsteps on the ceiling. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zaf n,
117:The rain was still crashing down, angrily machine-gunning the large windows; it poured through the gutters up in the tower and funneled along the flat roof, sounding like footsteps on the ceiling. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon,
118:There is no better story in the Old Testament, or perhaps the whole Bible, for depicting the difference between the ladder-defined life and the cross-defined life than that of the Tower of Babel. ~ Tullian Tchividjian,
119:There are fully forty towers, which are lofty and well built, the largest of which has fifty steps leading to its main body, and is higher than the tower of the principal tower of the church at Seville. ~ Hernando Cortes,
120:It looked like a piano sounds shortly after being dropped down a well. It tasted yellow, and felt Paisley. It smelled like a total eclipse of the moon. Of course, nearer to the tower it got really weird. ~ Terry Pratchett,
121:She looks for the towering black locust, with its fragrant racemes and pea-pod seeds, the tree that stunned Muir into becoming a naturalist. But the world-changing locust was cut down twelve years before. ~ Richard Powers,
122:Harry could still hear the distant bangs of escaped firecrackers when he and Ron went up to bed an hour later, and as he got undressed a sparkler floated past the tower, still resolutely spelling out the word ~ J K Rowling,
123:I couldn't stop bawling, watching the towers come down. it was a terrible thing to happen. And a terrible thing to realize that I don't sit though the nigh crying when such horrors happen all the time. ~ Randa Abdel Fattah,
124:The clavadista checks the tower
On the cliffs from which he dives
Turning two thirds of the way down
To mark the point
Where all the somersaults are over
And he must go in feet first or else break ~ Clive James,
125:The towers are illuminated in blue and white lights. They're more disjointed than the buildings in Paris;they have no relationship. They're just stupid rectangles designed to be taller, better than others. ~ Stephanie Perkins,
126:What [Franz] Kafka says about the Tower of Babel: In the beginning there were actually many languages, and then as a punishment God gave the world a single language. And then they stopped understanding each other. ~ Elie Wiesel,
127:The horror of her incarceration in the Tower was a defining event Elizabeth could never forget. It made a passionate heart more circumspect, a complex nature more contradictory and a fine intelligence sharp as a blade. ~ Jane Dunn,
128:A faint acrid smell drifted in through the window, from the cannon fire. But through it all the walls of my prison cell never trembled. The walls of the Tower are the thickest in the land and they never, ever tremble ~ Nancy Bilyeau,
129:We proceeded systematically, village by village and we destroyed the houses, filled up the wells, blew down the towers, cut down the shady trees, burned the crops and broke the reservoirs in punitive devastation. ~ Winston Churchill,
130:But all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity, was again lost at the tower of Babel , when by the hand of God, every man was stricken for his rebellion, with an oblivion of his former language. ~ Thomas Hobbes,
131:At the heart of the cyclone tearing the sky And flinging the cloud and the towers by, Is a place of central calm: So here in the roar of mortal things, I have a place where my spirit sings, In the hollow of God's Palm. ~ Edwin Markham,
132:Eve yanked out her communicator. “Peabody, get an E and B team to the Empire State Building, another to the Twin Towers, one more to the Statue of Liberty. You and McNab cover the Empire State, get Feeney down to the Towers. ~ J D Robb,
133:The order goes to the Tower, ‘Bring up the bodies.’ Deliver, that is, the accused men, by name Weston, Brereton, Smeaton and Norris, to Westminster Hall for trial. Kingston fetches them by barge; it is 12 May, a Friday. ~ Hilary Mantel,
134:Your father could not be found, the lord Radihaw had said the day before to Mawat. Not in the tower, not in the fortress, not in the town. And yet it seemed that he could not have left the fortress without someone knowing. ~ Ann Leckie,
135:We were passing the city cemetery. Adjoining it was a field occupied only by a couple of amiable and moth-eaten horses, and a grey tower. I asked what the tower was for. My grandfather answered that it held a giant’s arm. ~ Isobelle Carmody,
136:All these last months he had begun to talk about Sarima and the family as if they were ghosts, hiding just around the curve of the spiral staircase in the tower, suppressing giggles at this long, long game of hide-and-seek. ~ Gregory Maguire,
137:Behold the Power of the peanut. His body mass may be small, but his influence is mighty. The last holdout in the Tower has officially fallen to him.
(Said by Pia about the effect her son 'peanut' had on the Sentinel Aryal) ~ Thea Harrison,
138:Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? ~ Bram Stoker,
139:Dreams either mean nothing or everything - and when they mean everything, they almost always come as messages from... well, from other levels of the tower.' He gazed at Eddie shrewdly. 'And not all messages are sent by friends. ~ Stephen King,
140:In order to satisfy this great oneiric function, which makes it not a kind of total monument, the [Eiffel] Tower must escape reason. The first condition of this victorious flight is that the Tower be an utterly useless monument. ~ Roland Barthes,
141:Nature was more merciful than men, providing for those who suffered great pain such blessedness as fainting; but men were cruel and brought their victims out of faints that the pain might start again. (On being tortured/The Tower.) ~ Jean Plaidy,
142:A great city, whose image dwells in the memory of man, is the type of some great idea. Rome represents conquest; Faith hovers over the towers of Jerusalem; and Athens embodies the pre-eminent quality of the antique world, Art. ~ Benjamin Disraeli,
143:Silence spread out from Rincewind's bent like ripples in a puddle. It cascaded down the tower and spread out through the milling crowds below, flowed over the walls, gushed darkly through the city, and engulfed the lands beyond. ~ Terry Pratchett,
144:Inevitably, invariably, eventually you will discover you are unprepared to make an informed choice. When in doubt, say, Yes. Yes is the eternal passport. Yes is the everlasting coin. —Everyman’s Guide to the Tower of Babel, I. XII ~ Josiah Bancroft,
145:One of the towering people in this industry said, why don't you go and make a five-year contract with somebody, make yourself several million dollars and put it away, then go and do whatever you want, work for public TV if you want. ~ Roone Arledge,
146:There was a steady drizzle when they left for the tower. Moist drove the cart, with the others sitting on the load behind him and bickering over trigonometry. Moist tried not to listen; he got lost when maths started to get silly. ~ Terry Pratchett,
147:ALBA from “Langue d’Oc” When the nightingale to his mate Sings day-long and night late My love and I keep state In bower, In flower, ‘Till the watchman on the tower Cry: “Up! Thou rascal, Rise, I see the white Light And the night Flies. ~ Ezra Pound,
148:Did you know they call the tower the "Iron Lady"? Hmm. Isn't that Margaret Thatched called that, too? Frankly, they don't look anything alike to me. For one thing, Maggie has two legs, and the Parisian Iron Lady has four on the floor, like me. ~ Sheron Long,
149:I laughed. " So, let me get this straight. You slayed the dragon, jumped over the moat, climbed the tower of the evil King's castle, saved the princes, and rode off with her into sunset aka Shadow land. Why, you're my knight in shining armour. ~ Jayde Scott,
150:It was the dilemma of the watchers: they didn't want to wait around for nothing at all, some idiot standing on the precipice of the towers, but they didn't want to miss the moment either, if he slipped, or got arrested, or dove, arms stretched. ~ Colum McCann,
151:Cincinnati, I thought, was the most beautiful of the inland cities of the Union. From the tower of its unsurpassed hotel the city spreads far and wide its pageant of crimson, purple and gold, laced by silver streams that are great rivers. ~ Winston S Churchill,
152:From Boston to Bordeaux, revolution was in large measure the achievement of networks of wordsmiths, the best of whom were also orators whose shouted words could rally the crowd in the square and incite them to storm the towers of the old regime. ~ Niall Ferguson,
153:Offended you again,” her godmother said with satisfaction. “Come along, then. We’ll go to my chambers. The butler put me in one of the towers, and it’s utterly heavenly, like being stuck in the clouds except for the pigeons crapping on the windows. ~ Eloisa James,
154:You’ll get hurt!” But she doesn’t listen. She jumps straight out the window. “Wheeee!” she yells as she flies down. She lands on the Frau-Monster, knocking her down, and then bounces into the thorns by the tower as though Frau were a trampoline. ~ Sarah Mlynowski,
155:At the heart of the cyclone
tearing the sky
And flinging the clouds
and the towers by
Is a place of central calm;
So here in the roar of mortal things,
I have a place where my spirit sings,
In the hollow of God’s palm. ~ Edwin Markham,
156:Squire Liana, by my power as a Knight Commander of the Citadel, you are to seek Medica treatment tomorrow. There will be no arguments, no exceptions, and no complaints. You will serve the Tower.” My mother’s words held the ring of finality to them. ~ Bella Forrest,
157:The reason bin Laden staggered the planes going into the towers was so every camera would be focused on the second tower when the plane hit. It was not only the murder, but the perpetual image of the horror that permeated into people's consciousness. ~ John Cusack,
158:You are young and young your rule and you think that the tower in which you live is free from sorrow: from it have I not seen two tyrants thrown? The third, who now is king, I shall yet live to see him fall, of all three most suddenly, most dishonored. ~ Aeschylus,
159:In order for once to get a glimpse of our European morality from a distance, in order to compare it with other earlier or future moralities, one must do as the traveller who wants to know the height of the towers of a city: he leaves the city. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
160:Why am I here?” Jake asked. “Why did I forget everything from before?” “Because the man in black has drawn you here,” the gunslinger said. “And because of the Tower. The Tower stands at a kind of . . . power-nexus. In time.” “I don’t understand that! ~ Stephen King,
161:In my Craft or Sullen Art
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
. On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and palms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages, ~ Dylan Thomas,
162:Originating in large scale electronic warfare and anti-jamming technologies for the battlefield devised by two Russian immigrants, these now one-chip systems can fit in a handset and enable intercommunication among the towers of Babel in urban America. ~ George Gilder,
163:I went up to the tower. I thought I might find the woman and the boy there, in bed together. Or the boy and his father, enjoying some quality time, a dead man and a mad boy chuckling and joshing and exchanging their stories of being dead and being mad. ~ Stephen Gregory,
164:Nineteen people flew into the towers. It seems hard for me to imagine that we could go to war enough to make the world safe enough that nineteen people wouldn't want to do harm to us. So it seems like we have to rethink a strategy that is less military-based. ~ Jon Stewart,
165:The second plane coming out of that ice blue sky, this was the footage that entered the body, that seemed to run beneath her skin, the fleeting sprint that carried lives and histories, theirs and hers, everyone's, into some other distance, out beyond the towers. ~ Don DeLillo,
166:How old was More when Richard succeeded?
He was five.
When that dramatic council scene had taken place at the Tower, Thomas More had been five years old. He had been only eight when Richard died at Bosworth.
Everything in that history had been hearsay. ~ Josephine Tey,
167:I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun; and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a Shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren. ~ J R R Tolkien,
168:Everyone needs faith: faith that even though the world is full of evil, a suitor will come and kiss us awake; faith that the girl will escape the tower, the big bad wolf will die, and even those poisoned by malevolence can be reborn, as innocent as purity itself. ~ Rene Denfeld,
169:And therein were many knights and squires to behold, scaffolds and pavilions; for there upon the morn should be a great tournament: and the lord of the tower was in his castle and looked out at a window, and saw a damosel, a dwarf, and a knight armed at all points. ~ Thomas Malory,
170:Divinition is a means of telling ourselves what we already know. What we fear. There are no demons but a collection of archetypes every civilization has in common. The fear of loss - Death. The fear of displacement - the Tower. The fear of transience - the Chariot. ~ Joanne Harris,
171:For socialism is not merely the labour question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. ~ Joseph Conrad,
172:socialism is not merely the labor question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
173:For socialism is not merely the labor question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism today, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
174:For socialism is not merely the labor question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
175:Long after midnight when you park, and stand
Just for a moment in the chromium wash,
Sometimes it seems that, some way off,
Between the river and the tower belt, say,
The roofs show black on pomegranate red
As if, below that line, they stood on fire. ~ Christopher Logue,
176:When all men were of one language, some of them built a high tower, as if they would thereby ascend up to heaven, but the gods sent storms of wind and overthrew the tower, and gave every one his peculiar language; and for this reason it was that the city was called Babylon. ~ Josephus,
177:For socialism is not merely the labour question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to Heaven from Earth but to set up Heaven on earth. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
178:Raphael knew the real reason Illium had flown here rather than to his home in the Tower. Elena's Bluebell adored her, and it was to her that he would speak things he wouldn't speak even to Raphael. And tonight was the one-year anniversary of Aodhan's return to the Refuge. ~ Nalini Singh,
179:2 From the ends of the earth, I cry to you for help when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the towering rock of safety, 3 for you are my safe refuge, a fortress where my enemies cannot reach me. 4 Let me live forever in your sanctuary, safe beneath the shelter of your wings! ~ Anonymous,
180:God doesn’t give us crying, pooping children because he wants to advance our careers. He gives them to us for the same reason he confused language at the Tower of Babel, to create chaos and deter us from investing too much energy in the gluttonous idols of self-absorption. ~ Donald Miller,
181:In the pillared bowl atop the tower, a great pyre blazed, casting a golden glow over the granite walls. The bloody body of a man painted with the white four-pointed star of Kimisara hung by his neck below.
“I think that Kimisar you saw is still here,” Alex observed dryly. ~ Erin Beaty,
182:Anyway, it's two in the morning and we're taking turns pissing off of the tower (rather than going at the same time, because we weren't raised by wolves). So it's my turn and I'm right at that transcendent moment when the long stream of urine connects me and the ground below... ~ David Wong,
183:I read numerous books - loads in fact - and, as I always do when recording a historical project, immersed myself into the subject matter. I spent many hours at Henrys old homes, such as Hampton Court, and visiting the Tower of London. I read no other books during that period. ~ Rick Wakeman,
184:Literature is a vast forest and the masterpieces are the lakes, the towering trees or strange trees, the lovely, eloquent flowers, the hidden caves, but a forest is also made up of ordinary trees, patches of grass, puddles, clinging vines, mushrooms, and little wildflowers. ~ Roberto Bolano,
185:Did you read the part that says, 'Your hair is like a flock of goats'? How romantic is that? Or that other line, 'Your neck is like the tower of David.' Oh, now, that sounds real attractive! If some guy tried those lines on me, I'm sure I'd fall instantly in love with him. ~ Robin Jones Gunn,
186:Sane people kept their groups to a half dozen or so, though. The tower punished anything it saw as a threat, and everyone knew the stories about what had happened when it did. The Kingdom of Feria had once tried to invade the fifth tower. It was nothing but dust and ruins, now. ~ Andrew Rowe,
187:I could see the condemned man, accompanied by his priest, walk slowly from the Tower toward the green where the wooden platform was waiting, the block of wood placed center stage, the executioner dressed all ready for work in his shirtsleeves with a black hood over his head. ~ Philippa Gregory,
188:The towers are gone now, reduced to bloody rubble, along with all hopes for Peace in Our Time, in the United States or any other country. Make no mistake about it: We are At War now & with somebody & and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives. ~ Hunter S Thompson,
189:Westminster Abbey, the Tower, a steeple, one church, and then another, presented themselves to our view; and we could now plainly distinguish the high round chimneys on the tops of the houses, which yet seemed to us to form an innumerable number of smaller spires, or steeples. ~ Karl Philipp Moritz,
190:For grammar it [poetry] might have, but it needs it not; being so easy in itself, and so void of those cumbersome differences of cases, genders, moods, and tenses, which, I think, was a piece of the Tower of Babylon's curse, that a man shoult be put to school to learn his mother-tongue. ~ Philip Sidney,
191:It was one of those glorious New York fall afternoons, with a rich clarity to the low light that cast a dreamlike significance over everything. Far below, particles of sun glittered on the traffic of 42nd Street, hovercars floating in and out of the Tower like swarms of jeweled flies. ~ Katharine McGee,
192:I am Apollo,” I announced. “You mortals have three choices: offer me tribute, flee, or be destroyed.”

I wanted my words to echo through the alley, shake the towers of New York, and cause the skies to rain smoking ruin. None of that happened. On the word destroyed, my voice squeaked. ~ Rick Riordan,
193:I saw the lake of Hali, thin and blank, without a ripple or wind to stir it, and I saw the towers of Carcosa behind the moon. Aldebaran, the Hyades, Alar, Hastur, glided through the cloud-rifts which fluttered and flapped as they passed like the scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow. ~ Robert W Chambers,
194:It's true that non-ionizing radiation lacks the power to have damage. But its damage seems to come from its modulated signal. So every 900 milliseconds, if you have a cellphone in your pocket, it's getting half of that radiation which is getting into you as it seeks the signal from the tower. ~ Devra Davis,
195:became known, was slow and expensive. Delays in receiving equipment plagued Tesla due to the complicated and unusual nature of his designs. In 1903, the tower structure was nearly complete, and the transmitter was operational. As testing began, residents in the area reported seeing “all sorts ~ Sean Patrick,
196:Singers say ‘tradition’ when they don’t want to explain.” “It’s more than that.” Wik shook his head, struggling for patience. “It’s about our history. About how people work. Traditions hold the city together, like the bridges do the towers. Once, we had no traditions. Only fear and loss.” There ~ Fran Wilde,
197:The semigloom of the Tower’s nightfall made Senlin shiver. He cleared his throat and turned toward Adam, silhouetted by the rapidly fleeing line of sunlight. “Who will bury them?” Senlin rubbed tenderly at the dust-clotted gash in his cheek.
“The vultures,” Adam said grimly. “We should go. ~ Josiah Bancroft,
198:Any crew would be lucky to have you. Come down from the tower, Edith. Don’t let your life be defined by stupid words from stupid men, who needed you to be small so that they could feel big. Be bold, be daring, be you. The person you were always meant to be. This squad needs you. I need you. Join us. ~ Zoe Chant,
199:What would you have me do? A knight doesn’t look for a princess among the garbage.”
“My Sam had no use for me when he first met me.”
That Maddie couldn’t believe. “You are Sam’s princess in the tower.”
“I was Sam’s pain in the—” Bella smiled and tapped her behind, leaving the word unsaid. ~ Sarah McCarty,
200:At one point they'd repeated everything enough, and I wanted to tell them to stop showing the planes hitting the tower. We didn't need to see it again. And yet I didn't turn it off. Because I was hanging on every minute, wanting to be there when whatever was going to happen next actually happened. ~ David Levithan,
201:Has Joules calmed down yet?” I asked her. “Did he find the culprit?”

“The Tower’s latest farfetched theory? Nanoseconds before his lightning hit, the Priestess somehow swooped in and ‘insta-drowned’ the twins, shoving water into their lungs. He’s furious and plans to go ‘spearfishing’ for her. ~ Kresley Cole,
202:These two sentiments, "liberty and equality," do not necessarily lead to calumny, rapine, assassination, poisoning, and devastation of the lands of neighbors; but, the towering ambition and thirst for power of the great precipitate them head-long into every species of crime in all periods and all places. ~ Voltaire,
203:I'm one of those people, in any country I'm in, if somebody could just put me in a car or a bus, I'll look out the window and say, 'OK, there's the Tower of London, there's Buckingham Palace, there's Big Ben,' and if it all takes about five minutes, perfect. I've seen all of it and I can go home. ~ Gilbert Gottfried,
204:One may escape from the prisons of experience, ideology or philosophy, but it is impossible to escape from the reality of one's innermost self. Understanding this, I had freed myself from nostalgia, and having done so, what remained was to free myself from the prospect of the future.

("The Tower") ~ Mark Samuels,
205:The Tower doesn’t reign. It looms. Looms above the Old Oaks. Looms above the park wall. Looms above Tirlin. Thick and tall and blunt, chipped and nicked by seven hundred years of determined attempts to pull it down, the Tower endures. “If a mountain had bones,” said Tervis, “that’s what they’d look like. ~ Frank Tuttle,
206:Therefore, the very large department store should not be viewed as a sinful undertaking, as, for example, the Tower of Babel. It is, rather, proof of the inability of the human race of today to be extravagant. It even builds skyscrapers: and the consequence this time isn't a great flood, but just a shop... ~ Joseph Roth,
207:An officer on an elevator in the Tower once told me he was proud of his job keeping bad guys out of society. "Someone's gotta do it, right?" - but that didn't stop him from going to church every week, for almost twenty years now, and confessing to what he called "the sin of locking a human being in a cage. ~ Avi Steinberg,
208:If animals had a Pope," Major Thompson said to me, "their Vatican would be in London. And if by some dire submarine cataclysm that noble vessel, Great Britain, were to be shipwrecked and start to founder, believe me, there would surely be somebody in Westminster to cry from the top of the Tower: "Dogs first! ~ Pierre Daninos,
209:She pointed to the wreckage of one of the frigates in the distance. Half the ship had landed atop one of the towers on the edge of the city, the other half on the flatland beyond. “You didn’t…do that, did you?”

He shrugged with proper dramatic flair. “I did say I came to rescue you. They were in my way. ~ G S Jennsen,
210:Where are we headed?” she asked, stepping with Cord onto the monorail back toward the Tower.
“I was thinking dinner,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Rylin looked at him, her brow furrowed, but for once he didn’t sound teasing. “It’s only ten a.m.,” she pointed out.
He grinned. “Not where we’re going. ~ Katharine McGee,
211:Whereas the man of action binds his life to reason and its concepts so that he will not be swept away and lost, the scientific investigator builds his hut right next to the tower of science so that he will be able to work on it and to find shelter for himself beneath those bulwarks which presently exist. ~ Friedrich Nietzsche,
   You know the Tower of Babel, right? You went to Sunday School?"

   "Yeah, sure. In ancient times everybody on earth spoke the same language, then they decided to build a tower that would reach all the way up to heaven. Then God cursed everybody on the job site to each speak a different language to mess them up.

~ David Wong,
213:There is a Hand to turn the time,
Though thy Glass today be run,
Till the Light hath brought the Towers low
Find the last poor Preterite one . . .
Till the Riders sleep by ev'ry road,
All through our crippl'd Zone,
With a face in ev'ry Mountainside
And a Soul in ev'ry stone

Now Everybody - ~ Thomas Pynchon,
214:This famous life and death struggle of two races is commemorated by a multitude of cairns and pillars which strew the great battle plain in Sligo — a plain which bears the name (in Irish) of “the Plain of the Towers of the Fomorians.” The De Danann were now the undisputed masters of the land. So goes the honored legend. ~ Seumas MacManus,
215:Though the poor were just as afraid as the rich, and valued their lives just as much, they were more sheeplike: they needed each other, needed to link arms, to groan or laugh together. Day was breaking. A silvery blue light slid over the cobblestones, over the parapets along the quayside, over the towers of Notre-Dame. ~ Ir ne N mirovsky,
216:The Tower is not a usual spectacle; to enter the Tower, to scale it, to run around its courses, is, in a manner both more elementary and more profound, to accede to a view and to explore the interior of an object (though an openwork one), to transform the touristic rite into and adventure of sight and of the intelligence. ~ Roland Barthes,
217:I breathed in the night air that was or was not laced with anachronistic blossoms and felt the small thrill I always felt to a lesser or greater degree when I looked at Manhattan’s skyline and the innumerable illuminated windows and the liquid sapphire and ruby of traffic on the FDR Drive and the present absence of the towers. ~ Ben Lerner,
218:In fact, it was precisely their tendency to string together as much of the prevailing but ultimately vacuous jargon as possible—and their unquenchable propensity for lofty but nonsensical pontification—that earned City Hall the nickname of the Tower of Babel, or as Luka preferred to pronounce it, the Tower of Bullshit. ~ Christian Cantrell,
219:Twenty-eight days after the towers, Pike and I finished sealing the deck. It was slick and gleaming and smelled of marine-grade varnish. After the varnish had cured, we put the deck chairs and the Weber and the little table back and sat in the sun drinking cold Falstaff. We sat for awhile, and then Pike said, “Say something. ~ Robert Crais,
220:When the Baptist meetinghouse in Ithaca threw the band of lecturers out of its evening session, they “adjourned into God’s house—the open air”—and held their impromptu meeting in the courthouse square. Some in the mob eventually climbed to the tower and rang the courthouse bell to break up the meeting. Sometimes, when they ~ David W Blight,
221:I understand that in people's eyes, classical music is kind of a lost and dying art, but in my eyes, it's like, "Oh, the musical language, which has been, in the past, only available to a scarce few at the top of the tower, is now wide open." Now people's ears are becoming more amenable to fake strings - I think this is great! ~ Owen Pallett,
222:My mom has a diary entry or something where I wrote, "I think Steven Tyler is my father." I had the same feelings for Todd Rundgren, who raised me as his daughter. I would go to sleep at night and wake up at like 6 in the morning and creep up the little steps to the tower where he would be on his computer. I would just sit there. ~ Liv Tyler,
223:I used my cravings for food as a prompting to pray. It was my way of tearing down the tower of impossibility before me and building something new. My tower of impossibility was food. Brick by brick, I imagined myself dismantling the food tower and using those same bricks to build a walkway of prayer, paving the way to victory. ~ Lysa TerKeurst,
224:It’s easy to judge not knowing the truth

Only seeing carefully built walls.

It’s hard to undo years written in youth

But how amazing when the tower finally falls.

And I see you standing there

All sweet and kind of scared.

And you see me standing here.

Hope in my eyes but full of fear. ~ Kasie West,
225:The wheels rolled on, and rolled down by the Monument, and by the Tower; and by the Docks; down by Ratcliffe, and by Rotherhithe; down by where accumulated scum of humanity seemed to be washed from higher grounds, like so much moral sewage, and to be pausing until its own weight forced it over the bank and sunk it in the river. ~ Charles Dickens,
226:Vhalla wanted to blame him. Had it not been for him, none of this would have happened. If it wasn’t for him, her magical powers would’ve never Manifested, she would’ve never been involved with the Tower, and she would still be blissfully unaware of one senator’s name.

But Vhalla couldn’t blame him because she had been happy. ~ Elise Kova,
227:He would wake to see the towers and minarets printed on the exhausted, dust-powdered sky, and see as if en montage on them the giant footprints of the historical memory which lies behind the recollections of individual personality, its mentor and guide: indeed its inventor, since man is only an extension of the spirit of place. ~ Lawrence Durrell,
228:I understand, probably more than anyone, what a threat Iraq was and the people that threatened Iraq was. I was beneath the towers on September 11th when they fell. And I -- again, I just -- I want to thank the President for the honor in allowing me to go there, because I lost 23 people. I wear this memorial band for the 23 I lost. ~ Bernard Kerik,
229:There was a moment of silence so profound that it seemed the city was asleep. No sound from the bazaars, no arguments among the merchants, no men climbing to the towers to chant. No hope, no adventure, no old kings or Personal Legends, no treasure, and no Pyramids. It was as if the world had fallen silent because the boy’s soul had. ~ Paulo Coelho,
230:Courts. To be seen as you would see the Tower of London or menagerie of Versailles with their lions, tigers, hyænas, and other beasts of prey, standing in the same relation to their fellows. A slight acquaintance with them will suffice to show you that under the most imposing exterior, they are the weakest and worst part of mankind. ~ Albert Jay Nock,
231:Far ahead, the others neared the bridge that led to the fifth and final tower. And what then? Janner wondered. What happens when there’s nowhere left to run? Just as the boys reached the bridge to the third tower, the ground shook. The trolls were only a few feet behind, and one of the beasts had pounded its fist on the tower floor. ~ Andrew Peterson,
232:Men flocked to see it and ascended it as it was a novelty and of unique dimensions. It was the toy of the exhibition. So long as we are children we are attracted by toys, and the tower was a good demonstration of the fact that we are all children attracted by trinkets. That may be claimed to be the purpose served by the Eiffel Tower. ~ Mahatma Gandhi,
233:Ralph spoke to the boat in the same way Whittnish referred to the light – living creatures, close to their hearts. The things a man could love, Tom thought. He fixed his eyes on the tower. Life would have changed utterly when he saw it again. He had a sudden pang: would Isabel love Janus as much as he did? Would she understand his world? ~ M L Stedman,
234:To visit the Tower, then, is to enter into contact not with a historical Sacred, as is the case for the majority of monuments, but rather with a new nature, that of human space: the Tower is not a trace, a souvenir, in short culture; but an immediate consumption of a humanity made natural by that glance which transforms it into space. ~ Roland Barthes,
235:It's the great male fantasy-all it takes is one dance to know that she's the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know-this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. ~ Rachel Cohn,
236:We were trying to get all of the planes down out of the sky. And we watched as the towers of the World Trade Center collapsed - something no one expected and anticipated. And you could sit there and see and be aware that thousands of people were at that moment being killed as a result of the terrorist attacks that struck the United States. ~ Dick Cheney,
237:When the towers again twin-tickle the clouds, I offer to walk again, to be the expression of the builder's collective voice. Together, we will rejoice in an aerial song of victory. I will carry my life across the wire, as your life, as all our lives, past, present, and future -the lives lost, the lives welcomed since.
we can overcome. ~ Philippe Petit,
238:Nurse Amy fiddled with the tubes and bags and machines, then went into the small room and reached behind a white tarp hanging from a pole. Iris heard water falling. Where did it come from? How did it get up into the tower? She and Ash would divert the stream to irrigate something they were growing, or just for fun, but they never beat gravity ~ Sonja Yoerg,
239:As he passed through the winding corridors and the subterranean apartments, Tarzan saw nothing of the hyenas. "They will return," he said to himself. In the crater between the towering walls Bukawai, cold with terror, trembled, trembled as with ague. "They will return!" he cried, his voice rising to a fright-filled shriek. And they did. ~ Edgar Rice Burroughs,
240:Sometimes I sit at my window looking out on the towers of the Abbas and weep silently. No one must know how I suffered. No one must know how I failed. Sometimes I go and stand in the ring of stones and it seems to me that my fate is more wretched then theirs. They were turned to stone while they were dancing defiance. I wish I could have been. ~ Victoria Holt,
241:I had gradually come, by this time [1839-01], to see that the Old Testament from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow as a sign, etc., etc. and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos, or the beliefs of any barbarian. ~ Charles Darwin,
242:So the next morning, I had the deeply wretched experience of seeing Prince Marek stop outside the tower doors to look up to my window and blow me a cheerful and indiscreet kiss. I’d been watching only to be sure he actually left; it took nearly all the caution left in me not to throw something down at his head, and I don’t mean a token of my regard. ~ Naomi Novik,
243:They’re not crazy. They’re exhausted. And partly they’re exhausted by people like you reading about the most inflammatory aspects of their culture in some book club, and then getting to hate them for it, because deep down that’s what we ignorant, weenie Americans, ever since the towers went down, really want to do. Have permission to hate them. ~ Elizabeth Strout,
244:That same cool, formal tone. Not mocking or vicious, just overly polite, without emotion. My stomach clenched, and words froze to the back of my mouth. I wanted to talk to him, but the coldness in his eyes sliced into me, making me pause. Instead, I simply nodded, and watched my knight turn on his heel and stride toward the tower without looking back. ~ Julie Kagawa,
245:In the year 1257, an elephant died in the Tower menagerie and was buried in a pit near the chapel. But the following year he was dug up and his remains sent to Westminster Abbey. Now, what did they want at Westminster Abbey, with the remains of an elephant? If not to carve a ton of relics out of him, and make his animal bones into the bones of saints? ~ Hilary Mantel,
246: Eight O'Clock
He stood, and heard the steeple
Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town.
One, two, three, four, to market-place and people
It tossed them down.
Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour,
He stood and counted them and cursed his luck;
And then the clock collected in the tower
Its strength, and struck.
~ Alfred Edward Housman,
247:Brooklyn Heights itself is a window on the port. Here, where the perspective is fixed by the towers of Manhattan and the hills of New Jersey and Staten Island, the channels running between seem fingers of the world ocean. Here one can easily embrace the suggestion, which Whitman felt so easily, that the whole American world opens out from here, north and west. ~ Alfred Kazin,
248:Everyone thinks you saved me the day you threw us off the tower. But the truth is you saved me way before that. Every time you smile, you save me. I’m surrounded by Guardians everyday but I didn’t encounter courage until I met you. I lived in the light but I didn’t find peace until I held you. And I never understood what it meant to love until I was loved by you. ~ Lola St Vil,
249:Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There. ~ Omar Khayy m,
250:It is a strange phrase, ‘falling in love,’” said one of the princesses in the tower. Tears stood out on her cheeks, and even these were pretty, reflecting the blue sky above her. “It sounds like something you do accidentally, by yourself. But isn’t someone else always to blame? They should call it strangling in love. Walloped in love. Knocked-out-of-nowhere in love. ~ Lauren Oliver,
251:To the east a guard looked on from the tower. I waved at him but he didn’t wave back. At first the guards scared me, but my aunt told me they were not human beings, just a pair of eyes unable to harm or help anyone or anything. I thought of them now in the same way I thought of the stick-figure children my mother had painted on the levee, and I was no longer scared. ~ Omar El Akkad,
252:And yet all the gold is in England, it is dug up from Portuguese and Spanish mines, but it flows by some occult power of attraction to the Tower of London.” “Flows,” Caroline repeated. “Flows, like a current.” Sophie nodded. “And the English have grown so used to this that they use ‘currency’ as a synonym for money, as if no distinction need be observed between them. ~ Neal Stephenson,
253: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,
254:She would tell him—how the towering, teetering pyramid of large living things is toppling down already, in slow motion, under the huge, swift kick that has dislodged the planetary system. The great cycles of air and water are breaking. The Tree of Life will fall again, collapse into a stump of invertebrates, tough ground cover, and bacteria, unless man . . . Unless man. ~ Richard Powers,
255:I knew what I stood for, even if nobody else did. I knew the piece of me on the inside, truer than all the rest, that never comes out. Doesn't everyone have one? Some kind of grand inner princess waiting to toss her hair down, forever waiting at the tower window. Some jungle animal so noble and fierce you had to crawl on your belly through dangerous grasses to get a glimpse. ~ Michelle Tea,
256:The Prince shall think you the most beautiful lady he’s ever seen.” Alex replied wryly, “Let’s hope that’s not the case, Eliza. History teaches us that things never end well when royalty set their eyes on ‘the most beautiful lady’ they’ve ever seen. Have a care; if you perform your tasks too well, I could be haunting the Tower of London without a head, alongside Anne Boleyn. ~ Sarah MacLean,
257:The towering lie of the criminal justice system—that we can reliably determine the truth, that we can know “beyond a reasonable doubt” who is guilty and who is not—is built on this whopper of an admission: after a thousand years or so of refining the process, judges and lawyers are no more able to say what is true than a dozen knuckleheads selected at random off the street. ~ William Landay,
258:It was a moment of passage, boy. A time such as must be at the Tower itself, when things come together and hold and make power in time. My father had taken control, had been acknowledged and singled out. Marten was the acknowledger; my father was the mover. And his wife, my mother, went to him, the connection between them. Betrayer.

My father was the last lord of light. ~ Stephen King,
259:The Prince shall think you the most beautiful lady he's ever seen."
Alex replied wryly, "Let's hope that's not the case, Eliza. History teaches us that things never end well when royalty set their eyes on 'the most beautiful
lady' they've ever seen. Have a care; if you perform your tasks too well, I could be haunting the Tower of London without a head, alongside Anne Boleyn. ~ Sarah MacLean,
260:Every time she saw a videotape of the planes she moved a finger toward the power button on the remote. Then she kept on watching. The second plane coming out of that ice blue sky, this was the footage that entered the body, that seemed to run beneath her skin, the fleeting sprint that carried lives and histories, theirs and hers, everyone's, into some distance, out beyond the towers. ~ Don DeLillo,
261:We see only the simple motion of descent, since that other circular one common to the Earth, the tower, and ourselves remains imperceptible. There remains perceptible to us only that of the stone, which is not shared by us; and, because of this, sense shows it as by a straight line, always parallel to the tower, which is built upright and perpendicular upon the terrestrial surface. ~ Galileo Galilei,
262:But I realized now that without quite thinking it through, I'd half-imagined myself a place here in the tower. My little room upstairs, a cheerful rummaging through the laboratory and the library, tormenting Sarkan like an untidy ghost who left his books out of place and threw his great doors open, and who made him come to the spring festival and stay long enough to dance once or twice. ~ Naomi Novik,
263:From the simplest lyric to the most complex novel, literature is asking us to pay attention. Pay attention to the frog. Pay attention to the west wind. Pay attention to the boy on the raft, the lady on the tower, the old man on the train. In sum, pay attention to the world and all that dwells therein and thereby learn at last to pay attention to yourself and all that dwells therein. ~ Frederick Buechner,
264:Of Swelter's acreage, only a perch or two here and there might, if broken, prove vulnerable loam. That he bled profusely could prove little. There was blood in him to revitalize an anaemic army, with enough left over to cool the guns. Placed end to end, his blood vessels might have coiled up the Tower of Flints and half way down again like a Virginia creeper -- a vampire's home from home. ~ Mervyn Peake,
265:One of the towers has fallen. When it's our turn to leave, it's like something in me is finally willing to listen, and suddenly I understand what it means. The tower doesn't exist anymore. Something I've seen my entire life - something so much larger than my entire life - is gone. That is my first reaction. And then I think about all the people inside. There must have been people inside. ~ David Levithan,
266:Once upon a time in the land of Shinar, God came down to see the city and the tower. People were united and spoke in one language. Then God confound their language and caused them scattered all over the planet earth. I believe, because of our technology, there will be one computer-based language on earth. Then God will come back again and make us all scattered all over the stars constellation. ~ Toba Beta,
267:Relationships matter. They matter as much as exercise and nutrition. And not all relationships help us reach our goals. God doesn’t give us crying, pooping children because he wants to advance our careers. He gives them to us for the same reason he confused language at the Tower of Babel, to create chaos and deter us from investing too much energy in the gluttonous idols of self-absorption. ~ Donald Miller,
268: Full Moon
Above the tower -- a lone, twice-sized moon.
On the cold river passing night-filled homes,
It scatters restless gold across the waves.
On mats, it shines richer than silken gauze.
Empty peaks, silence: among sparse stars,
Not yet flawed, it drifts. Pine and cinnamon
Spreading in my old garden . . . All light,
All ten thousand miles at once in its light!
~ Du Fu,
269:The Tower. He would come to the Dark Tower and there he would sing their names; there he would sing their names; there he would sing all their names. The sun stained the east a dusky rose, and at last Roland, no longer the last gunslinger but one of the last three, slept and dreamed his angry dreams through which there ran only that one soothing blue thread: There I will sing all their names! ~ Stephen King,
270:Creation is all things and us. It is us in relationship with all things. All things, the ones we see and the ones we do not; the whirling galaxies and the wild suns, the black holes and the microorganisms, the trees and the stars, the fish and the whales - the molten lava and the towering snow-capped mountains, the children we give birth to and their children, and theirs, and theirs, and theirs. ~ Matthew Fox,
271:It was one of those rare and beautiful days in winter when England remembers that there is a sun. The star of the day, pale but nevertheless still splendid, was setting in the horizon, glorifying at one the heavens and the sea with bands of fire, and casting upon the tower and the old houses of the city a last ray of gold which made the windows sparkle like the reflection of a conflagration. ~ Alexandre Dumas,
272:Fiction writing starts off by requiring the towering arrogance that enables one to sit down at the typewriter in the belief that someone somewhere will actually be eager to read the productions of our own private imaginations. But that arrogance must be buffered by the humility that leads us to learn our craft and strive to make our work comprehensible and inviting and accessible to the reader. ~ Lawrence Block,
273:This baby is a daughter of the goddess, and so she’s a T-H-R-E-A-T to them, you bet. A big threat. She could bounce the King, if she grows up, which…certain persons…would like her not to do. And there’s other people who want her to grow up but would want to, what, be her manager, you know? Boss her, use her. Climb into the tower by means of her Rapunzel hair, yes, sir. Right into that tower.” Scott ~ Tim Powers,
274:Death, the Sun, the Lovers. Lots of major arcana. Your future's controlled by others. There's powerful people playing with it. You're gonna have to fight to get it back...this is the country of truth. There the Devil, the Star, the Tower. In this country of truth, where your spirit lives, your life still isn't your own. Other stronger spirits, or maybe gods--they've got the say in what happens to you. ~ Emma Bull,
275:Quasimodo then lifted his eye to look upon the gypsy girl, whose body, suspended from the gibbet, he beheld quivering afar, under its white robes, in the last struggles of death; then again he dropped it upon the archdeacon, stretched a shapeless mass at the foot of the tower, and he said with a sob that heaved his deep breast to the bottom, 'Oh-all that I've ever loved!' The Hunchback of Notre Dame ~ Victor Hugo,
276:But that's why you built the towers, isn't it? Weren't the towers built as fantasies of wealth and power that would one day become fantasies of destruction? You build a thing like that so you can see it come down. The provocation is clear. What other reason would there be to go so high and then to double it, do it twice? It's a fantasy, so why not do it twice? You are saying, Here it is, bring it down. ~ Don DeLillo,
277:Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? ~ Bram Stoker,
278:Fingap Falls arrayed before them. To the right flowed the white water of the Mighty Blapp, snaking into the mist of the upper falls. Below it jutted the shelf that caught the waters in its giant palm. The bridges spanning the five towers looked as thin as ribbons. At the fourth, of course, there was no longer a bridge, and the surface of the tower was clogged with the tiny movements of Fangs in retreat. ~ Andrew Peterson,
279:From the simplest lyric to the most complex novel and densest drama, literature is asking us to pay attention. Pay attention to the frog. Pay attention to the west wind. Pay attention to the boy on the raft, the lady in the tower, the old man on the train. In sum, pay attention to the world and all that dwells therein and thereby learn at last to pay attention to yourself and all that dwells therein. ~ Frederick Buechner,
280:Your speech is pompous sounding, full of pride, as fits the lackey of the Gods. You are young and young your rule and you think the tower in which you live is free from sorrow: from it have I not seen two tyrants thrown? The third, who now is king, I shall yet live to see him fall, of all three most suddenly, most dishonored. Do you think I will crouch before your Gods, -so new-and tremble? I am far from that. ~ Aeschylus,
281:With no direction or purpose left in his life, Steffen had wandered and had come here, to this small village high on this hilltop, and he checked over his shoulder once again, as he did every hour since his arrival, at the Tower of Refuge, keeping it in sight at all times, hoping beyond all expectation that he might see Gwendolyn walk out those doors, that he might have a chance to take up his old life again. ~ Morgan Rice,
282:The Queen coined new money specifically for the Company {East India}. Minted at the Tower of London and bearing her arms on one side and a portcullis on the other, it soon became know as the portcullis money. She also granted the merchants a new flag which, with its blue field and background of thirteen red and white stripes, prefigured the one adopted by the Thirteen Colonies of America some 175 years later. ~ Giles Milton,
283:Do you know how long God took to destroy the Tower of Babel, folks? Seven minutes. Do you know how long the Lord God took to destroy Babylon and Nineveh? Seven minutes. There’s more wickedness in one block in New York City than there was in a square mile in Nineveh, and how long do you think the Lord God of Sabboath will take to destroy New York City and Brooklyn and the Bronx? Seven seconds. Seven Seconds. ~ John Dos Passos,
284:She frowned. “Did I do or say something yesterday that I should apologize for?”

“Not you cupcake,” said Graydon. “But apparently a lot of other people in the Tower have. Rune thinks we should rename it Melrose Place. I think Peyton Place has a more classic feel to it, don’t you?”

“Oh no,” she said. “You got the tablecloth away from Tricks.”

Rune grinned. “Not before the little shit bit me. ~ Thea Harrison,
285:There are no medium-sized trees in the deep forest. There are only the towering ones, whose canopy spreads across the sky. Below, in the gloom, there's light for nothing but mosses and ferns. But when a giant falls, leaving a little space ... then there's a race - between the trees on either side, who want to spread out, and the seedlings below, who race to grow up. Sometimes, you can make your own space. ~ Terry Pratchett,
286:If Aliosha had come to the conclusion that neither God nor immortality existed, he would immediately have become an atheist and a socialist. For socialism is not only a question of the working classes; it is above all, in its contemporary incarnation, a question of atheism, a question of the tower of Babel, which is constructed without God's help, not to reach to the heavens, but to bring the heavens down to earth. ~ Albert Camus,
287:With the tower, we knew none of these things. We could not intuit its full outline. We had no sense of its purpose. And now that we had begun to descend into it, the tower still failed to reveal any hint of these things. The psychologist might recite the measurements of the "top" of the tower, but those numbers meant nothing, had no wider context. Without context, clinging to those numbers was a form of madness. ~ Jeff VanderMeer,
288:The crumbling castle, looming among the mists, exhaled the season, and every cold stone breathed it out. The tortured trees by the dark lake burned and dripped, their leaves snatched by the wind were whirled in wild circles through the towers. The clouds mouldered as they lay coiled, or shifted themselves uneasily upon the stone skyfield, sending up wreathes that drifted through the turrets and swarmed up hidden walls. ~ Mervyn Peake,
289:There is a great deal more correctness of thought respecting manhood in bodily things than in moral things. For men's ideas of manhood shape themselves as the tower and spire of cathedrals do, that stand broad at the bottom, but grow tapering as they rise, and end, far up, in the finest lines, and in an evanishing point. Where they touch the ground they are most, and where they reach to the heaven they are least. ~ Henry Ward Beecher,
290:Man has been here 32,000 years. That it took a hundred million years to prepare the world for him is proof that that is what it was done for. I suppose it is, I dunno. If The Eiffel Tower were now to represent the world's age, the skin of paint on the pinnacle knob at its summit would represent man's share of that age; and anybody would perceive that the skin was what the tower was built for. I reckon they would, I dunno. ~ Mark Twain,
291:Man has been here 32,000 years. That it took a hundred million years to prepare the world for him is proof that that is what it was done for. I suppose it is. I dunno. If the Eiffel tower were now representing the world's age, the skin of paint on the pinnacle-knob at its summit would represent man's share of that age; and anybody would perceive that that skin what what the tower was built for. I reckon they would, I dunno. ~ Mark Twain,
Withdrawn and ruinous it broods in umbra: the immemorial masonry: the towers, the tracts. Is all corroding? No. Through an avenue of spires a zephyr floats; a bird whistles; a freshet beats away from a choked river. Deep in a fist of stone a doll's hand wriggles, warm rebellious on the frozen palm. A shadow shifts its length. A spider stirs...
And darkness winds between the characters.
- Gormenghast ~ Mervyn Peake,
293:He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes, … the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world ~ J K Rowling,
294:Martin eyed the buffet table because he'd slept through dinner and was ravenous; but as luck would have it, who was standing next to the tower of cream cakes but Evelyn- looking equally delicious in a stunning, pale yellow gown of light diaphanous fabric that seemed to flutter around her legs on a nonexistent breeze.
And her bosom... Well, she looked delectable with pearls crisscrossing over her lush, alluring breasts. ~ Julianne MacLean,
295:We wind our way past Tower Hill and the scaffold that stands there, where my father ended his life, and I bow my head to his memory, and remember his hopeless struggle against Queen Mary. I think how glad he would be to see one daughter, at least, riding from the Tower to freedom, her baby beside her and her noble husband and heir following behind. It’s bitter for me to think of him, and the death that he brought on Jane, ~ Philippa Gregory,
296:When my first draft of a novel is done, I put it away, warts and all, to mellow. Some period of time later—six months, a year, two years, it doesn’t really matter—I can come back to it with a cooler (but still loving) eye, and begin the task of revising. And although each book of the Tower series was revised as a separate entity, I never really looked at the work as a whole until I’d finished Volume Seven, The Dark Tower. When ~ Stephen King,
297:They run out into the luminous half-dark, past the church and into a field behind it, go a good hundred yards or more before Parks signals to them to kneel down among the towering weeds. They could–maybe should–go further but he wants to see what’s coming. From here he can get a good view of the road without being seen, and their trampled passage will heal over inside of a minute as the resilient grasses stand up straight again. They ~ M R Carey,
298: Alexander By Thebes
I think, the king was fierce, though young,
When he proclaimed, 'You’ll level Thebes with ground.'
And the old chief perceived this city proud,
He’d seen in times that are in sagas sung.
Set all to fire! The king listed else
The towers, the gates, the temples – rich and thriving…
But sank in thoughts, and said with lighted face,
'You just provide the Bard Home’s surviving.'
~ Anna Akhmatova,
299:At the base of the immense pillar, tiny Babylon was in shadow. Then the darkness climbed the tower, like a canopy unfurling upward. It moved slowly enough that Hillalum felt he could count the moments passing, but then it grew faster as it approached, until it raced past them faster than he could blink, and they were in twilight... For the first time, he knew night for what it was: the shadow of the earth itself, cast against the sky. ~ Ted Chiang,
300: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,
301:The 7 Timeless Virtues of Enlightened Living Virtue     Symbol       1 Master Your Mind       The Magnificent Garden       2 Follow Your Purpose       The Towering Lighthouse       3 Practice Kaizen       The Sumo Wrestler       4 Live with Discipline       The Pink Wire Cable       5 Respect Your Time       The Gold Stopwatch       6 Selflessly Serve Others       The Fragrant Roses       7 Embrace the Present       The Path of Diamonds ~ Robin S Sharma,
302:flaunting the Kohinoor on the Queen Mother’s crown in the Tower of London is a powerful reminder of the injustices perpetrated by the former imperial power. Until it is returned—at least as a symbolic gesture of expiation—it will remain evidence of the loot, plunder and misappropriation that colonialism was really all about. Perhaps that is the best argument for leaving the Kohinoor where it emphatically does not belong—in British hands. ~ Shashi Tharoor,
303:If Admiral Tourville’s invasion-fleet makes it across the Channel without being sunk by the Royal Navy, and if the Papist legion establishes a beachhead on English soil without being destroyed by the Army or torn to bits by an enraged Mobb of English rurals, then I shall personally carry every single one of your coins from the Tower of London to the front in my arse-hole, and Deposit them in some Place where they may be easily Picked Up. ~ Neal Stephenson,
304:It was while he was on the tower that
Robbie came to the rampart beneath.
'I want you to look at this,' Robbie called up to him, and flourished a newly painted shield. 'You like it?'
Thomas peered down and, in the moonlight, saw something red. 'What is it?' he asked. 'A blood smear?'
'You blind English bastard,' Robbie said, 'it's the red heart of Douglas!'
'Ah. From up here it looks like
something died on the shield. ~ Bernard Cornwell,
305: Easton's Beach
LAST night I saw a city by the sea,
Outlined in sparks of fire;
Those wreathed lamps made all a fantasy Arch, dome and spire.
I saw above the waters pale and gray,
The pale moon stand,
I heard, but faint and sweet and far away,
A martial band.
The distant voices in the streets, the sound
Of laughter from the towers
Made where we swam the solitude profound:
The sea was ours.
~ Alice Duer Miller,
306:Spirits flitted through the red-and-orange sky like leaves blown on the October wind. They dipped and darted over the brownstones and housing projects, swooped around the towering glass palaces, and dove into the crooked alleyways. Sierra smiled. The world had become so much more alive once she learned to see the dead. For a few moments, she just stood there, let herself be a spectator to the ever unfolding drama of city lights and spirits. ~ Daniel Jos Older,
307:It can be said, then, that Everlost is heaven...for the places that deserve a share of forever.
Such places are few and far between...The greatest of these stood near Manhattan's southern-most tip: the two gray brothers to the green statue in the bay. The towers had found their heaven...held fast, and held forever by the memories of a mourning world, and by the dignity of the souls who got where they were going on that dark September day. ~ Neal Shusterman,
308:He thought back on his family with deep emotion and love. His conviction that he would have to disappear was, if possible, even firmer than his sister's. He remained in this state of empty and peaceful reflection until the tower clock struck three in the morning. He still saw that outside the window everything was beginning to grow light. Then, without his consent, his head sank down to the floor, and from his nostrils streamed his last weak breath. ~ Franz Kafka,
309:It was the Tower. The Dark Tower. It stood on the horizon of a vast plain the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun. He couldn't see the stairs which spiraled up and up and up within its brick shell, but he could see the windows which spiraled up along that staircase’s way, and saw the ghosts of all the people he had ever known pass through them. Up and up they marched, and an arid wind brought him the sound of voices calling his name. ~ Stephen King,
310:Sparrows soar on high; they are light and agile. They fly through the clouds unafraid and travel where the skeleton could never go. That is strength on little wings. And they fly about inside the tower, waiting for the sun to go down so they can open the windows and escape out into the night sky.” “And what do they do when they come out?” “They rain tiny blessings down on the Jews of Prague while we all are asleep. They shine light in the darkness. ~ Kristy Cambron,
311:She climbed, and climbed. The tower vibrated slightly, perhaps because its height made the wind a stroking hand upon its string. Half-heard cries, ragged whispers, soft slithering sounds echoed from the stone walls. The Speaking Tower, it was called, for here Summer could listen to the voices of her subjects, their wishes and fears seeping from rough mauve rock. The outside was white-and-greenstone, but the inside of the Speaking was a pink throat. ~ Lilith Saintcrow,
312:You look like Medusa with decapitated snakes all over your head.”
“Shut up, Rustin. And where have you been?” I shout back. “Melehan said you had disappeared. You said you wouldn’t leave me.”
“I went for a walk,” replies Rustin. “I’m too pumped to sleep, and you were out for the count. I could hear you snoring halfway down the tower.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I breathe heavily.”
“In the same way a fighter jet purrs on take-off. ~ Donna Hosie,
313:I’m getting on pretty well with German, though I haven’t arrived at the stage of finding it a reasonable medium for the expression of thought. I think the original couple who spoke it must have died rather soon after the Tower of Babel, leaving a rather pedantically-minded baby, who had learnt all the words of one syllable, and had to make up the long ones with them – at least how else can you account for such words as Handschule and be-ab-sichtigen? I ~ Bertrand Russell,
314:She never saw it again. Day and night the river flows down into England, day after day the sun retreats into the Welsh mountains, and the tower chimes: 'See the Conquering Hero.' But the Wilcoxes have no part in the place, nor in any place. It is not their names that recur in the parish register. It is not their ghosts that sigh among the alders at evening. They have swept into the valley and swept out of it, leaving a little dust and a little money behind. ~ E M Forster,
315:Then there are the words that the Song of Solomon provides a man. The enchanting words of courtship."
She closed her eyes and, lips parted, began to chant. "How beautiful you are, my love, your eyes are doves.... Your lips are like a crimson thread, and your mouth is lovely. Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate.... Your neck is like the tower of David.... Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies. ~ Talia Carner,
316:A different kind of pleasure surfaced in the aftermath, the pleasure of seeing the towers fall time and again, the experience of being entranced by the visual spectacle, and then also the very graphic forms of public mourning for exemplary citizens (taking place at the same time as the refusal to mourn the undocumented, the foreign, gay and lesbian lives lost there, for example). I am not sure that the guilt over the pleasure re-installed the good citizen. ~ Judith Butler,
317:As we still ascend from shelf to shelf, we find the tenants of the tower serially disposed in order of their magnitude: gannets, black and speckled haglets, jays, sea hens, sperm-whale birds, gulls of all varieties -- thrones, princedoms, powers, dominating one above another in senatorial array; while, sprinkled over all, like an ever-repeated fly in a great piece of broidery, the stormy petrel or Mother Cary's chicken sounds his continual challenge and alarm. ~ Herman Melville,
318:The great shapes of the hills, embrowned and glowing with the molten hues of autumn, are all about him: the towering summits, wild and lonely, full of joy and strangeness and their haunting premonitions of oncoming winter soar above him, the gulches, gorges, gaps, and wild ravines, fall sheer and suddenly away with a dizzy terrifying steepness, and all the time the great train toils slowly down from the mountain summits with the sinuous turnings of an enormous snake. ~ Thomas Wolfe,
319:Where dwells the religion? Tell me first where dwells electricity, or motion, or thought or gesture. They do not dwell or stay atall. Electricity cannot be made fast, mortared up and ended, like London Monument, or the Tower, so that you shall know where to find it, and keep it fixed, as the English do with their things, forevermore; it is passing, glancing, gesticular; it is a traveller, a newness, a surprise, a secret which perplexes them, and puts them out. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson,
320:Going to Europe, someone had written, was about as final as going to heaven. A mystical passage to another life, from which no-one returned the same. Those returning in such ships were invincible, for they had managed it and could reflect ever after on Anne Hathaway's Cottage or the Tower of London with a confidence that did generate at Sydney. There was nothing mythic at Sydney; momentous objects, beings and events all occurred abroad or in the elsewhere of books. ~ Shirley Hazzard,
321:Everything around and about me looked so like the Old Country,” he wrote. Landing on the docks, “Irish porters seized upon my luggage as they would have done at the Tower steps in London. Street newsboys pestered me with second editions of English-printed newspapers. An Old-fashioned English hackney coach carried me to my destination, through dull, English-looking streets, with English names; and the driver cheated me at the end of my fare, with genuine London exorbitance. ~ Anonymous,
322:Granted the endless variations of moral customs, still the essential standards persist. As in a scientific laboratory, all else may change but the standards are unalterable- disinterested love of truth, fidelity to facts, accuracy in measurement, exactness of verification-so, in life as a whole, the towering ethical criteria remain unshaken. Falsehood is never better than truth, theft better than than honesty, treachery better than loyalty, cowardice better than courage. ~ Harry Emerson Fosdick,
323:An artist is somebody who enters into competition with God. The guy who built the Tower of Babel was the first artist. If I had to check out where I was in other centuries, I was his old lady. If I wasn't the guy, I was his chick. He knew that there was more and God got jealous. Even gods get uptight. Women make gods uptight. Everyone thinks of God as a man -- you can't help it -- Santa Claus was a man, therefore God has to be a man. But a man comes once. A woman never stops coming. ~ Patti Smith,
324:Sofia smiled at me. “You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint—ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy—all it takes is one dance to know that she’s the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know—this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. ~ Rachel Cohn,
325:So that was it?” she demanded. “All that build-up to rescue a princess, and . . . that was it?”
“Would you prefer trying to fight your way out of the tower, through the ruined city transformed
into a warzone, through the fetid lake and past the dragons, only to escort her over a thousand miles of
treacherous territory back home?”
“Yes, actually,” Noutha said, blinking.
Tyndal stopped short at that. “I guess I’m glad you weren’t in charge of planning, then,” he
decided. ~ Terry Mancour,
326:THE RAW MATERIAL of a myth, like the raw material of a dream, may be something that actually happened once. But myths, like dreams, do not tell us much about that kind of actuality. The creation of man, Adam and Eve, the Tower of Babel, Oedipus—they do not tell us primarily about events. They tell us about ourselves. In popular usage, a myth has come to mean a story that is not true. Historically speaking that may well be so. Humanly speaking, a myth is a story that is always true. ~ Frederick Buechner,
327:The South Pacific is not a paradise, in the sense that Eden wasn't either. There are always apples and snakes. But it is a wonderful place to live. The green vales of Tahiti, the hills of Guadalcanal, the towering peaks about Wau, and the noonday brilliance of Rabaul have enchanted many white travelers who have stayed on for many years and built happy lives. Often on a cool night when the beer was plentiful and the stories alluring, we have envied the men and women of the South Pacific ~ James A Michener,
328:Josh was irresistibly drawn to the Tower, about half a football field from the back of the hotel, perched on the eastern cliff. He stood next to the concrete base of the thick, conical structure, craning his neck to look up at the unfinished glass housing at the top. It was high up, and his neck hurt trying to take in the entire sight. Josh pulled open the thick wooden door to the Tower. It was a lot heavier than it looked. Or maybe he just needed to work out more. Probably a little of both. ~ Sam Sisavath,
329:From the tower battlements, Dustfinger looked down on a lake as black as night, where the reflection of the castle swam in a sea of stars. The wind passing over his unscarred face was cold from the snow of the surrounding mountains, and Dustfinger relished life as if he were tasting it for the first time. The longing it brought, and the desire. All the bitterness, all the sweetness, even if it was only for a while, never for more than a while, everything gained and lost, lost and found again. ~ Cornelia Funke,
330:The irony was that my real enemy had been there all along right in front of me. Smiling crookedly and convincing me we were friends. Trying to seduce me for the thrill of the chase. Chastising me for not trusting him that first year in the tower stairs at the Academy… Telling me he loved me. And then tossing me aside the second I jeopardized his dreams. I wasn’t what he had wanted all these years. I’d merely been a diversion in his pursuit of the crown.
I never should have trusted a prince. ~ Rachel E Carter,
331:But in an instant Blake stepped in front of her, turning his back to Chris and the gun. The shot was so much louder than anything else in the woods. And it seemed to echo forever. Livia watched Blake’s face in horror as he fell toward her, leaning for a moment like the Tower of Pisa. She staggered back, trying to hold him as they both collapsed to the forest floor. Livia knew he was tremendously injured when his body hit hers so hard. If he could have, she knew Blake would’ve softened the blow. ~ Debra Anastasia,
332:Meggie looked up at the dense thicket of branches. She had never set eyes on a tree like it before. The bark was reddish brown, but as rough as the bark of an oak, and the trunk did not branch until high up in the tree, although it had so many bulges that you could find footholds and handholds everywhere. In some places huge tree fungi formed platforms. Hollows gaped in the towering trunk, and crevices full of feathers showed that human beings were not the only creatures to have nested in this tree. ~ Cornelia Funke,
333:The subtlest change in New York is something people don’t speak much about but that is in everyone’s mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition. ~ E B White,
334:[H]e could see the island of Manhattan off to the left. The towers were jammed together so tightly, he could feel the mass and stupendous weight.Just think of the millions, from all over the globe, who yearned to be on that island, in those towers, in those narrow streets! There it was, the Rome, the Paris, the London of the twentieth century, the city of ambition, the dense magnetic rock, the irresistible destination of all those who insist on being where things are happening-and he was among the victors! ~ Tom Wolfe,
335:The Lighthouse was then a silvery, misty-looking tower with a yellow eye, that opened suddenly, and softly in the evening. Now— James looked at the Lighthouse. He could see the white-washed rocks; the tower, stark and straight; he could see that it was barred with black and white; he could see windows in it; he could even see washing spread on the rocks to dry. So that was the Lighthouse, was it? No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For nothing was simply one thing. The other Lighthouse was true too. ~ Virginia Woolf,
336:My uncle explained about the four hijacked planes that had taken flight, two of which had crashed into the Towers. It had just happened, that morning, on the eleventh. My flight had left JFK the night of the tenth, and I touched down in Seoul before dawn on the twelfth. As I flew west, the day kept trailing behind me. I never experienced September 11; the day was lodged in a space-time vortex, hovering somewhere over the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. And here in Korea, 9/11 was literally yesterday’s news. ~ Patricia Park,
337:You saw it?” “Yes. Honest, I did. It didn’t seem like it could be real, but I got up and ran after it, trying to keep it in sight, and it was real, a six-sided castle of white stone up above the clouds.” “You saw it.” His hands were trembling worse than ever. I nodded. “Up among the clouds and moving with them, driven by the same wind. It was white like they were, but the edges were hard and there were colored flags on the towers.” The memory took me by the throat. “It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. ~ Gene Wolfe,
338:Well, when we were little, Gage’s daddy built a tree house for the three of us in his backyard. We used to have a secret club. And we’d play over there, and hide from people, and pretend we were knights in a castle.”
“Gage and I were knights,” Roo corrected her. “You always had to be rescued.”
“Well, I liked the way Gage threw me over his shoulder and carried me down from the tower.”
“Gage did that?” Clasping his hands over his heart, Parker sighed. “My hero.”
Gage ignored him. ~ Richie Tankersley Cusick,
339:Wide open and unguarded stand our gates, And through them passes a wild motley throng. Men from Volga and Tartar steppes. Featureless figures from the Hoang-ho, Malayan, Scythian, Teuton, Kelt and Slav, Flying the Old World’s poverty and scorn; These bringing with them unknown gods and rites, Those tiger passions here to stretch their claws, In street and alley what strange tongues are these, Accents of menace in our ear, Voices that once the Tower of Babel knew. —THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH, “UNGUARDED GATES,” 1882 ~ Neil Gaiman,
340:Michael was all too conscious of his condition, and when he was in his grimmest moods, he would say, “I am a doomed man,” though there was a hint of the messianic in this too: he was “doomed” as all messiahs are doomed. (When my friend Ren Weschler visited him once and asked how he was, Michael replied, “I am in Little Ease.” Ren looked baffled, and Michael had to explain that Little Ease was a cell in the Tower of London so small that a man could neither stand up nor lie down in it, could never find any ease.) ~ Oliver Sacks,
341:When he returned to the Annex, James found Drew hunched at the keyboard of what served as his computer, Audrey peering over his shoulder at the screen. As usual, the casing was off the tower and a jumble of wires and computer innards spilled out onto the floor. The man had at least half a dozen high-powered laptops to his name, James knew, not to mention the tablets and the smart phones that weighed down his pockets like spare change. But when performance mattered, Drew headed straight to his desktop Frankenstein. ~ Susan Sey,
342:Still, better safe than sorry, right?” “The Tower. It’s the strongest building on the island. Of course, you’ll have to fight Tom for it. He spends most of his nights there.” Tom grinned. “Everyone’s welcome to join me in the Tower. We can have a sleepover and sing songs. Ladies? Any takers?” “Only if I can take my gun,” Carly said. Everyone laughed…except Josh. He watched Tom closely. It’s a front. The man’s got two faces. This is his public face. The one I saw back in the Tower this afternoon was the real Tom. ~ Sam Sisavath,
343:Over the land there lies a long shadow, westward reaching wings of darkness. The Tower trembles; to the tombs of kings doom approaches. The Dead awaken; for the hour is come for the oathbreakers: at the Stone of Erech they shall stand again and hear there a horn in the hills ringing. Whose shall the horn be? Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him: he shall pass the Door to the Paths of the Dead. ~ Anonymous,
344:Won’t wash,” he said, very quietly. “Because of these. This is how they mark you, Slightman. This is your brand. You tell yourself you did it for your boy because it gets you to sleep at night. I tell myself that what I did to Jake I did so as not to lose my chance at the Tower . . . and that gets me to sleep at night. The difference between us, the only difference, is that I never took a pair of spectacles.” He wiped his hand on his pants. “You sold out, Slightman. And you have forgotten the face of your father. ~ Stephen King,
345:HMS Belfast is a gunship of 11,000 tons, commissioned in 1939, which saw active service in the Second World War. Since then it has been moored on the south bank of the Thames, in postcard-land, between Tower Bridge and London Bridge, opposite the Tower of London. From its deck one can see St. Paul’s Cathedral and the gilt top of the columnlike Monument to the Great Fire of London erected, as so much of London was erected, by Christopher Wren. The ship serves as a floating museum, as a memorial, as a training ground. ~ Neil Gaiman,
346:Real history was unromantic, steeped in greed and blood and abject eye-rolling stupidity. An endless parade of putative Ozymandiases marching off to glory before snapping off at the ankles in the depths of the desert: that was human history. Every now and then there would be the pretence of civilisation, but soon enough the restless, hateful, atavistic hearts of humanity would tear down the towers and slide back into barbarism, squealing with glee. Decadence loves the taste of blood, even though it is poison. ~ Jonathan L Howard,
347:The funeral was a vast, elaborate affair, befitting a monarch or head of state, in marked contrast to the essential simplicity of the man honored. The grandeur emphasized the central place that Grant had occupied in the Civil War and its aftermath. “Out of all the hubbub of the war,” wrote Walt Whitman, “Lincoln and Grant emerge, the towering majestic figures.”146 He thought they had lived exemplary lives that vindicated the American spirit, showing how people lifted from the lower ranks of society could attain greatness. ~ Ron Chernow,
348:The bushes puzzled him, they were so big, almost trees, some twice his height, and there seemed so many. They were planted all along the edges of the towering droop-limbed hemlocks that sheltered the place, and in the acres sheltered there were dozens of great rectangular clumps like loaves of porous green bread. The bushes were evergreen. With their zigzag branches and long oval leaves fingering in every direction they seemed to belong to a different climate, to a different land, whose gravity pulled softer than this one. ~ John Updike,
349:Come on!” Janner said, pulling Tink to his feet. The Igiby boys fled, and the trolls bounded after them. The beasts closed the distance with every stride while the Fangs followed at their heels. Far ahead, the others neared the bridge that led to the fifth and final tower. And what then? Janner wondered. What happens when there’s nowhere left to run? Just as the boys reached the bridge to the third tower, the ground shook. The trolls were only a few feet behind, and one of the beasts had pounded its fist on the tower floor. ~ Andrew Peterson,
350:olemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. ~ James Joyce,
351:Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak. ~ James Joyce,
352:But it seems that something has happened that has never happened before; though we know not just when, or why, or how, or where. Men have left God not for gods, they say, but for no gods; and this has never happened before. That men both deny gods and worship gods, professing first Reason, and the money, and power, and what they call life, or race, or dialect.The church disowned, the tower overthrown, the bells upturned, what have we to do but stand with empty hands and palms upturned in an age which advances progressively backwards? ~ T S Eliot,
353:There was a bell clanging in the tower of the building next to the black-shrike-thorn-cave. She found the noise irritating, so she twisted her neck and loosed a jet of blue and yellow flame at it. The tower did not catch fire, as it was stone, but the rope and beams supporting the bell ignited, and a few seconds later, the bell fell crashing into the interior of the tower.
That pleased her, as did the two-legs-round-ears who ran screaming from the area. She was a dragon, after all. It was only right that they should fear her. ~ Christopher Paolini,
354:... I see the green earth covered with the works of man or with the ruins of men’s work. The pyramids weigh down the earth, the tower of Babel has pierced the sky, the lovely temples and the gray castles have fallen into ruins. But of all those things which hands have built, what hasn’t fallen nor ever will fall? Dear friends, throw away the trowel and mortarboard! Throw your masons’ aprons over your heads and lie down to build dreams! What are temples of stone and clay to the soul? Learn to build eternal mansions of dreams and visions! ~ Selma Lagerl f,
355:They say you never know what you would do in a hypothetical situation. We’d all like to think we’d be one of the people who gave up their lifejackets and waved a stoic good-bye from the slanting deck of the titanic, someone who jumped in front of a bullet for a stranger, or turned and raced back up the stairs of one of the towers, in search of someone who needed help rather than our own security. But you just don’t know for sure if, when things fall apart, you’ll think safety first, or if safety will be the last thing on your mind. ~ Huntley Fitzpatrick,
356:You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint—ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy—all it takes is one dance to know that she’s the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know—this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don’t want a very long courtship. They want to know immediately. ~ Rachel Cohn,
357:I think that the lady dies not because she leaves the tower for the outside world but because she lets herself float through the world pulled by the current after a dream.

Do you mean she should of paddled Cecily asks.

Miss Moore laughs. In a manner of speaking yes.

Ann stops drumming. But it wouldn't matter whether she paddled or not. She's cursed. No matter what she does she'll die.

And she'll die if she stays in the tower too. Perhaps not for a long time but she will die. We all will. Miss Moore says softly. ~ Libba Bray,
358:This kiss was different from the first one under the olive tree. That one had been unplanned, she was pretty sure. This kiss had intention and hunger branded all over it. It was like one of those kisses you read about in fairy tales—but Alana had never imagined that such a kiss could cause bone-trembling shivers as well as bliss. She’d never considered the downside of the awakening kiss, of how the princess felt when the hero tore through the thorns or scaled the tower and speared heat and sex and life-changing energy into the princess’s world. ~ Pamela Aares,
359:You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint - ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy - all it takes is one dance to know that she’s the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know - this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don’t want a very long courtship. They want to know immediately. ~ Rachel Cohn,
360:I light a cigarette to put off the journey till later / To put off all journeys till later / To put off the entire universe till later.” The entire universe is in a bookcase, no need to go out: what’s the point of leaving the Tower, said Hölderlin, the end of the world has already taken place, no reason to go experience it yourself; you linger, your fingernail between two pages (so soft, so creamy) where Álvaro de Campos, the engineer dandy, becomes more real than Pessoa, his flesh-and-blood double. Great are the deserts and everything is desert. ~ Mathias nard,
361:Then Abram figured it out. His eyes widened. “Are you —?” Melchizedek put his finger to his lips. “I am Melchizedek, king of Salem. I have no past. I am the servant of El Elyon, the most high God.” But Abram knew he was talking to Shem ben Noah, the blessed seedline, his great ancestor. It was why he was so old, and why he had the weapons that could only have been handed down from Noah. After the Tower of Babel debacle, Shem must have moved to Canaan and created a new identity for himself, wiping away his past, as the sons of Noah turned corrupt. ~ Brian Godawa,
362:You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here's a hint - ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn't just the women. It's the great male fantasy - all it takes is one dance to know that she's the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know - this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don't want a very long courtships. They want to know immediately. ~ David Levithan,
363:Even today, only a small part of the total energies of the community go into education and expression: we sacrifice far more to the arts of destruction and extermination than to the arts of creation. But it is through the performance of creative acts, in art, in thought, in personal relationships, that the city can be identified as something more than a purely functional organization of factories and warehouses, barracks, courts, prisons, and control centers. The towers and domes of the historic city are reminders of that still unfulfilled promise. ~ Lewis Mumford,
364:In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art. ~ Dylan Thomas,
365:Another inventor, J. B. McComber, representing the Chicago-Tower Spiral-Spring Ascension and Toboggan Transportation Company, proposed a tower with a height of 8,947 feet, nearly nine times the height of the Eiffel Tower, with a base one thousand feet in diameter sunk two thousand feet into the earth. Elevated rails would lead from the top of the tower all the way to New York, Boston, Baltimore, and other cities. Visitors ready to conclude their visit to the fair and daring enough to ride elevators to the top would then toboggan all the way back home. ~ Erik Larson,
366:They had heroes for companions, beautiful youths to
dream of, rose-marble-fingered
Women shed light down the great lines;
But you have invoked the slime in the skull,
The lymph in the vessels. They have shown men Gods
like racial dreams, the woman's desire,
The man's fear, the hawk-faced prophet's; but nothing
Human seems happy at the feet of yours.
Therefore though not forgotten, not loved, in the gray old
years in the evening leaning
Over the gray stones of the tower-top,
You shall be called heartless and blind. ~ Robinson Jeffers,
367:The most beautiful conception of immortality of which I know, and certainly one that by contrast shows the utter vulgarity of Christian ideas, is set forth in Pindar's second Olympian: after three or six lives in which a man has lived with strict justice and perfect integrity, he passes beyond the tower of Cronus to the fair realm that cannot be reached by land or sea, where gentle breezes from a placid ocean blow forever on the fields of asphodel. For a description, see Pindar. If the beauty of great poetry can commend a religion, here you have it. ~ Revilo P Oliver,
368:My loving friend, you see, my life was never given a foundation, no one was able to imagine what it would want to become. In Venice there stands the so-called Ca del Duca, a princely foundation, on which later the most wretched tenement came to be built. With me it's the opposite: the beautiful arched elevations of my spirit rest on the most tentative beginning; a wooden scaffolding, a few boards....Is that why I feel inhibited in raising the nave, the tower to which the weight of the great bells is to be hoisted (by angels, who else could do it)? ~ Rainer Maria Rilke,
369:With a grunt, the gunman ripped off the goggles and fumbled for the hilt of a wicked-looking combat knife, swearing under his breath. Marc remembered the moment on the tower block roof in London, but this time there would be no mystery shot, no intervention from out of the darkness.
He felt no doubt as he brought up the Glock and fired twice, putting both rounds through the other man’s sternum at close range. In the close confines of the corridor, the sound of the gun’s discharge was sharp and high, like firecrackers. The gunman went down and was still. ~ James Swallow,
370:[...] Y'know, the Duchess Regan is living here at the tower now? I took your advice about not talking about her boffnacity [footnote], even with the duke dead and all, can't be too careful. Although, I caught sight of her in a dressing gown one day she was up on the parapet outside her solar. Fine flanks on that princess, despite the danger of death and all for sayin' so, sir." -Yeomen
Aye, the lady is fair, and her gadonk as fine as frog fur [...]" -Pocket

footnote: Boffnacity: an expression of shagnatiousness, fit. from the Latin boffusnatious ~ Christopher Moore,
371:She stared out. She saw a vastness, a rising shape, indistinct in the rain, gray in the misty drizzle. At first she had thought it was a cloud, a great bank of fog drifting up over the mountains, but now she realized with a cold awe that it was real, a vast building climbing the mountainside, rising in a countless series of rooms, stairways, balconies, and galleries, far away and immense, its topmost roofs white with snow. And up there, like a needle sharp with ice, one uttermost pinnacle flew the remote black pennant of the Watch.

The Tower of Song. ~ Catherine Fisher,
372:Yet, even for us, there is left some loveliness of environment, and the dullness of tutors and professors matters very little when one can loiter in the grey cloisters at Magdalen, and listen to some flute-like voice singing in Waynfleete's chapel, or lie in the green meadow, among the strange snakespotted fritillaries, and watch the sunburnt noon smite to a finer gold the tower's gilded vanes, or wander up the Christ Church staircase beneath the vaulted ceiling's shadowy fans, or pass through the sculptured gateway of Laud's building in the College of St. John. ~ Oscar Wilde,
373:But as the old Confusion of tongues was laudable, when men who were of one language in wickedness and impiety, even as some now venture to be, were building the Tower; for by the confusion of their language the unity of their intention was broken up, and their undertaking destroyed; so much more worthy of praise is the present miraculous one. For being poured from One Spirit upon many men, it brings them again into harmony. And there is a diversity of Gifts, which stands in need of yet another Gift to discern which is the best, where all are praiseworthy. ~ Gregory of Nazianzus,
374:And suddenly it came to him. That Strawberry Fields garden he'd come from, and the Freedom Tower he'd been thinking of: taken together, didn't they contain the two words that said it all about this city, the two words that really mattered? It seemed to him that they did. Two words: the one an invitation, the other an ideal, an adventure, a necessity. "Imagine" said the garden. "Freedom" said the tower. Imagine freedom. That was the spirit, the message of this city he loved. You really didn't need anything more. Dream it and do it. But first you must dream it. ~ Edward Rutherfurd,
375:New Rule: Conspiracy theorists who are claiming that we didn't really kill Bin Laden must be reminded that they didn't think he did the crime in the first place. Come on, nutjobs, keep your bullshit straight: The towers were brought down in a controlled demolition by George W. Bush to distract attention from Hawaii, where CIA operatives were planting phony birth records so that a Kenyan named Barack Obama could someday rise to power and pretend to take out the guy we pretended took out the Towers. And I know that's true because I just got it in an e-mail from Trump. ~ Bill Maher,
376:The journey from the mountain town of Altamont to the tower-masted island of Manhattan is not, as journeys are conceived in America, a long one. The distance is somewhat more than 700 miles, the time required to make the journey a little more than twenty hours. But so relative are the qualities of space and time, and so complex and multiple their shifting images, that in the brief passage of this journey one may live a life, share instantly in 10,000,000 other ones, and see pass before his eyes the infinite panorama of shifting images that make a nation's history. ~ Thomas Wolfe,
377:The more science learns, the clearer it is that although we are here, we shouldn't be. Once we begin considering the details of it all, the towering odds against our existence begin to become a bit unsettling. When we come to see the superlatively extreme precariousness of our existence, and begin to understand how by any accounting, we ought not to exist, what are we to think or feel? Our existence seems to be not merely a virtually impossible miracle but the most outrageous miracle conceivable, one that makes previously amazing miracles seem like almost nothing. ~ Eric Metaxas,
378:From the lip of the Ravine I could see the Deeps on the other side, hard gray and brown brick on wood on the nearest structures, shading further in to rose, bronze, black pearl, and verdigris in spires of stone, metals, and brilliant glass. The empress of it all, rising from the center, was Ego, the tallest building in the City, whose reflective flanks had no color of their own, but worse the sky instead--relentless, cloudless blue today. The towers of the Deeps, rising in angles or curves, were made more poignant by the occasional shattered forms of their ruined kin. ~ Emma Bull,
379:Nero, the sixth emperor of Rome. This monarch reigned for the space of five years, with tolerable credit to himself, but then gave way to the greatest extravagancy of temper, and to the most atrocious barbarities. Among other diabolical whims, he ordered that the city of Rome should be set on fire, which order was executed by his officers, guards, and servants. While the imperial city was in flames, he went up to the tower of Macaenas, played upon his harp, sung the song of the burning of Troy, and openly declared that 'he wished the ruin of all things before his death. ~ John Foxe,
380:As an antidote I read Jung and Herman Hesse, and learned about the collective unconscious. Divination is a means of telling ourselves what we already know. What we fear. There are no demons but a collection of archetypes every civilization has in common. The fear of loss – Death. The fear of displacement – the Tower. The fear of transience – the Chariot. And yet Mother died. I put the cards away tenderly into their scented box. Goodbye, Mother. This is where our journey stops. This is where we stay to face whatever the wind brings us. I shall not read the cards again. ~ Joanne Harris,
381:The subtlest change in New York is something people don't speak much about but that is in everyone's mind. The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible. A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions. The intimation of mortality is part of New York now: in the sound of jets overhead, in the black headlines of the latest edition. (Written in 1949, 22 years before the World Trade Center was completed.) ~ E B White,
382:A minute afterwards he appeared upon the upper platform, still bearing the gipsy [sic] in his arms, still running wildly along, still shouting 'Sanctuary!' and the crowd still applauding. At last he made a third appearance on the summit of the tower of the great bell. From thence he seemed to show exultingly to the whole city the fair creature he had saved; and his thundering voice, that voice which was heard so seldom, and which he never heard at all, thrice repeated with frantic vehemence, even in the very clouds, 'Sactuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary! The Hunchback of Notre Dame ~ Victor Hugo,
383:I am above the forest region, amongst grand rocks & such a torrent as you see in Salvator Rosa's paintings vegetation all a scrub of rhodods. with Pines below me as thick & bad to get through as our Fuegian Fagi on the hill tops, & except the towering peaks of P. S. that, here shoot up on all hands there is little difference in the mt scenery—here however the blaze of Rhod. flowers and various colored jungle proclaims a differently constituted region in a naturalists eye & twenty species here, to one there, always are asking me the vexed question, where do we come from? ~ Joseph Dalton Hooker,
384:So I went to Canada,” he recalled. “I remember that last beautiful drive, from Seattle to Vancouver, all the towering Douglas firs along the road. It was January 4, 1970. After we crossed the border, it was a breeze, they just sort of waved us through and I remember just looking in the rearview mirror, thinking, ‘Man, there goes my country. I’ll never see it again.’ I get called a coward all the time. It took me a long time not to feel that what I had done was cowardly, because I still had that ingrained military feeling inside. Now I think that was the bravest thing I ever did. ~ Geoffrey C Ward,
385:The six elephants stood, roped each by the foreleg side by side in the vast thirty-foot tent put up several days since for their comfort; their trunks peacefully swaying as the cowardie scuttled back and forth with limp forkloads of hay. Small puffs of steam came from their mouths. Their breath was sweet, filling the sun-warmed, crisp air; and their hides, soothed, clean and lustrous from the water, lay calm on their great hips like the skin of the moon. Only at the end of the line the great bull stirred a little, the towering back swathed and padded and the knowing eye blurred. ~ Dorothy Dunnett,
386:His thumb brushed her chin. He leaned down and hovered, his breath on her temple. Then he pressed his lips to her cheek. Her heart stuttered and her breath froze in her chest. He kissed her other cheek. She lifted her face to look up at him. He cupped her face with one hand and pulled her closer with the other. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then gazed into her eyes. She slid her hand behind his head and closed her eyes. He kissed her full on the lips. Her knees went weak, and he lifted her feet off the ground, reminding her of their embrace when he had rescued her from the tower. ~ Melanie Dickerson,
387:For a while I thought I was the dragon.
I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was
the princess,
cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,
young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with
but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,
while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,
and getting stabbed to death.
Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.
You still get to be the hero.
You get magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights! ~ Richard Siken,
388:This custom is known as the “Frog Dropping” since every year on the first Wednesday before Lent four (or sometimes five) frogs are dropped from the tower of the church of St. Eustachius. They fall onto the pavement beneath, whereupon their remains are examined by the oldest accredited virgin in the town who acquires the honorific title of “Frog Maiden” therefrom. (And in all conscience, she often looks not unlike a frog.) The Frog Maiden is said to be able to foretell the future from these remains and if any spectator is splashed by the blood of the fallen frogs it is considered unusually lucky. ~ Anonymous,
389:Please write and tell me about London, I live for the day when I step off the boat-train and feel its dirty sidewalks under my feet. I want to walk up Berkeley Square and down Wimpole Street and stand in St.Paul's where John Donne preached and sit on the step Elizabeth sat on when she refused to enter the Tower, and like that. A newspaper man I know, who was stationed in London during the war, says tourists go to England with preconceived notions, so they always find exactly what they go looking for. I told him I'd go looking for the England of English literature, and he said:
"Then it's there. ~ Helene Hanff,
390:When she spoke, the words were rote, taught to her by her captors, dead and empty, and forced. But her voice was rough, like silk torn by sharp diamonds, and I believed, truly, that she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the Tower and never emerge again.

"Please, Saint Sigrid, take me in from the storm and teach me to steer through darkness, for I am lost, and I cannot see the shore."

I did not move for a long moment. Then, slowly, I reached out my hand to her and whispered, "Come, Lady, I will cut your hair for you."

Her hand slipped into mine, hard and cool. ~ Catherynne M Valente,
391:As soon as he reflected seriously he was convinced of the existence of God and immortality, and at once he instinctively said to himself: "I want to live for immortality, and I will accept no compromise." In the same way, if he had decided that God and immortality did not exist, he would have at once become an atheist and a socialist. For socialism is not merely the labor question, it is before all things the atheistic question, the question of the form taken by atheism to-day, the question of the tower of Babel built without God, not to mount to heaven from earth but to set up heaven on earth. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
392:Galois's ideas, with all their brilliance, did not appear out of thin air. They addressed a problem whose roots could be traced all the way back to ancient Babylon. Still, the revolution that Galois had started grouped together entire domains that were previously unrelated. Much like the Cambrian explosion-that stunning burst of diversification in life forms on Earth-the abstraction of group theory opened windows into an infinity of truths. Fields as far apart as the laws of nature and music suddenly became mysteriously connected. The Tower of Babel of symmetries miraculously fused into a single language. ~ Mario Livio,
393:In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art. ~ Dylan Thomas,
394:Less violent diversions can also be cited. An inspection of the pupils of Magdalen College, Oxford, in the very early years of the sixteenth century, revealed that ‘Stokes was unchaste with the wife of a tailor … Stokysley baptised a cat and practised witchcraft … Gregory climbed the great gate by the tower and brought a Stranger into College … Pots and cups are very seldom washed but are kept in such a dirty state that one shudders to drink out of them … Kyftyll played cards with the butler at Christmas time for money.’ Other students were accused of keeping as pets a ferret, a sparrowhawk and a weasel. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
395:It's huge!"
"That's what she said!"
Cue riotous laughter as our bus rumbles past Big Ben.
I want to roll my eyes, but I'm afraid pretty soon they're going to get stuck in the back of my head, and penis puns are really not worth my permanent facial damage.
By the time our bus pulls up to the Tower of London, my expectations for the day are somewhere in the basement. Call me a cynic, but since Jason spent the entire time we toured Big Ben talking about how satisfied Mrs Ben must be, my guess is that a landmark famous for its crown jewels is not going to bring out his most charming comments, either. ~ Lauren Morrill,
396:used the interpretation of ancient Jewish texts and legends as my paradigm to place Abraham back during the time of the Tower of Babel, an event that would be considered about a thousand years before Abraham under the conventional chronology. While this supposition is largely rejected now, it has a long venerable tradition in 2nd Temple Jewish literature and Talmudic interpretation and shows up in Ginzberg’s famous Legends of the Jews.[5] It is that interpretation that I found interesting enough to present within the pages of the novel because I have used these ancient Jewish sources throughout the entire series ~ Brian Godawa,
397:When Harper was in among the stones she could see brass plaques screwed into the towering pillars of granite. One listed the names of seventeen boys who had died in the mud of eastern France during the First World War. Another listed the names of thirty-four boys who had died on the beaches of western France during the Second. Harper thought all tombstones should be this size, that the small blocks to be found in most graveyards did not even begin to express the sickening enormity of losing a virgin son, thousands of miles away, in the muck and cold. You needed something so big you felt it might topple over and crush you. ~ Joe Hill,
398:It was all still there, an immense quilt of bold, fantastical human will: the faded tawny golds and grays of the descending rooftops and scorched chimney pots, the cold steel-blue river with its fabled Left and Right Banks, the towers and steeples and crooked cobblestone streets, bisected by wide, brutish boulevards. As seductive as a mirage, but every slab of stone, every silent or uproarious inch of it, real. She had not returned triumphant as a brilliant painter or a self-made woman whose only worry about money was how to spend it ... but she had come back to Paris anyway. It was hard to imagine being unhappy here. ~ Christine Sneed,
399:If you have given up your heart for the Tower, Roland, you have already lost. A heartless creature is a loveless creature, and a loveless creature is a beast. To be a beast is perhaps bearable, although the man who has become one will surely pay hell’s own price in the end, but if you should gain your object? What if you should, heartless, storm the Dark Tower and win it? What could you do except degenerate from beast to monster? To gain one’s object as a beast would only be bitterly comic, like giving a magnifying glass to an elephant. But to gain one’s object as a monster…To pay hell is one thing. But do you want to own it? ~ Stephen King,
400:If you have given up your heart for the Tower, Roland, you have already lost. A heartless creature is a loveless creature, and a loveless creature is a beast. To be a beast is perhaps bearable, although the man who has become one will surely pay hell’s own price in the end, but if you should gain your object? What if you should, heartless, storm the Dark Tower and win it? What could you do except degenerate from beast to monster? To gain one’s object as a beast would only be bitterly comic, like giving a magnifying glass to an elephaunt. But to gain one’s object as a monster…To pay hell is one thing. But do you want to own it? ~ Stephen King,
401:That Yank glean is long gone anyway; money, sex, power, it’s gone global – no one has a monopoly on it anymore. The towering skyscrapers of New York had fallen long before the second plane; we all knew it. The twang of the Yank accent doesn’t give girls that twinge these days, even the dollar sign is looking dated, its day long past. No, America doesn’t have it anymore.

But then nowhere does. We don’t chop the world up by borders anymore, don’t slice peoples and dice continents. It’s all a sweltering mess, a fucking free-for-all. We went global centuries ago, today we’ve gone digital, and digital doesn’t have borders. ~ Matthew Selwyn,
402:[Eddie] cried out but his cry was lost in the golden blast of some tremendous horn. It came from the top of the Tower, and seemed to fill the world. As that note of warning held and drew out over the field where he stood, blackness welled from the windows which girdled the Tower. It overspilled them and spread across the sky in flaggy streams which came together and formed a growing blotch of darkness. It did not look like a cloud; it looked like a tumor hanging over the earth. The sky was blotted out. And, he saw, it was not a cloud or a tumor but a shape, some tenebrous, cyclopean shape racing toward the place where he stood. ~ Stephen King,
403: The Starling
Forever the impenetrable wall
Of self confines my poor rebellious soul,
I never see the towering white clouds roll
Before a sturdy wind, save through the small
Barred window of my jail. I live a thrall
With all my outer life a clipped, square hole,
Rectangular; a fraction of a scroll
Unwound and winding like a worsted ball.
My thoughts are grown uneager and depressed
Through being always mine, my fancy's wings
Are moulted and the feathers blown away.
I weary for desires never guessed,
For alien passions, strange imaginings,
To be some other person for a day.
~ Amy Lowell,
404:Returning to Deuteronomy 32 and going back a few more verses in context, we read of a reality-changing incident that occurred at Babel:   Deut. 32:8-9 When the Most High gave to the nations their inheritance, when he divided mankind, he fixed the borders of the peoples according to the number of the sons of God. But the LORD’s portion is his people, Jacob his allotted heritage.   The reference to the creation of nations through the division of mankind and fixing of the borders of nations is clearly a reference to the event of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11 and the dispersion of the peoples into the 70 nations listed in Genesis 10. ~ Brian Godawa,
405:Her evil cannot reach us here. Let us burn the ancient tree-mace trees and close off the ancient ways. Tear down the tower, the crown of our barrow, and let us hide ourselves from evil. Let no one leave the mound, and if evil grows, we shall flee farther.

No! Let evil hear the pounding of our feet! Let evil hear our drumming and our chanting songs of war. Let evil fear us! Let evil flee! In any world, may dark things know our names and fear. May their vile skins creep and shiver at every mention of the faeren. Let the night flee before the dawn and darkness crowd into the shadows. We march to war!"

- Nudd, the Chestnut King ~ N D Wilson,
406:The rooks were sailing about the cathedral towers; and the towers themselves, overlooking many a long unaltered mile of the rich country and its pleasant streams, were cutting the bright morning air as if there were no such thing as change on earth. Yet the bells, when they sounded told me sorrowfully of change in everything; told me of their own age, and my pretty Dora's youth; and of the many, never old, who had lived and loved and died, while the reverberations of the bells had hummed through the rusty armour of the Black Prince hanging up within, and, motes upon the deep of Time, had lost themselves in air, as circles do in water. ~ Charles Dickens,
407:Another local tale tells of how the Cailleach Béarra was interrupted building Meelick Round Tower outside Swinford in County Mayo.xxvii Originally the tower was part of a monastery, but like St Michael’s Tower on Glastonbury Tor, the tower is the only part of the structure that remains. The story goes that the Cailleach Béarra was building the tower to the sky, like a Tower of Babel. However she was interrupted by a passing boy who made a rude comment which caused her to jump down angrily. The boy commented that he could see her arse, and she jumped down, abandoning the tower and leaving the marks from her knees in the rocks below where she landed. ~ Sorita d Este,
408:I want you to know that you will not be alone in your loneliness,” he said.
Her tear-filled eyes welled over. “You will be surrounded by your court…and all the beautiful ladies there.”
Rodrigo shook his head. “I’ve never cared about any of them. I shall be lonely for you. Lonely in the midst of a crowd…surrounded by a hundred faces, none of them yours.” He held Rapunzel’s tearful gaze, and tried to swallow the lump in his throat. But he couldn’t. “And as everything and everyone is spinning around me, I shall be thinking of you and longing to be here…” he brushed the backs of his fingers against her wet cheek, “…here in the tower, with my Rapunzel. ~ Lisa Valdez,
409:Such a captive maiden, having plenty of time to think, soon realizes that her tower, its height and architecture, are like her ego only incidental: that what really keeps her where she is is magic, anonymous and malignant, visited on her from outside and for no reason at all. Having no apparatus except gut fear and female cunning to examine this formless magic, to understand how it works, how to measure its field strength, count its lines of force, she may fall back on superstition, or take up a useful hobby like embroidery, or go mad, or marry a disk jockey. If the tower is everywhere and the knight of deliverance no proof against its magic, what else? ~ Thomas Pynchon,
410: In My Craft Or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art
~ Dylan Thomas,
411:The Canterbury cleric and biographer William Fitzstephen wrote a famously wide-eyed description of the twelfth-century city: [London] is fortunate in the wholesomeness of its climate, the devotion of its Christians, the strength of its fortifications, its well-situated location, the respectability of its citizens, and the propriety of their wives. Furthermore it takes great pleasure in its sports and is prolific in producing men of superior quality. . . . On the east side stands the royal fortress [i.e. the Tower of London], of tremendous size and strength, whose walls and floors rise up from the deepest foundations—the mortar being mixed with animal’s blood. ~ Dan Jones,
412:BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING QUITE BEAUTIFUL about this new thing with Betsy. She was taking me somewhere. I’d known enough older guys who gave their lives to their careers and have nothing to show for it save a lot of money and power and loneliness to realize Betsy was right. Relationships matter. They matter as much as exercise and nutrition. And not all relationships help us reach our goals. God doesn’t give us crying, pooping children because he wants to advance our careers. He gives them to us for the same reason he confused language at the Tower of Babel, to create chaos and deter us from investing too much energy in the gluttonous idols of self-absorption. ~ Donald Miller,
413:One thing she realized soon was that the rain here was eternal. The weather must have changed since the Emperor's time, because now the tower loomed constantly in its cloud of drizzle; all the long afternoons rain trickled in runnels and gutters and spouts, spattering through gargoyles of hideous beasts and goblins that spat far down on the heads of hurrying clerks. Always the roofs ran with water; it dripped and plopped and splashed through culverts and drains, or sheeted down, a relentless liquid gurgle that never stopped, until she started to imagine that this was the song the tower sang, through all the throats and mouths and pipes of its endless body. ~ Catherine Fisher,
414:The hands pulled him forward regardless. The hands of the Tower knew no mercy.

They were the hands of Gan, the hands of ka, and they knew no mercy.

He smelled alkali, bitter as tears. The desert beyond the door was white; blinding; waterless; without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon. The smell beneath the alkali was that of the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death.

But not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct.

May I be brutally frank? You go on.

And each time you forget the last time. For you, each time is the first time. ~ Stephen King,
415:One of the towering figures of the age of Enlightenment was Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, known to this day in German-speaking lands as the poet of princes and prince of poets. Unlike Voltaire, he openly practiced esoteric disciplines, particularly alchemy. He wrote a famous verse about the Cathars, which translated says: “There were those who knew the Father. What became of them? Oh, they took them and burned them!” Goethe's chief work, of course, is his Faust. As noted in chapter 8, the figure of Faust was inspired by the image of the early Gnostic teacher Simon Magus, one of whose honorific names was Faustus. While in Christopher Marlowe's sixteenth-century play, ~ Stephan A Hoeller,
416:Why didn’t God want them to build the Tower of Babel?” I said. “Why did He make it so everybody couldn’t understand each other?” “You know I don’t believe in God.” “I know.” “Probably there was just a ziggurat, you know what a ziggurat is? Over in Mesopotamia. Maybe it was in ruins. Maybe it was only halfway built, left unfinished. And they made up a story to explain what happened to it, why it looked incomplete.” “Oh.” “You understand what I’m saying?” I understood: Everything got ruined and nothing was ever finished. The world, like the Tower of Babel or my grandmother’s deck of cards, was made out of stories, and it was always on the verge of collapse. That was proverbial. ~ Michael Chabon,
417: Influence
The fervent, pale-faced Mother ere she sleep,
Looks out upon the zigzag-lighted square,
The beautiful bare trees, the blue night-air,
The revelation of the star-strewn deep,
World above world, and heaven over heaven.
Between the tree-tops and the skies, her sight
Rests on a steadfast, ruddy-shining light,
High in the tower, an earthly star of even.
Hers is the faith in saints' and angels' power,
And mediating love--she breathes a prayer
For yon tired watcher in the gray old tower.
He the shrewd, skeptic poet unaware
Feels comforted and stilled, and knows not whence
Falls this unwonted peace on heart and sense.
~ Emma Lazarus,
418:Tower of Babylon 11 At one time the whole earth had the same language and vocabulary. 2 As people migrated from the east, they found a valley in the land of •Shinar and settled there. 3 They said to each other, “Come, let us make oven-fired bricks.” They used brick for stone and asphalt for mortar. 4 And they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the sky. Let us make a name for ourselves; otherwise, we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.” 5 Then the LORD came down to look over the city and the tower that the •men were building. 6 The LORD said, “If they have begun to do this as one people all having the same language, then nothing they plan ~ Anonymous,
419:The gods were bored so they created man. Adam was bored because he was alone, so Eve was created. From that time boredom entered the world and grew in exact proportion to the growth of population. Adam was bored alone, then Adam and Eve in union, then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille, then the population increased and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of building a tower so high it reached the sky. The very idea is as boring as the tower was high, and a terrible proof of how boredom had gotten the upper hand. Then the nations were scattered over the earth, just as people now travel abroad, but they continued to be bored. ~ S ren Kierkegaard,
420:The crowd listened all the more closely for having waited and despaired, especially since this time the bells, ringing softly, demanded a deeper hush. The prelude was muted, a blend in which one could no longer distinguish bells alternating then coming together, it was a concert of bronze united, as if far off and very old. Music in a dream! It did not come from the tower, but from much farther away, from the depths of the sky, from the depths of time. This carillonneur had had the idea of playing some old Christmas carols, Flemish carols born of the race, mirrors in which it recognises itself. Like everything that has passed through the centuries, it was very solemn and a little sad. ~ Georges Rodenbach,
421:The tower, which was not supposed to be there, plunges into the earth in a place just before the black pine forest begins to give way to swamp and then the reeds and wind-gnarled trees of the marsh flats. Beyond the marsh flats and the natural canals lies the ocean and, a little farther down the coast, a derelict lighthouse. All of this part of the country had been abandoned for decades, for reasons that are not easy to relate. Our expedition was the first to enter Area X for more than two years, and much of our predecessors’ equipment had rusted, their tents and sheds little more than husks. Looking out over that untroubled landscape, I do not believe any of us could yet see the threat. ~ Jeff VanderMeer,
422:Artur Schnabel, one of the towering pianists of the twentieth century. Modified in tone but not spirit from Schnabel’s interview remarks in Chicago the same year Germany surrendered to the Allies. She also knew this was about as high a compliment as Paul Mandelbaum was capable of making. Schnabel’s performances of the thirty-two Beethoven sonatas were possibly the only thing her mentor was capable of carrying on about ad nauseam. You were never going to enter his pantheon of star pupils unless you gave yourself over, heart and soul, to Schnabel’s interpretation of Beethoven’s Klaviersonaten and the virtuoso’s idea that the greatest music was that which is “better than it can be performed. ~ Bradford Morrow,
423:Everyone would believe her because at the back of their minds, everyone thinks that twin brothers and sisters grow up magnetized towards each other, the prince at the foot of Rapunzel’s tower before the tower is even built, the lover you can get at all the fucking time, the one who is you but a girl, or you but a boy, whose bed you know as well as your own. How could you endure that without falling in love? The question is, were they born in love with each other, these twins, or did it blossom? At any rate it’s already happened, the onlookers agree. It must have. Ask them when they fell. The brother and sister say no, no, it’s nothing like that, but what they mean is that they can’t remember when. ~ Helen Oyeyemi,
424:When your friend who died was still alive, did you ever tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re… what’s the word? Celibate?” Tony asked, trailing his fingers along the buttons on the remote control but not really finding himself able to change the channel. His name, his daughter’s name, it all could’ve easily become a statistic, an obituary, had they not left the tower when they did.

“I’m asexual, not a celibate,” replied the lawyer, “and sure, I told him…” She froze for a moment, averting her eyes to the ugly gray-and-red carpeting on the floor. “Clarence didn’t care, he was married, anyway. He always used to tell me, “you know, you’d make one hell of an ace attorney, Bailey! ~ Rebecca McNutt,
425:The warden always seems to know which book to bring. When the sun is gunslinger blue, the warden brings a western. When rain slates against the towers and the world has gone hopeless with gray, it is Bible stories. When the halls ring with the cries of riot and the bars of my own cell rattle with pain, the warden drops a soft book on the floor, solace in its pages: the collected poems of Walt Whitman. And oh, my favorites, like the tastes of childhood. Every few months the warden passes me The White Dawn, and for a few precious days I traverse the open heavens on hard-packed moonlit snow and see the blue splashing arctic lights, and I fill my belly with frozen seal meat and laugh with my Inuit friends. ~ Rene Denfeld,
426: Mickey M'Grew
It was just like everything else in life:
Something outside myself drew me down,
My own strength never failed me.
Why, there was the time I earned the money
With which to go away to school,
And my father suddenly needed help
And I had to give him all of it.
Just so it went till I ended up
A man-of-all-work in Spoon River.
Thus when I got the water-tower cleaned,
And they hauled me up the seventy feet,
I unhooked the rope from my waist,
And laughingly flung my giant arms
Over the smooth steel lips of the top of the tower -But they slipped from the treacherous slime,
And down, down, down, I plunged
Through bellowing darkness!
~ Edgar Lee Masters,
427:At one end of the vast C bitten from the castle a sin­gle great bastion-tower stood, almost intact, five kilometres high, and casting a kilometre-wide shadow across the rum­pled ground in front of the convoy. The walls had tumbled down around the tower, vanishing completely on one side and leaving only a ridge of fractured material barely five hundred metres high on the other. The plant-mass babilia, unique to the fastness and ubiquitous within it, coated all but the smoothest of vertical surfaces with tumescent hanging forests of lime-green, royal blue and pale, rusty orange; only the heights of scarred wall closest to the more actively venting fissures and fumaroles remained untouched by the tenacious vegetation. ~ Iain M Banks,
428:Lead from the front. Go to where you can do the most good. From the moment the Towers were struck, Giuliani was front and center, helping to coordinate, command, and commandeer state and federal assistance. Be seen as the leader. Get out of the bunker. Let people know what you are doing. In the wake of September 11, Giuliani was everywhere; he used his public persona to console, grieve with, and inspire his ravaged city. Elevate the status of sacrifice. Give meaning to the sacrifice of others. Giuliani repeatedly cited the heroism of the New York City firefighters who, as the Towers were crumbling, went in as others were coming out. Show the human side. Do not be afraid to show emotion. We witnessed Giuliani shedding ~ John Baldoni,
429: In Snow-Time
I have seen things that charmed the heart to rest:
Faint moonlight on the towers of ancient towns,
Flattering the soul to dream of old renowns;
The first clear silver on the mountain crest
Where the lone eagle by his chilly nest
Called the lone soul to brood serenely free;
Still pools of sunlight shimmering in the sea,
Calm after storm, wherein the storm seemed blest.
But here a peace deeper than peace is furled,
Enshrined and chaliced from the changeful hour;
The snow is still, yet lives in its own light.
Here is the peace which brooded day and night,
Before the heart of man with its wild power
Had ever spurned or trampled the great world.
~ Duncan Campbell Scott,
430:All men are bores. Surely no one will prove himself so great a bore as to contradict me in this. . . . The gods were bored, and so they created man. Adam was bored because he was alone, and so Eve was created. Thus boredom entered the world, and increased in proportion to the increase of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam and Eve were bored together; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille; then the population of the world increased, and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of constructing a tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea is itself as boring as the tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom gained the upper hand. ~ S ren Kierkegaard,
431: Raleigh’s Cell In The Tower
HERE writ was the World's History by his hand
Whose steps knew all the earth; albeit his world
In these few piteous paces then was furl'd.
Here daily, hourly, have his proud feet spann'd
This smaller speck than the receding land
Had ever shown his ships; what time he hurl'd
Abroad o'er new-found regions spiced and pearl'd
His country's high dominion and command.
Here dwelt two spheres. The vast terrestrial zone
His spirit traversed; and that spirit was
Itself the zone celestial, round whose birth
The planets played within the zodiac's girth;
Till hence, through unjust death unfeared, did pass
His spirit to the only land unknown.
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,
432:But more important than any of these was the vast, accretive weight of small things, from planes which hadn't crashed to men and women who had come to the correct place at the perfect time and thus founded generations. He saw kisses exchanged in doorways and wallets returned and men who had come to a splitting of the way and had chosen the right fork. He saw a thousand random meetings that weren't random, ten thousand right decisions, a hundred thousand right answers, a million acts of unacknowledged kindness. ... For every brick that landed on the ground instead of some little kid's head, for every tornado that missed the trailer park, for every missile that didn't fly, for every hand stayed from violence, there was the Tower. ~ Stephen King,
433:Just as the towering myth of Abraham Lincoln—honest backwoods lawyer, spinner of yarns, righter of wrongs—tells only part of the truth, so, too, is the myth of America woefully incomplete. The country that Ronald Reagan once called “a shining city upon a hill” has, in fact, been tangled up in darkness since before she was born. Millions of souls have graced the American stage over the centuries, played parts both great and small, and made their final exits. But of all the souls who witnessed America’s birth and growth, who fought in her finest hours, and who had a hand in her hidden history, only one soul remains to tell the whole truth. What follows is the story of Henry Sturges. What follows is the story of an American life. ~ Seth Grahame Smith,
434:We were sitting side by side, with our legs swinging on the wall of the tower, and the Clouds™ were all turning pink in front of us. We could see all these miles of filet mignon from where we were sitting, and some places where the genetic coding had gone wrong and there, in the middle of the beef, the tissue had formed a horn or an eye or a heart blinking up at the sunset, which was this brag red, and which hit on all these miles of muscle and made it flex and quiver, with all these shudders running across the top of it, and birds were flying over, crying kind of sad, maybe looking for garbage, and the whole thing, with the beef and the birds and the sky, it glowed like there was a light inside it, which it was time to show us now. ~ M T Anderson,
435:Have you forgotten the allotment at Babel?” She was referring to the act of Yahweh that occurred with the Confusion of Tongues at the Tower of Babel in the ancient days. He divided the nations, fixed their borders, and allotted them according to the number of the Sons of God as their inheritance. He had given the nations over to be ruled by the gods. But Yahweh kept Jacob, through the Seed of Eve, for his own inheritance. Molech said, “That is how we received Canaan.” “Yes, that is how we received Canaan,” she mimicked. “But, do not get too settled down little mole man. The Seed of Eve is on their way to Canaan, which means Yahweh intends to dispossess the Seed of the Serpent from their inheritance. It will be a great War of the Seed. ~ Brian Godawa,
436:...mist lifted its curtain off the lower galleries, uncovering the hazy robed figures of monks walking where dancing girls and warriors once served a king. Shadows shifted from gray to gold. Out of sight, sunlight scaled the temple's back walls, curving up from the east. Light traced the massive bud-shaped towers. Simone had been right, this was Irene's arrival in Cambodia, her entire being narrowed to a single pinpoint of expectation as the pinnacles atop the towers sparked and burst into flame. She leaned forward,watching a city rise fro the depths of the planet. In an instant the fire was extinguished and the sun owned the sky. Angkor Wat exposed its colossal sandstone expanse, revealing itself for what it was - the largest temple in the world. ~ Kim Fay,
437:I never thought you cared all that much if I ever found Gaunt.” Hadrian looked up at the tower again. “At least not that much.”

“Honestly? I don’t care at all. This whole quest of yours is stupid. So you find Gaunt—then what? You follow him around being his bodyguard for the rest of your life? What if he’s like Ballentyne? Wouldn’t that be fun? Granted it’ll be exciting, as I’m sure anyone with a sword will want to kill him, but who cares? There’s no reward, no point to it. You feel guilt—I kinda get that. You ran out on your father and you can’t say you’re sorry anymore. So for that, you’ll spend your life following this guy around being his butler? You’re better than that.”

“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere—so thanks. ~ Michael J Sullivan,
438:Look, suppose that there was one among all those who desire nothing but material and filthy lucre, that one, at least, is like my old Inquisitor, who himself ate roots in the desert and raved, overcoming his flesh, in order to make himself free and perfect, but who still loved mankind all his life, and suddenly opened his eyes and he saw that there is no great moral blessedness in achieving perfection of the will only to become convinced, at the same time, that millions of the rest of God's creatures have been set up only for mockery, that they will never be strong enough to manage their freedom, that from such pitiful rebels will never come giants to complete the tower, that it was not for such geese that the great idealist dreamt his dream of harmony. ~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
439:Go and wake Severus,” said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. “Tell him what has happened and bring him to me. Do nothing else, speak to nobody else, and do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.” “But —” “You swore to obey me, Harry — go!” Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked around at Dumbledore, who gestured him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so. The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted, “Expelliarmus!” Harry’s body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. ~ J K Rowling,
440:I noticed, before we left, a metal plate attached to the fence around the tower. On it was a Federal Communications Commission license number: 1215095. The number, along with an Internet connection, was enough to lead an inquisitive person to the story behind the tower. The application to use the tower to send a microwave signal had been filed in July 2012, and it had been filed by . . . well, it isn’t possible to keep any of this secret
anymore. A day’s journey in cyberspace would lead anyone who wished to know it into another incredible but true Wall Street
story, of hypocrisy and secrecy and the endless quest by human beings to gain a certain edge in an uncertain world. All that one needed to discover the truth about the tower was the desire to know it. ~ Michael Lewis,
441:Joe looked out of the window again. He had the feeling that outside the window there should have been hover-cars, men in trilby hats and jet packs, spider-webs of passageways spreading out of the distant tops of the towers. There should have been women in silver suits taking in a show at the tri-vids before indulging in a spot of lunch, the kind that came in three-course pills, great big subservient robots trailing behind them. Instead there was a brown man in overalls collecting rubbish with a long stick outside an adult cinema, and the cars were halted, bumper-to-bumper, beside a traffic light that seemed to be stuck permanently on red. There was a siren in the distance. There was the sound of car horns, a door slamming, someone cursing loudly in American English. ~ Lavie Tidhar,
442:The priest first read a condensed lesson of sacred history. Felicite evoked Paradise, the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the blazing cities, the dying nations, the shattered idols; and out of this she developed a great respect for the Almighty and a great fear of His wrath. Then, when she had listened to the Passion, she wept. Why had they crucified Him who loved little children, nourished the people, made the blind see, and who, out of humility, had wished to be born among the poor, in a stable? The sowings, the harvests, the wine-presses, all those familiar things which the Scriptures mention, formed a part of her life; the word of God sanctified them; and she loved the lambs with increased tenderness for the sake of the Lamb, and the doves because of the Holy Ghost. She ~ Gustave Flaubert,
443:Long after midnight the towers and spires of Princeton were visible, with here and there a late-burning light – and suddenly out of the clear darkness the sound of bells. As an endless dream it went on; the spirit of the past brooding over a new generation, the chosen youth from the muddled, unchastened world, still fed romantically on the mistakes and half-forgotten dreams of dead statesmen and poets. Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through a reverie of long days and nights, destined finally to go out into the dirty grey turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all God’s dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken… ~ F Scott Fitzgerald,
444:Across the road from my cabin was a huge clear-cut--hundreds of acres of massive spruce stumps interspersed with tiny Douglas firs--products of what they call "Reforestation," which I guess makes the spindly firs en masse a "Reforest," which makes an individual spindly fir a "Refir," which means you could say that Weyerhauser, who owns the joint, has Refir Madness, since they think that sawing down 200-foot-tall spruces and replacing them with puling 2-foot Refirs is no different from farming beans or corn or alfalfa. They even call the towering spires they wipe from the Earth's face forever a "crop"--as if they'd planted the virgin forest! But I'm just a fisherman and may be missing some deeper significance in their nomenclature and stranger treatment of primordial trees. ~ David James Duncan,
445:The greatest mystery the universe offers is not life but size. Size encompasses life, and the Tower encompasses size. The child, who is most at home with wonder, says: Daddy, what is above the sky? And the father says: The darkness of space. The child: What is beyond space? The father: The galaxy. The child: Beyond the galaxy? The father: Another galaxy. The child: Beyond the other galaxies? The father: No one knows.

You see? Size defeats us. For the fish, the lake in which he lives is the universe. What does the fish think when he is jerked up by the mouth through the silver limits of existence and into a new universe where the air drowns him and the light is blue madness? Where huge bipeds with no gills stuff it into a suffocating box and cover it with wet weeds to die?. ~ Stephen King,
446:In the case of our fair maiden, we have overlooked two very crucial aspects to that myth. On the one hand, none of us ever really believed the sorcerer was real. We thought we could have the maiden without a fight. Honestly, most of us guys thought our biggest battle was asking her out. And second, we have not understood the tower and its relationship to her wound; the damsel is in distress. If masculinity has come under assault, femininity has been brutalized. Eve is the crown of creation, remember? She embodies the exquisite beauty and the exotic mystery of God in a way that nothing else in all creation even comes close to. And so she is the special target of the Evil One; he turns his most vicious malice against her. If he can destroy her or keep her captive, he can ruin the story. ~ John Eldredge,
447:I am in good company, simply following those in front of me and knowing others are following behind. We are on our way up a narrow staircase. The bannister is a thick rope suggesting safety. The stairs go around and around inside a church tower; or perhaps it is a minaret? The whorls of the staircase grow narrower and narrower, but as there are so many people behind there is no longer any possibility of turning around or even stopping. The pressure from behind foeces me on. The staircase suddenly stops at a garbage chute in the wall. When i open the hatch and squeeze my way through the hole, i find myself on the outside of the tower. The rope has dissappeared. It is totally dark. I cling on to the slippery, icy wall of the tower while vainly trying to find a foothold in the emptiness. ~ Sven Lindqvist,
448:The whole underneath of Paris was an ant nest, Metro tunnels, sewer shafts, catacombs, mines, cemeteries. She'd been down in the city of bones where skulls and femurs rose in yellowing walls. Right down there, win the square before them. through a dinky little entrance, were the Roman ruins like honeycomb. The trains went under the river. There were tunnels people had forgotten about. It was a wonder Paris stood up at all. The bit you saw was only half of it. Her skin burned, thinking of it. The Hunchback knew. Up here in the tower of Notre Dame he saw how it was. Now and then, with the bells rattling his bones, he saw it like God saw it -- inside, outside, above and under -- just for a moment. The rest of the time he went back to hurting and waiting like Scully out there crying in the wind. ~ Tim Winton,
449:When one reads the Gospels rapidly, one after the other, again and again, one cannot but be struck by the towering figure of Jesus. Though they reflect the churches’ convictions, the Gospels are not about the churches’ convictions: they are about Jesus Christ. His excellence, his uniqueness, his authority, his compassion, his love, his wisdom, his holiness, all shine through passage after passage. What is important for the present discussion is to observe how these excellencies of Jesus are tied to the central biblical story-line, combining to create a whole worldview in which Jesus is the culmination of God’s redemptive promises, the highest disclosure of God himself, the Word incarnate; Jesus is the one who saves us from our sin, who inaugurates the kingdom, and who will one day consummate it. ~ D A Carson,
450:The Stranger

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

if I come into a room out of the sharp misty light
and hear them talking a dead language
if they ask me my identity
what can I say but
I am the androgyne
I am the living mind you fail to describe
in your dead language
the lost noun, the verb surviving
only in the infinitive
the letters of my name are written under the lids
of the newborn child ~ Adrienne Rich,
451:Dragos said in her head, Pia,
what are you doing?
She closed her eyes. It had been too much to hope that the sentinels would keep quiet about their outing. What she wouldn’t give for a little privacy right now.
Don’t talk to me, she said to Dragos.
You left the Tower. His mental voice was so quiet and controlled it sent a chill down her spine.
You promised you wouldn’t.
She snarled, I said don’t talk to me, you son of a bitch.
A heartbeat, and then, his calm quite
stripped away, he demanded, What’s
Shut up. Get out of my head.
Pia, goddammit. When she didn’t answer
His telepathic shout reverberated in her skull. She clapped a hand to her forehead.
Don’t yell at me like that. I can’t think! Give me a minute. ~ Thea Harrison,
452:P.S. If your intention is to mint French silver into English coin to pay the French and Irish troops that have been preparing to invade England from around Cherbourg in the third week of May, then I congratulate you on your ingenuity. Delivery of the coins from Mint to Front shall pose a not inconsiderable logistical challenge, and so I make you the following offer: If Admiral Tourville’s invasion-fleet makes it across the Channel without being sunk by the Royal Navy, and if the Papist legion establishes a beachhead on English soil without being destroyed by the Army or torn to bits by an enraged Mobb of English rurals, then I shall personally carry every single one of your coins from the Tower of London to the front in my arse-hole, and Deposit them in some Place where they may be easily Picked Up. ~ Neal Stephenson,
453:The value of Greek prose composition, he said, [was that] if done properly, off the top of one's head, it taught one to think in Greek. One's thought patterns become different, he said, when forced into the confines of a rigid and unfamiliar tongue. Certain common ideas become inexpressible; other, previously undreamt-of ones spring to life, finding miraculous new articulation. By necessity, I suppose, it is difficult for me to explain in English exactly what I mean. I can only say that an 'incendium' is in its nature entirely different from the 'feu' with which a Frenchman lights his cigarette, and both are very different from the stark, inhuman 'pur' that the Greeks knew, the 'pur' that roared from the towers of Ilion or leapt and screamed on that desolate, windy beach, from the funeral pyre of Patroklos. ~ Donna Tartt,
454:This isn’t right, that’s your first thought, something’s wrong here, that plane is much too low. You happen to have a movie camera with you. A video camera. You point the camera up in the air, and less than ten seconds later you see that plane slam into the side of a skyscraper. A tower. A building more than a hundred stories tall. You film the plane as it bores its way into the tower. An explosion, a ball of fire, wreckage flying everywhere. Six months later you are charged with a murder. The police search your house and find the film with the passenger plane drilling its way into the tower. Are the detectives allowed to assume that you have always had little respect for human life, because you filmed the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people? Simply because you happened to be there, on the spot? ~ Herman Koch,
455:West was remote in the minds of most New Yorkers during the holiday season of 1948. But, despite the new wealth that was flooding into the city, and the self-confidence that victory naturally brought, there was a generalized sense of anxiety about the future. “The city, for the first time in its long history, is destructible,” the essayist E. B. White had observed that summer. “A single flight of planes no bigger than a wedge of geese can quickly end this island fantasy, burn the towers, crumble the bridges, turn the underground passages into lethal chambers, cremate the millions.” White was writing at the dawn of the nuclear age, and the feeling of vulnerability was quite new. “In the mind of whatever perverted dreamer might loose the lightning,” he observed, “New York must hold a steady, irresistible charm. ~ Anonymous,
456:In essence, then, the common picture of economic thought after Smith needs to be reversed. In the conventional view, Adam Smith, the towering founder, by his theoretical genius and by the sheer weight of his knowledge of institutional facts, single-handedly created the discipline of political economy as well as the public policy of the free market, and did so out of a jumble of mercantilist fallacies and earlier absurd scholastic notions of a 'just price'. The real story is almost the opposite. Before Smith, centuries of scholastic analysis had developed an excellent value theory and monetary theory, along with corresponding free market and hard-money conclusions. Originally embedded among the scholastics in a systematic framework of property rights and contract law based on natural law theory, economic theory ~ Anonymous,
457:Dropping down against the pillows, Lily crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the room's only window. She wouldn't cry. She would sit here and figure out a way to end this ceaseless argument. But her head hurt just to think about it. She wished Jim were here. That was the only solution that came readily to mind. To her surprise, as if her wishes had conjured up a ghost, a masculine apparition appeared in her window. As it stepped through the opening, Lily realized the towering shadow couldn't be Jim, but she couldn't believe it was who it looked to be, either. Cade held out his hand. "Come. I will show you the music in the night." She didn't know if it was rebellion or quixotic dreaming, but Lily took Cade's capable hand. At least he would take her away from those two drunken oafs in the other room. ~ Patricia Rice,
458:I didn't properly think about what was happening even as I kissed him back, my laughter spilling into his mouth and making stutters of my kisses. I was still bound up with him, our magic snarled up into great messy tangled knots. I didn't have anything to compare that intimacy to. I'd felt the hot embarrassment of it, but I'd thought of it vaguely like being naked in front of a stranger. I hadn't connected it to sex—sex was poetic references in songs, my mother's practical instructions, and those few awful hideous moments in the tower with Prince Marek, where I might as well have been a rag doll as far as he'd cared. But now I toppled the Dragon over, clutching at his shoulders. As we fell his thigh pressed between mine, through my skirts, and in one shuddering jolt I began to form a startled new understanding. ~ Naomi Novik,
459:Alderic, Knight of the Order of the City and the Assault, hereditary Guardian of the King's Peace of Mind, a man not unremembered among the makers of myth, pondered so long upon the Gibbelins' hoard that by now he deemed it his. Alas that I should say of so perilous a venture, undertaken at dead of night by a valorous man, that its motive was sheer avarice! Yet upon avarice only the Gibbelins relied to keep their larders full, and once in every hundred years sent spies into the cities of men to see how avarice did, and always the spies returned again to the tower saying that all was well.

It may be thought that, as the years went on and men came by fearful ends on that tower's wall, fewer and fewer would come to the Gibbelins' table: but the Gibbelins found otherwise.

("The Hoard Of The Gibbelins") ~ Lord Dunsany,
460: Hughley Steeple
The vane on Hughley steeple
Veers bright, a far-known sign,
And there lie Hughley people
And there lie friends of mine.
Tall in their midst the tower
Divides the shade and sun,
And the clock strikes the hour
And tells the time to none.
To south the headstones cluster,
The sunny mounds lie thick;
The dead are more in muster
At Hughley than the quick.
North, for a soon-told number,
Chill graves the sexton delves,
And steeple-shadowed slumber
The slayers of themselves.
To north, to south, lie parted,
With Hughley tower above,
The kind, the single-hearted,
The lads I used to love.
And, south or north, 'tis only
A choice of friends one knows,
And I shall ne'er be lonely
Asleep with these or those.
~ Alfred Edward Housman,
461:was quite surprised to discover that it was a possible prophecy of 9/11, eight years in advance. Here are the key lyrics: “Ram your face against my fist. Burn, feel, comprehend where we stand. Metal to metal, soul to soul, meshing to fusion. Scraping our sanity. Again you attempt manipulation. Failing to maintain utter control, crushed in defeat, you try to reach me with pathetic threats that would beckon my fate. The reason I fear you is I cling to the past.” This may not sound that convincing at first, but the name of our band was only one letter off from Shanksville, a small town in Pennsylvania where a hijacked airliner crashed on 9/11. The world was going to go into a “Shanksville delirium,” and the planes would ram into the towers, causing metal to touch metal, soul to touch soul, meshing to fusion and burning ~ David Wilcock,
462:11 Moreover Uzziah had an army of fighting men who went out to war by companies, according to the number on their roll as prepared by Jeiel the scribe and Maaseiah the officer, under the hand of Hananiah, one of the king’s captains. 12 The total number of chief officers* of the mighty men of valor was two thousand six hundred. 13 And under their authority was an army of three hundred and seven thousand five hundred, that made war with mighty power, to help the king against the enemy. 14 Then Uzziah prepared for them, for the entire army, shields, spears, helmets, body armor, bows, and slings to cast stones. 15 And he made devices in Jerusalem, invented by skillful men, to be on the towers and the corners, to shoot arrows and large stones. So his fame spread far and wide, for he was marvelously helped till he became strong. ~ Anonymous,
463:The fine purple cloaks, the holiday garments, elsewhere signs of gayety of mind, are stained with blood and bordered with black. Throughout a stern discipline, the axe ready for every suspicion of treason; “great men, bishops, a chancellor, princes, the king’s relations, queens, a protector kneeling in the straw, sprinkled the Tower with their blood; one after the other they marched past, stretched out their necks; the Duke of Buckingham, Queen Anne Boleyn, Queen Catherine Howard, the Earl of Surrey, Admiral Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, Lady Jane Grey and her husband, the Duke of Northumberland, the Earl of Essex, all on the throne, or on the steps of the throne, in the highest ranks of honor, beauty, youth, genius; of the bright procession nothing is left but senseless trunks, marred by the tender mercies of the executioner. ~ William Shakespeare,
464:The shadow-Saphira looped over the city, lighting several buildings on fire. As she did, a flock of arrows shot up from archers stationed on a nearby rooftop. The apparition swerved to avoid the darts and, seemingly by accident, crashed into one of the six green elf towers scattered throughout Urû’baen.
The collision looked perfectly real. Eragon winced with sympathy as he saw the dragon’s left wing break against the tower, the bones snapping like stalks of dry grass. The imitation Saphira roared and thrashed as she spiraled down to the streets. The buildings hid her after that, but her roars were audible for miles around, and the flame she seemed to breathe painted the sides of the houses and lit the underside of the stone shelf that hung over the city.
I would never have been so clumsy, sniffed Saphira.
I know. ~ Christopher Paolini,
465:He walked back to St George's-in-the-East, which in his mind he had now reduced to a number of surfaces against which the murderer might have leaned in sorrow, desperation or even, perhaps, joy. For this reason it was worth examining the blackened stones in detail, although he realised that the marks upon them had been deposited by many generations of men and women. It was now a matter of received knowledge in the police force that no human being could rest or move in any area without leaving some trace of his or her identity; but if the walls of the Wapping church were to be analysed by emission spectroscopy, how many partial or residual spectra might be detected? And he had an image of a mob screaming to be set free as he guided his steps towards the tower which rose above the houses cluttered around Red Maiden Lane, Crab Court and Rope Walk. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
466:The Romans formed a line of mantlets and constructed a siege terrace. When they began to erect a siege tower at some distance, the defenders on the wall at first made abusive remarks and ridiculed the idea of setting up such a huge apparatus so far away. Did those pygmy Romans, they asked, with their feeble hands and muscles, imagine that they could mount such a heavy tower on top of a wall? (All the Gauls are inclined to be contemptuous of our short stature, contrasting it with their own great height.) 31. But when they saw the tower in motion and approaching the fortress walls, the strange, unfamiliar spectacle frightened them into sending envoys to ask Caesar for peace. The envoys said they were forced to the conclusion that the Romans had divine aid in their warlike operations, since they could move up apparatus of such height at such a speed. ~ Gaius Julius Caesar,
467:Wahhab set out to extinguish all Islamic practices that he considered not to have come from either source: thus Wahhabi mosques lack minarets—the towers that the caller to prayer, the muezzin, climbs in order to chant the azan, the call to prayer. Wahhab also rejected the veneration of Muslim saints and prayers at their shrines, a practice that had become widespread by the eighteenth century. Wahhab pointed to hadiths in which Muhammad himself condemned this practice, calling it shirk, the combination of idolatry and polytheism that is the worst sin of all in Islam: associating partners with Allah in worship. The Wahhabis were often just as brutal as the Islamic State is today. In an 1803 attack that could have come from today’s headlines about ISIS, the Wahhabis entered Ta’if, a city near Mecca, massacred all the men, and enslaved all the women and children. ~ Robert Spencer,
468:What would have made [seeing Göbekli Tepe from Harran] easier, in antiquity, would have been a tall tower annexed to the temple that once stood here--a temple dedicated to Su-En (usually contracted to Sin), the Moon God of the Sabians. After telling us that there were "powerful images in this temple," the Greek Philosopher Libanius (AD 314-394), describes the tower, noting that "from its top one could overlook the entire plain of Harran."
A team from the Chicago Oriental Institute was about to start a major dig around the ruins of the Grand Mosque in 1986, but it seems that the Turkish authorities insisted on such restrictive practices that the project had to be abandoned. Current excavations by Harran University and the Sanliurfa Museum Directorate show little interest in recovery of substantive remains from the city's pre-Islamic period. ~ Graham Hancock,
469:Slow me down, Lord. Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind. Steady my hurried pace with a vision of the eternal reach of time. Give me, amid the confusion of the day, the calmness of the everlasting hills. Break the tensions of my nerves and muscles with the soothing music of the singing streams that live in my memory. Teach me the art of taking minute vacations—of slowing down to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pat a dog, to smile at a child, to read a few lines from a good book. Slow me down, Lord, and inspire me to send my roots deep into the soil of life’s enduring values, that I may grow toward my greater destiny. Remind me each day that the race is not always to the swift; that there is more to life than increasing its speed. Let me look upward to the towering oak and know that it grew great and strong because it grew slowly and well. ~ Chip Ingram,
470:Have you ever sailed across an ocean, Donald? On a sail boat surrounded by sea with no land in sight. Without even the possibility of sighting land for days to come. To stand at the helm of your destiny. I want that, one more time. I want to be in the Piazza Del Campo in Sienna. To feel the surge as ten race horses go thundering by. I want another meal in Paris, at L'Ambroisie in the Place Des Vosges. I want another bottle of wine. And then another. I want the warmth of a women in the cool set of sheets. One more night of jazz at the Vanguard. I want to stand on summits and smoke cubans and feel the sun on my face for as long as I can. Walk on the wall again. Climb the tower. Ride the river. Stare at the frescoes. I want to sit in the garden and read one more good book. Most of all I want to sleep. I want to sleep like I slept when I was a boy. Give me that. Just one time. ~ Anonymous,
471:They’re supposed to help look for the king.” Merdigen shrugged. “Why the urgency to find the king? You have a queen, after all.” Merdigen’s priorities tended to be rather skewed at times. “I need some fresh air,” Alton said. “Sure, sure, leave me alone. Me and my beard.” Alton shook his head. Just before he stepped through the tower wall to the outside world, he heard Merdigen mutter, “I wish I could go out and have some fresh air.” The weather was fine, so Alton saddled up Night Hawk for a ride down to the main encampment at the breach. Hawk tossed his head and pranced, and Alton was assailed by guilt that he did not pay his horse nearly enough attention. • • • At the main encampment he examined the cracks around the breach, made measurements, and recorded his findings in his logbook. He took reports from the officers on duty there. They kept watch over the breach and ~ Kristen Britain,
472:Do you know why teachers use me? Because I speak in tongues. I write metaphors. Every one of my stories is a metaphor you can remember. The great religions are all metaphor. We appreciate things like Daniel and the lion’s den, and the Tower of Babel. People remember these metaphors because they are so vivid you can’t get free of them and that’s what kids like in school. They read about rocket ships and encounters in space, tales of dinosaurs. All my life I’ve been running through the fields and picking up bright objects. I turn one over and say, Yeah, there’s a story. And that’s what kids like. Today, my stories are in a thousand anthologies. And I’m in good company. The other writers are quite often dead people who wrote in metaphors: Edgar Allan Poe, Herman Melville, Washington Irving, Nathaniel Hawthorne. All these people wrote for children. They may have pretended not to, but they did. ~ Ray Bradbury,
473:It is not cynical to admit the past has been turned into a fiction. It is a story, not a fact. The real has been erased. Whole eras have been added or removed. Wars have been aggrandized, and human struggle relegated to the margins. Villains are redressed as heroes. Generous, striving, imperfect men and women have been stripped of their flaws or plucked of their virtues and turned into figurines of morality or depravity. Whole societies have been fixed with motive and visions and equanimity where there was none. Suffering has been recast as noble sacrifice! Do you know why the history of the Tower is in such turmoil? Because too many powerful men are fighting for the pen, fighting to write their story over our dead bodies. They know what is at stake: immortality, the character of civilization, and influence beyond the ages. They are fighting to see who gets to mislead our grandchildren. ~ Josiah Bancroft,
474:It was darker in the tower than any place Devnee had ever been. The dark had textures, some velvet, some satin. The dark shifted positions.

The dark continued to breathe. The breath of the tower lifted her clothing like the flaps of a tent, and sounded in her ears like falling snow.

It's the wind coming through the double shutters, Devnee told herself.

But how could the wind come through? There were glass windows between the inside and outside shutters.

Or were there?

The windows weren't just holes in the wall, were they?

What if there was no glass? What if things crawled through those open louvers, crept into the room, blew in with the cold that fingered her hair? What creatures of the night could slither through those slats?

She had not realized how wonderful glass was, how it protected you and kept you inside.

She knew something was out there. ~ Caroline B Cooney,
475: I Live In New York
I am happiest
near the ocean,
where the changing light
reminds me of my death
& the fact that it need not be fatalyet I perch here
in the midst of the city
where the traffic dulls my senses,
where my ears scream at sirens,
where transistor radio blasts
invade my poems
like alien war chants.
But I never walk
the streets of New York
without hoping for the end
of the world.
How many years
before the streets return to flowers?
How many centuries
before the towers fall?
In my mind's eye,
New York falls to ruins.
Butterflies alight upon stones
and poppies spring
out of the asphalt fields.
Why do I stay here
when I love the ocean?
Because the ocean lulls me
with its peace.
Eternity is coming soon enough.
As monks sleep
in their own coffins,
I live in New York.
~ Erica Jong,
476:When ye look at me I am an idle, idle man; when I look at myself I am a busy, busy man. Since upon the plain of uncreated infinity I am building, building the tower of ecstasy, I have no time for building houses. Since upon the steppe of the void of truth I am breaking, breaking the savage fetter of suffering, I have no time for ploughing family land. Since at the bourn of unity ineffable I am subduing, subduing the demon-foe of self, I have no time for subduing angry foe-men. Since in the palace of mind which transcends duality I am waiting, waiting for spiritual experience as my bride, I have no time for setting up house. Since in the circle of the Buddhas of my body I am fostering, fostering the child of wisdom, I have no time for fostering snivelling children. Since in the frame of the body, the seat of all delight, I am saving, saving precious instruction and reflection, I have no time for saving wordly wealth. ~ Milarepa,
477:What are these?" Maxon asked, brushing across the tips of my fingers as we walked.
"Calluses. They're from pressing down on violin strings four hours a day."
"I've never noticed them before."
"Do they bother you?" I was the lowest caste of the six girls left, and I doubted any of them had hands like mine.
Maxon stopped moving and lifted my fingers to his lips, kissing the tiny, worn tips.
"On the contrary. I find them rather beautiful." I felt myself blush. "I've seen the world – admittedly mostly through bulletproof glass or from the tower of some ancient castle – but I've seen it. And I have access to the answers of a thousand questions at my disposal. But this small hand here?" He looked deeply into my eyes. "This hand makes sounds incomparable to anything I've ever heard. Sometimes I think I only dreamed that I heard you play the violin, it was so beautiful. These calluses are proof that it was real. ~ Kiera Cass,
478:Whoreson dog,” “whoreson peasant,” “slave,” “you cur,” “rogue,” “rascal,” “dunghill,” “crack-hemp,” and “notorious villain” — these are a few of the epithets with which the plays abound. The Duke of York accosts Thomas Horner, an armorer, as “base dunghill villain and mechanical” (Henry VI., Part 2, Act 2, Sc. 3); Gloucester speaks of the warders of the Tower as “dunghill grooms” (Ib., Part 1, Act 1, Sc. 3), and Hamlet of the grave-digger as an “ass” and “rude knave.” Valentine tells his servant, Speed, that he is born to be hanged (Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act 1, Sc. 1), and Gonzalo pays a like compliment to the boatswain who is doing his best to save the ship in the “Tempest” (Act 1, Sc. 1). This boatswain is not sufficiently impressed by the grandeur of his noble cargo, and for his pains is called a “brawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog,” a “cur,” a “whoreson, insolent noise-maker,” and a “wide-chapped rascal. ~ William Shakespeare,
479:And again the news offered no news: On CNN, a rerun of Larry King interviewing the widowed and the suffering. On CNN2, a rerun of Larry King interviewing a fatherless son. On CNN3, a rerun of Flight 11 flying toward the first tower, in slow motion. On CNN4, a rerun of the tower collapsing, in slow motion, and again the towers fell, again people jumped and died. On CNN5, a rerun of Larry King interviewing a motherless daughter, a daughterless father, interviewing the motherless, fatherless, wifeless, husbandless, childless, shameless--disgusted, Bill pressed POWER and beheaded King, exiled CNN, and the world went dark. They sat relieved in the silence and dark. Not much road traffic now, but somewhere in the distant overhead the honk and flap of southbound geese, instinct bound, in vees for victory. The turkey was still on the table; the sides were still out. Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are tired come home. ~ Pearl Abraham,
480:The house of the Plantagenets, from Henry II to Richard III himself, was brimming with blood. In their lust for power the members of the family turned upon one another. King John murdered, or caused to be murdered, his nephew Arthur; Richard II despatched his uncle, Thomas of Gloucester; Richard II was in turn killed on the orders of his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke; Henry VI was killed in the Tower on the orders of his cousin, Edward IV; Edward IV murdered his brother, Clarence, just as his own two sons were murdered by their uncle. It is hard to imagine a family more steeped in slaughter and revenge, of which the Wars of the Roses were only one effusion. It might be thought that some curse had been laid upon the house of the Plantagenets, except of course that in the world of kings the palm of victory always goes to the most violent and the most ruthless. It could be said that the royal family was the begetter of organized crime. ~ Peter Ackroyd,
481:My dad died in 9/11. They opened up the museum to families today, so I went this morning. My plan was to go to work after, but I just couldn’t do it.”“What happened to him?”“He was a cop. He actually had the day off. But as soon as he heard, he drove into the city and got there just in time for the second tower to fall. A witness said that my dad had started to run when the tower fell, but turned back because a trapped woman was calling to him.”“What do you remember?”“I was in science class. And my teacher told us that there had been a plane crash. That’s all she said. Then I noticed all these kids around me getting phone calls and text messages, and they’d run out of class. So I knew something big was happening. Soon we got let out of school. On the ride home, I remember thinking that my dad was going to be working overtime on this. I imagined he’d be down there everyday, saving people. ‘I bet I won’t see him for weeks,’ I said. ~ Brandon Stanton,
482:Mankind could point with pride to this fine flower of the human spirit--if it were not for one thing: namely that God is God and grace is grace. At this point begins the destruction of our illusions and of our cultural enthusiasm, the great destruction which God himself effects, and which the ancient myth of the tower of Babel typifies. 'And if by grace, then it is no more of works; otherwise grace is no more grace.' Our way to the eternal is interrupted and we are plunged back into the depths from which we came, with out philosophy and art, our morality and religion. For another way now opens, the way of God to man, the way of revelation and grace, the way of Christ, the way of justification by faith alone. 'My ways are not your ways,' that is the answer now. It is not we who go to God, but God who comes to us. It is not religion that sets us right with God, for God alone can do this; it is his action on which we must depend. ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
483:clergyman, delivered in some other place, however distant. In the same manner any picture, character, drawing, or print can be transferred from one to another place. Millions of such instruments can be operated from but one plant of this kind. More important than all of this, however, will be the transmission of power, without wires, which will be shown on a scale large enough to carry conviction.” Last-minute design changes were required, however, necessitating more money. Tesla had already obtained a second loan from Morgan, and when those funds ran out, he again approached the financier for additional capital. In an attempt to convince the powerful Morgan to invest another large sum, Tesla explained that the tower could be used for more than transmitting radio signals—it could be used to saturate the entire globe with electricity harmless to living things so that everyone could obtain usable power by simply sticking wires in the soil. ~ Sean Patrick,
484:there’s a tidal wave coming towards San Francisco. It looks massive,” “We copy, Flight 80. They’ve been hit with a 9.5 earthquake, the epicenter being just offshore. However, we’re unusually quiet here and don’t seem to be affected by it, but we can see the city falling apart from our vantage point. What can you see from up there?” “I’m seeing buildings fall like they were made of cards, fires seemed to have started in a couple of neighborhoods, and…. Oh. My. God!” “What is it Captain? What’s wrong?” asked the Tower. “The…. the…. the ground is opening up, swallowing whole sections of the city. The wave from the ocean has reached the city, and from the looks of it, it looks like it’s at least one hundred feet high. The water is pounding into the city now, and it looks like it’s pushing the remains of the city into the sinkhole or whatever you want to call it. I don’t think anything is going to remain of San Francisco after this. This is awful, ~ Cliff Ball,
485:A maiden was imprisoned in a stone tower. She loved a lord. Why? Ask the wind and the stars, ask the god of life; for no one else knows these things. And the lord was her friend and her lover; but time passed, and one fine day he saw someone else and his heart turned away. As a youth he loved the maiden. Often he called her his bliss and his dove, and her embrace was hot and heaving. He said, Give me your heart! And she did so. He said, May I ask you for something, my love? And she answered, in raptures, Yes. She gave him all, and yet he never thanked her. The other one he loved like a slave, like a madman and a beggar. Why? Ask the dust on the road and the falling leaves, ask life’s mysterious god; for no one else knows these things. She gave him nothing, no, nothing did she give him, and yet he thanked her. She said, Give me your peace and your sanity. And he only grieved that she didn’t ask for his life. And the maiden was put in the tower. . . . ~ Knut Hamsun,
486:[Charles] Hatton had no way of knowing it then as he sat on the bench, but there was a young racehorse turning the corner of the racetrack--perhaps 150 yards away--who would fulfill some ideal that he had been turning over in his head since Billy Walker put it there more than fifty years ago.
Secretariat walked down the pathway toward the paddock, toward the towering canopy of trees above the saddling area, toward Hatton, who saw the colt and came to his feet. The red horse filled Hatton's eyes of an instant, not striding into his field of vision but swimming into it, pulling Hatton from the bench to a standstill before him.
Hatton had seen thousands of horses in his life, thousands of two-year-olds, and suddenly on this July afternoon of 1972 he found the 106-carat diamond: "It was like seeing a bunch of gravel and there was the Kohinoor lying in there. It was so unexpected. I thought, 'Jesus Christ, I never saw a horse that looked like that before. ~ William Nack,
487:She was struck by the selfish thought that this was not fair to her. That she’d been in the middle of a different story, one that had nothing to do with this. She was a person who was finding her daughter, making things right with her daughter, and there was no room in that story for the idiocy of extreme religion, the violence of men she’d never met. Just as she’d been in the middle of a story about divorce when the towers fell in New York City, throwing everyone’s careful plans to shit. Just as she’d once been in a story about raising her own brother, growing up with her brother in the city on their own, making it in the world, when the virus and the indifference of greedy men had steamrolled through. She thought of Nora, whose art and love were interrupted by assassination and war. Stupid men and their stupid violence, tearing apart everything good that was ever built. Why couldn’t you ever just go after your life without tripping over some idiot’s dick? ~ Rebecca Makkai,
488:The two angels were both tall, but Aodhan was perhaps an inch taller, and now his eyes locked with Illium's for a long, quiet moment before he lowered his head slightly. Illium raised his hand, the movement slow, hesitant....and then his fingers brushed Aodhan's cheek just below the cut that had almost sealed. The first ray of dawn kissed the tear that rolled down Illium's face, caressed the painful wonder on Aodhan's as he lifted his hand to clasp the wrist of his friend's hand.
That instant of contact, the power of it, stole her breath.
Then Illium smiled, said something that made Aodhan's lips curve-Elena thought it might've been "Welcome back, Sparkle"-and they were separating to sweep off the Tower in a symphony of wild silver blue and heartbreaking light.
"Raphael," she whispered, having felt him come up behind her. "Did you see?"
"Yes." His hand on her nape, his thumb brushing over her pulse. "Of course it would be Illium who reached him," he murmured. ~ Nalini Singh,
489:Even if you escaped this place, which is impossible,” Death said, “you would never reach her.

I glanced up at Death. “So my plan should be to wait here, docile, until you murder me? Along with the rest of your lackeys?”

Saying these words out loud was like a corner turned, a line crossed. One answer rang through me.


After my mother’s sacrifice for me, I’d be damned if I rolled over now. I owed it to her to fight.

I had a new mission: self-preservation. I had to get this cuff off, so I could protect myself from Death. Sooner or later the novelty of having me here, his princess in the tower, would wear off.

I needed to be ready.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jack earlier? And Matthew? Why not just torpedo me from the beginning?”

“My reasons are my own. But I did warn you not to give Deveaux your innocence.”

I rolled my eyes at his terminology. “Really, Father Time? And what business is it of yours anyway? ~ Kresley Cole,
490:This had to be the most curious situation in all of her life. Not that she had a great deal to compare it to, of course, living, as she had, quite a sheltered existence. But if anyone had ever had a friend quite like Periapt, she had yet to read about it.
The most peculiar thing was the feeling, the conviction, that here was someone she had been looking for as a friend and companion her entire life.
When they were talking and she wasn't actually looking at him- in the dark, say, when they would go up to the top of the tower to rest their eyes and look at the stars- she never, ever even thought about the fact that he was a dragon. In fact, if she was reading a book with him and he would say something aloud, she would get a kind of shock to her system when she looked up and saw, not a person, but a huge, dusky-emerald dragon head.
The shock was getting worse, too, not better, every time she looked up and didn't see the studious young man she expected to see. ~ Mercedes Lackey,
491:You wish to rule the Dreaming City; you must excel in all its ways. Play with me, a single game of Lo Shen. If you best me, I will go into seclusion as you ask, and you will ascend to the Tower without the slightest argument, and without battle. No one will contest you, and you will rule as well as you are able. If you lose, however, you must disband your army, and take the vows of one of our Towers, enter it as a novice, and pledge yourself to our City for the rest of your days. In the Anointed City, this is the way disputes are settled. If you would rule us, you must behave as one of us. Show me that you are the rightful Papess. Show me that you exceed us in all things."

Ragnhild seemed to laugh, but no sound issued from her rosy mouth. Her eyes glittered like snowflakes catching the sun. "You cannot be serious. A single game to decide five hundred years of history?"

"Were it not that once my predecessor harmed you, I would simply kill you where you stand. ~ Catherynne M Valente,
492: Lullaby
Lullaby! Lullaby!
There’s a tower strong and high
Built of oak and brick and stone,
Stands before a wood alone.
The doors are of the oak so brown
As any ale in Oxford town,
The walls are builded warm and thick
Of the old red Roman brick,
The good grey stone is over all
In arch and floor of the tower tall.
And maidens three are living there
All in the upper chamber fair,
Hung with silver, hung with pall,
And stories painted on the wall.
And softly goes the whirring loom
In my ladies’ upper room,
For they shall spin both night and day
Until the stars do pass away.
But every night at evening.
The window open wide they fling,
And one of them says a word they know
And out as three white swans they go,
And the murmuring of the woods is drowned
In the soft wings’ whirring sound,
As they go flying round, around,
Singing in swans’ voices high
A lonely, lovely lullaby.
~ Clive Staples Lewis,
493:Without the slightest trace of irony in her amplified voice, she pointed out the landmarks along the wide boulevard: the soaring statue of Lenin, with his hand extended, as though he were forever attempting to hail a cab; the stirring monuments to the Great Patriotic War; the towering temples of Soviet central planning and control. She ignored the dilapidated office buildings, the Brezhnev-era apartment blocks collapsing under their own weight, and the storefront shops now brimming with consumer goods the Soviet state could never provide. These were the relics of the grand folly the Soviets had attempted to foist on the rest of the world. Now, in the minds of the New Russians, the murderous crimes of the Bolsheviks were but a way station on the road to an era of Russian greatness. The gulags, the cruelty, the untold millions who were starved to death or “repressed”—they were only unpleasant details. No one had ever been called to account for his actions. No one was ever punished for his sins. ~ Daniel Silva,
494: The Rhymes That Our Hearts Can Read
The Rhymes That Our Hearts Can Read
We are sated of songs that hymn the praise
Of a world beyond our ken;
We are bored by the ballads of beaten ways,
And milk and water men;
We are tired of the tales that lovers told
To the cooing, amorous dove;
We have banished the minstrelsy of old,
And the lyric of languid love.
While we stand where the ways of men have end,
And the untrod tracks commence,
We weary of songs that poets penned
In pastoral indolence.
The sleepy sonnet that lovers make
Where weeping willows arch
Cannot the passionate soul awake
Of men who outward march.
Our harps are hung in the towering trees,
And the mulga low and gray
Our ballads are sung by every breeze
That flogs the sea to spray;
We want no lay of a moonlit strand,
No idyll of daisied mead,
For the rhymes that our hearts can understand
Are the rhymes that our hearts can read.
~ Edwin Greenslade Murphy,
495:Even so—think of the declaration of war in 1939! They had no armaments at all—and yet they declared war ! In those days they had, I believe, six divisions. It's quite possible that they will again let themselves be hoodwinked by fairy tales from the emigres. The soldiers, I know, were against war. But there are people over there who don't give a damn if Britain does collapse—yes, I mean the Jews ! There are others who say : "If the Russians are beaten, then we shall be the war criminals —there will be trials, and we shall end up in the Tower." The soldiers will defend themselves by saying that they had given full warning of the danger Britain ran in accepting the risks of undertaking an invasion. But for the politicians who declared war and the Jews who drove them to it there is no defence ! And these latter are quite capable of risking a second attempt. On the other hand, they may say to themselves : we are taking on an opponent who has so far knocked the teeth out of everybody who has opposed him. ~ Adolf Hitler,
496:When she felt more comfortable and no one was looking, Sadie turned away from the group. She sidled a little ways down the hillside, black sheep leaving the flock, before edging out of sight of the ropes course, the towering redwood trees, and the other girls from the wilderness camp. They were teenagers like her, the girls, all supposedly "troubled". Only unlike Sadie, they were wide-eyed and tragic, fragile, herdlike things, brimming with stories of Painful Childhoods about who'd touched them where or hit them or abandoned them and a million other sad sap exercise for why they did the Things They Did. Sadie couldn't be bothered to take it all in. Misery repulsed her. Self pity even more. She especially couldn't understand the counsellors and therapists who chose to work here. It made Sadie shudder to think about. If there was a special circle in hell for girls like her, and she suspected there might be, there was no doubt her eternity would be spent having to listen to other people's problems'. ~ Stephanie Kuehn,
497:Wider lanes were, obviously, safer than narrower ones. Only they’re not. This time, the problem with the cost-benefit equation wasn’t a faulty premise, but the data itself. In order to test the wider-lanes-are-safer-lanes hypothesis, I studied every crash that occurred on the bridge over a three-year period and marked each one on a map. If that notion had been true, I reasoned, more crashes would have occurred where the lanes were narrowest, that is, at the towers. Just the opposite turned out to be the case. The towers, it turned out, were the safest places on the entire bridge; my explanation is that when lanes get very narrow motorists drive more carefully. Even though every traffic engineer in the country had been taught the gospel of wider lanes, the opposite appeared to be true: “grossly substandard lanes seemed to be the safest of all.” This was the traffic engineering equivalent of saying the Earth was round when the masses knew it was flat. Still, most engineers do not accept this fact. ~ Samuel I Schwartz,
498:Oh, they never look at anything that folks like we can understand," the carter continued, by way of passing the time. "On'y foreign tongues used in the days of the Tower of Babel, when no two families spoke alike. They read that sort of thing as fast as a night-hawk will whir. 'Tis all learning there—nothing but learning, except religion. And that's learning too, for I never could understand it. Yes, 'tis a serious-minded place. Not but there's wenches in the streets o' nights… You know, I suppose, that they raise pa'sons there like radishes in a bed? And though it do take—how many years, Bob?—five years to turn a lirruping hobble-de-hoy chap into a solemn preaching man with no corrupt passions, they'll do it, if it can be done, and polish un off like the workmen they be, and turn un out wi' a long face, and a long black coat and waistcoat, and a religious collar and hat, same as they used to wear in the Scriptures, so that his own mother wouldn't know un sometimes. … There, 'tis their business, like anybody else's. ~ Thomas Hardy,
499:Royce eyed Hadrian with a skeptical expression. “He’ll never manage the climb.”

“Climb?” Hadrian asked.

“The treasure room is at the top of the Crown Tower,” Arcadius explained.

Even Hadrian had heard of that. Even farmers in Hintindar knew of the Crown Tower. Supposedly it was the leftover corner of some ancient but legendary castle.

“I’m in good shape. A few stairs aren’t going to kill me.”

“The tower is heavily guarded in every way, except against a person climbing up the outside,” Royce replied, his eyes fixed on the long fang he continued to twirl.

“Isn’t that because … well, I’ve heard it’s sort of tall.”

“The tallest surviving structure built by man,” Arcadius said.

“Should I bring a lunch?”

“Considering we’ll begin after dusk and climb all night, I’d suggest a late dinner,” Royce replied.

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t. But I only ask one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“When you fall to your death, do so quietly. ~ Michael J Sullivan,
500:When Hitler marched
across the Rhine
To take the land of France,
La dame de fer decided,
‘Let’s make the tyrant dance.’
Let him take the land and city,
The hills and every flower,
One thing he will never have,
The elegant Eiffel Tower.
The French cut the cables,
The elevators stood still,
‘If he wants to reach the top,
Let him walk it, if he will.’
The invaders hung a swastika
The largest ever seen.
But a fresh breeze blew
And away it flew,
Never more to be seen.
They hung up a second mark,
Smaller than the first,
But a patriot climbed
With a thought in mind:
‘Never your duty shirk.’
Up the iron lady
He stealthily made his way,
Hanging the bright tricolour,
He heroically saved the day.
Then, for some strange reason,
A mystery to this day,
Hitler never climbed the tower,
On the ground he had to stay.
At last he ordered she be razed
Down to a twisted pile.
A futile attack, for still she stands
Beaming her metallic smile. ~ E A Bucchianeri,

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


   1 Yoga
   1 Philosophy
   1 Occultism
   1 Hinduism
   1 Christianity

   2 The Mother

   3 The Secret Doctrine
   2 The Mothers Agenda
   2 The Bible

07.01_-_The_Joy_of_Union;_the_Ordeal_of_the_Foreknowledge, #Savitri, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The tinged mosaic of the crystal floors,
  the Towered pavilions, the wind-rippled pools
  And gardens humming with the murmur of bees,

1.01_-_The_First_Steps, #Raja-Yoga, #Swami Vivkenanda, #unset
  There was once a minister to a great king. He fell into disgrace. The king, as a punishment, ordered him to be shut up in the top of a very high tower. This was done, and the minister was left there to perish. He had a faithful wife, however, who came to the Tower at night and called to her husband at the top to know what she could do to help him. He told her to return to the Tower the following night and bring with her a long rope, some stout twine, pack thread, silken thread, a beetle, and a little honey. Wondering much, the good wife obeyed her husband, and brought him the desired articles. The husband directed her to attach the silken thread firmly to the beetle, then to smear its horns with a drop of honey, and to set it free on the wall of the Tower, with its head pointing upwards. She obeyed all these instructions, and the beetle started on its long journey. Smelling the honey ahead it slowly crept onwards, in the hope of reaching the honey, until at last it reached the top of the Tower, when the minister grasped the beetle, and got possession of the silken thread. He told his wife to tie the other end to the pack thread, and after he had drawn up the pack thread, he repeated the process with the stout twine, and lastly with the rope. Then the rest was easy. The minister descended from the Tower by means of the rope, and made his escape. In this body of ours the breath motion is the "silken thread"; by laying hold of and learning to control it we grasp the pack thread of the nerve currents, and from these the stout twine of our thoughts, and lastly the rope of Prana, controlling which we reach freedom.

1.03_-_Supernatural_Aid, #The Hero with a Thousand Faces, #Joseph Campbell, #Mythology
  converse of the angels; but when she reached the mouth of the
  well, and saw a light shining in the Tower room, contrary to cus
  tom, she marveled, drew nigh, entered within the door, and be

1.04_-_The_Paths, #A Garden of Pomegranates - An Outline of the Qabalah, #Israel Regardie, #Occultism
  The Tarot card appropriate is XVI. - the Tower, the upper part of which is shaped like a crown. It is alternately

1.07_-_The_Farther_Reaches_of_Human_Nature, #Sex Ecology Spirituality, #Ken Wilber, #Philosophy
  Numerous psychologists (Bruner, Flavell, Arieti, Cowan, Kramer, Commons, Basseches, Arlin, etc.) have pointed out that there is much evidence for a stage beyond Piaget's formal operational. It has been called "dialectical," "integrative," "creative synthetic," "integral-aperspectival," "postformal," and so forth. I, of course, am using the terms vision-logic or network-logic. But the conclusions are all essentially the same: "Piaget's formal operational is considered to be a problem-solving stage. But beyond this stage are the truly creative scientists and thinkers who define important problems and ask important questions. While Piaget's formal model is adequate to describe the cognitive structures of adolescents and competent adults, it is not adequate to describe the Towering intellect of Nobel laureates, great statesmen and stateswomen, poets, and so on."5 True enough. But I would like to give a different emphasis to this structure, for while very few people might actually gain the "towering status of a Nobel laureate," the space of vision-logic (its worldspace or worldview) is available for any who wish to continue their growth and development. In other words, to progress through the various stages of growth does not mean that one has to extraordinarily master each and every stage, and demonstrate a genius comprehension at that stage before one can progress beyond it. This would be like saying that no individuals can move beyond the oral stage until they become gourmet cooks.

1.07_-_TRUTH, #The Perennial Philosophy, #Aldous Huxley, #Philosophy
  That words are at once indispensable and, in many cases, fatal has been recognized by all the exponents of the Perennial Philosophy. Thus, Jesus spoke of himself as bringing into the world something even worse than briarsa sword. St. Paul distinguished between the letter that kills and the spirit that gives life. And throughout the centuries that followed, the masters of Christian spirituality have found it necessary to harp again and again upon a theme which has never been outdated because homo loquax, the talking animal, is still as navely delighted by his chief accomplishment, still as helplessly the victim of his own words, as he was when the Tower of Babel was being built. Recent years have seen the publication of numerous works on semantics and of an ocean of nationalistic, racialistic and militaristic propaganda. Never have so many capable writers warned mankind against the dangers of wrong speechand never have words been used more recklessly by politicians or taken more seriously by the public. The fact is surely proof enough that, under changing forms, the old problems remain what they always wereurgent, unsolved and, to all appearances, insoluble.

1.09_-_The_Ambivalence_of_the_Fish_Symbol, #Aion, #Carl Jung, #Psychology
  (purgatory and the entrance to the Anu-heaven). Hence the
  northern corner of the temple built around the Tower at Nippur
  was called the kibla (point of orientation). In like manner the

1.240_-_Talks_2, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  D.: What is Self-surrender?
  M.: It is the same as self-control; control is effected by removal of samskaras which imply the functioning of the ego. The ego submits only when it recognises the Higher Power. Such recognition is surrender or submission, or self-control. Otherwise the ego remains stuck up like the image carved on a tower, making a pretence by its strained look and posture that it is supporting the Tower on its shoulders. The ego cannot exist without the Power but thinks that it acts of its own accord.
  D.: How can the rebellious mind be brought under control?

1.300_-_1.400_Talks, #Talks, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  D.: What is Self-surrender?
  M.: It is the same as self-control; control is effected by removal of samskaras which imply the functioning of the ego. The ego submits only when it recognises the Higher Power. Such recognition is surrender or submission, or self-control. Otherwise the ego remains stuck up like the image carved on a tower, making a pretence by its strained look and posture that it is supporting the Tower on its shoulders. The ego cannot exist without the Power but thinks that it acts of its own accord.

1.65_-_Man, #Magick Without Tears, #Aleister Crowley, #Occultism
    ATU XVI, "the Tower," has also been called The Blasted Tower or The House of God.

2.05_-_The_Tale_of_the_Vampires_Kingdom, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The same cards in this tale are read and reread with different meanings; the narrator's hand shakes convulsively and points again to the Tower and The Hanged Man as if inviting us to recognize in an evening newspaper's blurred telephotos the shots of an atrocious news item: a woman who falls from a dizzying height into the void along the skyscrapers' faades. In the first of these two pictures the fall is well rendered in the groping hands, the reversed skirt, the simultaneity of the double spinning image; the second, a close-up on the body that, before being crushed on the ground, is caught by the feet in some wires, explains the reason of the power failure.

2.06_-_Two_Tales_of_Seeking_and_Losing, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The mosaic of cards that we are watching, fixed here, is therefore the Work of the Quest that one would like to conclude without work or search. Doctor Faust has wearied of having the instantaneous metamorphoses of metals depend on the slow transformations that take place within himself, he doubts the wisdom accumulated in the solitary life of a Hermit, he is disappointed in the powers of his art as he is in this dawdling over the tarot combinations. At that moment a thunderbolt illuminates his little cell at the top of the Tower. A personage appears before him with a broad-brimmed hat, such as the students wear at Wittenberg, a wandering clerk perhaps, or a charlatan Juggler, a mountebank at a fair, who has laid out on a stand a laboratory of ill-assorted jars.

Aeneid, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The spacious palace of Deiphobus
  has fallen, victim of the Towering Vulcan.
  And now Ucalegon's, his neighbor, bums;
  and chose a place fit for his kingdom. Ilium,
  the Towers of Pergamus were not yet built.
  Men lived deep in the valleys. And from Crete
  of Priam, made to die beside our foeman's
  tomb, underneath the Towering walls of Troy;
  o you, for whom no lots were cast, who never
  " 'It is a house of gore and gruesome feasts,
  both black and vast within. the Towering Cyclops
  is tall enough to strike the high starsgods,
  bed, scattering new light upon the earth.
  As soon as from her lookout on the Tower
  the queen could see the morning whitening,
  the bullock standing nearby; drawing back
  his right hand, straight between the Towering horns
  he planted his tough gauntlets; and he smashed
  the Gauls were at the threshold. Through the brush
  the Gauls crept toward the Tower, under cover
  of darkness and dense night. Their hair is golden;
  had clashed with mountains as the crewmen thrust
  in their great galleys at the Towering sterns.
  Torches of hemp and flying darts of steel
  they bar the gates as they were told and, armed,
  await the enemy within the Towers.
  Turnus, who had outstripped his tardy column,
  First Turnus threw a blazing torch of hemp
  and fastened fire along the Tower's flank.
  Fanned by the wind, the flame caught fast the planks
  retreating where the fire has not yet taken
  holdthere, beneath the sudden weight the Tower
  falls; all of heaven thunders at that crash.
  And they themselves take posts inside the entrance,
  before the Towers to the right and left;
  they are armed with swords, their tall heads glittering
  when savage Carthage will unleash its hate
  and ruin on the Towers of Rome, unlock
  the Alps against them: then it will be right
  trapped inside their stockade, without escape.
  Aimless and sad, they stand upon the Towers
  and man the ramparts in a meager ring.
  Some reinforce the city guards, some watch
  the Towers, and the rest shall follow me."
  Now all the city hurries to the walls
  and weak old men are eager to pour out;
  and they press toward the rooftops and the Towers
  while others stand upon the tall gateways.

Agenda_Vol_11, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  It will be a tower with twelve facets each facet representing one month of the year and the top,
  the roof of the Tower will be like this (Mother makes a gesture showing something like this:)

Agenda_Vol_8, #The Mothers Agenda, #The Mother, #Integral Yoga
  catastrophe, and this was to divert the current of force.
  But I have wondered whether the Tower of Babel, insofar as the story is true, wasn't a similar
  attempt? An attempt to harmonize men?... It's presented to us the other way around, but I have

  ambition and defiance of the gods. Thence the same traditions taking form in the Bible about the
  antediluvian giants and the Tower of Babel, found also in the "Book of Enoch."
  Diodorus records another fact or two: the Atlanteans boasted of possessing the land in which all the

BOOK_I._--_PART_I._COSMIC_EVOLUTION, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  was an initiate, can only be studied esoterically. The Druidical circles, the Dolmen, the Temples of
  India, Egypt and Greece, the Towers and the 127 towns in Europe which were found "Cyclopean in
  origin" by the French Institute, are all the work of initiated Priest-Architects, the descendants of those

BOOK_I._--_PART_III._SCIENCE_AND_THE_SECRET_DOCTRINE_CONTRASTED, #The Secret Doctrine, #H P Blavatsky, #Theosophy
  * As it is now asserted that the Chaldean tablets, which give the allegorical description of Creation,
  the Fall, and the Flood, even to the legend of the Tower of Babel, were written "before the time of
  Moses" (See G. Smith's "Chaldean Account of Genesis," p. 86), how can the Pentateuch be called a

Book_of_Genesis, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  the Tower of Babel
  Now the whole world had one language and a common speech. 2 As people moved eastward, they found a plain in Shinar and settled there. 3 They said to each other, Come, lets make bricks and bake them thoroughly. They used brick instead of stone, and tar for mortar. 4 Then they said, Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth. 5 But the Lord came down to see the city and the Tower the people were building. 6 The Lord said, If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. 7 Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other. 8 So the Lord scattered them from there over all the earth, and they stopped building the city. 9 That is why it was called Babel because there the Lord confused the language of the whole world. From there the Lord scattered them over the face of the whole earth.
  The Genealogy of Shem
  16 And they journeyed from Bethel; and there was but a little way to come to Ephrath: and Rachel travailed, and she had hard labour. 17 And it came to pass, when she was in hard labour, that the midwife said unto her, Fear not; thou shalt have this son also. 18 And it came to pass, as her soul was in departing, (for she died) that she called his name Benoni: but his father called him Benjamin. 19 And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem. 20 And Jacob set a pillar upon her grave: that is the pillar of Rachel's grave unto this day. 21 And Israel journeyed, and spread his tent beyond the Tower of Edar. 22 And it came to pass, when Israel dwelt in that land, that Reuben went and lay with Bilhah his father's concubine: and Israel heard it. Now the sons of Jacob were twelve: 23 The sons of Leah; Reuben, Jacob's firstborn, and Simeon, and Levi, and Judah, and Issachar, and Zebulun: 24 The sons of Rachel; Joseph, and Benjamin: 25 And the sons of Bilhah, Rachel's handmaid; Dan, and Naphtali: 26 And the sons of Zilpah, Leah's handmaid; Gad, and Asher: these [are] the sons of Jacob, which were born to him in Padanaram.
  The Death of Isaac at Hebron

Book_of_Imaginary_Beings_(text), #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  If you want to look out over the loveliest landscape in the
  world, you must climb to the top of the Tower of Victory in
  Chitor. There, standing on a circular terrace, one has a
  the legend dare climb up. The tale runs:
  On the stairway of the Tower of Victory there has lived
  since the beginning of time a being sensitive to the many
  In the Infernal Regions there is an imaginary structure
  known as the Tower of the Phoenix.
  lofty pagoda. He thought of pulling it down in order to
  raise a higher one. A Brahman let him into the Tower and
  once inside told him:

BS_1_-_Introduction_to_the_Idea_of_God, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The Jahwist version uses the name YHWH , which, apparently, people didnt say, but we believe was pronounced something like Yahwa. It has a strongly anthropomorphic God, that takes human form. It begins with Genesis 2:4. This is the account of the heavens and the earth, and it contains the story of Adam and Eve, and Cain and Abel, and Noah, and the Tower of Babel, and Exodus, and Numbers, along with the Priestly version. It also contains the law in the formjust the formof the Ten Commandments, which is like a truncated form of the law.

COSA_-_BOOK_VIII, #The Confessions of Saint Augustine, #Saint Augustine of Hippo, #Christianity
  he would cleave to him, to partake so glorious a reward, so glorious
  a service. Thus both being now Thine, were building the Tower at the
  necessary cost, the forsaking all that they had, and following Thee.

Liber_46_-_The_Key_of_the_Mysteries, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
   at his tavern, and then having asked him to visit St. Pauls in his
   company, had tried to throw him from the top of the Tower which they
   had climbed together.<   --
   there the same combinations and the same symbols: the king, the queen,
   the knight, the soldier, the fool, the Tower, and houses representing
   numbers. In old times, chess-players sought upon their chess-board the
   Tarot, but one finds the same symbols in it: the juggler, the king, the
   queen, the Tower, the devil or Typhon, death, and so on. The
   dice-indicated chances of the game represent those of life, and conceal

Talks_051-075, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  The mind becomes it - and thus quite pure. Then think who is the worshipper. The answer is I, i.e., the Self. So the Self is gained ultimately.
  The present difficulty is that the man thinks that he is the doer. But it is a mistake. It is the Higher Power which does everything and the man is only a tool. If he accepts that position he is free from troubles; otherwise he courts them. Take for instance, the figure in a gopuram (temple tower), where it is made to appear to bear the burden of the Tower on its shoulders. Its posture and look are a picture of great strain while bearing the very heavy burden of the Tower. But think. the Tower is built on the earth and it rests on its foundations. The figure (like Atlas bearing the earth) is a part of the Tower, but is made to look as if it bore the Tower. Is it not funny?
  So is the man who takes on himself the sense of doing.

Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_2, #Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  in a tower; about thirty to forty thousand people used to come to see him and
  he used to give them his blessings standing at the Tower window.
  NIRODBARAN: I heard that Mother used to see you in visions, but could

The_Act_of_Creation_text, #The Act of Creation, #Arthur Koestler, #Psychology
  years after von Hartmann' s which carry the word 'unconscious' in
  their tides. In the literature of the period Nietzsche was the Towering
  giant. He took over the unconscious Id from Lichtenberg (which
  whole picture. Everything is showing movement and growth; the
  circle acquires depth and thus becomes cylindrical; the Towers
  become higher and higher; everything is arbitrary as in an experi-
  The Promethean striving for omnipotence and omniscience is
  symbolized in Jacob's struggle with the angel, the Tower of Babel,
  the flight of Icarus, the Faustus legend, and so on through Voltaire's
  Theoretically the building of the Tower of Babel, of hierarchies of
  abstractions, can go on indefinitely, or until the most general patterns
  As we move on into the eighteenth century the Towering genius of
  Benjamin Franklin sticks out of it like his Hghtning rod. Printer,
  literal truth of every word in the Bible'; later on he considered himself
  an atheist because he did not believe in the Tower of Babel. Neither
  attitude has much relevance to the unconscious, inner motivation of his

the_Castle, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  In fact, the three who now started quarreling did so with solemn gestures as if declaiming, and while all three pointed to the same card, with their free hand and with evocative grimaces they exerted themselves to convey that those figures were to be interpreted this way and not that. Now in the card whose name varies according to custom and language-the Tower, The House of God, The House of the Devil-a young man carrying a sword, you would say for the purpose of scratching his flowing blond hair (now white), recognizes the platform before Elsinore castle when the night's blackness is rent by an apparition which freezes the sentinels in fear: the majestic march of a ghost whose grizzled beard and shining helmet and breastplate cause him to resemble both the tarots' Emperor and the late king of Denmark, who has returned to demand Justice. In such questionable shape, the cards lend themselves to the young man's silent interrogation: "Why the sepulchre hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws that thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, revisit'st thus the glimpses of The Moon?"
  He is interrupted by a lady who, with distraught eye, insists she recognizes in that same Tower the castle of Dunsinane when the vengeance darkly prophesied by the witches will be unleashed: Birnam Wood will move, climbing the slopes of the hill, hosts and hosts of trees will advance, their roots torn from the earth, their boughs outstretched as in the Ten of Clubs, attacking the fortress, and the usurper will learn that Macduff, born through a sword's slash, is the one who, with a slash of the Sword, will cut off his head. And thus the sinister juxtaposition of cards finds a meaning: Popess, or prophesying sorceress; Moon, or night in which thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd, and the hedgepig whin'd, and newt, frog, and adders allow themselves to be caught for the broth; Wheel, or stirring of the bubbling cauldron where witches' mummy is dissolved with gall of goat, wool of bat, finger of birth-strangled babe, poisoned entrails, tails of shitting monkeys, just as the most senseless signs the witches mix in their brew sooner or later find a meaning that confirms them and reduces you, you and your logic, to a gruel.
  But an old man's trembling finger is now pointed at the Arcanum of the Tower and the Thunderbolt. In his other hand he holds up the figure of the King of Cups, surely to make us recognize him, since no royal attributes remain on his derelict person: nothing in the world has been left him by his unnatural daughters (this is what he seems to say, pointing to two portraits of cruel, crowned ladies and then at the squalid landscape of the Moon), and now others want to usurp even this card from him, the proof of how he was driven from his palace, emptied from the walls like a can of rubbish, abandoned to the fury of the elements. Now he inhabits the storm and the rain and the wind as if he could have no other home, as if the world were allowed to contain only hail and thunder and tempest, just as his mind now houses only wind and thunderbolts and madness. Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's molds, all chromosomes spill at once that make ungrateful man! We read this hurricane of thoughts in the eyes of the old sovereign seated in our midst, his bent shoulders huddled no longer in his ermine mantle but in a Hermit's habit, as if he were still wandering by lantern light over the heath without shelter, the Fool his only support and mirror of his madness.

The_Golden_Bough, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  sixty years ago. "My parents invited friends to see, from the top of
  the Tower of Jeanne Couillard, the funeral procession passing. It
  was there that, quaffing lemonade--the only refreshment allowed

The_Gospel_According_to_Luke, #The Bible, #Anonymous, #Various
  1 There were present at that season some that told him of the Galilaeans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2 And Jesus answering said unto them, Suppose ye that these Galilaeans were sinners above all the Galilaeans, because they suffered such things? 3 I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish. 4 Or those eighteen, upon whom the Tower in Siloam fell, and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem? 5 I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.
  The Parable of the Barren Fig Tree

The_Shadow_Out_Of_Time, #unset, #Sri Aurobindo, #Integral Yoga
  Had I come upon a whole buried world of unholy archaism? Could I still find the house
  of the writing master, and the Tower where S'gg'ha, the captive mind from the star-headed
  vegetable carnivores of Antarctica, had chiselled certain pictures on the blank spaces of

Thus_Spoke_Zarathustra_text, #Thus Spoke Zarathustra, #Friedrich Nietzsche, #Philosophy
  shall tickle you with my heel! What are you doing here
  between towers? the Tower is where you belong. You
  ought to be locked up; you block the way for one better than yourself." And with every word he came
  And he had not taken a hundred steps when a man
  sneaked up to him and whispered in his ear-and behold, it was the jester from the Tower. "Go away from
  this town, Zarathustra," said he; "there are too many

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